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In the morning they both showered, Jenny first, and dressed and headed out. Joe bought her eggs over easy, hash browns, coffee and orange juice which he had as well at the corner diner. It was nearly noon, but the diner accommodated.
They headed up to Bloomingdales as promised where Joe shopped distractedly, not really needing anything, while Jenny bought herself some new make-up, getting a makeover/lesson along with it.
They decided to meet in the jewelry section near the make-up area, Joe finding it the best place to waste time. He perused the expensive watches in the glass cabinet, one of the better distractions, when she nudged him with her hip.
“I thought I’d find you at the rings,” she smirked. Joe was not a connoisseur of make-up, not around many women who wore it, of if they did, he barely noticed. Punk girls tended to weaponize it, eye make-up like bruises, blue lipstick like they were corpses or an intense and purposely garish red. Those who took it more seriously often looked ridiculous to Joe, overdoing the eyes especially, often the ones who preferred spandex whether it looked good on them or not, and usually not. Not just Joe liked to joke that his club should be called Max’s Spandex City.
More than likely the make-up girl had done a good job with Jenny, just in the fact that it was subtle. It did enhance her best traits, her cheekbones, her expressive eyes, probably giving focus to them, but Joe didn’t find her more appealing because if it. More an equal attractiveness to him between made up and natural. “You look nice,” he told her, and she did. “Would it worry you if I was looking at rings?”
“Maybe,” she giggled.
“What jewelry would you want to get?”
“Nothing really. Anything hanging like a necklace or even a bracelet would just get in the way when I dance. You didn’t get anything?”
“I don’t really need anything, and besides, with my height, it can be frustrating finding anything that fits.”
“I could use some underthings.”
“Then let’s get you some.”
Joe hovered at the periphery of the ladies underwear area, not all that comfortable there. Jenny grabbed up bikini cut panties, white and black, and panty hose, but lingered in the bras, looking at lacy ones and ended up buying white, red and blue ones and some matching panties for them. She finished with a cream colored slippery chemise and brought them over to Joe. “You sure?” she asked.
“I’m enjoying buying you things,” he smiled.
He’d handed her a fifty for her make-up earlier.
“I want to check out the perfume,” she decided.
The one she decided on after a few scent tests ended up the most expensive thing bought, especially considering the size of the bottle, but Joe thought it smelled nice, even sexy on her.
They headed west, Jenny wanting to see Broadway and Forty-Second Street, Joe warning her the latter was pretty sleazy.
“All the better,” she giggled.
They went through Central Park after visiting some high fashion boutiques on Madison Avenue, Jenny commenting about the latter places, “And I thought Bloomingdales was expensive.”
They exited Central Park at Columbus Circle, Joe leading her uptown a little to show her Lincoln Center, especially the Henry Moore reflecting pond and the two large Chagalls in the window. They ate at Carnegie Deli despite the wait, and Jenny enjoyed the overstuffed corned beef sandwich and the attitude of the old waiter, charming and wise ass at the same time. Joe turned her on to Celray soda.
Next he purposely headed them down a street which had a haberdasher, a place his uncle had turned him onto and who had his size for custom shirts and for suits. He’d bought one of the latter there but only wore it once. The extra money had him order a couple more shirts, one cream and the other black (at Jenny’s insistence) and he tried on some sports jackets his size, none of them appealing to him until he saw a charcoal gray suit with light fabric and a slim lapel. The pants ending up riding high, no surprise, but the tailor claimed there was enough fabric to let down perhaps somehow anticipating Joe. The price bordered on being too high, perhaps even crossing that border, but Joe finally succumbed, and changed the cream shirt to white since he thought it would work better. He had it tailored and would pick it up early the next week.
A couple storefronts down, actually upstairs, was his other preferred clothing store, actually a shoe store that catered to larger sizes. He bought a couple of pairs of cool socks there, and this time Jenny insisted he try on some low slung high heeled Italian boots. Normally he avoided anything that would make him taller, but the reasonable price and the cool look had him succumb.
Weighed down, Joe and Jenny finally strolled down the Great White Way. Unlike when he and his family visited the city, Joe hadn’t been to a Broadway play since he moved to Manhattan. They shopped the marquees, and it didn’t surprise Joe that Jenny preferred to see a musical while Joe swung towards seeing a regular play, either Streamers eryaman escort bayan which had won its share of Tony’s, or the Belle of Amherst about Emily Dickinson and featuring the amazing Julie Harris. Still, A Chorus Line had sounded kind of interesting.
