Beautiful Failure

by Mariah Cole

  I reach behind my back, ready to unsnap the bra myself, but he lifts me out of his lap and stands.

  He pulls a few fifty dollar bills out of his pocket and tucks them underneath my right bra strap.

  “Thank you very much, Raven.” He looks me up and down before walking away.

  What the fuck?!

  I stand still for a few seconds, trying to process what the hell just happened. Confused, I turn around to see where he’s headed. Before I can go after him, Robyn steps in front of me.

  “That was pretty good.” She laughs. “You just got another request. Polka dot chaise across the room.”

  “I wasn’t finished with the guy I just danced for. I need to ask him why he got up before I was done.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I wasn’t finished with the last guy. I need to ask him a question.”

  “Did he look like he enjoyed it?” She crosses her arms.

  “I think so.”

  “Did he pay you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you’re finished. Polka dot chaise. Across the room. Now.”

  I don’t argue. I leave my dress on the floor and walk over to my new client, trying not to let any disappointment show on my face.

  The guy is the father of the groom to be—he’s wearing a tie that says so, and he’s not wearing a wedding ring. Dressed in Karl Lagerfeld, he clearly comes from money, and he looks as if he’s too good to be here, like he’s above everyone in the room.

  I step in front of him and smile. “Are you ready?”

  “Very much so.” He sets his drink down.

  I bring my arms behind my head and run my fingers through my hair as I seductively roll my hips. Once I know I’ve got him, once I know he’s entranced, I step towards him and run my hands all over my body—watching his hungry eyes take it all in. Then I carefully straddle him.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and rock into him slowly, whispering, “How badly do you want to fuck me?”

  He grunts.

  “How badly?” I repeat in a sultrier voice.

  He grunts again and his dick slowly stiffens in his pants. “Real bad...I want to fuck you in the ass.”

  I freeze my eyeballs to their sockets and continue to grind on him. As I thread my fingers through his hair and ask him if he likes this, he grips my hips. Hard.

  “How much do I have to pay you to let me fuck you in the ass?” He’s sweating. “I bet it’s tight...”

  I smile and focus on finishing the dance, ignoring his question.

  “How much?” he repeats, and by the look in his eyes I can tell he’s seconds away from cumming in his pants.

  “I’m not for sale, baby.” I whisper, remembering that Robyn suggests calling clients “baby” whenever they ask for something outrageous. It’s supposed to soften the blow.

  “I can give you whatever you want, sweetheart.” He begs. “Whatever you fucking want...”

  “Hmmm.” I ride him a few more seconds, pressing my lips against his neck as the song comes to an end. Then I let him squeeze my sides as he loses control.

  “Fuck...” He pants. “If you let me, if you let me do what I want to you, it’ll be more than worth it...I can take you away from here and you’ll never have to dance for money again.”

  I slip out of his lap and readjust my bra, trying not to laugh. Robyn also claims that some men will try to play “Captain Save a Ho” by promising to take us away from the strip club, by acting as if stripping is some sinful world that we need to be rescued from.

  “I’m fine, baby.” I kiss him on the cheek. “Do you want another dance or are you done with me?” I push one of my bra cups open, silently showing him where to place the money.

  He looks into my eyes and sighs, taking out his wallet. Instead of placing it where I want it to be, he slides a hand up my thigh and tucks the bills in the band of my panties.

  “My business card is in there too, beautiful,” he says as he stands up. “Just in case you change your mind... And since I know you are because I can see it in your eyes—” He smiles. “Tell me what your name is.”

  “Raven.”

  “Cute. What’s your real name?” He leans close, whispering. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  I hesitate, fake a frown, and sigh. “Autumn.”

  “I thought so. I look forward to hearing from you, Autumn.” He looks me over one last time before joining his son onstage.

  “I’m impressed.” Michael—who doesn’t look like a club owner tonight, grins as he pulls me into a corner. He’s dressed in a polo shirt and jeans and he looks years younger.

  “The weak girls always quit after their first dance,” he says. “I usually have to follow them to the parking lot.”

  “I’m not weak.”

  “Clearly.” He smiles again. “You need to work on your dancing, but I think you’ll be a good fit for us. Come back tomorrow for a schedule and we’ll get you started on your pole lessons. Those are what’s most important. If you’re good, that’s how you’ll earn the most money. I have a feeling you’ll be a highly requested performer.” He trails his fingers against my bra strap. “You can go home now.”

  “What? That’s it?”

  “For now. Yes.” He signals to someone, and one of the club’s body guards appears at his side. “Walk Raven out to her car will you? She’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Yes sir.” The guard nods and motions for me to walk ahead of him.

  Disappointed, I walk out of the room—looking over my shoulder at the other girls who are still giving out dances, the girls who are still making money.

  As I’m escorted to the dressing room to put on my “real clothes,” I realize tonight wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. And even though I’m beyond happy to be hired, a part of me is upset.

  For one, I feel like there’s someone else who wants to request me, someone else I can take the much needed money from upstairs. And two, I want to know why Carter stopped me in the middle of my dance.

