BILLION DOLLAR DADDY

by Stephanie Brother

  “Hello, Sir,” I say, wiping down his table and setting the mats neatly. “What can I get for you?”

  “Vodka,” he says. “Neat.”

  No please. No smile. No nothing.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say. This time, I don’t sway my hips. I don’t want to draw any extra attention to myself. I don’t want him to get the idea that I might be interested. At the bar, Kaleb is busy making drinks for Candice. We smile at each other and watch him do his barman magic. When he’s done I tell him I want a neat vodka and he pours it.

  “Have you seen the guy on 13 before?”

  “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Cool suit, though.”

  “He’s creepy,” I say, and Kaleb looks again, squinting a little through the low light of the club. He shrugs.

  “There’s a lot of creepy dudes in this place,” he says. “It kinda comes with the territory.”

  “I don’t know.” I look over my shoulder and catch the ice-man looking over. “He gives me a bad feeling. Keep an eye out, okay?”

  Kaleb frowns. We’ve been working together for a few months so he knows that I’m not a diva or a drama queen. Usually, I get on with my job quietly and efficiently, so when I voice a concern he takes me seriously.

  “I’ll radio Louis,” he says. “He’s the eye in the sky.”

  I smile up at the CCTV camera above the bar to where old man French is watching.

  “You tell Louis I said hi.”

  “He’ll love that.” Kaleb winks and picks up the radio. I make my way back to table 13, keeping my eyes down the whole way. I think that I can feel the stranger’s gaze on me. It’s uncomfortable. Penetrating almost, like fingers digging into my skin.

  There was a time when I would have pushed feelings like this aside. A time when I didn’t trust my own instincts about people. From a young age, girls are taught to be pleasant, to swallow their objections and be polite. Our natural voices are squashed by the cultural expectations of our gender until we push aside our own thoughts and feelings in the same way. There was a time when I believed that I was just a girl and that speaking out against a man wasn’t something I should do or could do.

  Not anymore.

  I put Gray Suit’s drink on his table and pass him the check. He glances at it and pulls out a wad of notes, throwing down what looks like $50.

  “Keep the change,” he says, staring right into my eyes. It almost makes me flinch it’s so intense.

  “Thank you.” My voice sounds really loud because the music has stopped and the girls on stage are changing over. For a second my attention is drawn to Goldie’s retreating form. She’s naked and trailing her panties and bra in her left hand. Her ass is so round and peachy that it jiggles as she moves. The crowd claps and catcalls but Gray Suit is quiet.

  I’m about to walk away when I feel his finger press into the small of my back.

  “You like to watch, too,” he says as a statement, not a question. I shake my head quickly and step away. “Liar,” he says. His lips quirk into a half smile and his eyes hold mine hostage. I feel like a frightened rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming car. “I bet you think about all the things you see here when you get home. I bet you slip your finger into your little lacy panties and make yourself come to the images of tits and ass, don’t you?”

  I shake my head again and look to the bar. Kaleb is engrossed in mixing cocktails, so he doesn’t see me.

  “Excuse me, Sir,” I say. It’s what I’ve been taught to do when customers are getting inappropriate. The management doesn’t like waitresses making a scene, and they won’t step in unless things get really bad. I back away a few steps, and then make my way over to table 9. I can still feel Gray Suit’s eyes on me.

  “Can I get you gentlemen anything while you’re waiting for the next act?”

  “Sure, Darlin’. Can I get a Bud?”

  “I’ll have one of those too.”

  “Another Jack.”

  I take the orders and make my way over to Kaleb as quickly as I can.

  “He’s rude,” I say. Kaleb looks over to where Gray Suit is sitting.

  “He said dirty things?”

  I nod. Kaleb goes to pick up the radio but stops suddenly. I turn and see that he’s looking at Jack Donaldson, the club’s owner, patting Gray Suit on the back.