Unfortunately A Chorus Line remained sold out, no chance of getting half price tickets at TKTS in Times Square. The choice became between the Dickinson play (“Because you’re a poet too,” Jenny explained) and a review musical promising lots of dancing, which Joe decided he’d choose for Jenny, although he’d probably enjoy it himself, when Jenny stopped their advance towards the window. “Maybe another time,” she said. “I could use a rest.”
So they moved out of the way and headed to 42nd Street.
“Holy shit,” Jenny proclaimed.
“I told you,” Joe chuckled.
There were places to watch filmed sex and even places advertising live sex and between cheap souvenir stores, stores that sold kinky items for sex. Women walked around in their fluorescent colored hot pants advertising for sex with them. And more than one guy whispered to them about drugs, making Joe wonder why anyone would buy any on that street, a street obviously about the hustle.
Jenny pulled Joe into a sex boutique and giggled about the dildos, some as fluorescent as the whores’ shorts. She asked Joe if he’d ever watched a dirty movie and Joe admitted he had. Jenny wanted to watch one too.
Joe chose one that actually looked like it might be okay, The Opening of Misty Beethoven, and they found seats away from most of the clientele, the sticky floors a bit unnerving, and it smelled of sex somewhat, of semen mostly. They arrived fairly early on in the movie.
It ended up being a lot better than expected, well shot and well acted with clever dialogue at times. The many sex scenes made Joe hard throughout and Jenny noticed, her hand moving to his lap, rubbing the lump there which Joe had adjusted so it went down his left thigh. Her mouth went to his ear, breathing and nibbling and whispering, “I wish I could take it out and suck it.” No one else was in their row, but people arrived unpredictably. Joe did rub back, and Jenny surprised him by undoing her pants so that he could slip his hand underneath them and her panties and rub her warm wet pussy directly. “It’s not the film so much,” she whispered into his ear, her breath continuing to make him tingle as did her lips nipping at it, “It’s imagining what you’d do with me with that cock.”
Not long after Joe came in his pants, making Jenny giggle and moan a little. Joe kept up his assault, fingering her pussy, and noticed her pinching her nipples, their angling towards each other helping hide it somewhat, and eventually she too succumbed to orgasm, a quiet moan and a shiver and his fingers wetted by girl cum. By then he’d got hard again, and after Jenny zipped and buttoned back up, her hand returned there, although with much less aggression in her rubs.
They watched until the end, because, as mentioned, it was a pretty good movie, great for being porno, and they even debated whether to watch from the beginning to see what they missed, but decided to go. Luckily his black jeans didn’t show the semen stain.
They caught a taxi and got dropped off at Joe’s apartment. After both pissed, and Joe cleaned off some of the semen on his penis, they finally enjoyed naked contact with their genitals, a sixty-nine to begin and then Jenny covering his cock and riding it, slow at first and loving, but soon becoming a gallop until she came and then Joe had them turned over for him to fuck her, holding back at the end for her to meet his orgasm with hers.
They cuddled afterwards and napped.
The sky had darkened by the time they awoke. They decided to dress despite the remnants of their earlier sex, both in black jeans and t shirts covered in jackets, the uniform of punk rock, and headed out, nodding at the roommates kicked back in the shared space.
Joe bought them dinner at a Wimpy’s, both starving which had quickened their dressing and leaving, and walked the several blocks to Max’s.
It was relatively early there, though the restaurant was at least three quarters full, all his waiter and busboy friends giving Joe a nod. He and Jenny sat at the usual booth where Gene (another Gene), the night manager, tended to sit, next to the cash register where the beautiful sister of Blondie’s piano player worked. Gene was a tall and handsome man often flirting with regular female customers, very charming and extremely relaxed as a boss.
After introductions, Joe asked if Jenny might work as an upstairs waitress.
“Any experience?” Gene asked Jenny.
“No,” Jenny admitted.
“Are you old enough?” Gene chuckled.
Jenny showed him her ID.
“Just,” Gene smirked.
“Anne’s working upstairs,” Joe figured since she always seemed to work weekends.
“You’re lucky Candy’s under the weather, the way Jim looks the same they must have partied a bit too hard,” Gene shook his head. Candy was the bleach blonde and Jim the busboy they’d ankara escort met before, and indeed Jim looked a bit green.
“If you want I could take over for Jim,” Joe offered.
