by Ashley Lane
Behind the bar, the bartender—who’s not the dickwad from the other day—is busy mixing drinks and taking orders, and if the crowd at the bar is any indication, it’s going to be a busy night.
“Oakley!” My name is called over the beat of the music and when I see her, I smile.
Shelly. I wave as she approaches, and when she reaches me, she pulls me in for an unexpected but not unwelcome hug.
“Come on,” she says, tugging my hand and leading me toward the back of the club where a single red door stands out against the deep blue walls. Above the door, a white fluorescent sign reads Staff Only.
Shelly unlocks the door using a numbered passcode. The door closes with a soft click behind us and the pounding music fades into the background. As Shelly leads us up a flight of stairs, she continues, “I’m sorry about the mix-up with your interview.”
Ah, the interview. Last night I was supposed to interview here with Shelly’s boss, Angel. She was adamant that I show up early to the ten pm appointment because her boss likes punctuality. Needless to say, I wasn’t the only one surprised when her boss didn’t show.
“It’s okay.” I shrug. “Things happen.”
“Well like I said yesterday, it’s really uncommon for Angel to miss a meeting like that, so whatever it was I’m sure it was important. But Rhys passed on the message from Angel that you’re going to be working the same shifts as me. I think Angel knows you’ll probably feel better having a familiar face on the floor.” She’s distracted for a minute as she picks up a box by the door and reads the label on the top. “We’ll be working together for a while until you get to know some of the other girls. It’ll be great.”
The tension coiling in my shoulders gives way at her words and I grin. I’ll definitely like working with Shelly. I’m already stepping way out of my comfort zone working somewhere so public, but Shelly has a natural way about her that immediately puts me at ease—I’m glad to call her my friend.
She takes her time and explains the different sections of the club and tells me about the customers I need to watch out for, and the ones who receive the VIP treatment. All of this, I find out, is neatly organized into separate folders that are kept in the staff room for us to access at any time, but she assures me the longer I’m here the easier it will be to recognize everyone by name or face.
When she’s finished, Shelly looks me up and down and plants her hands on her hips. “Well, you certainly dressed the part. I never woulda’ known that was hidin’ under your baggy hoodie.”
My face heats, and despite her words I pull at the cuffs of the long sleeve black V-neck that I picked up at the thrift shop in town. Clarise let me borrow a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and I paired them with my broken in black Chuck Taylor high-tops. Still, I thank her even though anxiety is beginning to weave threads of uncertainty through my chest.
“What will I be doing tonight?” I ask. If I can get into it and start working, hopefully I’ll be able to keep my mind off my other problems.
“I made it clear to Angel that you didn’t want to dance, and that’s not an issue at all. So we’ll start tonight with you shadowing me as I wait tables for an hour or so, then we’ll let you try a couple on your own. Sound good?” She pulls out a small notebook and pen from the pocket of her skintight mini skirt and hands them to me without waiting for my answer. “We’ll start with section two, it’s usually the quietest.”
For the next two hours, I trail behind Shelly like a lost puppy and watch as she ends up covering not one, but two sections, both full of rowdy and disorderly men. I’m entranced at the way she fights off unwanted touches and attention without making the men feel like they’re being turned down. They frown and pout but with a few whispered words their smiles are turned right and they’re once again eating from the palm of her hand.
My feet nearly cry in relief when she tells me it’s time for a ten minute break. “So what do you think so far?” Shelly asks as she hands me a bottle of water and we sit side by side at the relatively quiet end of the bar. I open the top and take a mouthful, not realizing how thirsty I was. Shelly brings her own bottle to her lips and as she swallows, someone calls out from behind the bar.
“Yo, Shell.” The bartender who looks way too young to be working here, waves a hand in our general direction.
When Shelly looks up, he nods his head toward me. “Boss is here, wants to meet her. Said to send her up.”
Shelly smiles wide and jumps down from the barstool before she grabs my hand and drags me through the crowd. Looks like it’s time for my interview.