  I’m honestly a bit bothered that he left the way he did. I’ve never had a man turn away from me, let alone one that was seeing me damn near naked.

  And the way he was staring at me...He was definitely turned on...It doesn’t make any sense...

  “Raven...” The bodyguard clears his throat, knocking me out of my thoughts.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you going to get in your car?”

  “Huh?” I realize we’re standing in the parking lot and he’s holding the driver’s side door open. “Sorry about that...” I slip inside and wait for him to close it.

  He walks behind my car and crosses his arms—waiting for me to pull off, watching to make sure no one is following me.

  I crank my engine, but before I pull off, I reach into my bra and pull out the money I’ve earned tonight and count: Four hundred dollars. Four. Hundred. Dollars.

  Fuck looking for another job this summer.

  I’ve officially found my new career.

  Chapter 8

  Two weeks later...

  “Hey! Shakespeare!” Robyn shouts at me, making me drop my pen.

  “What?”

  “Are you going to go on stage and show the men how well you can write or are you going to dance? I’m trying to help you.”

  I sigh and shut my notebook, walking over to where she and Sarah (“Sparkle”) are watching my practice footage from earlier.

  “On that last swirl, you need to hold your leg out for a little while longer.” Robyn hops on stage and leans against the pole. “Try and do it like this...” She twirls around and gracefully stretches her right leg—holding it out for ten seconds.”

  “And make sure you find a target in the audience so you can keep your eyes locked on his,” Sarah says. “Just pretend like you’re having the best sex of your life with him. That’s what I always do.”

  Robyn taps her lips, agreeing. “It makes it look like you’re nervous if you don’t make eye contact with someone. It’s a total
turnoff.”

  I nod and prepare to redo my routine on the practice pole one last time, but Robyn leads me to the dressing room and starts to do my makeup.

  For the past few weeks, I’ve been coming to the club to practice early in the morning—telling my grandparents that the “diner” down the street is training me in intense early morning and late night shifts. I’ve even brought slices of pie home for them, hoping that’ll confirm where they think I work.

  At first, they didn’t understand why I would choose to work at a diner that was two hours away, but after I explained that the pay was double and that I’m allowed to work as much overtime as I want, they agreed that it was a brilliant idea.

  Then they prayed that I would last for longer than two weeks.

  They’re so proud of me that they’ve offered to get me a room at a motel on my workdays to save me the driving time, but I’ve declined. I don’t want to get too comfortable in this town, and with the clients I’ve been encountering lately, I’d much rather sleep at home at the end of the night.

  “Hey, hold still.” Robyn snaps her fingers. “This is stage mascara so it smudges easily.”

  I stiffen and hold my eyes wide, nervous and utterly terrified about my first live stage performance. I’ve fallen off the pole twice in rehearsals, and I’ve been trying to psych myself up about this all day.

  Since it’s a Friday night, the club will be packed to capacity and the men will be a lot more generous with their money.

  When Robyn is done with my makeup, Sarah hands me a white button up shirt to wear over my shiny black bra and panty set. Once I have it buttoned, they take turns perfecting my hair—tossing my curls over my shoulder and draping a long strand of pearls around my neck.

  “Absolute perfection,” Robyn says, laughing. “A classy stripper!”

  She and Sarah look me over one last time and tell me to head directly behind the stage, to wait until the premier performances are over—which will take hours.

  Since I’m new, I’ll only get one song instead of the three to five song set that the regulars get. That’s how the newbies have always been treated and I guess it’s a rite of passage, along with the silent treatment that still hasn’t been lifted for me.

  With the end of every premier performance, my heart rate speeds up by the second. By the time it’s my turn, I’m wishing that the interlude song will last a bit longer so I can gather my thoughts a little more.

  “And now...” A deep voice says over the speakers. “The Phoenix welcomes our newest entertainer...” There’s a light applause, and then my song begins to play as he says, “The beautiful and talented...Raven...”

  I wait for a few more notes to sound and then I wait for the curtain to rise, walking down the short runway—straight for the pole.

  Quickly scanning the crowd, I don’t see anyone I’d want to have sex with. Ever. Most of the men—though attractive, are at least ten to fifteen years older than me.

  My eyes settle on the table that’s directly below me, where a dark haired man with beautiful green eyes is sitting.

  I stare at him and commit to making him my target, until Carter pulls out a chair right next to him.

  He looks at me and tilts his head to the side, and for a split second he looks confused, but then he smiles that familiar and cocky smile and I immediately make him my focus.

  He’s so fucking sexy...

  Turning my back to the audience, I unbutton the front of my shirt—tossing my hair back until I reach the last one. The second I finish, I spin around—exposing my lingerie to the crowd.

  As I slowly slide down to the floor, I keep my eyes locked on Carter’s—picturing how hot it would be if he joined me onstage right now. Honestly wishing that he would, I lift the pearls from around my neck and toss them into the audience, earning an outburst of cheers.

  The song approaches the chorus—my signal to move towards the pole.

  Biting my lip, I picture Carter fucking me against the wall of a private room and gracefully hoist myself up with my arms. As his lips cover mine in my fantasy, I twirl around the pole in utter bliss, letting my legs support my body’s weight.

