by T L Swan
I fake a smile and take the card from her. “Thanks.” I am so not coming tonight. I stand. “Thanks for the opportunity, though.” I smile as I head toward the door.
“Ashley?” she calls.
I turn back to her.
“Take what you want from life. Make it work for you and not the other way round.”
My eyes hold hers and I feel like she can see into my soul.
“Just come and see,” she urges. “You have nothing to lose.”
I nod. “Okay. I’m just looking, though.”
She smiles and shakes my hand. “See you tonight.”
* * *
I sip my Coke as I sit at the table in the restaurant with Owie and Jenna. My mind has been in overdrive since my job interview this morning. Owen is playing on his iPad and Jenna is sipping her wine.
She looks around excitedly. “I love LA. So many gorgeous men everywhere.”
I smile and raise a brow. “Me, too.”
“You have been very quiet since your interview this morning. Tell me more about it…” she asks. I haven’t had a moment alone with her since I went this morning. Owen has been in ear’s distance the whole time.
I blow out a breath and start to stab the ice in my glass with my straw. “It was okay.”
“And…?”
I frown and gesture to Owie. She shuffles around in her bag and pulls out some coins. “Owie, can you go and try and win us some chocolates from the vending machine in the kids play area?”
Owen’s eyes light up in excitement as he snatches the coins from her and runs.
Jenna’s eyes fall to my face. “What happened?”
“Oh, Jenna, what a fucking disaster.”
“Why?” She frowns. “It sounded so good.”
“It… It was good.” I stammer. “Like two and a half thousand dollars a night good.”
“What?” She frowns. “Doing what?”
“Lap dancing.”
She smirks into her drink.
“Apparently, they are an exclusive gentlemen’s club and you get your own bouncer. The man aren’t allowed to touch you.”
She sips her drink as she listens.
“And the pay is two-hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour over a ten-hour shift.”
She frowns as if suddenly interested. “And you don’t have to touch them at all?”
I shrug as I stab my ice in my glass again. “Who knows? They probably make you fuck table legs.”
She giggles around her drink.
“They asked me to go and check it out tonight.”
She frowns. “What time are you leaving?”
I screw up my face. “I’m not going.”
“Why not?”
“This is where you are supposed to be the adult and tell me it’s a ridiculous idea.”
She shrugs. “You should at least check it out. It couldn’t hurt? That’s a lot of money.”
I roll my eyes.
She leans in so nobody can hear us. “Listen, I just want you to have some fun. I don’t care if you damn well sleep with them. Nobody knows you here. Get out there and enjoy life.”
“Ugh. Can you hear yourself?” I cringe.
“Ashley, since you had Owen, I have watched my positive, strong best friend wither away to become a shadow of the former girl I once knew.”
My eyes hold hers.
“Stop punishing yourself for falling pregnant. I don’t want to see you stay at home every Saturday night eating mac ‘n’ cheese and watching Finding Nemo, while struggling to pay every damn bill. You are a fantastic mother, Ash, but please put your needs first for a change.”
“I wouldn’t change having Owen,” I argue.
She grabs my hand over the table. “I know, baby, and I know you tried to make it work with Andrew. I’m just asking you to check it out and give yourself the opportunity to meet new people.”
“Who would mind Owen when you go back to New York?” I sigh, defeated.
“That’s six months away, and besides…” She shrugs. “I could maybe get a place here. I have nothing dragging me back home. Who knows? Mr. Perfect might come here looking for me?”
I smirk and stab my ice cubes with my straw once more.
“That’s ten thousand dollars a month, Ash. Imagine what you could do with that? We could go to Hawaii.” She grins.
I blow out a breath. “I can’t lap dance for shit.” I shake my head.
“Sure you can. You can practice on me.”
I laugh into my drink. “I am not practicing lap dancing on my best friend. That’s just going too far.”
Owie bounces back to the table. “I won a Snickers Bar.” He shows us excitedly.
Jenna finishes her drink. “Come on, we need to get going.”
Owen picks up his iPad and book.
“Mom’s going to work tonight, kiddo, so it’s just you and me. Let’s get some ice cream on the way home.”
“Yes.” He beams.
Jenna’s eyes scan me up and down. “We’ve got to find you something to wear.”
I scrub my hands down my face. “Oh God, it gets worse. Shit’s getting real.”
4
Ashley
I sit in my car and watch the large, heavy front doors of Club Exotic across the street. It’s 10pm and my nerves are pumping under my surprisingly calm exterior.
“Ashley, what are you doing here?” I whisper to myself.
With each man that arrives, my heart rate goes up another twenty beats per minute. These are no sleazy street guys. They’re middle aged, handsome men in expensive suits. My mind goes back to the little sales pitch Madam Whorehouse gave me today.
