Chapter 3 I know what they are

his demeanor so much like my brother's back in Wyoming. I nod, grateful for the friendliness that comes so naturally to him. "Your secret's safe with me," he says with a wink. I smile at him. It's clear Max commands respect here. The waitresses now glide up to the bar, checking in with him before returning to the crowd with the grace of dancers. The patrons watch our interaction with some interest; Max is clearly a fixture of the room and possibly its master of ceremonies. He moves with an efficiency that is effective, pouring drinks with precision while never missing a beat in our conversation or what is happening in the room.

I learn that Max is more than a bartender-he is the thread woven into the social tapestry of the club, the one who knows all and tells very little, a keeper of the moods and needs of the Sapphire Club's elite clientele. His watchful eyes miss nothing, surveying his domain with a sense of pride and subtle command. There is a powerful ease to his presence that is comforting in the intimidating opulence. He begins my unofficial training right away, testing me on different drinks, sharing insights into what many of the patrons like to drink, things I might suggest, revealing just enough to pique my interest but never too much. I'm not much of an alcohol person, but my homework paid off. I studied all the different types of liquor, I know what they are, what goes into cocktails, which brands are the best, everything a good cocktail waitress at a high-end club should know. Plus, it didn't hurt that my rancher father knew good whiskey and wine, and collected them. And cognac. The story is that he and my mother named me Brandy after a spectacular night where they drank a special cognac and I was conceived. "Not bad, Brandy," Max smiles.

"I didn't expect a young waitress and actress from LA to know so much." "My father in Wyoming helped a little. A good connoisseur can teach you things you should know," I laugh. "Hmm. I got that kind of vibe from you. I grew up in Montana, on a ranch, before I joined the special forces," Max says, looking at me. "You reminded me of my brother Jack the first moment I saw you," I say, smiling at the memory. "Cattle or horses?" he asks. "Cattle ranch, and I'm good with horses, cowboy," I say as he nods. It doesn't take long for a sort of camaraderie to form between us-me, an actress diving into a world that thrills and scares me in equal measure, and him, the seasoned maestro of the room, so adept at reading the room that nothing seems to faze him. I'm starting to feel it-the rhythm of the Sapphire Club-and it's exhilarating. I can't wait to start work that night as a waitress. "Okay, cowgirl, your uniform is waiting for you in your room. You're due at 6:00, so you might want to freshen up. More details about the waitressing job are on a sheet in your room. You'll do just fine. You're in room 7. Head that way," Max says, pointing to some double doors at the back of the club. "Henry will take you upstairs." "Okay, then. I'll see you at 6:00." Thank You, Max. Chapter Three My heart races as I push through the employee doors of the Sapphire Club at 6 p.m., the fabric of my sexy "uniform" hugging my body in a way that's both thrilling and intimidating. It shows off a bit of cleavage, my curves, and my long legs. What do they say? Sex sells. I'm ready for my first night, and the weight of my new identity presses down on me-no longer Brandy Alexander of Wyoming and Los Angeles, but simply Brandy, the newest cocktail waitress at the most exclusive club in Vegas. My hair looks different than it did on the TV show, and I doubt many Sapphire regulars have ever watched a family sitcom.

The excitement of the movie role I'm preparing for pulses through my veins, a secret melody that only I know the tune to. Max greets me at the bar, his imposing figure and easy smile a beacon in the dimly lit room. "Ready for your debut?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice. I tug on my turquoise pendant, a gesture that's become second nature to me. "As ready as I can be," I say, hoping my voice doesn't betray the butterflies doing cartwheels in my stomach. Max hands me a small electronic device-a sleek black tablet that manages orders and keeps track of the night's sales. "This will be your best friend tonight," he explains. "It's how we keep the pace up around here. Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it." It reminds me of a device I used at a restaurant in Los Angeles where I worked for a few months. And there were instructions in my room for it. Nothing complicated. His reassurance is a lifesaver, and I nod, memorizing the functions he points out with practiced ease. He then leads me through the main room, pointing out sections-which will be mine-and sharing information about some of the regulars I'm likely to encounter. He tells me about several regulars I'll probably meet tonight, including a Wall Street guy who's here for a week and only drinks vodka and tonics and lives for the dancers, and a brooding guy at the back table who only drinks Macallan whiskey. A Swiss couple arrived today and will be here for a week, and they love the booth in my section. They always try the fruity cocktails and champagne during their high-end casino breaks. His trident tattoo gleams in the light as he moves and points out tables, a living tapestry of his past that I'm curious but too polite to ask about. Maybe in a few weeks. Shelley and Lucy, two seasoned cocktail waitresses who glide between the tables with an effortless grace I admire, approach us. They wear the same uniform as me, but they seem to fall into them with a well-practiced ease. "Brandy, this is Shelley, and that's Lucy," Max introduces us.

"Girls, help our newbie get her bearings, will you?" Their smiles are kind, their welcome genuine. "Don't worry. The customers here are easier than your average bar crowd, just show a little charm and you'll be fine," Lucy advises with a wink before hurrying off to serve a new group of customers. Shelley hangs back for a moment, her eyes kind. "And don't let the tips go to your head. Save them, and before you know it, you'll have enough for a nice vacation." I could hug her for the encouragement. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Crystal chandeliers cast a prismatic light across the room as the club begins to buzz with the first arrivals. Even in Vegas, there seems to be no sense of time. Everything happens all the time. I watch as men in tailored suits and women in designer dresses enter, the air thick with the cologne of wealth and the scent of intrigue. Many come here, then go gambling, and then either return for the show and dancing or to unwind with another drink or two. It's not long before I place my first order-a Sassenach Blended Scotch on the rocks, for a gentleman with a gaze as sharp as the cut of his jaw. As I enter my order on my tablet and head to the bar, I can feel eyes on me, the new girl, assessing my performance. I pass the main stage where a dancer sprawls with feline elegance, her every move weaving a story of desire and seduction. This is a part of the world I must claim as my own for the role I have ahead of me, a confidence onstage that I must learn. I'm nervous about dancing with my breasts out-or at least I take my top off at the end of the dances-but the girls are so comfortable. I know I'll get there, but I get butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it.

The director of the film said my bare-breasted dance scenes would be shot tastefully. That it would be a metaphor for my character, revealing her truth as a witness to a crime the film is about. I'm unfamiliar with the rock and modern music that plays, the deep bass thrumming in my core. I grew up a country-western music fan. Since I lived in Los Angeles for a short time