by Jacie Floyd
“And dressed.” She had zero interest in watching these dancers do what they did best.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “Clothing is optional.”
Jillian parked outside the back entrance of The Kitty Kat and observed the building situated at the end of a lane surrounded by a harvested cornfield on three sides. From this angle there wasn’t much to see except for the half-full parking lot. All the signage was around front where the neon lights and blinking cat could be visible from the highway.
Before she opened her car door on the cool brisk air, Liam, wearing his standard jeans and sweater, emerged from the building and opened it for her. He’d showered but hadn’t shaved, giving him that fallen-angel look that worked for him so well. He grabbed her hand and helped her out of her car. “Come on.” He led her to the rear entrance.
“How’d you know I was here?” Their feet crunched a path across the gravel parking lot.
“I saw you arrive.” He nodded to the overhead camera. “They’re on every corner of the building and at every entrance and exit.”
As she stepped inside the door, the light dimmed. A stairway went up one side of the narrow entry and opened into a hallway on the other side. “Is that necessary?”
“Mostly we get a pretty stable crowd, but you’d be surprised at how few Sunday school teachers frequent the place.”
“So, you usually expect trouble.”
An eye roll accompanied his response. “I don’t expect it, but sometimes it shows up.”
“In what form?”
Placing his hand on the small of his back, he directed her up the stairs. “Drunks, druggies, jealous boyfriends. Jealous girlfriends. Guys who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“No prostitution or human trafficking?”
At the top of the stairs, he opened the door onto a space that contained little more than a bed, dresser, couch, and desk with a computer. A microwave and coffee maker sat side by side on a mini fridge. His rented tux from yesterday’s wedding had been tossed across the arm of the couch. “At the first sign of trafficking, I call the cops. Mostly, the dancers are wives or mothers who go home alone after their shifts. There are a couple of party girls who make their own arrangements for their off-hours.”
She took one step inside the room. “And you don’t mind?”
“As long as they don’t do it here, it’s not my business.”
“Hmmm.”
He stood directly in front of her, backing her against the door. With sunlight streaming through a window on the wall behind him, his shoulders and chest blocked her view of everything but him. “I’m being completely honest with you, because you deserve a frank assessment of the business we’re running. But don’t judge them until you’ve met them. And even then, my advice is ‘don’t judge them.’”
“Right.” She’d keep that in mind. Meanwhile, she tried to peer around him at the confined personal space he’d occupied for almost two years. “Why are we here?”
He lifted her chin with his thumb. “So I can do this without six cameras recording it.” He lowered his mouth to hers.
She welcomed the kiss, encouraged it, went up on her toes for a better angle. She even pressed her chest to his and curled her leg behind his hip. When his hands cupped her butt and settled her against him, she wanted to unzip his jeans to release him and hers to slide his erection inside her. Her fingers shook as she prepared to do that, but she froze at the sound of a knock on the door.
Liam tore his mouth away from hers and glared at the wooden barrier.
“What?”
“Uhm, hey, boss.”
The breath of his sigh teased her neck. “What do you need, Liza?”
“Tyrell wanted you to know the pancakes are ready.”
He settled his forehead against Jillian’s. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”
“Really?” she asked.
His shrug jostled her in his arms. “I do love pancakes.”
“Then let’s go.” She lowered her feet to the floor. “I’ve got strippers to meet.”
“They’re nice.” He arranged his erection behind his fly and then opened the door for her. “You’ll like them.”
Not knowing what to expect, she scoped out the barn-sized building as she travelled through it. Storage space, a couple of offices, and dressing rooms. A game room for pool and darts. A compact kitchen buzzing with activity. A long bar rimmed the club space, Tables and booths faced the stage and runway. One wall was covered in poster-sized photos of women in over-the-top makeup and sexy costumes. Otherwise, the artwork in the place was composed of slinky cats in rhinestone collars and erotic statuary of nude couples entwined in suggestive positions.