And that’s exactly why we want you. I don’t want stripper wannabes. I don’t want people trying to be discovered to be famous. I want attractive, sexy, and intelligent women who know what they want from life.
It all sounds too good to be true, but I could never imagine doing this. I get a vision of myself half naked, writhing on a stranger’s lap, and I cringe and bring the car engine to life again. I can’t do this. Who am I kidding? I steer the car out of the parking lot and pull out into the traffic. Her words run through my mind again:
Think about it, Ashley. Two and a half thousand dollars a week for one shift.
What holidays could you take your son on? What car would you drive? What designer clothes could you buy?
I blow out a deflated breath and pull into Starbucks. I need some time alone to think. I would love a cocktail somewhere, but I’m not going to a bar alone. I park the car, get out, and walk in deep thought.
“Welcome to Starbucks. What would you like to order tonight?” the young, chirpy male assistant asks.
I scan the lit up menu board behind him. “I’ll take a caramel latte and a chocolate mud cake, please?”
“Sure.”
I pay and make my way over to a table. I feel sick—partly because I know what I should do financially, and then what I know I am capable of.
Dancing naked in a whorehouse isn’t on either list.
But…
The money would make such a difference to Owen’s quality of life… and mine.
My number is called and I go and pick up my coffee and cake, then take a seat back at my table. I wonder what the girls wear for a uniform?
Nothing, you idiot. Half the women don’t even have tank tops on. I screw up my face as I imagine the boob fest just hanging out in the open for everyone to see. I wonder what the VIP girls are like. Jeez, I can’t imagine going to work and just casually fucking people as if it means nothing. But, five grand a night is insane.
The guys they fuck are probably hot, too. I smirk into my coffee cup. Imagine banging a hot, intelligent man and getting five thousand dollars for the privilege. Hell.
I wonder what they spend their money on? I get a vision of crazy expensive handbags and vacations.
Morals are overrated. I could do with an extra twenty-thousand dollars a month.
If only…
&nbs
p; Imagine if I did do the VIP job, and then one day in the future Owen found out.
My eyes widen in horror.
How could you ever explain to your child that you were a prostitute? That you let men fuck you for money. You couldn’t. They would never understand and there is no possible excuse you could ever use, because it’s inexcusable. I shake my head in disgust that I even contemplated working in a place like that. I eat my cake and drink my coffee alone, and even though I’ve made the decision not to go in and check out the club, an annoying little voice inside is telling me it’s the wrong one.
I need money. I desperately need money. I moved Jenna all the way here to help with Owen and I have to damn well find a job that pays well.
This isn’t a club that offers slap dash women who have slept with every man in the USA. This is a club where men can come and take pleasure in looking at intelligent, untouched women—women who are putting themselves through college and doing this for their precious children. They know that every single woman here is something special.
Untouched women. Does that mean that I might meet women who are just like me and trying to make ends meet to get through college? She did say that the women who work there are all young professionals.
Women who want a better life for their kids…
I sip my coffee, deep in thought as I twist the ring on my finger. Maybe she says that to everyone who applies. The girls are probably all druggy smack heads. I can’t imagine decent women ever working there. But with that kind of money, I sort of can. I drag myself back out to my car, and then I pull out into the traffic, for some reason finding myself driving straight back to Club Exotic, where I park the car across the road in the darkness. I’ll just ring Jenna and tell her I am on my way home soon.
She picks up first ring. “Hey, how’s it going?”
“I didn’t go in.”
“What? Why not?”
I shrug. “I can’t work in a brothel, Jen.”
She stays silent on the other end of the phone.
“I‘ll get another job somewhere else.”
“You said it was a club.”
“It is...” I hesitate. “But there’s this VIP section, too, so effectively it’s a brothel.”
“The VIP section is not where you are working.”
“Yes, but some men are there for sex and sex alone.”
“Okay, so every nightclub in the United States of America, actually the world, is basically a brothel, too, then.”
I frown. “How?” Trust her to be all Devil’s advocate on me when I really just need her to agree with my cowardice.
“I guestimate that sixty percent of men in nightclubs are there for sex.”
I listen in silence.
“So, do you mean to tell me you won’t go to a nightclub because men are just there for sex?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s different.”
“How? You tell me how? You need a job. You have a babysitter at night. It’s one or two nights a week, Ash, and it’s behind the bloody bar.”
“She wants me to topless waitress.”
“Just say no.”
I think for a moment.
“Go in, see what it’s about, and if you feel uncomfortable walk out and don’t go back.”
I roll my lips and think as my eyes rise to a group of men disappearing into the club.
“Look, even the bloody bar jobs pay three fifty a night. For two shifts that’s seven -hundred a week, Ash. How could you earn that money while working full time for free at the hospital?”
I run my finger over my steering wheel as I think.