We enter through the same staff door as earlier and make the trek up the stairs for a second time tonight. Only this time when we reach the top, we turn right toward a door I didn’t notice before.
Shelly glances at me and her face softens. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about. I’ll wait out here until you’re done, okay?” Before I have a chance to respond, Shelly raps her knuckles against the door three times and opens it without waiting for a response.
Didn’t anyone ever teach her to be patient? That’s my last thought before she shoves me inside the room and closes the door behind me.
At first glance, I notice just how big the office is, and from where I stand I can see someone—Angel, I assume—sitting in the leather backed chair and facing the opposite wall. Murmured voices tell me to wait while Angel finishes the phone call, and I take the opportunity to scan the room.
Deep red walls are complemented by rich, dark mahogany flooring, and the addition of plush leather lounge chairs gives the room an air of sophistication. To the left, a long desk is topped with keyboards and monitors, and with a glance I realise they show each section of the club downstairs. On the wall, three large television screens show a scrolling image along with the text Let Us Corrupt You.
Well, there’s truth in that statement.
When a throat clears, I dart my eyes toward the main desk where Angel stands, a welcoming smile on his—YES HIS!—face. It seems in her typical rush, Shelly forgot to mention a couple very important pieces of information. Here I’d been thinking Angel was a woman and she went by her… erm—stage name. I give myself a mental slap in the face.
My eyes give another quick sweep—ya know, just to check—nope, there are definitely no boobs on the chest in front of me. Just a broad expanse that even under his shirt I can tell is chiseled and cut. Definitely a man. A whole lot of man.
Angel lets out a soft chuckle and clears his throat again to get my attention. “You must be Shelly’s friend. My name’s Maddox, but everyone calls me Angel,” the Greek Adonis introduces himself and extends his hand.
Tentatively, I take a few steps forward, trying to keep my face hidden by my hair. I lift my hand to shake his.
“And your name?” he presses.
Shitfuck! Name. Yeah, of course I have a name.
“Oh—um, sorry. Yeah—my name.” I continue shaking his hand. Because why not? “Oakley. Oakley is my name.” Thank God for my hair. At least he won’t be able to see the beet-fucking-red stain of embarrassment that smothers my face.
He laughs again and tugs his hand back, then not so discreetly wipes them over his jeans. I cringe, knowing he just wiped away my palm sweat. I barely suppress my groan. Way to make a first impression, Oak. Jesus Christ—just kill me now.
“Well, Oakley, your name is Oakley… you got a last name to go with that?” he teases, and of fucking course he has dimples.
“Anderson,” I say quickly.
Angel nods and extends his hand toward the chair beside me. “Take a seat for a minute, you look a little… flustered. Shelly’s already had you working tonight, do you need some water?”
Yep, it’s official. I’m going to kill Shelly. If I’d had a little warning about who my interview was with maybe I wouldn’t be making a fool of myself. I shake my head and drop onto the seat.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Oakley Anderson. I apologize I missed your interview last night. Shel
ly spoke very highly of you…” he trails off and I laugh uncomfortably.
“I can’t imagine what all she had to say. To be honest, I met her just a few days ago. We’re practically strangers,” I admit.
When he laughs again, I realize I could sit here and listen to that laugh forever. This guy had to be the idea behind all the ‘Fall from Heaven’ pick up lines. “I’m pretty sure stranger is not a word in Shelly’s vocabulary.”
I smile and attempt to hide my laugh behind my hand. “You’re probably right about that.”
“Well, I trust Shelly’s judgement and if she thinks you’ll be an asset here, then we’re more than willing to give it a shot. She told me you were firm on no dancing and I just wanted to reiterate to you that won’t be a problem. We don’t force anyone to do anything they aren’t comfortable with,” he explains. “I’ll just need you to fill out a few forms while I’ve got you here.”
