The Preacher's Daughter

by Fiona Wilde

  Her breasts threatened to spill from the dress, but it was just a teaser move. She stood back up and pulled the straps back up over her shoulders. The men groaned. She went to the pole, grabbed it and leapt several feet off the floor, wrapping her left leg around the pole at her knee. She slid down, arching her back as she hit the floor. She turned on her side, grabbed her ankle and pulled her leg to the side until her calf was inches above her ear. She got back up and began to move, swaying in time to the music.

  Jasper was at the edge of the stage. She entertained a mental image of herself moving to him and planting the stiletto heel of her shoe in his eye. The image was graphic and horrible but in that moment she felt fully capable of doing something just that graphic and horrible. But she couldn't, so she took the hate and rage she felt and channeled it into dance.

  Her hips moved in seductive circles. The men watched, slack-jawed. Some reached into their pockets. A few pulled out money; the others kept their hands where they were and Naomi knew they were attempting to discreetly pleasure themselves as they stared at her.

  * * *

  She parted her legs, and gyrated down, down, down until her bottom was inches from the floor. It was not easy to do in heels. Her thigh muscles screamed.

  "Come on, Angel! Take it off!" One of the regulars was getting impatient. From the side Jasper nodded at her, his eyes hard, his expression daring her not to disappoint the men.

  She rose back up, lowered the straps, let her breasts fall out. This time she caught them, keeping her hands over the dusky rose nipples. The men protested loudly.

  "Come on!"

  She flipped her hair over her face so they wouldn't see the tears that were coming to her eyes as she moved her hands. She shimmied, shaking her generous chest. The men roared.

  Naomi hooked her fingers in the top of the dress, sliding the stretchy material down and off. She stepped out of the garment, leaving herself in just high heels and a thong.

  She moved to the edge of the stage, got down on all fours like a cat. Bouncers moved discreetly to the front to keep the men from grabbing at her as they stuffed money into the waistband of her thong.

  Jasper kept a close watch. She knew he was memorizing every bill. Later he would come for the cash in the dressing room. No girls held out on him. They were too afraid, even before the beatings started.

  She stood, taking the money from her thong and dropping it at her feet. Her heart was pounding. She did not want to remove the skimpy underwear, even if it left little to the imagination.

  Naomi swallowed hard and summoned her courage. She put her fingers in the waistband, moving her hips from side to side as she turned away from the audience and slid the panties off. She took a ragged breath as she turned back. The men shouted lewd comments and licked their lips as they eyed her shaved pubic mound. Several weren't even trying to hide their masturbation now. She felt bile rise in her throat.

  Eric. What would he think if he saw her now? Would he hate her? Would he pity her? She'd prefer hate, she thought. Pity was worse. Pity was what you gave people too pathetic to hate.

  Naomi picked up her clothing to the sound of thunderous applause.

  She didn't see Jasper coming into the hall and nearly ran into him. He grabbed her arm and looked down at her. His eyes were glazed and a lascivious smile was fixed on his face. He'd taken something.

  "You were hot," he said.

  "Yeah, well I'm cold now," she said. "I need to get back to the dressing room and get some clothes on."

  "Not so fast." He traced her still-swollen cheek with his finger. "You know, I can be nice Angel. I can be real nice. And I can make things easier for you if you'd let me. What do you say we get together tonight at my place..."

  She felt a surge of fear. She needed to be careful now. Very careful.

  "That sounds great," she lied. "But can we wait until tomorrow? I'm so tired after my trip."

  His eyes searched her face. She held her breath. Was he angry? Did he think she'd rejected him? Unlikely. Jasper considered himself a ladies man. And he was. But not for any woman who had ever even thought of being a lady.

  "You wouldn't tease me, would you Angel?"

  "No, Jasper," she said. "I really am tired. Please. Let me just get a god night's sleep."

  He smiled a lazy, handsome smile. "Yeah, that's probably for the best. If we go back to my place I don't think you'll be getting much sleep." He paused, looking her up and down. Naomi resisted the urge to cover herself. "You look hot. Real hot. Why some of those guys prefer Claire's teeny-bopper body to a woman's body I'll never know..."

