Felix stopped the car, and it took me several moments to get my bearings. We were in Nob Hill, on a side street just off of Polk.

“This is going to go well for you, I think.” Felix looked down, correcting one of his entries on the Post-It in his hand. “It’s better sales than the Castro, but not as good as the Haight. Though the Haight may not be for you, time will tell on that one. ”

He frowned for a second.

“This run is not full of high rollers, but they do have money to burn. They are easy to talk to, easy to flatter, and they love Tawny’s Tarts. Don’t be sarcastic, but don’t play dumb, either.

“Just try it out. We throw lots of situations at you, to test your flexibility, and see where you thrive. If it feels disorienting, then we are doing it right. We will find the right routine for you, and the money will be more consistent.” He concluded all this by handing me my list and waving me out.

Felix had just given me more information than Thom ever had about a run; furthermore, he'd given me more information about this particular run than he had for the two beforehand. Something about that guy touching me must’ve really set him off. I stepped out of the car, leaning back through the passenger window.

“Okay, thanks. What time and where are we meeting?”

“Right. We're meeting in 50 minutes, at Gold Star Bar. It's just off Polk. Ask around if you can’t find it; it’s down about 4 blocks. I'll pick you up and take you to the second half of this run.” He gestured me back, rolled up the window, and drove off.

The first bar on my list, Big Foot, was all wood and iron fixtures. It looked more like a hunting lodge than anything urban or modern. The bartender shot me a friendly smile as I worked the expanding crowd. It was getting late, and people were growing animated after several hours of drinking and carousing.

I met a young college boy who thought I was devastating. He asked for my number, and I told him it was the same cost as my whole tray, $1000. He mimed being stabbed in the heart, and his friends fanned him comically, while others mock-threatened me with revenge for his untimely demise. I laughed them off, and they threw me a few bucks for being a good sport.

As I hustled my way through the nightlife of Polk Street, I reflected that Felix was right: these were my kind of people. I flitted in and out of each location, swapping stories, telling jokes, hitting a good stride as the energy of the night lifted me up like a wave. I could see above the chatter — I saw strangers forming connections, old enemies burying the ax, even career opportunities blossoming in a friendly way. Everything felt lucky.

At one point, I panicked when I thought I’d lost $100, but I had tucked it into my panty line when I was taking three transactions at once. Other than that scary blip, I glided in and around, up and down, only pausing to take a breath and a drink of soda before heading to my meet-up point.

I arrived early, and spent that time rearranging my tray so that everything would fit and not fall over. My sales had been excellent, though the tips were only modest.

Felix pulled up, saw my face, and burst into a grin.

“Looks like Miss Daisy is finally happy!” he said jokingly.

I grinned back at him and replied, “That was great! I had so much fun! I made money, but mostly I had such a blast. I met this one guy who….” I launched into the story of the guy and the phone number.

Felix listened as he drove me a short distance down the road to the second half of the Polk run. “I’m glad you are having fun. Why else do it, right?”

“You mean, besides the bucket of cash?” I shot back at him.

“You got a bucket? I never got a bucket! What color is it? Does it have your name on it?” Felix was indignant.

“Well, mine was more of a champagne bucket, so it doubles for drinks or cash, but you get the idea. Yeah, my name is engraved on it. It’s too bad you never got one.” I gave him a pitying look.

“OH, I’m getting my bucket. You girls aren’t going to have ALL the fun.”

He pounded his fist in his palm in a pretend gesture of determination, which was so ridiculous, we both started laughing. I got my new list, and slid out of the van easily. Still radiating, I glided into my new micro-universe.

¤ ¤ ¤

Felix was waiting for me at the end of the Polk run. That hour had gone as great as the last, maybe even better, and our previous good mood seemed to have prevailed.

Stolen story; please report.

“Where to next, Boss?” I asked as soon as I was settled in the van.

“We are going to wrap up at Pier 23. Just one bar. You’ve got 40 minutes.”

“Rehka did that one last night, and I've gotta ask: 40 minutes? For one bar? What is it, the size of a football field?”

“It’s spacious, yes, but we’ve found that you can still get good sales by rotating through this one a few times. They serve food, so customers' tastes are different. This is technically a satellite of the North Beach run, which is highly coveted, but I checked in with Ransom, and he approved if I felt you could do it. If this goes well, then we might try you out on North in a month or two.”

“Lucky me,” I said sarcastically.

“No, that’s me. Felix means lucky,” he shot back, grinning and winking at me. My heart jumped a little.

“Any tips?” I pleaded. My nerves were back. I mean, work one bar for 40 minutes? These people were going to be sick of me in about 10. I reluctantly climbed out of the van.

“Sell everything!” he yelled, pulling away.

I squared my shoulders and headed into the bar.

