Cherry studied me for a few seconds, before going back to fumbling through her drawer. “Nah. If your story’s that sad, you have a right to keep it to yourself. Just don’t tell it to your marks. If a guy’s ever been to a strip club before, he can recognize the damsel in distress act from a mile away.”
“And what about if he’s never been to a strip club?” Either way, it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t tell anyone in that place about my situation, least of all the guys pulling money out of their wallets to get me to shake my goods in their faces.
“Then he doesn’t care. A guy doesn’t come to a strip club to have yet another woman talk his ear off. They come here to talk, be heard, and to watch. They want to live a couple hours of fantasy, so don’t bring your reality in here. Check it at the door.”
“Thanks for the tip,” I said.
Cherry pulled a large Ziploc bag from the drawer and dangled it in front of my face. “I’m full of tips, and here’s a few more. Tomorrow, go to the store and pick these items up. Keep them handy every shift.”
I examined the baggie. I’d imagined a stripper’s “must haves” kit would include something like crimson lipstick, false eyelashes, and baby oil, not what Cherry was holding up. “What’s the witch hazel for?”
“At the end of the night, soak a couple cotton rounds with this stuff and wipe down your ass, inner thighs, and bikini line. After all of that sliding, spinning, and shaking on poles, tables, and laps, you’re going to want to make sure you’ve removed all traces of . . . funk.”
I wasn’t a germophobe, but letting my mind wander down that rabbit hole of “funk” brought me close. “And the vitamins?”
“So you don’t look like a black-and-blue Dalmatian this time next week.” My eyes must have widened because she added, “From the pole. We do things to our bodies in here they’re not used to at first, so take a multi a day. It will help.”
“Baby wipes?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Cherry flashed an overdone smile. “To keep your lady business fresh and clean. Use liberally.”
So this was it. This was how Dorothy felt when she wound up in Oz. But instead of Technicolor and munchkins, I was surrounded by nearly naked women and baby wipes.
Shifting through the other items in the bag, Cherry pointed at each one. “Clear, clinical strength deodorant because the black lights can make the white stuff, even the kind that promises it’s invisible, look like we’ve got white stripes running through our armpits. Breath mints to keep the funk out of our mouths. Tweezers to pluck any last minute hairs—” Cherry stopped, her gaze drifting down me. “You’re bare, right?”
I wanted to pretend I didn’t know what she was talking about, but it was hard not to connect the dots when she’d just eyed the region south of my navel. “Um . . . mostly?”
“Uh-huh. No way.” She waved her finger at me. “A stripper can’t get away with a ‘mostly’ bare naughty bit region like a cheerleader can. That’s a tip that’s just as, if not even more, valuable than making sure you wipe your ass down every night so you don’t break out in little red pimples.” She opened the bag, grabbed the tweezers, and held them out for me. “Here. You can have these. You won’t have time to get your cat bare before we have to be on the floor tonight, but make sure it’s the first thing you do after your shift.”
Cat? Lady business? Naughty Bits? Cherry for the win when it came to creative names for the female anatomy.
“Does landscaping my cat come before or after witch hazeling my ass?” I could still make a joke thirty minutes from becoming a bona fide stripper. I would be okay.
“If you can do both at the same time, that would be the preferred option.” Cherry waved the tweezers at me and waited.
“Whoa. Are you implying I use those”—I stared at the tweezers—“down there? Those things are painful enough to use on my eyebrows.”
“No, I’m not implying.” Cherry grabbed my hand, dropped the tweezers on my palm, then closed my fingers around them. “I’m telling.”
I had only one follow-up to that. “Are you insane?” There couldn’t be any other explanation to someone suggesting I pluck those hairs, hair by tortuous hair. Medieval torture techniques had nothing on that.
Cherry turned toward a rolling cart loaded with outfits made of less fabric than my boy short underwear. “Let’s see. I spend more on my hair extensions, eyelash extensions, gym membership, tanning membership, and Botox injections every month than I do on my mortgage, so yeah, I’m certifiable.” She rummaged through the rack before pulling out a black-and-crimson Spanish-inspired outfit—and I use the term “outfit” very loosely. “This is the one Jake set aside for you.”