Cleaner and slightly-less tacky than she’d expected, there wasn’t anything sexy or intimate about the black tablecloths, silver-toned lanterns, and linoleum floors with the overhead lights turned up. Maybe with only mood and stage lighting, it looked more inviting. Except for the fireman’s pole erected center-stage. And a gilded cage that contained a swing. And whips and handcuffs. Eww. She would rather not have seen that.
When they stepped into sight, the group of men and women hooted and cheered greetings to Liam. Shelby dashed out from under a table to place her paws on Jillian’s knees and provide her with an enthusiastic lick across the face. At least someone was glad to see her.
“Over here, handsome,” a woman—fully clothed, thank heavens—with a large chest and a Marilyn-Monroe-vibe called out. “I saved you a seat, but I didn’t know you you’d be sleeping late this morning and bringing a guest.”
“She’s not a guest, Stormy.” In an unexpected move, Liam swept her under his arm in a dance twirl that propelled her toward the table. “This is Jillian Marshall, Bert’s daughter.”
“Here to check us out,” a woman with long dark hair and Betty Boop eyes said. “We better be on our best behavior.”
“Scoot on over, Lacey,” the Marilyn clone said to a redhead. “Make room for Jillian to sit next to Liam.”
“Are you thinking of shutting us down?” the redhead asked.
She took the vacated seat next to Liam. In search of her composure, she shook out her napkin, placed it in her lap. and gave them the only honest answer she could. “Not this week.” The answer generated very little relief on the tense faces, but Jillian didn’t have anything better to offer. “I’m still evaluating all the businesses at this point.”
“We’re making a lot of money for you,” a muscle-bound guy in a tight t-shirt said. “Shouldn’t that count for something?”
“It does,” she admitted. “But there are other considerations.”
“Is owning a strip club beneath the Sunnyside princess?” He muttered the question to the guy next to him, but his voice carried around the room.
“Knock it off, Tony,” Liam said. “She said she’s still evaluating.”
Tyrell emerged from the kitchen with a couple of servers trailing him. “Hey, great. Look who’s here.” He set plates of pancakes decorated like snowmen in front of Liam and Jillian. “I think I’m nervous.”
“Why should you be? Everything looks and smells delicious. And these snowman pancakes? Adorable.”
He ducked his head and backed away. “Enjoy.”
Pancakes were delivered to the others, and family-style dishes began circulating. Liam provided names and job descriptions for everyone around the table—not that she’d remember many of them if someone quizzed her later. She was entirely too focused on the fluffy scrambled eggs, cheese grits, home fries, homemade sausage, and thick-cut bacon. Now she wished she’d joined Liam to work off all these extra calories.
He had been right about the dancers. She did like them. It boggled her mind to remember that the voluptuous, but ordinary group of women in jeans and sweatshirts, passing around dishes, chatting about kids, football, and Christmas decorations made their living by taking off their clothes in public. Dancing around a pole. Showing off their breasts and everything else t
heir mamas gave them to strangers in a bar.
As food was exclaimed upon and consumed, talk turned to Zach’s wedding. Jillian was surprised to learn many of the staff had worked the reception. “How did that happen?” she asked Betsy McDaniels who was seated across the table. A statue of a nude couple going at it doggy-style just beyond the stripper’s shoulder distracted Jillian’s attention. She gulped her mimosa to regain her focus. “Didn’t you work here last night?”
“The dinner was scheduled for six,” Betsy explained. “When the notice was posted for extra servers and bartenders last month, your dad said we could go for it if we wanted to come in a little late for our shifts here. Harper’s parents were paying good money to anyone they could sign up.”
“The way her step-dad was waving around hundred-dollar bills, you’d think he has a machine that prints them.”
“He does. When he opens his mouth to sing, money just falls out.”
“Don’t I know it? When I filled his water glass, he looked over his shoulder at me and sang in that growly voice of his let’s get it on.” The group of friends laughed. “That’s what I heard in my head. What he really said was Thanks, babe, but close enough.”