  Naomi bit her tongue. Did she really need to tell him that pedophiles didn't like grown ups? Or that he was a monster for making the girl dance?

  "I'll get you out of her, Claire," she silently promised. "I will."

  "Yea, well different strokes, right Jasper."

  "Yeah. Different strokes."

  He moved aside and she went down to the dressing room. As she did, Candy passed her in the hallway. She was dressed like a cowboy, her thighs rubbing together under the hem of her fringed leather skirt.

  Jasper was back out by the stage, where he's stay to watch Candy and the other girls dance next, his sharp eyes keeping track of the money.

  Naomi longed for a shower but pushed the urge from her mind. She had other things to concentrate on. Claire. She needed to talk to Claire while they had some time alone. And she didn't have much time to spare.

  Chapter Ten

  Naomi dressed quickly on the way back down the hall. Then she opened the door to the dressing room to find Claire stretched out on the battered sofa, a wet washcloth lying across her face. She walked over and sat down, gently lifting the edge.

  "Hey there," she said. "You O.K.?"

  "No. Not really." The girl sniffed pitifully. "My head is pounding."

  "Let me see if I can help you, then." Naomi got up and walked over to the dressing table. Opening the top drawer she picked through the scattered tubes of lipstick, bottles of nail polish and assorted unmarked bottles of pills until she came to a pack of BC powder stuck near the back. She took a packet of the powder and then ran a glass of cold water for Claire.

  "Can you sit up?" she asked the girl.

  "I don't feel like it."

  "I need you to sit up anyway." Naomi injected a tone of authority into her voice. It was something Eric had taught her to do when she was a camp counselor.

  "Make them see you as a leader," he said. "Make them see you as a leader and they'll feel safe with you."

  It seemed to work with Claire. She sat up. The washrag fell off her face and plopped down into her lap.

  Naomi handed her the open packet of powder. "Tip this into the back of your throat and chase it with this whole glass of water. Drink it fast. It's nasty stuff."

  "What is it?" Claire asked.

  "It's like powdered aspirin, only better. It's great for alcohol headaches."

  The girl tipped the powder into her mouth as instructed and winced. Claire handed her the water and watched as she gulped the whole glass down.

  "You're right," the girl coughed, handing her the empty glass. "That's nasty."

  "Yeah, well you'll thank me in fifteen minutes. You're head's going to feel a whole lot better. I promise."

  The girl nodded. Naomi put down the cup and took a seat on the couch beside her.

  "So," she asked. "Where are you from?"

  "Reno."

  "Reno. What brings you out here?"

  "I wanted to get out on my own," she said. "I thought my parents were too strict." Claire punctuated the last statement with an ironic laugh.

  "Yeah, sometimes we don't realize the world's a lot harder on us than our parents could ever be. Sometimes home is our safest place, even if we don't see it at the time..."

  "You apparently didn't think so." Claire's voice was slightly accusing. "You went home and came back. Jasper laughed about you. He said you're the perfect example of someone born to be a stripper.
He said some women were just made for this life."

  "Do you believe him?" Naomi asked.

  "I don't know what to believe - who to believe - anymore." Claire looked at Naomi. Her lip trembled. She looked so young. "I do know that getting smacked around and taking my clothes off for a bunch of old men isn't what I had in mind when I left."

  Naomi reached for the girl and hugged her. Claire burst into tears. Naomi felt a little like crying herself.

  "Claire," she asked. "How old are you?"

  The girl fell silent.

  "Eighteen," she finally said.

  Naomi didn't believe her. But she didn't press her any further for the truth. Even if she was eighteen, it was too young to even be in a patron bar that served hard liquor, let alone a dancer.

  "Listen," she said, pushing the girl back and looking into her face. "I don't want to scare you, but I think this place has gotten dangerous. And I don't think it was an accident that I came back here when I did. I used to think everything was random, Claire. I used to think that nothing happened for a reason."