  “He’s got friends in high places, it seems,” Kaleb mumbles. We both know that making a complaint about one of Jack’s friends wouldn’t do either of our job prospects any good. “Just serve him quickly and get the hell away from him, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And Louis’ keeping an eye out, too.”

  “Sure. Great.”

  I stand at the bar and wait for Kaleb to make the drinks. I turn to check my tables again and see that Gray Suit and Jack are both looking in my direction. That isn’t good. Maybe he’s told Jack that I was unfriendly, or that I was rude. I need this job so badly that I can’t risk anything damaging my prospects.

  “They’re talking about me,” I say to Kaleb.

  “You think he’s saying something bad?”

  “I don’t know. I was polite. But I didn’t respond in the way he was probably hoping that I would.”

  “Jack’s heading this way.” Kaleb pushes the tray of drinks towards me and heads down the bar.

  I start to lift the tray but Jack’s already there and he puts his finger on the tray to stop me.

  “I don’t think we’ve met officially,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Jack.” Jack Donaldson is rich but cheap looking, in an ill-fitting suit and a shirt with a collar that’s too tight. His cheeks are ruddy and nose is swollen from drinking too much for too long. When I shake his hand I find it’s slightly sweaty and he grips too tight in a way that’s designed to make me feel small and defenseless.

  “I’m Star,” I say, trying to sound bright.

  “Pretty name,” he says, sounding bored.

  “Thank you.”

  “Star, my friend over there would like to make you a proposition. Is that something you would be open to?”

  I’ve heard about this kind of thing from the other girls, mainly the dancers. A proposition is a request for you to perform something out of the ordinary. For the dancers, it’s a private dance or more. No one talks about the more but I know it happens. It’s rarer for the waitresses to be approached in this way but some of them will do private dances if the money’s right. I’ve never been approached before, but I’ve always vowed that I’d politely decline. Waitressing in my lingerie is one thing, taking it off is a whole other step that I’m not willing to take.

  “I don’t think so, Sir,” I say. He looks me up and down very slowly as though he’s trying to figure me out.

  “I think you should hear what he has in mind before turning him down.” Jack’s voice is very firm. So firm, I take what he’s saying as a direct order rather than a suggestion. I don’t like it, but I guess that there’s no harm in hearing him out. Maybe seeming to be open in this way will make declining the proposition less negative.

  I nod and Jack leans his arm on the bar so his mouth is barely an inch from my ear. I can smell garlic and staleness on him and my stomach rolls. “He wants to watch you make yourself come,” he whispers. “I have a room upstairs, with a two-way mirror. He won’t be in the same room as you. Just watching.” For all the fear and repulsion that I’m feeling, I get a rush of heat between my legs. I shake my head but Jack doesn’t stop. “He’s prepared to pay $2,000 for the privilege.” My heart seems to stop with shock. Two thousand dollars to watch me touch myself from a separate room. It sounds crazy, but it’s so much money. Enough money to get me home for a visit. Enough money to make a real difference to mom and Jenny. My heart begins to race because I don’t think I can turn down $2,000.

  “He’ll pay my ‘club fee’ separately,” Jack says. “So that $2,000 is all yours.”

  I look up into his watery gray eyes. He’s grinning because he knows it’s a good offer and he kn
ows that I’m considering it. He likes that power. I can see it so clearly. He likes that he can take a girl like me who doesn’t want to take that step from waitressing into sex-worker and tempt her to do just that.

  “That’s all he wants?” I ask. I need clarity on that. I don’t want to find myself trapped into going even further.

  “Just to watch,” Jack confirms.

  I grip the edge of the tray. Fuck. I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all, but I’m not a trust fund baby. I need that money.

  “Okay,” I say, even as my heart seems to drop in my chest.

  “I’ll have Kaleb find someone to cover your tables. Go up the stairs behind the changing room and through the door marked Management Only. The third door on the right is painted black. Go in there and lie on the bed facing the mirror. The light on the vanity will come on when he’s entered the room next door. Put on a good show and you can collect an envelope from Kaleb when you leave.”