I nod along with everything he says, only picking up a few words here and there because God’s honest truth is, I’ve never seen anyone like him. While he talks, I study his features. He has the bone structure of a model and piercing blue eyes remind me of the bluest oceans, not to mention those plump lips. As he taps away on the keyboard, the muscles in his thick forearms flex.
“You taking it all in so far?” Angel asks.
I nod as he continues with a few more standard interview questions I answer with ease before he hands over the paperwork and I start filling it out.
As I go through the questions, trying to keep them as truthful as possible, downstairs, the music plays a steady beat that hums quietly through the room. With my focus now on the paper in front of me, my nerves have calmed, until the shrill ringing of the phone assaults my ears.
I almost jump out of my seat. The pen falls to the floor and I press my hand to my chest, willing my heart to slow down. When I lift my head, my hair—placed so precariously over the side of my face—has fallen back over my shoulder, leaving my scars exposed. The worst of them now on full display as both Angel and I freeze.
Angel’s face changes so quickly I almost miss the pity that quickly morphs into something akin to confusion—or maybe it’s disgust.
Of course it’s disgust, Oakley. How could it not be? Angel is the epitome of flawless perfection, and here I am, looking like I was dropped in a frying pan.
Angel averts his gaze and talks quietly on the phone, his hushed voice barely audible. I finish filling out the paperwork, wondering why I’m even bothering. I should leave. This isn’t the type of place I should be working at.
“All done?” he asks, his tone softens.
I hesitate, the paper in one hand and my other hand on the arm of the chair. I’m ready to stand and make a run for it. His eyes narrow and he tilts his head, studying me. Before he can say anything, I force my voice to work.
“I know I don’t exactly fit in here…” Or anywhere. “But I really need this job. If… if you don’t want me working around customers I can clean, or work in the kitchen—”
The words tumble out while my lip quivers and anxiety builds in my chest, and when Angel raises his hand to stop me, I’m positive he’s about to tell me to leave.
“Oakley, I’ll be the first one to say that you can’t measure a person by what you see on the outside.” He lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hands through his hair as though this somehow affects him on a personal level. As if, Adonis. He’ll never understand how it feels to be judged solely on your appearance.
Angel slumps into his chair. “You know, some of the ugliest souls are wrapped in gold encrusted shells. But on the inside, they’re as black and toxic as tar. You’ll find we come from all different walks of life here.”
For a moment he looks almost wistful.
“The one thing I’m firm on is that there is no judgement. Everyone has a battle to fight, and we owe it to them—and ourselves—to keep an open mind.”
Done with his speech, Angel glances at the paperwork, giving me a not so subtle cue to hand it over. “You ready to give that to me now?”
I hand it over, all the while I’m wiggling my toes and nervously wringing my hands as he flips through the pages. His eyes skim before stopping and zeroing in on something.
He raises his eyes to meet mine. “You’re staying at Angel’s Cove?”
My stomach drops and shame fills my belly. “Is that a problem? I’m looking for somewhere more permanent. it’s actually why I need the job so badly,” I rush to admit.
Angel shakes his head. “It’s not a problem at all. We have a good partnership going with Clarise. A lot of her girls have come through here, then moved on to bigger and better things. Some, like Shelly, have stayed on longer. I think you’ll find you fit in here better than you’re expecting.” There’s understanding in his blue eyes and knowing that Clarise is friends—or at least acquaintances—with Angel, settles my nerves.
“Has Shelly shown you the dressing rooms? While you’re not dancing, I’d still like you to meet everyone.”
“That would be great,” I say, proud of myself for putting those four basic words together.
Angel walks past me toward the door, sending the irresistible scent of his cologne my way. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
He holds the door open for me and there’s Shelly, sitting on the stairs still waiting as she promised. She pockets her phone and looks up at me with a huge smile. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She turns her attention to Angel, then back to me. “Told ya’ he wouldn’t bite.”
Face flaming once again, I glare at her as two thoughts hit me at once. The first—No. She did not mention biting. The second—I don’t think I’d mind being bitten by an Angel.