I stared at it.
“Don’t worry. It’s brand new.”
I kept staring at it. Not because I was freaking out about it being someone’s hand-me-down, but because I’d worn a similar outfit—with the addition of way more fabric and chest coverage—last year for a Halloween party. It hadn’t even been a year, and that girl seemed like a stranger. The girl who’d danced the worst flamenco in the history of the world after having a couple shots of Jager was about to slip into a similar outfit and do a different kind of dance for a totally different kind of crowd. It was the opposite of a full-circle moment.
Cherry dropped the outfit at her side after a few more seconds. “What’s the matter?”
Besides almost everything? Okay, that kind of thinking was not going to help. I needed to eradicate it and get back to that numb state where I’d accepted what I needed to do. After another moment, I was able to. For the most part. “I was a flamenco dancer last Halloween.”
“What? Really?” Cherry slipped the outfit from the hanger and draped it over my shoulder. “What a coincidence. But all coincidence and nostalgia aside, you’ve got about fifteen minutes to get changed, ready, and your ass on the floor, so let’s see a little hustle, okay?”
When I scanned the room, most of the girls were sliding into their stilt-height heels and putting on a final coat of lipstick. I was still in my shorts and tank, and the coat of Chapstick I’d slicked on earlier was long gone. After one deep breath, I tugged off my tank. The rest followed. Before I slipped into the bustier-style outfit, Cherry gave me a once-over. Not in a gross, leering kind of way, but in a studious kind of way.
“You’ve got a nice body, Noelle. And the last time a real pair of boobs graced this room was never. You’ll be an instant hit out there, but take my advice and get the cat taken care of. Thank God Jake picked out something that had some coverage . . .”
I’d never worn anything with less coverage, swimsuits included. If that was considered full coverage, I needed to recalibrate my understanding of the word. When I had the bodice in place, Cherry came around behind me after finishing her lipstick. As she pulled the corset tight, I understood why females had done away with them in everyday life a hundred years ago—they were about as comfortable as a pillow stuffed with nails.
“My daughter was a cute little flamenco dancer last Halloween too.”
I gasped, mostly due to Cherry cinching me so tightly my ribs were about to crack. “You have a daughter?”
“Yep. A son too. She’s ten, and he’s eight.”
It was hard to envision the red-haired, beautiful woman who was about to go sell illusion to a bunch of strangers wiping runny noses and going to soccer games. Jake was right—this was all one giant fantasy, from the customers to the employees. Reality was checked at the door, and fantasy was checked before walking out that same door. It was the only way to make it in both worlds.
“Who watches them when you’re working?” I was lucky my sisters were old enough to watch themselves—mostly.
“My husband.” She finished with my corset and adjusted the lace that covered a fraction of my backside before coming around front and teasing my hair with her fingers.
“Your husband?”
Two kids, a husband, a mortgage, maybe even a white picket fence. The all-American dream
. . .
“My husband, who qualifies as a third child most of the time since he’s a bigger baby than the other two, but dammit if I don’t love him something fierce.” Cherry smiled as she grabbed a can of hairspray and went to town on my freshly teased hair. “And no, he’s never seen me work, and he never will.” She lifted an eyebrow at me, guessing my thoughts. “Nothing good can come of a boyfriend, lover, or husband walking through the doors when his girl’s working. Not to mention Jake has a strict policy about that. You don’t bring your boyfriend in as a customer, and you don’t make a boyfriend out of a customer. That’s the fast track to getting your ass kicked out the back door.”
With so much information coming at me, I knew I’d never remember it all. I would have asked if there was some sort of employee handbook if I’d thought there actually was one.
She made some final adjustments to my hair before stepping back and inspecting me. “Please tell me you brought your own makeup?”