  I nod and start walking towards the staff areas, feeling as though I’m running on those instructions rather than my free will. I feel sick in a vile, nervous way that has my throat tightening and my insides feeling hollow. Every step I take feels like another one closer to me doing something I never thought I’d do. This decision that I’ve made in a matter of seconds feels huge, and I realize something pretty fundamental. When people talk about free will when they say that people make their own decisions, do they ever take into account the things that drive those decisions? Because, yes, I’ve decided that I’m going to go through with this, but if someone just handed me the $2,000 and said, have this and don’t go through with this ridiculous proposition, I’d be running in the opposite direction. When money is driving a decision so fundamentally, it doesn’t feel like free will. It feels like coercion.

  I’ve never been up the flight of stairs that Jack described. They’re narrow, metal and dark, and at the top, the hallway is functional and office-like, with none of the faux-opulence of the club downstairs. I count the doors, finally coming to the black door on the right. I knock, worried that maybe someone else might be in the middle of something that I wouldn’t want to stumble into. When there’s no answer I turn the handle slowly. There’s a dim lamp on in the corner, standing on a white nightstand, and a huge bed that’s made up with a comforter, pillows, and cushions. I close the door and lock it, needing to know that Gray Suit won’t be able to get in. I quickly check the room for other concealed doors but there are none. The mirror on the wall is vast, and knowing that there is a room on the other side of that mirror freaks me out a lot. He’s not in there because the light that Jack spoke about is still off. I sit on the edge of the bed, sinking into the soft mattress and rest my face in my hands.

  Fuck. I can’t believe this is happening.

  The first time I get an offer like this and it has to be from the creepiest guy I’ve ever served. I take deep breaths to try and slow my pounding heart. It’s beating so fast I can feel it in my temples and my throat. There’s something so primal inside me that is screaming at me to run, to get out of this stupid room and leave this horrible club and go back to my normal life of classes and socializing and pretending to be an average 20-year-old.

  Just as I’m about to listen to my instincts, the light on the vanity flickers on.

  He’s there, behind the mirror, watching.

  Even though I’m still wearing my mask and he won’t be able to see my face fully, I don’t want him to see me freak out. I don’t want him to see me vulnerable. I’ve been through way worse than this without shedding a tear. I know I can hold myself together now. It’ll be later that I’ll let myself break.

  I climb onto the bed quickly and lay back with my head resting on the pile of pillows. I close my eyes so I’m not distracted by the room I’m in or the person who’s watching. I’d never be able to come if I was immersed within that situation. I have to find my safe place. I need to get lost in the fantasies that have kept me company for the past two years. Behind my eyelids I form the image of Big D. I think about his strong hands and those thick fingers grasping my hair and holding it tight. He uses his grip to pull me towards him, kissing my neck and nuzzling me under my ears. In my imagination, his lips are so soft when they first press against mine. He takes possession of me with restrained strength and a quiet passion that feels overwhelming, as though his very soul is connecting with mine.

  I move my hand from where it’s resting on the bed, hover over my hip, and then force it towards where it needs to be to earn me the money. For seconds I hesitate, wondering if I’ll still get paid if I keep my panties on. There was nothing in Gray Suit’s request that said I needed to be naked for this. I decide to keep them on, as I do when I masturbate at home. I tentatively put my finger against my clit, moving it side to side to part my labia just enough. I imagine that Big D is running his hands over the curve of my hips and down, squeezing as he goes. It’s hard to keep in the fantasy, but I try, thinking about him slipping his fingers into my panties, gently dipping into my wetness and using it to smooth his way through my folds.