“A bit of a demotion.”
“I actually was going to ask if I could work here again, although hopefully more part time.”
“Let me think about it, but for now, let’s introduce you to Anne, Jenny.”
“We met,” Jenny smiled.
“Then I’ll let Anne know you’ll be training and have Candy take the night off. And I’ll need to grab a couple staff t shirts from the office.”
“Thanks Gene!” Jenny grinned.
“Let’s see if you want to thank me after,” Gene chuckled. “It’ll be a full house tonight.”
“The Misfits,” Joe nodded. At that moment the Misfits Attitude came on the juke box, a song Joe’d probably hear a lot that night, good thing being he liked it, and hearing it often didn’t diminish it as it did Patti Smith’s songs which seemed to get irritating with age. “That’s them,” Joe told Jenny, gesturing at the jukebox.
“Cool,” Jenny said.
Both Anne and Candy took the news well when they arrived upstairs. “Let’s get you trained!” Anne grinned.
“Thank god,” said Candy, rushing to the bathroom.
“She done that a lot?” Gene asked Anne.
“Something bad she ate,” Anne speculated.
“Or something,” Gene shook his head. Drug addled employees could have been the norm for Gene what with the punk rock environs, but by and large his staff was relatively sober. Being a junkie hadn’t really effected Joe’s work, like the others he’d become a real professional at it, though he wore long sleeve shirts to hide his track, something not available that night, but as a busboy they wouldn’t really be seen by the customers, and with the darkish lighting, probably not all that visible anyway.
Joe headed upstairs to Gene’s office which he shared with the Deans, the owners of Max’s, which it being the weekend, the couple weren’t there. Sometimes Laura Dean served as the manager for Gene’s nights off, and in fact she’d given Joe his job there when some friends of his from Bard pointed her out when Joe told them he’d just gotten fired, and just before Thanksgiving!
Joe put on the t shirt Gene handed him and brought down the jacket and shirt he’d worn for the downstairs bartender to stash. Gene brought Jenny her t shirt and apron before he and Joe headed down to the restaurant. Jim too was relieved getting the night off despite pretending like he could work through it. Gene being emphatic was a surprise, but Jim easily accepted it, he too rushing to the toilet.
It was like riding a bike, although it was actually easy getting back into the headspace of busboy because it was an easy job compared to waiter, although more physical which Joe didn’t mind. The Haitian dishwasher greeted him like a returning hero. They had always got on well despite the older, short stocky man barely speaking English. Joe trying out his rudimentary high school French with the man probably helped.
It was wall to wall people, punks and spandex wearing women with the occasional older couples or groups observing the scene like the voyeuristic tourists they were. The waiters, and they were all men except for a cute curly chestnut haired woman, treated everyone equally, the slim and charming Thai man the best of them having been there forever like his Thai friend, the more solid and Chinese looking bartender who’d been the one who’d turned Joe onto the Chinese restaurant he’d brought Carol’s troupe to.
Amidst the chaos, Carol appeared. “Got a second?” she asked.
“Give me a minute. I’ll meet you in the back room.” He’d just got an order from the bartender for a case of Heineken which he’d have to haul up from the basement. After, he cleared and wiped tables, almost all drinks since few were eating at that point, but his heavy bus bin had a couple plates too. Once he stuck the bin into the window for the Haitian to grab, he walked the few steps to the back room.
Before he could warn her about his damp front from the wet rag and the damp bin, she embraced him and kissed him. She didn’t seem to mind and her casual outfit of flannel shirt and tight bluejeans could handle it. When the kiss ended, she wrinkled her nose. “I get what Monica meant.”
“I’d also be dishwashing then, so it was worse,” Joe chuckled.
“So mostly sweat of a hardworking guy which I don’t mind at all,” she giggled. “Can you sit a minute?”
The infamous round table was only half occupied, at the center a rocker who looked somewhat familiar, or maybe the man just looked like a generic rocker, and a couple other men sat with him, cute young women interspersed between them. “Do you mind?” Joe asked, gesturing to the free chairs.
The apparent leader gestured for Joe to sit with a magnanimous if slightly pompous gesture, so Joe and Carol sat.
“I left messages with your service,” Carol complained.
“Sorry, I should have checked,” Joe apologized. “Something important?”
“Can’t I miss you?”
“Sorry. Of course.”
Carol laughed. “I just wanted sincan escort bayan to see if you were okay. I heard about Mark’s….”