  From down the hall she could hear the crowd cheering. She began to talk quickly.

  "I think something...God, the fates, whatever..something had me come back here to help you. I want to get you out of here, Claire."

  "But Jasper said if I even tried to leave he'd..."

  "Forget Jasper!" Naomi's words came out in a hurried rush of words. "I'll find a way. But for the moment you just...just follow my lead. Are you up to dance next?"

  Claire nodded. "Yeah. But I don't want to."

  "Lay down."

  The girl obeyed and Naomi stood as Jasper came into the room.

  "Come on, Claire. You're next."

  "She can't go on. She's sick." Naomi had picked up a trash can as he walked in. "She's puking sick."

  "Is she?"

  "Yeah she is. You should have known better than to send her out in that state, Jasper."

  "She's just pretending." Jasper was dismissive. "Get her up."

  "Fine," Naomi said, slamming the trash can down. "And if she passes out on the stage and somebody calls 911 on their cell phone and she goes to the hospital, how long do you think it'll be before the cops get involved if some do-gooder doctor decides to start asking questions?"

  Jasper looked at the girl on the couch. For the first time he didn't look so sure of himself.

  "You're dancing in her place," he said.

  "Fine."

  The idea of performing again made Naomi feel nearly as sick as she'd pretended Claire had been. But she still felt more comfortable going on than watching the girl being forced to dance again.

  The crowd went wild as she again grinded against the pole and swayed. Her skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat as she tried to ignore the lewd comments of the men who leaned against the stage to shake ten dollar bills in her direction.

  "Here, pussy pussy," a drunken man in a business suit called. A bouncer pulled him back.

  It seemed like the song went on forever. Naomi gathered her clothes and the money when it was over. She stuffed the wad of cash in Jasper's shirt pocket as she walked out.

  "Here."

  He took it with a smile and watched as she got dressed.

  "Nice," he said. "Very nice. She didn't know if he was talking about her body or the money. Not that she cared.

  "You're popular, Angel. Popular as ever. Maybe more popular. Randy's promised me a bonus for getting you back."

  "Congratulations," she said bitterly.

  "I was going to tell you tonight when I took you over to my place to, uh, celebrate." He trailed a finger down her arm and she slapped it away. He laughed.

  "But there's been a change of plans. We have a new customer. A drop-in. And he's requested a private dance. From you."

  "Too bad," Naomi said. "My shift just ended."

  She turned to leave but Jasper grabbed her arm, wrenching her back towards him.

  "What? No one told you? You're working overtime."

  "No, Jasper," she said. "If I'm stripping for these clowns I know what a private dance will mean. I'm not going to prostitute myself."

  "You either dance for this guy willingly tonight or dance against your will with me, Angel." He smiled down into her frightened face. "If you're a no-show I'll make little Claire-Bear dance for the customer instead. How'd you like that?"

  "Leave her alone." Tears welled up in her eyes.

  "Oh boo-hoo." He mimicked her crying. "Naomi, Patron Saint of Fledgling Whores and Strippers."

  His face grew serious. "I'll leave her alone provided you give our mystery guest a good time. And don't worry. I won't think any less of you for giving it up to him, just so long as you give it up to me later."

  He turned away. "Go get dolled up, doll. I put a pretty dress for you in the dressing room. Mr. Moneybags will be in the private room at the end of the hall. He's expecting you in thirty minutes."

  Naomi tried to hold her tears until she was back in the dressing room. But when she got there and found Claire sitting on the couch she swallowed them. Not need to make the girl any more worried than she already was.

  "Feeling better?" She tried to keep her voice light.

  "You were right. The headache's gone." Claire managed a smile. "And thanks for going on for me. You didn't have to do that. And if Jasper had known you were lying about how sick I was..."

  "Well, he didn't."

  "He put that dress in here. He said it was for you." Claire nodded towards the door. On the back was a low-cut blue dress. The bodice was designed to hug the upper body. The skirt flowed modestly to knee length. But the fabric was so sure it would leave little to the imagination. Naomi sighed.