“It’s in my bag.” I eyed the duffel bag I’d brought in, stuffed with random bits and pieces of what I’d guessed a soon-to-be stripper might need. None of the things in Cherry’s plastic bag of stripper must-have’s were in my duffel, thus proving that my perception of this career was way off base.
“We only have time for the essentials, so get out a dark eyeliner, mascara, blush, bronzer, and lipstick. Put it on heavier than you normally would because it’s dark out there, and you’ll look like you just woke up if you don’t put it on thick.”
I leaned over to unzip my bag, which was a challenge since my waist had just gone from about twenty-five inches to twenty.
Cherry continued, “You’ve got decent lashes, but you’ll either need to wear fake ones every night or go get extensions. Since we don’t have time for either right now, thank your lucky stars it’s masquerade night.”
I was about to ask for clarification when Cherry opened another drawer and pulled out a couple of eye-piece masks. She handed me the black lace one that was adorned in crimson feathers.
“Jake’s a sucker for a theme night,” Cherry explained, tying her own jade mask into place. “And while you’re thanking them, you can thank those lucky stars again that your first night is masquerade theme night and not the ‘Maid to Order’ theme he likes to do. The lines you get from the clients then are obscene.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Well, more obscene than normal. But for example, real gems like, I need my pipes cleaned or Bend over and polish my rod or Could you dust off my family jewels? We all cringe when the French maid costumes and feather dusters come out.”
After that sample of tasteful lines, I would too.
Cherry adjusted her mask then glanced at me. “Is there a reason you’re just standing there doing nothing? Because in this place, anywhere in this place, standing around doing nothing won’t get you paid. But it will probably get you fired.”
I gave my head a shake, pushed aside all thoughts of polishing rods and family jewels, and started on my makeup. By the time I finished a few minutes later, all of the girls except for Cherry and me had left the changing room.
“Here, try these on, and I’ll get your mask tied.” Cherry handed me a pair of clear plastic heels—clear plastic stilts.
I turned them over to see what size they were, and sure enough, they were a seven. “What’s this?” I rubbed a material on the bottom of the shoe that looked and felt like sandpaper.
“That, right next to good genetics, is a stripper’s best friend. If you got up on stage or a table in those shoes the way they’re sold, you’d be on your ass in two seconds flat. But glue a little no-slip grip to the bottom, and you’re good to go.”
This world was so not what I’d imagined, and I couldn’t decide if that was for the better or the worse.
“Oh, and another tip. Make sure you check the bottom of those every night before you hit the floor. I wouldn’t put it past a single one of these hoochies to strip it right off when your back is turned.”
“Thanks for the shoes and for yet another invaluable tip.” I slid my feet into them and instantly went from five-foot-nine to six-foot-something. “Holy crap. I’m not sure if I can walk in these, let alone dance in any way that’s meant to be sexy.”
Cherry chuckled then finished tying the mask on me. “These are the rookie ones. Six inches. When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you’ll work your way up to the ten inchers.”
“Six inches is for rookies, and ten inches is for pros?” Surely they didn’t make heels that high. There had to be some sort of humanitarian law preventing that kind of torture.
“Kind of like something else . . .” It was hard to see through the mask, but I caught Cherry’s wink and wicked smile. “Six inches for your first time, and work your way up to the big ten.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I just didn’t.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Cherry slid out of her silk robe and popped a mint into her mouth. She was wearing a costume similar to mine, but hers was emerald green and black. Instead of a scrap of lace covering her ass, nothing was. At least her front was covered. For now.
“Nope, I’m good.”
“If you do need to use it, make sure you use the one back here for the dancers. Never, and I repeat never, use the women’s restroom in the main part of the club.” Cherry appraised me one last time before grabbing my hand and leading me toward the door.
“What’s wrong with the women’s restroom in the club?” The heels weren’t as bad to walk in as they looked like they’d be, but I was still a long way from feeling confident enough to work a tabletop in them.
“The men’s bathroom only has urinals and open stalls, so sometimes they go into the women’s bathroom, which rarely gets used by actual women, to jerk off.”
