Chapter 4 VIP Room

"Are you okay?" Mae asked as she placed several bottles of beer onto the tray on top of the bar counter. The glass clinked softly against each other, a thin, nervous sound in the middle of all the chaos.

"Yeah. I'm just a little dizzy from the mixed smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke," I complained, pinching my nose and scrunching up my face.

The scent crawled down my throat and settled in my stomach, heavy and bitter. No matter how long I worked here, my body still refused to accept it like it was normal.

"You'll get used to it," Mae said casually, already turning to grab another order.

Tsk. Aren't they scared of what they're doing to their bodies? They drink alcohol and smoke at the same time-don't they care about their health? Rich people really don't know where to spend their money.

Well... to be fair, even poor people do this too. I've seen men from our neighborhood spend their last coins on cheap liquor just to forget how empty their pockets were. I guess I don't really have the right to judge them. It's their life. They know what they're doing. They're old enough to make their own choices.

Still, I couldn't stop the tiny knot of worry from forming in my chest whenever I saw people coughing, laughing too loudly, pretending their lungs weren't slowly begging them to stop.

I continued delivering the customers' orders. I didn't want anyone complaining that I was too slow. Complaints meant trouble, and trouble meant less tips. Less tips meant fewer groceries at home. It was that simple.

It was already 9 p.m., and the bar was almost full. The lights were dimmer than usual, tinted with soft reds and purples that made everyone look prettier than they probably were. The air buzzed with noise-glasses clinking, chairs scraping, people shouting over the music, laughter spilling out like it had nowhere else to go. My arms were starting to ache from carrying trays, and my fingers felt sticky from spilled drinks I kept wiping off my hands with a napkin.

Jerome's group was on the mini stage, performing again. The small platform barely fit them, but they moved like they owned the space. They were the ones who sang here at the bar every night, and they were quite popular-especially with the women cheering so loudly you'd think they were competing with chickens in the morning.

There's no denying it-Jerome's group is really good. There are three of them, and their band is called The Trios. I still didn't understand why they chose that name when there were literally three of them, but whatever.

Gab was the guitarist, always standing at the edge of the stage with his jaw clenched like he was mad at the world.

Joe was the drummer, hair always messy, sweat flying everywhere whenever he went too hard.

And of course, Jerome was the vocalist. His voice filled the room in a way that made even the loudest customers pause for a second.

I'm a fan too. Not that obvious.

Well... maybe a little obvious.

Especially Mae. That woman was practically married to Gab in her head, even though the guy was rude and barely noticed her existence.

They perform twice a night-an opening set and a closing set. The bar itself doesn't really close, but once the three of them finish their second set, their shift is over and the DJ takes over with ear-splitting music that makes my head throb.

When they first step onto the stage, they usually play two songs before taking a break. During that break, customers flood the bar with new orders, as if music somehow unlocks their thirst.

"They're really good! Especially my baby-ehhh!" Mae squealed, gripping the edge of the counter dramatically.

Here we go again. The noisy bird is in love.

"You know, I'm curious," I said suddenly, handing a customer his drink before turning back to her.

"Huh? About what?" she asked, still staring at the stage. It was their last song. Gab was leaning into his guitar like he was trying to argue with it.

"I'm wondering what you even like about Gab. That guy is rude. How did you fall for him?"

"Girl! Gab is handsome! And his cold attitude makes him even hotter!" she shouted, nearly dropping a bottle in her excitement.

"I don't care! Go take the customers' orders. You're annoying when you scream like that," I snapped, though my lips twitched with amusement.

She slapped my arm again.

If I end up with bruises, I'm really reporting this woman for abuse.

"Damn you! And what about you? You stare at Jerome like you want to bite him!" she teased, poking my side. "Lyra, do you like Jerome? Ayiieee~ Admit it!"

"Stop it, Mae! Go back to work!" I said, pushing her away while laughing because it tickled too much. "And stop poking me like I'm some kind of stuffed toy!"

The truth was, I had wondered about that too. Shouldn't I be attracted to Jerome because of how kind he is to me? He always smiled at me when I passed by the stage. Sometimes he'd give me a thumbs-up or mouth a quiet "thank you" when I brought them water. But I didn't feel anything romantic toward him. Not even a flutter in my chest.

Maybe he's just not my type. Jerome is handsome, kind, thoughtful, and hardworking-he has almost everything. But still... he's just my friend. The kind of friend who feels safe. The kind of friend you can talk to without worrying about your heart getting tangled up.

I brushed the thought away and went back to work.

Being a waitress is really exhausting. You never know when you'll get a break because customers keep calling for their orders.

"Miss!"

"Hey, over here!"

"We need another round!"

The words chased me around the bar like I was playing some kind of endless game of tag. My head started spinning, and my feet throbbed inside my worn-out shoes. I could already imagine the blisters waiting for me later.

But you know what? Being this tired reminds me that life isn't always easy. And no matter how exhausted you are, once you remember that you're doing all this for the people you love, the tiredness somehow feels lighter.

I thought about my mother at home, probably worrying about bills. I thought about the empty chair where my father used to sit.

Still... sometimes I get tired of living like this. I wonder why God chose us to be poor. I ask him why we're in this situation. Sometimes I even wonder why people who do bad things seem to have better lives than us. I watch customers throw money around like it's nothing, laughing, wasting, forgetting. Meanwhile, we calculate every coin.

But then I remember what my father used to say when he was still alive.

No matter how poor you are, you should still be thankful to God for giving you life.

He told us not to blame the Lord just because of our situation. He believed that all the bad things we experience will one day be replaced with good things-happiness that stays with you wherever you go. Happiness doesn't depend on how much money is in your pocket.

There's no happiness without sadness.

No joy without pain.

They come as a set.

Triplets.

"LYRA!"

"Goodness! Why are you shouting?" I snapped at Mae, who was waving her hand right in front of my face.

What's wrong with this woman? She's yelling like someone stole her pink bra.

"I've been talking to you for minutes, and you weren't listening! How deep were you thinking, huh?" she said, crossing her arms, lips pouting like a child.

"And is it my fault? Did you swim inside my brain to know how deep my thoughts were?" I shot back.

"Tsk! You're such a philosopher!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sir said we're supposed to serve the VIP room. The regular VIP customers are already there," she explained, lowering her voice as if saying "VIP" made it more important.

My stomach twisted slightly. The VIP room always made me uneasy. The people there were different-quieter, heavier with secrets. Their laughter didn't sound as carefree as the others.

I nodded, trying not to show my nerves.

She started placing bottles of beer onto the food cart while I loaded three trays of food onto another cart. The metal wheels squeaked as we pushed the carts forward, the sound strangely loud against the music.

As we walked toward the VIP room, the noise from the main bar faded into a dull echo behind us. The hallway felt narrower, the lights dimmer, the air colder.

I suddenly felt nervous for no reason at all.

And I had no idea why.