The front was quite tiny, but friendly. It was right on the Bay, so it felt very fishermanly. The lights and TVs were buzzing, and there was loud chatter all around me. I circulated through the bar tables, and sold a few pez, cigarettes, and even a cigar. I didn’t have the best-selling candy bars anymore — they got wiped out on the Polk run — but I still had a few good pieces left.

I was standing to the side, rearranging my stuff, when a girl approached to ask for playing cards. I looked at her blankly.

“Well, I don’t have any playing cards, sadly, but even if I did, where would you play them?” I looked around, laughing. The place was completely cramped, and the tables were tiny.

She giggled at me, and pointed to a small door, leading to what I thought was the kitchen.

“You’ve never been back there? It’s amazing! Come check it out. And let your boss know we want playing cards,” she urged, and walked through the door.

I followed her through a narrow hall, which led to a gigantic outdoor patio. I saw why Felix thought I could easily spend 40 minutes there. The only problem was the fact that it was bitingly cold on the water, despite my uniform’s padding.

I ran a circuit around the triangle of tables, and had a great time chatting up hedge fund managers, attorneys, businesswomen, and the occasional group of out-of-towners. The roses and gum were selling well (romance and sex planning, I assumed) but I only made a few cigarette sales, even though we were outside. After selling another cigar, I decided it was time to take a break and sit down for a moment in the bathroom.

When you are in a cramped, beer-stained, single bathroom stall, dressed to the nines, getting in and out of a 25-pound tray that’s strapped around your neck was not something you did quickly. Doing this with people pounding, or even falling, against the bathroom door, was far from ideal, but you did what you could when you needed to get off your feet for a few minutes.

By the time I wrestled my tray back around my neck, it was time to meet Felix outside. I wrenched open the door, and hurried out to the street. I saw his van, idling at the curb.

I climbed in and lifted the tray from my neck.

“How was it?” he asked.

“It was fine. Nothing spectacular, no bombing out either. It was cold, though. Sheesh!”

“Glad to hear it. We are going to get the other girls and head back.”

“How did they do?” I asked, curious.

“Susannah always does well; she’s a natural.” The admiration in his voice was nauseating. “The other girl…well, frankly, she cried.”

“Cried?” I asked, confused.

“Yes, cried. As in, the whole time. As in, the whole night. There’s no way Ransom is going to give her a week. Maybe one more day. She’s a mess. And I don’t mean a hot mess like you,” he jibed.

“Shut up,” I said, stung by his praise of Susannah followed so quickly by his insult of me.

“Oh, you are just tired. You did well tonight,” he said, sincerely.

“Thanks,” I muttered. He was right; I was coming down off my adrenaline now, and worn out.

We drove to SoMa and picked up the new girl, who was sullen and puffy-eyed. Susannah was bright-eyed and fevered, coming off of the Castro run. Apparently that was her best turf, and she must’ve done exceedingly well because she was very animated all the way back to the office. Some of my gloss had worn off, but in general I was very pleased with my night. The energy was great, I felt more confident, and Felix and I had a great time together.

I settled in to count out my tray, and was happy to notice most of my product was gone. Meredith and I caught up on the details of our evening, and she was delighted to hear that Felix and I had been joking and bonding. She was supportive of the crush, and delighted in my new nickname, Miss Daisy.

A few of the girls standing in line and around the room were swapping stories of the night, and I listened in as I was doing my inventory.

“This one guy wanted me to dance with him so I told him if he bought $40 worth, I’d do it. He actually paid me! He looked like one of those Silicon Valley nerds who has trouble getting a date…” Rehka cackled.

“…I was so floored, turns out this girl went to college with my sister in this tiny town in Vermont,” I heard the crying girl say.

“Of course they asked for marijuana! They assume since I’m a love child that I’ve got the best drugs. I’m not saying they are wrong,” Susannah winked in Ransom’s direction, and he scowled at her.

As I got in line and made my way up to Ransom, I felt a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction that I’d made it through an interesting couple of nights. Like last night, the girls were more subdued after being On. There was something really tiring and raw for each of us when the illusions came down, and were folded into bags and hung back on closet rods.

Ransom took my inventory sheet without a word, and started stabbing keys and muttering to himself. “You did really well tonight, but not as well as you could have,” he said, handing me back my list. "You are underselling your cigarettes at $7; sell them for $8 and ask for a $1 tip. Don’t OVERsell, like SOME girls do,” he shot a scowl across the room, "for $10, it’s too much.” He gave me his owlish stare, and handed me a respectable wad of cash.

“Have you got a champagne bucket?” I asked loudly.

“What?” Ransom asked, confused.

“Never mind. I’ll get it engraved myself!” I said cheerfully, and burst out laughing. Meredith and Felix, both in on the joke, joined me in laughter.

Sometimes, it was good to be a Tart.