by Penn Rivers
I shook my head to clear it, forced a breath out of my mouth, and shoved the phone into my purse. It was time to work, and I needed to focus to get through the night.
Pushing through the door into the brightly lit performer’s lounge, I took a second to scan the posting on the wall. Dragging my finger down the schedule, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw I was listed only for the stage tonight. No lap dances, no private dances.
Good. Marcie had kept her promise. The veteran dancer was in charge of scheduling, and I’d struck a deal with her. Fifteen percent of my tips to keep me off the laps and out of the Champagne room. It meant I took home a little less money and had to work several extra rounds of the stage, but it was worth it not to have some stranger’s breath on my neck.
“Heyyyy, Gembo!” a perky voice rose above the chatter and low playing music.
I answered before glancing away from the schedule. “Vanillope. I was hoping you’d be here tonight.”
I grinned at the half-clad woman perched on a couch across the room. It was pleather, thank god. Easy to disinfect. But still, I wouldn’t sit on it. Too many bare ass cheeks had used it as a resting place.
Just like hers were now.
“Where else would I be, darling? Gotta make rent.”
“Feel that,” I muttered.
She puffed on a cigarette while I set my bag on the counter to get to work on my makeup.
Penelope Dove—I was pretty sure that wasn’t her real name since Gemma wasn’t mine… er, not exactly anyway—was maybe my favorite girl at the Sapphire. She called me Gembo because it rhymed with bimbo, and she considered that a compliment. I called her Vanillope because she reminded me of an unapologetically dirty version of the character from the Wreck-it Ralph movie Noah liked to watch. She was bubble gum goth. Her hair was straight black and she wore it in a high ponytail, with blunt cut bangs. She favored black matte lipstick, but sometimes went for maroon instead because it “scared off less men”. She wore a 90s era choker necklace at all times because it “complimented her birthday suit”. And bright pink nails all day. Even her toes.
She was Hit-Me-Baby-One-More-Time Brittany Spears meets Abby from NCIS, with a mouth and wit like Deadpool.
In the mirror, I could see her blow out a hard puff of gray smoke. Her eyes were dull, letting me know her perky tone was as put on as it was when she was giving the men a show.
“All right, Vanilla. Lay it on me.”
“Lay it on you? Naughty, naughty. Wouldn’t you just like me to do that.”
Our eyes met in the reflection as I bent across the counter to thicken up my eyeliner. Needed it to say I’m no single mother, you’re looking at a happy whore, Mister. So much of this job was about impressions. Lies we could tell, that the wanton believed easily. The only people who knew our truths were the ones in the business.
Job requirements:
Great to average body
Be terrific at lying
The willingness to ignore shame
I had all those. No matter what walk of life the other girls came from or whether they enjoyed the dancing… they had those qualities too.
The Sapphire had taught me so much about humans. So many good things too.
Like that you never judged a person until you’d walked a nudie stage in their stilettos.
And how to interpret comments like Penelope’s.
I put down the eyeliner and twisted to stare at her. “Tell me,” I demanded. “Get it out.”
With a sigh, she put out her cigarette in the ash tray next to the couch. It was shaped like lips and gave me the creeps. Like… who picked that out for in here? Couldn’t we have a normal old glass ashtray like you see in a diner?
Penelope stood from the couch, the cheap fake leather squeaking under her movement, and came closer. She propped her thong covered hip against the counter speaking more quietly this time.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Gem,” she murmured, and this time, there was none of the fake flirty shit. Just the darkness of a woman worried about life. “Tips were bad today, and now I don’t have enough to pay Marcie her fucking tax.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. See, I told you. It’s fine. Just my kinda-cute ass is going to be rubbing on a lot of half hard cocks for the next few hours.”
“But I thought you liked the lap jobs. Better tips you said.”
She crossed her thin arms over her chest, pushing her boobs into her chin. “I guess I did,” she admitted. “But last night… that shit with Eleanor. It was no good. It was fucked up.” Her voice went lower and lower until it was almost nothing and her face had gone white. “I guess it has me a tit more cautious than I was before.”