“If he came in here, I’d definitely be willing to give him a lap dance.” She pulled a face and shrugged at her burly husband, sitting next to her. “Sorry, honey.”
He looked up from dragging a bite of pancake through syrup. “Okay by me. The truck’s transmission’s about to go out, and we could use the extra money.”
“Wex was really hot for an old guy, but I like them closer to my age than dead. Did you see his bass player?” a stripper named Lacey said. “Great shoulders and arms covered in ink. He was someone I could go for.”
“You should have made a play for him. I’ve heard musicians aren’t too particular.”
“Maybe it’s not too late. Is he still in town?” someone asked Liam.
“The band was taking off this morning.”
“I heard they closed down The Lucky Dog last night after the reception. They were drinkin’, and jammin’, and having a good old time.”
“That wedding really brought a lot of money into town. Too bad they couldn’t bring some of it out here.”
“They hired all of you that wanted to work,” Jillian pointed out.
“Shoot, I put that money back for my kids’ Christmas, but it’s not enough. Tips are where the real money’s at.”
“I wanted to buy a new pair of boots, but I’m gonna have to use it for my rent instead.”
“We put any extra money we get into Rick’s mother’s dialysis,” Betsy said, patting her husband’s shoulder. “It’s so dang expensive.”
“How’s she doin’, hon?”
“Somedays are more of a struggle than others.”
Wait a minute. Claire had mentioned a Christmas fundraiser for Rick McDaniels’ mother who was on dialysis. That had to be this girl’s mother-in-law.
She should have listened to Liam when he tried to tell her. These were regular people with jobs they needed. Maybe some of them liked dancing or even stripping, the way some people liked sales, or teaching, or any other job, but mostly, what they liked was being able to support their families and pay their bills.
So, it would be hard for her to close down The Kitty Kat before Sunnyside could offer them other employment. To get away from all the hopeful expressions turned her way, she excused herself and went searching for Tyrell. He was finishing a plate in the kitchen and talking to two of the girls. Jillian recognized one of them as the wavy-haired beauty that had been crying all over Liam at Bert’s funeral. Earlier Liam had introduced her as Tiffany. When she noticed Jillian’s arrival, she turned on her heel with a sniff and strutted out of the kitchen. Tyrell gave the departure his full attention.
The other one stuck her hand out. “Hi, I’m Liza. Tyrell’s sister.”
“Right. The vet student. Nice to meet you. I just came back to compliment the chef on the delicious meal. Best grits I’ve ever eaten.”
“Thanks.” His dark eyes twinkled with pleasure at the compliment. “I get a lot of practice on those down at the diner.”
“And the snowman pancakes tasted better than they looked. I can’t believe you bothered to dress them up like that for a casual meal like this.”
“When else would I do it? I don’t get to play around under Lenore’s eagle eye at the diner. Cooking Sunday brunch is the only place I get to experiment.”
“Lenore should think about having a Christmas-themed meal for the annual Santa Walk and let you showcase your skills.”
Liza snorted. “Like it’s Lenore’s goal to show off Ty’s skills.”
“It would be if it benefited her in some way. Like an increase in profits.” She’d have to think of a way to approach the grumpy woman about increasing Tyrell’s opportunities. “Or you could volunteer to make those cute snowmen for the pancake breakfast at the Presbyterian church. They’d love the idea.”
He filled the sink with hot soapy water and began washing pans. “Are you working at their concession?”
Out of sheer habit, Jillian grabbed a towel and started drying. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“They could use your help.” Liza elbowed her brother in the side. “Yours, too, Ty. I went last year, and it was pretty blah.”
“Maybe between the two of us,” Ty said, “we could think up some crowd-pleasers.”
“Is this like blackmail? You’ll help if I will?”
“They don’t want my help. They think of me as an outsider, but you’re one of them. Sort of. They’d include me if you suggested it.”
