Hard Luck for Wen Tso
There is no real difficulty that requires outward movement. -- I Ching - Hexagram 40 - Jie (Liberation)
Wen Tso sat at the bar on her legally proscribed break nursing her diet-soda and taking a load off her aching feet. She was four hours into a six hour shift serving as a cocktail waitress at a trendy night club called the "Way-down." Before last night she had never heard of the place until her friend Amelia had suggested she apply there for a easy job and fast cash. She reflected moodily that she had needed both badly after quitting her last job at the Middle Kingdom restaurant down in China Town. That job had come about through another friend Luna who wasn't talking to her at the moment. Therein lay the problem for Wen Tso she couldn't keep friends or jobs for long.
From her perspective she was just unlucky. Unlucky in school, unlucky in employment, and definitely unlucky in love. That was the reason her friends all called her HL, short for Hard-Luck, and the sobriquet had stuck starting in middle-school all the way through to her first couple years of college. Her family had tried to discourage it without success and it had been cute in her tween years. But the nickname had already started to sour her life prospects by high-school and now that she was in her early twenties it had become a curse that followed her where ever she went and whatever she did.
Wen's reverie and break were shattered by the rude slap of a serving tray on the bar just in front of her. Laura the bartender, a pretty gweilo blond a few years older than Wen was busily loading it with drinks. When she started to get up and move away the blond's blue eyes seemed to capture her and she froze. The woman smiled frostily and said:
"Your in luck. Do you see that corner booth on the other side of the dance floor. Yes, that one. Those seven young men are exchange students from Tokyo, they are already drunk and have money to burn. They have requested you to be their server tonight. I think they like the look of you in that little French maid's outfit the boss-lady picked out for you. So keep the drinks flowing and keep'em happy and by 2am you will be rolling in dough. And princess, don't forget to smile!"
And with that said Laura put the tray of drinks in her hands and turned to help a rowdy group of women dressed like superheros in sprayed on latex.
Wen grumbled to herself as she worked her way around the dance-floor, in the process she had to dodge the groping hands of both drunk men and women. She tried to push aside her grumpiness at the bartender, in reality it was a lucky break, but her innate pessimism kept getting in the way.
Halfway across the floor the music died down with a change in DJs. The female DJ that had kept the club hopping with remixes of the latest Deep-House and Nu-Disco songs was stepping down as a wannabe rocker took the stage.
Wen had just reached the party of seven when the drums started to roll and the guitar to growl out the first cords of Joan Jett's "I love Rock'n Roll." The singer's sultry baritone rolled over the crowd and everyone turned towards the stage. No one complained that she still held their drinks half forgotten as everyone began to follow along with the lyrics and the dance floor became wild and vibrant.
Wen blinked. The seven exchange students were singing along karaoke style and Wen had to make herself stop dancing in place. The wannabe rocker on the stage was mesmerizing as he made love to the crowd and the music was infectious.
Wen lost track of time, the exchange students ordered a lot of drinks, and their party grew to a dozen as they made local friends. A half-dozen cover songs later Wen was making another trek across the crowded dance-floor. As she did so, she marveled at the club's decor, a blend of arabesque, classical and post-modern which somehow implied the otherworldly rather than seeming presumptuous and contrived.
The dance-floor was a cloud of constantly changing shadows under the shifting patterns of amber and lavender lights. Which in hindsight is what drew Wen's eyes to the two men. One was large and imposing, an older working-class man with lots of tattoos and ruggedly dressed in denim. The other small and wiry, a young man with dark red hair and dressed in ratty jeans and a t-shirt. Individually neither really stood out in a crowd, but they were struggling with each other over a guitar case.
Unfortunately for Wen they were directly in her way and blocking her path. To the right the main dance floor surged with gyrating patrons and to the left were the crowded tables and booths that lined the outer wall. As she she came to a standstill waiting for them to move their struggle turned decidedly violent. Something sharp flashed in the neon glow and the guitar case was ripped open and something shattered on the floor between them. Wen did not see the item break because she was assaulted by a flurry of brilliant lights and then her awareness was swallowed by darkness.
Wen Tso came back to the final stanzas of Hotel California, something about pink champagne and mirrors on the ceiling, when she realized her eyes were open and there were mirrors on the ceiling. How had she not noticed that before?