Damn.
Penelope was unshakable. She didn’t scare, and she took this job with a grain of salt. She was a professional, and knew to expect the occasional creep. If Eleanor’s encounter had shaken her, it had shaken us all.
“Wait…” I said. “It’s not your party tit is it? Because you know how we all look forward to the days your party tit makes an appearance.”
Penelope blinked. Once, twice… before her black lips curved into a genuine smile. She let off a sharp laugh and shoved my shoulder hard.
“It’s not my party tit, you nerd. The party tit is sacred. Nothing touches the party tit. The party tit is never cautious. It has no fucks to give.”
“That’s a huge relief, you know.” I leaned forward and applied some nude lipstick and dabbed highlighter on my cheekbones.
When I straightened, Penelope was running her tongue over her teeth, nodding. It was a dangerous look. Like she was planning someone’s cruel murder.
But I’d seen that look before.
“Don’t,” I warned.
“Oh, yeah.” She nodded harder, her eyes lighting with mischief. “I’m doing it.”
“Vanilla…”
“Forget it, Gembo. This is happening. And you’re loving it.”
“No.”
“Fact.”
She backed away, still nodding, her grin doing exactly what I’d hoped it would… reach her eyes. She pointed a finger at me, still backing up until she was in the middle of the room.
I shook my head, like I was trying to stop her but really, I wasn’t.
“May I have your attention, ladieeeeeees,” she bellowed.
Several people groaned, knowing what was coming. Newer dancers scowled in confusion.
“I’d like to take this time to introduce you all to a dear, dear friend of mine. This gal’s been with me through it all. Through tight squeezes and some bumpy roads. We took more than a few hits. A careless elbow or two. We survived Bobby Daniels back in tenth grade. He knew how to grip a football, you know… and that was about it.”
A couple people snickered. Someone whistled low, and gave her a yip of encouragement.
“When the underwire of life tried to restrain us, she’d have none of it. She’d say to me, be free, be wild.”
More hoots and hollers. I couldn’t help cheering her on too.
“And were it not for her, I have to say, my dear comrades… I wouldn’t be the person I am today.”
“Mmm mmm,” someone agreed. “True that.”
“She also helped me get this job. She’s special like that. So without further ado, I present to you…” In a swift move, she yanked aside the black suede cup of her bra, the one that covered her right boob. “Party tiiiiiiiit.”
She swiveled her shoulder, causing her boob to bounce around obscenely while people cat-called and clapped. Whistles and hoots of appreciation filled the room, and I swear, I couldn’t help smiling even if I wanted to.
Penelope jerked and bounced to the beat of the thunderous music from the stage, one boob hanging out while a few others pulled out their party tits too.
And this was why I’d never regret my time at the Sassy Sapphire. Because these ladies had taught me how to smile when things were shitty. How to laugh through the pain.
It was a good skill to ha
ve. Perhaps even the best.
The music died down, and people got back to work. I started putting the finishing touches on my face.
Penelope left her tit out.
Minutes later, the door to the stage burst open causing me to jerk liner across my cheek. Damn it.
Eleanor stomped through the opening, clutching her skimpy bra to her chest while tears streamed down her cheeks.
Penelope shot me a look.
Eleanor went to her locker while everyone tried not to stare. Another skill we possessed: the ability to ignore when necessary. She yanked a t-shirt over her head and a pair of pink sweatpants up her legs while I fixed my makeup faux pas.
When I was finished, Penelope jerked her head toward Eleanor while eyeing me. Her look said, let’s go talk to her. I managed a nod at her party tit and arched an eyebrow. She sighed and tucked it back into her bra.
I checked the clock. Only ten minutes before I had to be on stage. We’d have to make this fast.
I followed Penelope over and perched backwards on a chair while she leaned against the wall casual as a midday stroll. “What’s got your tits all sad, Ellie?” she asked, and I rolled my eyes. Everything was about tits with her.