“Currently, I’m not that popular either, but my dad had a lot of clout. What else can you make that would draw attention?”
“My idea is just to take some of my standards and give them a holiday twist. You know, instead of hot cider, call it Santa Sipper or something like that. Everybody knows you can add an upcharge for Christmas stuff.”
“I’ll think about it today, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow. I got roped into attending a Santa Walk meeting on Tuesday. Maybe we can come up with some worthwhile suggestions.”
“Awesome.” His wide smile lit up like a Christmas tree. “Let’s do it.”
“What are you two cooking up?” Liam crowded into their space with an armload of empty serving dishes.
“You worried?” Jillian asked.
“Only if it’s going to cost me money. Otherwise, anything you work on together’s bound to be outstanding.” He pulled the dishtowel from her grasp. “Tyrell, can you excuse us for a minute?”
“Sure, take your time.” He eased around Jillian. “I need to start clearing up anyway. Come on, sis.”
“Hey, Liam,” Liza said, with a hand on her hip. “We’re putting up the Christmas decorations today. That alright with you?”
He made a pained expression. “Do you have to?”
“Bert let us last year.”
“Don’t go overboard with the cutesy crap.”
“Aww,” she pouted. “Cutesy crap is exactly what we have planned.” She blew him a kiss as she turned the corner.
“Don’t give me that,” he called after her. “I remember all those tinsel-covered boobs and dicks with Santa hats.” Shaking his head, he turned to Jillian. “What did you think about brunch?”
“Tyrell’s talent is extraordinary. If I ever get my restaurant up and running, I’d love to mentor him.”
“Do you have to own a restaurant to mentor him?” He stepped into her space and she didn’t step back. “A kid like him would benefit by having someone like you encourage and advise him.”
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll see what I can do while I’m here.”
He checked the time on his phone. “I have to leave for St. Louis.”
“What will Adam do when you’re working?”
“He’ll go to the fitness center with me during the day. I’ll try not to come here until after he’s gone to bed. The assistant manager, Ton
y, will have to step up more than usual.”
“Adam can’t stay by himself at night, can he?”
“No, I’ve arranged for some sitters.”
“Who?”
“Betsy McDaniels’ sister, Marcy. Laura Mancini that lived down the road from us is a widow and said she’d help. She has a grandson Adam’s age. She said she’d help. A couple of others. Did you think I was going to send the dancers out to stay with him?”
Maybe. “No.”
Tyrell showed up at the door with more dirty dishes. “Come on,” Liam said. “Walk me out.”
As they passed through the club, a couple of guys were assembling a Christmas tree and the dancers were sorting through decorations. “I’ll see you goofballs later,” Liam said. “Try not to turn the club into Santa’s toy land while I’m gone. That’s not the look we’re going for here.”
“Depends on the toys,” Layla said with a suggestive laugh. “Leave it to us. We’ll make you proud.”
“Sure, sure.” He pushed through the exterior door and dug his keys out of his pocket. He moved to the far side of the truck. “So what did you think of the place?”
“Not as tawdry as I expected.”
“What did you think of the people?”
“They’re super nice and just trying to get by like everyone else here in Sunnyside.”
“Not exploited?”
“If any of them feel that way, I couldn’t tell. Of course, chatting over a meal isn’t the same as seeing them in their actual work environment.”
“You can come out and see the show whenever you want.”
“Hmmm. I’ll consider it.” How would she react to seeing that nice Betsy McDaniels grinding her hips and booty for a room fool of horny strangers? Or watching voluptuous Layla strip and touch herself while guys watched and leered? Or observing Liam captivated by Tiffany strutting around in boots and a dog collar with a whip in one hand and blindfold in the other? Would she be excited, turned on, or sickened?
She’d been exposed to strip clubs in Europe and New York, but she’d always dismissed the activity as beneath her. Maybe there was more to it than she’d ever considered.