  "Yeah." She walked over and took the dress down.

  "Where are you going?

  "Out to dinner," she lied. Naomi was not about to tell the girl what she was expected to do. It would only scare her. "Jasper's little idea of a welcome-back party."

  "Sounds like fun."

  "Yeah." Naomi said nothing more.

  "Where are you staying, Claire?" she asked.

  "Jasper got me a room on Court Street. It's in a white house. 347."

  "Court street? That's in the druggie district. Are you alone?"

  The girl nodded.

  "I don't have a place to stay yet. Would you mind putting me up for the night?"

  Claire brightened. "Really? You want to stay with me?"

  "If it'll be OK," Naomi said. She hoped the girl would say yes. She didn't want Claire to be alone.

  "Yeah, sure!" Claire frowned. "I get lonely and scared. It'll be nice to have some company."

  "Yeah, it will for me, too. Can you hang out here until I get back? We'll go to your place together. It's not safe to walk Court Street at night."

  "Tell me about it," Claire said. "Yeah, I'll wait."

  Naomi went behind the screen and changed into the dress. She chose a pair of high-heeled silver shoes to wear with it. She looked in the mirror as she brushed her hair. The sweat had removed most of her makeup and the bruise on her cheekbone was now obvious. Even Claire noticed it.

  "Ohmigod," she said. "What happened to your face?" She grew quiet. "Jasper?"

  "Yeah. Jasper," Naomi said. She turned to Claire. "Does he hit you?"

  "Yeah. Last week he came to pick me up and I told him I didn't want to go. He took his belt and beat me on my back and butt. Then he got mad because I was too marked up to dance." She began to cry at the memory.

  Naomi stood and took the girl in her arms.

  "We're going to find a way out of here, OK? Just keep that to yourself."

  She turned and sat back down at the dressing table. "Right now I've got to do this..thing though. Later on we'll figure something out. Just don't say anything, Claire. Not to Candy, not to any of the other dancers. I don't know what Jasper's capable of. I don't want to find out. But if he thinks we're leaving I think things could get very ugly for us."

  "I won't," Claire said with an earnest shake of he
r head.

  Naomi winced as she dabbed more makeup over her bruise. She hoped it would be dark in the private room.

  "I guess that'll do," she said as she surveyed the make-up job. "Is it terribly obvious?

  "Not so much with all the blush," Claire said.

  Naomi stood and picked up the wrap and little silver purse.

  "Have fun," Claire said.

  Naomi suddenly felt as if she were going to cry. "OK," she said.

  She walked out of the room. "Cotton Eye Joe" was thumping from the other room. Candy was doing her cowgirl routine again. Men whooped and hollered. Two more girls, one obviously stoned, walked past Naomi in the hall. They were dressed like cheerleaders.

  The room at the end of the room had formerly been an office. Now it was marked "Private."

  Naomi took a deep breath as she opened the door. The room was poorly lit, almost dark. In the corner she could see the silhouette of a man sitting in a chair. He was wearing a coat and a fedora. His head was down. She couldn't see his face.

  She moved to turn on the light.

  "No." His voice sounded odd, as if he was purposefully trying to deepen it. "Leave them off for now."

  "Fine."

  "What's your name?"

  "Naomi."

  "The man I set this up with said your name is Angel."

  "That's my stage name."

  He motioned to a chair sitting about twelve feet in front of him in the center of the room. "Sit down," he croaked.

  Naomi stood for a moment, uncertain of how to interpret his strange behavior.

  "Please," he said.

  She walked to the chair and sat down facing him. He turned on a light beside him. It was a lamp aimed at her. It bathed her in light. She blinked against the harsh brightness of it. She could barely see the man now at all.

  "Why do they call you Angel?"

  "I have a tattoo of an angel on my back."

  "You like angels?"

  When I was little I believed in them. I believed I had one watching out for me because my dad told me I had one. He said it was my guardian angel. Later I stopped believing that. I lost that faith. The angel on my tattoo is falling. It represents that loss.