Eleanor started pulling stuff out of her locker and jamming it in her backpack.
“That bastard,” she muttered shaking her head.
My eyebrows went right up into my forehead because Eleanor didn’t call names. In fact, she hardly spoke. She was as timid as they come in this business. She felt like everyone’s little sister, and at first glance, I’d been sure she wouldn’t make it a day at the Sapphire. She was petite with no curves to speak of. A soft voice, plain face, hair in twin braids down her back.
But she was tougher than she looked. And the more vile patrons loved her for dark reasons. She brought big money so Marco kept her around. She was the most requested girl for private dances, but I knew it was because the sickos liked to pretend she was their daughter. Because of this, she was more prone to danger.
More susceptible to things like what happened last night.
“Which bastard, hon?” Penelope questioned. “You have to be more specific.”
“Sal!” she blurted, her voice going louder than I’d ever heard it.
Except for when she’d called for help from the Champagne room.
“Sal?” I asked. “Bartender Sal?”
“Yes.”
“What’d he do?”
She looked around to make sure no one was listening before hissing, “He pulled me off the stage.”
Penelope scrunched her face up. “Wait, what?”
“He pulled me right off the stage. Mid dance. Music blaring, tips rolling, and he marches right over and yanks me down. Told me I shouldn’t be here today and to get my ass home.”
I was stunned silent, and Penelope must’ve been too, because it took her entirely too long to form words. When she finally stuttered out a “why?” it sounded all off.
Eleanor shrugged, forcing her makeup bag into her pack. “Hell if I know. I was on the schedule.”
“Because of last night,” I said finally, and I noticed the way she froze before her whole body shivered violently.
“I’m not saying I didn’t want to stay home.” Her voice was hollow. “I’m trying not to think about it. But I needed to work tonight. Needed the money. And I paid Marcie her damn tax to keep me off the private list.” Her shoulders sank. “I was counting on the stage to recoup what I gave her.”
Again, silence took up the space between us.
“Well, damn.” Penelope stared away toward the door. Probably wishing she could bitch-slap Marcie out of her industrious ways.
“Yeah,” Eleanor said, her voice barely a breath. “The money shit is bad enough. But… he embarrassed me. And I couldn’t say a word because I started crying.” She leaned her head on her locker. “Hate looking weak,” she whispered.
I met Penelope’s gaze over her head. It seemed like not even the party tit could fix this night.
The door to the hall opened and Marcie appeared in the entrance wearing a neon pink fishnet mini-dress. She was bare underneath and the fabric did nothing to hide that fact. Her face was painted to perfection and her shrewd gaze took in the room until it landed on Eleanor. She leaned against the doorway, staring at the girl, and for a moment, it seemed like maybe her eyes held an ounce of heart.
Marcie wasn’t all bad, I didn’t think. She just cut off her conscience when it came to screwing people over. If it benefitted her, she didn’t give a shit who it hurt.
Too long in this business, my gut told me.
“Ellie,” she boomed in her authoritative voice. “Sal has work for you behind the bar. Or on top of it maybe. Hell, I don’t know. He says no stage for you. Better get up there.”
Eleanor tossed a questioning look to me and Penelope. I gave her a nod of encouragement.
Swiping at what was left of her tears, she asked, “What do I wear?”
Marcie shrugged one perfectly tanned shoulder. “My guess is not that.” Her gaze fell to me. “Gem, you’re on in three minutes. Get your ass dressed.” She paused, rethinking her words. “Or… undressed. Whatever.”
And then she exited the same way she came, like some kind of queen we were all training to be.
Maybe she knew something none of us did. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be around long enough to find out.
Chapter Three
KANAAN
“But nawww. Come on, man,” the drunken frat boy slurred as his two slightly less inebriated friends struggled to hold him up. “I wanna stay a lil’ longer. Pretty sure that one girl was about to come talk to me. She has nice knockers. Did you see her knockers, Gabe?”