  I straighten my legs, pushing up my hips as I pretend Dominic is dropping to his knees in front of me and pressing his face to my pussy. The first touch of his tongue is like fire. He laps and laps, the roughness making my legs shake. Then he uses the very tip of his tongue to circle and circle. It feels so good but I need more. My imaginary-self spreads her legs, and Big D gets the hint, running his huge hands up the insides of my thighs. He moves one to grip my ass, keeping his face buried in my pussy. The other hand pushes my panties aside. It’s sweet torture waiting for his fingers to penetrate me. I think I know what it’ll feel like, but it feels so much better. Big and thick, the first one opens me, the second one spreads me wide. I move my hips, getting the tips of his fingers to press against just the right place inside me. He draws them out a bit and I moan, wanting them deep, but then I realize that he’s going to add a third. Oh god, it stings a little, but the pain quickly moves to pleasure. I can barely move, I’m so full. His lips suckle on my clit and his fingers twist inside me and I’m coming and coming and coming.

  I’m silent through my orgasm but my legs twitch and my back arches so I know the man who’s watching me will probably know it’s happened. I wonder if he was hoping for a porn-style show. If he was, he’s going to be disappointed. Is he touching himself now? The though makes my stomach roll. I lie on the bed, looking at the ceiling, with my hand cupping my pussy. I’m hoping he’ll leave and I’ll see the light go off, but he doesn’t. Strangely, it feels even weirder that he’s watching me now. Compared to the last few minutes, there is nothing overtly sexual about this. I roll to my side and stare at the chipped woodwork. I feel slightly sick; my insides have tightened with the stress of doing what I just did. I didn’t like being watched. I don’t like the idea of someone staring at me, but I feel unable to get away. The longer I lie here, the worse I feel.

  Just go already, I think.

  Getting up now seems risky. What happens if he waits until I’m in the corridor and then grabs me? If he wasn’t jerking off in that room, then he’ll be feeling pretty jacked up.

  Then I remember hearing that there are emergency buzzers in all of the performing rooms. I turn and look for it. It’s above the bed. I don’t look at the mirror as I rise up into a seated position and press the buzzer. In less than five seconds, the light over the vanity flickers and switches off, and I breathe a massive sigh of relief.

  I wait in the room until there’s a knock at the door.

  “You alright in there?” a familiar voice asks.

  I jump up and open the door to Louis. “I am now that you’re here.”

  He looks over my shoulder into the room and shakes his head. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but he’s been working at the club for years so I’m sure that nothing surprises or shocks him anymore.

  “I didn’t expect to find you up here,” he says. There’s an edge of disappointment to his voice and I feel a wave of sham
e.

  “Sometimes saying no is just harder than saying yes,” I tell him and he nods solemnly. His eyes are so sad, with the yellow tinge that comes with age. He reminds me of my grandpa and that makes me feel even more ashamed. If pop could see me now, in these ridiculous heels, talking to a man while I’m only wearing underwear, he’d die all over again. “Can you walk me down?”

  “Sure.”

  He waits for me to exit the room and pulls the door closed behind me. I hold the hand I touched myself with against my stomach. I want to wash my hands, to wash away the evidence of what just happened, but I want to go and get my money more.

  When we get to the bottom of the stairs, I ask Louis if he’ll take me to the bar. It feels strange entering the bustle and noise of the club after the quiet of the private area upstairs. There are three girls on the main stage, all naked. The number of customers seems to have doubled.

  Kaleb is preparing drinks for Sandy. She has beautiful blonde hair that spills all the way down to her ass. She smiles at me and I try to smile back, but the tension in me makes my lips feel tight. When he’s done, Kaleb turns to me.

  “Star,” he says, looking me up and down. “Are you okay?”

  I nod and tears well up in my eyes at his concern and my throat burns from the effort of keeping them at bay.

  Kaleb stares at me, looking so worried that I want to walk away. I don’t deserve his concern after what I’ve done.

  He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an envelope. “The creepy dude left this for you,” he says, passing it over. “At first I thought he was leaving his number, but it feels like a whole load of bills.”

  I take it from him and hold it against my stomach. “Thanks,” I say.