Shelly attempts to give me a sly wink but fails miserably. Angel shakes his head, clearly more amused than me by her antics.
“Okay, let’s go to the dressing rooms and get the introductions out of the way. You want to tag along, Shell?” Angel asks.
Of course she nods eagerly and makes small talk with him as I follow them down stairs and deeper into the club. Done with their conversation, Shelly tugs on my hand, urging me forward.
As we move through the club, the scent of greasy food and alcohol is replaced with the sinful scents of sex and debauchery. Even the music changes tempo from the upbeat dance music to soulful, seductive sounds that are sure to heighten the arousal of the customers who come to Corrupt for that very reason. To be Corrupted.
On a shiny, black elevated stage surrounded by strip lights, a slim woman with bright pink streaks through her blonde hair crawls along the stage. Her humongous titties are damn near dragging on the floor as she writhes and rocks her hips in time with the music.
I follow Shelly and Angel through the room, sticking close to the walls as we pass by a beefy security guard. He shakes hands with Angel and gives him a polite nod before we reach another door.
Angel knocks loudly and calls out before entering.
“Everyone decent?”
Decent? After witnessing big tits dry hump the floor in nothing but a tiny pink thong, I wonder what state of (un)dress they could possibly be in to make them indecent.
After a few giggles and oh yes and of course boss, Angel laughs to himself and pushes the door open to reveal an immaculate dressing room.
Along one side of the room, the top half of the wall is painted lilac while the bottom half is covered in embossed white wallpaper. On the opposite side, the entire length of the room is a wall of mirrors.
I count twelve leather topped stools in front of the long counter that allows each girl the space to store a range of makeup and hair products. A few seats are occupied by girls doing their makeup, seemingly unperturbed by Angel’s presence.
Two girls are standing at the back of the room chatting while they adjust their skimpy lingerie. On plush white sofas, others are gathered around and snacking from a platter of finger food in the center of a glass coffee table as they talk and laugh.
Angel leans against
the wall, casually resting his boot on it. “You’ll have access to this room when you’re on shift, so feel free to come hang out with the girls.” He points to the doorway at the back of the room. “There’s a private restroom at the back, and we keep it stocked with food and drinks. Employees are entitled to one meal per shift and unlimited non-alcoholic drink refills when you’re working on the floor.”
I stand and stare, still unsure about everything. A few girls give me a wave and smile and they all seem nice, but with my serious lack of self-confidence, and the mirrors that seem to taunt me to show my skin, I’m not sure I’ll be able to come back here often.
“This is amazing,” I whisper to Angel, impressed that he’s given these women a beautiful place to work, and an even safer place to rest while they’re here.
Shelly grabs my hand and leads me around the room, introducing me to several of the women. They’re all super nice, and none of them bat an eye at my scars. It soothes me, but at the same time it terrifies me because I’m consciously aware that I’m waiting for the moment when everything falls apart and my scars become the only thing they see.
A petite brunette bounces on her toes as she extends her hand to me. “Hiiii,” she says in a cheery voice. “I’m Tasha, one of the dancers. It’s so nice to meet you. I love meeting new people. You’re really gonna love working here.”
Oh yay, Shelly 2.0. Before I can get a word in, she’s off again. “Are you a dancer? Oh, I love your hair, it’s so long.” She tugs on the strands of her short pixie cut. “I can’t grow my hair at all.” With a beaming smile, she stops as suddenly as she started.
For a moment, I just stare in awe. No one—and I mean NO ONE—has ever been that excited to meet me.
Shelly laughs. “Tash, slow down,” she says.
Tasha’s cheeks turn beet red and she bites her lip. “Sorry, I get a little excited… about everything.”
You don’t say.
“It’s nice to meet you, Tasha. Um, I’m not a dancer.” I nod back toward the door. “I’ll be out there, waiting tables and doing whatever else needs to be done. But I’m really looking forward to it.”