The one named Gabe muttered, “Prolly,” as I ushered them closer to the door. It was 4am and it’d be another hour before I was able to leave. Closing down the club took time, and there was the added job of making sure everyone got safely to their cars.
Methodically, I worked with the rest of the security team to clear the place, and then began the parking lot check. I knew from experience it was unorthodox for clubs like Marco’s to have such thorough security. But it was part of the deal when he hired me. He’d get top level security—and pay for it—or he wouldn’t get me. I’d expected an argument, but no. It was an immediate yes, and quickly, word spread that the Sapphire was the safest place for entertaining ladies.
I took pride in this work. Which made what happened last night a boulder in my gut.
Eleanor was waiting at the door when I returned to the front entrance. I was glad to see her working behind the bar tonight instead of dancing. Better if she hadn’t shown up at all, but I figured she needed the money. Good on Marco for giving her a break.
I walked her and the others to the back of the lot and waited while they started their cars. One by one, they pulled out and I returned to the club to repeat the process, mulling over ways to prevent what had happened to Eleanor from happening again in the future.
Because if anything like that happened to my girl, I’d hulk up and lose my shit faster than a heart flutter.
The Champagne room was supposed to be safe. There was a bouncer in place for every private dance, and I’d figured that was enough muscle to keep any assholes in check. Except I’d underestimated how sadistic that fucker, Rhino, could be. And I’d missed the way he’d been watching Eleanor. So when some dickhead wanted to live out his daddy fantasy with her in the private rooms, Rhino didn’t step in.
I should kill the fucking bastard, but Sal had already hospitalized him. He’d live. Sadly. But he was without a job, and wouldn’t find one in any other club either.
People talked, and Marco had influence.
I squeezed my eyes closed, remembering the sound of Eleanor’s screams echoing through the door and down the hall. The customer hadn’t raped her, but he’d gotten his hand between her legs, and was forcing his way in.
Too close. Way too close.
It made me see red. Made
me remember things I didn’t want to fucking remember. How an assault like that can ruin so many lives. I knew.
I knew.
The police were called, but Eleanor refused to file a report.
And now I had to figure out a way to make the Champagne room safer. I’d threatened to gut any bouncers who dared pull shit like that again. But threats could wear off, lose their effect, so it was only a temporary solution.
Doubling the guards for each private event could be the answer, but it meant hiring and vetting twice as many people. A lot of money going out the door there.
Cameras. Maybe cameras were the answer. Then Marco would only have to hire a couple people to keep watch. Maybe hire a woman. One of the girls even, because they might care more about each other’s safety. They could take shifts. Rotate like they do for the stage.
It was something to think about.
“All right, boss,” Jake said as I approached the door. His black t-shirt stretched across the bulky muscles of his chest. He was younger, and new, but he seemed to take the job seriously. “That’s everybody.”
I frowned. Not everybody. I hadn’t seen Gemma yet.
“You sure?”
His confident expression faltered a touch. “I only saw Marco and Sal left inside. And the rest of the security team.”
I turned and headed to the farthest part of the lot where she usually parked, a fist of worry clenching around my heart.
“Boss, what is it? Boss?”
Ignoring Jake, I roamed the mostly empty lot, looking for any sign of Gemma. All that was left were a few random vehicles that belonged to drivers too drunk to get behind the wheel… and a shitty white Honda.
My feet pounded the pavement as I approached it. Through the frost-covered window, I could see a figure in the driver’s seat, and as I got closer I could tell it was Gem. But the car wasn’t running. I could see her hand cranking at the ignition over and over, and the faint click of a battery without enough power to start. She banged the steering wheel and dropped her head to it in frustration.
Car trouble.
Lightly, so as not to startle her, I rapped my knuckles on the driver’s side window. She jumped anyway, her gaze jerking up to meet mine. Damn, she was twitchy. She reached for the window button, forgetting it was useless without the battery. Instead, she cracked the door enough that we could speak.