“You would have to be stupid to not even check it out. Hell, I’m thinking I might apply there, too.”
I smile as I imagine her walking around topless. “Now you are being ridiculous.”
“Yes, and you are being a prude.”
“What if Owen ever found out?” I sigh.
“Found out what? His mother worked behind a bar while she was studying to be a surgeon. I think Owen would be bloody proud that his mother got a second job to put a roof over his head.”
I slide back into my seat. Maybe she’s right…
“Just go in and see what they say.”
My eyes stay fixed on the door across the road.
“You don’t know anyone here, Ash. For the first time ever you can be whoever you want to be… and if that’s a part-time nympho, then so be it. It could actually be fun.”
I smile softly.
“Go in and make some new friends. Hell, tomorrow morning you will be cooking breakfast, making beds, and scrubbing fucking bathrooms. Enjoy being someone else for the night.”
I run my hand through my hair. “Do you think I look okay?” I ask.
“Yes, smoking hot. The guys will all cream their pants when they catch sight of you.”
I laugh as I look down at the dress I’m wearing. A camel, woolen ribbed dress, fitted with short-capped sleeves, which falls to my calves. It’s tight and sexy without being revealing or cheap. I have high, strappy tan sandals on, and my honey-colored hair is down and full with set curls. Jen did my makeup, I have smoky eyes and a pink gloss on my lips.
I look good, I know I look good, but for a place like this, I have no idea if it is appropriate.
“Are you going in?” she asks.
My heart jumps in my chest. “Yeah, I guess.” I pause as I move the rear view mirror to check my makeup. “God, I feel sick. I’m so nervous.”
“Just check it out. You may be home in an hour. It could be totally shit. Don’t stay if it’s seedy.”
“Okay.” I nod with renewed enthusiasm. “I can do this.”
“You can.”
“Right, wish me luck.”
“Good luck, babe.”
I hang up and blow out a deep breath. Just go in there and check it out, you can leave any time you want to, I remind myself. I gingerly get out of the car and take out the card that Eliza gave me to get into the club. I hold it in my hand and stare at it for a moment.
I feel like I’m on the precipice of going to Hell. Maybe I’m about to catch on fire.
The good girl in me is begging me to go home and get a job knitting sweaters.
The bad girl in me is daring me to go in and sex it up—show these men exactly what they can’t have.
The struggle I feel daily between my conscience and my responsibilities is real.
I put my hand on my stomach as I try to calm my nerves and walk across the road to the large, black double doors.
There are four bouncers in black suits standing around. They all look me up and down as I approach them.
“Hello…” I pause. “Eliza invited me to come tonight.”
The tall man smiles sexily as his eyes scan me up and down. “What’s your name, miss?”
Ah, shit. What is my name? I can’t go with my real one. Umm. “Vivienne Jones,” I reply calmly.
The doormen all exchange looks and smile warmly. “Welcome, Miss Vivienne.” One purrs.
I push out a grateful smile, satisfied that they fell for it. I feel a surge of excitement that nobody questioned my fake name. Vivienne Jones—that’s pretty cool to be honest. I like it.
“Thank you,” I answer nervously. He steps aside, opens the door, and holds his hand out. I tentatively walk in.
I feel the air leave my lungs as the door shuts behind me.
Uh oh.
It looks like something out of a movie. When I was here for my interview, we were taken in the back entrance and didn’t see any of this. There’s dim lighting with deep coffee coloured walls and big fancy metal cut out lights hanging down from the super high ceilings. The floor is tiered to different levels with large carpeted steps running up the center. It could be an old picture theatre or something that has been converted. Spanning the whole back wall is the most exotic looking bar I have ever seen, and the bottom level has table and chairs which are situated around a catwalk stage. Shit, I wonder what shows go on down there?
This isn’t what I imagined at all.
My thoughts are interrupted. “You must be Ashley?”
I jump in fright and put my hand on my chest. “Oh, you frightened me.” I smile, embarrassed by the kind but hot looking woman that has just approached me. “Yes, I am,” I mutter. “But I don’t want to use that name here if that’s okay?”
She smiles a knowing smile. “Of course. What would you like to be called?”
“Vivienne Jones.” I wince. God, this is so wanky.
“Nice.” She holds out her hand to shake mine. “I’m Tiffany Smith.” She gives me an over-exaggerated wink and I smile, knowing that’s her fake name.
“Eliza told me to look out for you.”
“Oh.” I frown. “Is she here?”
“Not yet, she doesn’t start until eleven when the club opens.”
I look around. “Isn’t it opened now?”
“No, no. This is just the starting crowd. Things don’t heat up until 11.30 or so.”
“Oh.” I wonder what heat up means?
“Let’s get you a drink and you can hang with me until Elli gets here.”