Yeah, I was cringing.
“Just trust me. Don’t go in there,” she said.
“Again, Cherry, thank you for imparting your all-encompassing wisdom on me. I owe you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Karma will owe me a solid after getting you trained up.”
Cherry and I slipped out of the changing room and headed down the hall. The clacking of our heels echoed around us. I needed to distract myself. Just keep talking. Just stop thinking.
“I noticed that most of the girls left the dressing room topless. Is that like standard or optional or what?” You’re not buying a car, Liv. Quit sounding like such a newbie.
“It’s optional, up to a point.”
“Which means?”
“Which means you’re a stripper now. You’re going to be expected to actually strip. If you wanted to prance around in lingerie, you should have given Victoria’s Secret a call.” Cherry stopped at the end of the hall, just outside a door that must have opened into the club. Music vibrated on the other side. “You can pull your girls out whenever you want, so long as you don’t wait too long. For me, I gauge it on the clientele. Since tonight’s a big V.I.P. night—which means wealthy, middle-aged men who have too little time and too much money—I don’t go out there baring it all like the rest of the dancers. Why should I give them the show for free when they’ll pay to see the show? They’ll pay well to see the show.”
My eyes narrowed in contemplation. “So leave something to the imagination is the name of the game?”
Cherry lifted her finger. “To a point. And depending on the clients. If this were Thursday Night College Night with hot wing and beer specials, I’d go out there with my titties a-shakin’ and the teeniest, flashiest thong I have in my arsenal. The young ones are all about instant gratification, and most of them don’t have a lot of money to drop on one girl, so you get your singles and fives from a bunch of them. But the V.I.P.s, they’re hunters, possessors. They know what they like, and they don’t want to share it. So all you need on a night like this is to mark one or two V.I.P.s, and you’re walking out that back door come morning with a grand in your purse.”
“Like a thousand dollars ‘a grand’?
” That was a number I couldn’t wrap my mind around. On a really good night at my last job, I could bring home three hundred in tips, but that was a really good night.
“Sometimes more.” Cherry leaned forward and adjusted her bustier a bit lower. “You ready for this, Noelle?”
I didn’t think Cherry meant that in the literal sense, but that was how I took it. Sixty seconds ago, I’d been ready, but as I stood literally one foot away from the club, I wasn’t sure I could be any more un-ready. Sure, thanks to Cherry’s help, I looked the part, but I didn’t have a clue how to act the part. I could dance, but I doubted taking a couple years of contemporary dance lessons translated into stripper dancing. A lap dance? I had an idea of what one looked like, but no idea how to properly execute it. A pole dance? Yeah, right. The last pole I’d had my legs around was the fire-pole at my elementary school’s playground. A stage dance? The mere thought of that made me about break out in hives.
It was official—I was screwed.
“Whoa. I know that face.” Cherry grabbed my shoulders and steadied me. “Get a grip. Every one of us has had a first night, and every one of us survived. Every one of us also came back for a second night, so it can’t be so bad, right?”
I hadn’t realized I’d been quaking. “I’m not feeling your confidence right now, Cherry.” My voice was quaking too.
“Then why don’t you get your ass out on that floor and find a little confidence of your own.” That tone of hers wasn’t the verbal equivalent of a nudge—it was the equivalent of a shove. “People like to stick their noses up at us because they think what we do in here is demeaning and vulgar, and that to do something as desperate as take off our clothes for money, we must have zero self-confidence and have daddy issues.” Cherry let go of my shoulders and stepped back, resting her hands on her hips. “Do I look like I have self-confidence issues?”
The answer to that was so apparent it didn’t require a response.
“And let me tell you my dad is the best man I’ve ever known. What we do out there takes balls. It is not for the weak of heart, nor the confidence-deficient.” Cherry moved closer until her chest bumped against mine. “So why don’t you grow a pair and start acting like a real stripper, not the kind society thinks we are.”
Damaged Goods Page 10