Siren

“Do some more of those spinny things when you go by the window.”Kroeger twirled his finger to illustrate. “Those look hot.”

“Yeah, sure.” I concentrated on adjusting one of the silvery-blue “scales” covering my breasts – barely. Almost good to go. As soon as the adhesive was set, I could slip into the water and leave the manager of The Siren behind.

Each opalescent scale was about the size of my thumbnail. After four weeks on the job, my prep time was down to just under thirty minutes. The end result was a press-on bikini top that flowed up the curve of each breast to curl around my nipples in a tantalizing swirl. The thin synthetic scales were sparkly, eye-catching and had a tendency to pinch if I didn’t apply them just so. Thankfully, it had been weeks since I’d shed any crucial pieces on shift. The scale motif continued on the bikini bottoms, basically a triangle of spangled fabric held in place with slim silver chains. I was more grateful than I can say that I didn’t have to glue anything on down there.

But then, the costume certainly wasn’t for my benefit. It was aimed at the clubbers who’d made The Siren the place to party since its doors opened to the masses a few months ago. Aside from the ear-splitting music, overpriced drinks and the chance to be seen rubbing shoulders and … whatever with a who's-who roster of patrons and wannabes, The Siren's main attraction was a pool-sized aquarium that stretched the length of the twenty-foot bar. Or rather, the main attraction was what was in the aquarium: Me.