“Surprise? You know I’m not…”
“Well I’m definitively not, and if…”
“Joe. It was all on him.”
She seemed to gaze intently when she answered, “I thought you like older women.”
“I like women I like to know before we fuck.”
“She liked you.”
“Carol, I’m not interested. Is that…”
“Okay?” she smiled. “That’s very okay.”
“But what Joe?”
Joe sighed. “Did you pimp me out, Carol? Am I officially hired now?”
She surprised him by crying. “Oh Joe,” she sniffled.
“Come here,” he patted his lap, “If you don’t mind the dampness.”
She gave him a half smile and showed she didn’t mind by sitting where he’d gestured. He embraced her, kissing her damp eyes.
“We can talk about it later,” he told her.
“Probably best. But how come you’re working? I thought I might find you here since it’s your stomping grounds, but…”
“I’m thinking about coming to work here part time if they’ll let me so I’ll still have the time and energy to work on the piece. Tonight I’m taking over for a busboy who got sick.”
“She’s actually working upstairs. If you give me a few minutes I can let you up there.”
“But you’ll have to get off my lap first.”
She giggled and kissed him and moved back to her seat.
A back table had emptied and Joe removed the glasses and wiped the table while a group of punks sat. Joe passed the chestnut waitress while bringing the glasses to the dishwasher, going back there to grab a bin of glasses, some left with the service bartender and others to the front bar. More cleaning and wiping and finally he returned to Carol. “Come on.”
Back stairs led up to the upstairs club. On slow nights he’d sneak and watch the band, but for a busboy, it became access to bring up cases of beer. Glancing at Gene, distracted by a cute blonde Joe knew to be an escort, he snuck Carol upstairs.
The place was packed, the Misfits furiously playing and singing. “If you want you can stand by Bobby, the sound guy,” Joe yelled, nodding at the bouncer stationed there who nodded back. “He likes entertaining pretty women with his skills.”
Carol laughed. “I’ll find a space to dance.”
She followed him to the bar and found a corner free to dance. The bartender needed a case of Michelob and a couple bottles of booze. Joe nodded, stopped to give Carol a kiss, and a kiss to Jenny standing beside her, looking harried but somehow still smiling before fetching the order.
When he returned, Jenny waited on an order.
“How’s it going?” he asked after another kiss.
“Hard, especially knowing who gets what. I’d have to ask most of the time, but I’m getting better.”
“She is,” Anne said, moving beside Jenny. “Hardly got flustered at all.”
The drinks came and Anne ordered more. “Anne’s been great,” Jenny told him while she moved the tray away.
“Great,” Joe grinned.
At the end of the night, after getting tips from the waiters and bartender, Gene had Joe sit with him at his usual table.
“Want to work tomorrow?” Gene asked, meaning Sunday of course which it already was.
“Punishment for Jim?” Joe asked.
Gene nodded. “Even more so since I’m going to ask you if you’re interested in the service bar. Jim was about to be trained in it. The current one’s even flakier and he almost hit a customer throwing a beer bottle across the hall without looking.”
Joe thought about it. “Honestly I’d rather work the tables, but maybe just the weekends?”
“And how would that be fair to the other waiters stuck with slow nights?”
“I could bus and wash dishes on Jim’s days off. I know you’re grooming Marco to become a waiter…”
“Are you saying you want to keep bussing?”
“I could fill in as waiter when you’re short staffed. An unexpected rush or someone calls in sick.”
“So double duty?”
“Triple duty if you count dishwashing.”
“But you want less days.”
“Four days if possible, the weekends and a couple days during the week.”
“A possible five when you’re needed?”
“Occasionally please. I’m actually working at something else which I need time and energy for and possible days off.”
“You’re not making this easier for me.”
“I know, but at least you know how hard I work, and no training needed.”
“So triple duty tomorrow?”
“If necessary. Why? You think you’ll be busy?”
“The band’s supposedly built up a big following booked ages ago before all that.”
“They’re the regular band at a transvestite after-hours club.”
“Then you must have seen them.”
“Fuck you,” Gene laughed.
Not just hot women, but transvestites often visited Gene at his table. Joe figured it came from him being in the scene at Max’s for years, including the days when transvestites filled the back room. Joe had actually never seen Gene outside Max’s at any after hours clubs or any other clubs for that matter. And Joe had been to a transvestite after-hours club a few times, including seeing the Blessed, the band he’d seen at the bar on St Marks a few days before.
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