  I slow my spin and arch my back so I’m hanging upside down, watching Carter’s eyes lustfully stare back into mine.

  I notice that several dollars have been tossed onstage during my twirls, so I let myself slink down to the stage. When my head touches the floor, I flip over and stand upright.

  Swaying my hips to the slowing beat, I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra, letting my breasts fall free.

  More dollars hit the stage.

  I back my body against the pole—hooking a leg around it, and raise an arm high above my head to grip it. Spreading my legs, I let my other hand slowly travel from my neck, down to my stomach, to the top of my nearly see-through panties.

  I splay my hands across the front of them—tilting my head back as if I’m pleasuring myself, as if Carter is fucking me out of my mind. I move my hand to the bow that hangs off the side and pull at it—smiling at the desperate “Take it off!” “Keep going!” “Don’t stop!” pleas that are coming from all over the room.

  Pulling harder on the bow, I realize that I’m loving everything about this moment—the attention, the power, the lust.

  Moving my hand back up to my exposed breasts, I smile when I notice that Carter is smiling back at me.

  I continue eye-fucking him for the final seconds of my song, climbing onto the pole for one final series of spins.

  As the song begins its decrescendo, I slow my momentum and hold my position—one leg wrapped around the pole, the other artfully held straight up with my head facing the crowd.

  The second the song ends, there’s a roar of applause and I can see more bills being tossed onto the stage. I shut my eyes for a split second, silently praising myself for killing that routine, and then I carefully move myself off the pole.

  I avoid eye contact with the audience as the crowd continues to cheer. I grab all of my hard earned money and my bra, and use my shirt to wipe off the metal before leaving the stage.

  “Well damn...” Robyn shakes her head as I enter the dressing room. “I feel like I might’ve gotten pregnant after watching that.”

  “What?” I laugh. “What are you talking about?”

  “Who the hell was your target?” Sarah rushes over, smiling. “You danced ten times better than you ever did in rehearsal! And the bow thing? Nice! I’m not going to lie, I got wet watching you...I’m going to go change now.” She pats me on the back and laughs as she backs away, throwing me the thumbs up.

  “Anyway...” Robyn helps me back into my bra. “That was fucking amazing for a debut. I am seriously impressed—beyond impressed.”

  “Does that mean I’ll get to dance another set tonight?”

  “Hell no.” She scoffs. “You’re a newbie. Go take some drink orders in the private boxes and make yourself useful.”

  “I’m banned from the bar, remember?”

  “You’re banned from sitting at the bar and staring at the drinks for too long. You can take orders from the private booths. Just write them down, give them to a non-alcoholic waitress, and walk away.”

  I roll my eyes and head to my locker—changing into a set of dry panties; my fantasies of Carter have completely drenched my dancing ones. I put on a white shimmering midriff shirt and return to the club—making my way towards the first private box.

  I’m steps away from it when I feel a familiar hand clasping mine and spinning me around.

  Carter pulls me close so we’re practically chest to chest. “It’s nice seeing you again.”

  “I wish I could say the same. Did you enjoy the show tonight, Mr. Black?”

  “Very much so,” he says genuinely. “Can we talk in private?”

  “I’ll have to charge you for that.”

  He rolls his eyes and pulls me towards the closest private dance room. He opens the door and pushes me inside, quickly locking it.

  “Y
ou know I wasn’t joking about charging you for this, right?” My voice is deadpan. “If you’re not seriously interested in a dance right now, I suggest that you—”

  “I’m seriously interested in you.” He steps forward—backing me against the door, pinning me still with his hips. “You work here full time?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Never give your work schedule to a stranger. I’m pretty sure that’s stripper handbook rule number one.”

  “Emerald...”

  “It’s Raven.” I suddenly feel annoyed and understand why no one wants their real names said inside these walls. It’s too personal. “Look, you have sixty seconds to say whatever the hell you have to say before I start charging you.”

  “Go ahead.” He backs away from me and takes a seat. “But I want my money’s worth, Raven.”

  Fuck... He was supposed to say “Okay” and let me out, not insist on a dance.

  I’m not prepared to be alone in a room with him and by the way he’s eyeing me right now, I have every reason to feel that way.

  “One dance,” I say.

  “And if I want more?”

  “I’ll go get someone else since you seem to like being here so much. Might as well experience everyone, don’t you think?”

  “Am I being charged extra for listening to your smartass mouth? Is it possible for you to leave that part out of the package?”

  I cross my arms. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t want to talk.” His voice is stern. “I’m waiting...” He leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at me.

  I walk over to the door and make sure it’s locked. I scroll through the digital keypad that hangs from the wall and press play on the shortest song—a four minute instrumental that I use in practice.

  Approaching him, I avoid making eye contact and instead focus on the top button on his shirt. I pull my top over my head and begin my routine as always—tossing my hair and biting my lip, but before I can continue, he leans forward and pulls me into his lap.

  I start to slowly grind my hips against him—still avoiding his eyes, concentrating on finishing this routine.