“I did.” He hesitated, gaze shifting away. “But they’re considered experimental and not covered by insurance.”
“Of course not.” Suri’s insurance from teaching at the school covered only a pittance of her mother’s expenses. Her income from the trio helped, but stripping made ends meet—barely—and even that couldn’t cover everything. If Suri fell behind on the payment arrangements she had with the private facility, Mellie would be moved to a state-run nursing home. Suri had vowed from the beginning she’d never let that happen. Never. Her mother wasn’t going to get better. It was up to Suri to see that whatever time Mellie had left was as comfortable as Suri was financially capable of making it.
“I can have the business office draw up an estimate. Until then, we can manage things as we have been.” O’Neil stood up and made his exit back to his own life.
Suri watched him go, trying not to hate him for something that wasn’t his fault. She spent several moments sitting, trying to wipe her mind clear. Ten minutes passed before she felt sane enough to make her own exit back to the hallway.
“Hello, Jen. How are you this afternoon?” Nurse Nancy had been a fixture around Our Lady since Suri’s mother had first been admitted. Sometimes Suri wondered how the older woman could stand it.
“I’m doing okay, Nance. How about you?”
Nancy’s cocoa-colored skin glowed with warmth. “My son just popped the big question to his sweetheart. They’re going to have a small ceremony at Christmastime! I’m so excited I could just sing!”
“Congratulations, Nance! You tell him I said that, okay? I know you want to retire with a house full of grandbabies.”
“I sure do.” Nancy patted her arm. “Your mama is in the common room, watching the birds.”
“Thanks.”
Suri left the nurse to her bubble of family happiness and walked back toward the facility entrance. The hallway ended abruptly, widening into a large common area where residents could receive guests. Windows gave a view of the busy Boston street, and a fireplace crackled merrily in the far corner of a conversation area. At the other end of the long room, past the reception desk, Mellie Robertson sat in her wheelchair before a large glass enclosure full of birds.
Tears burned in Suri’s eyes at the sight of her mother’s hunched form. Mellie had been a beautiful woman. Now she was nothing but a hard shell.
Suri approached slowly, coming at an angle so as not to take her mother by surprise. “Hi, Ma. How are you today?”
Mellie made a grimacing face, a grotesque smile of sorts that wrenched Suri’s heart in two. She was never sure what was worse, the empty gaze of dementia or the look that told her beyond doubt that her mother was trapped inside that withering body.
Chapter Four
Lizzie squeezed Suri in a hug so tight she thought she might suffocate. “Good Lord, girl, I’m glad to see you in one piece! I sent Jericho to find you last night after you disappeared with that bottle of champagne. Are you okay?”
Suri put on her most convincing smile. Lizzie had been the one to help unlock the Suri side of her personality that first month or two on the dance floor. She really liked Lizzie’s upbeat outlook. “I’m fine. Much better. I didn’t know you were working tonight.”
“I swapped with Zoey. She has a parent-teacher conference tonight.”
The spacious dressing room was starting to fill with the dancers scheduled for the night. Lighted booths rimmed the large rectangular space, but the central area was dominated by rack after rack of clothing. Each dancer claimed a prep station when they arrived, dumping their belongings in the locker underneath a counter where they could spread their makeup. Once they’d designated a home base, it was time to dig through the clothing to find the perfect ensemble for the night. Despite her errand to the nursing home, Suri had been lucky enough to beat the rush.
Lizzie claimed a spot next to Suri and settled herself on a stool before her mirror. She began brushing her short black hair. “Zoey is really worried about all the trouble David is having at school. I wish I could help her, but I wouldn’t know where to start. Being in this business and having a kid has to suck. The hours just kill any chance of family time.”
Suri organized her own selection of cosmetics and set to work. She had less than forty-five minutes to make the transition from music teacher to exotic dancer. “Lizzie, how long do you think you’ll work as a stripper?”
Lizzie leaned close to the mirror and drew a perfect line with her eye pencil. “I don’t know. Maybe until my boobs are too saggy for anyone to pay to see them? Why?”
“I just wondered. I don’t think I ever intended to be here for this long. I just needed some extra cash, and this seemed like a quick buck.” Suri pulled her long blonde tresses into a high ponytail and teased the hair so it would poof up higher. “I never thought I’d actually enjoy it, but sometimes I almost do.”
“Suri, baby, there’s no such thing as extra cash. And anyone who disses us is just jealous they don’t have the guts to get up there.” Lizzie snagged a wig of loose red curls from a mannequin and began to fluff it up. “What’s been eating you? It’s like someone rained on your parade, and you can’t get over it. That’s not like you.”
Suri wondered if she should tell Lizzie about the guy who had recognized her in public. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen, right? Except it had been a big deal. Especially since it had ended with her deciding to have the most fantastic sex of her life with Dante and Jericho.
“Come on, spill!” Lizzie whisked a brush across her face, applying a thin layer of glittery powder.
“You know I play cello in a string trio, right?”
“How could I forget? I keep telling you to bring that thing in and play naked on stage. You’d make some killer tips.”
The image made Suri chuckle despite her gloomy mood. “I don’t think this crowd would go for classical music.”
Lizzie stood and dropped her robe. Suri couldn’t help but admire her friend’s cocoa skin, lush curves, and full double-D-cup breasts. Cultural definitions of beauty be damned, Lizzie’s fuller figure raked in as much or more in tips than Suri’s narrower hips and C-cup chest.
“Honestly.” Lizzie grabbed a pair of star-shaped pasties to put underneath her white “schoolgirl” top. “I don’t think they’d give a shit what you played if you were naked. But I digress. You were telling me what happened.”
Suri gave up on the idea of distracting Lizzie. The woman had a one-track mind. “We were playing a wedding, and the groom tried to come on to me during the reception.”
“That’s disgusting!”
“When they confronted him about it, the bride accused me of throwing myself at him.” Suri wished she could block out the lingering humiliation riding her after the incident. Inside Asylum, she was on familiar ground. There was a tenuous balance of power between the ones on stage and the ones paying to see the show. Outside the club, it was a whole different experience. She felt as though she’d been stripped bare in front of strangers so they could judge her based on their narrow-minded principles.
Lizzie wrinkled her nose and tied the shirttails of her top just below her breasts. “You told her the truth, right?”
“Yes.” Suri flashed back to the derision on the bride’s face. “He told her I was a stripper.”
“Wait. He identified you?” Lizzie’s peals of laughter made no sense. Was she laughing at Suri’s embarrassment?
Suri turned back to the mirror to put the final touches on her makeup. “I didn’t think it was funny. My friend Leslie is still waiting for me to explain the scene. I don’t even know what to tell her. She doesn’t know I moonlight as a stripper, and she still calls me Jen.”
Lizzie propped one hand on her hip and struck a pose chock-full of the devil-may-care attitude that made her a favorite on stage. “Forget all that. Sweetie, that douche bag told his new bride at their wedding reception that he’d been hanging out in strip clubs and
probably cheating on her. How is any of that your fault?”
It wasn’t her fault. That really had nothing to do with it. It was about being exactly what the asshole had said. Suri was a stripper. She took her clothes off for money. She could justify it any way she wanted. She could even enjoy the uninhibited feeling of dancing, but at the end of the day, she wasn’t sure what was worse. Either she was insecure and the club was exploiting her, or she was taking advantage of lonely losers who paid a few extra bucks to touch her tits and have her grind her ass against their crotches.
“That’s what has you moping around like the world is ending?” Lizzie stepped into her red plaid skirt and fiddled with the pleats.
“Not just that.”
“You’re a beautiful dancer, Suri. You like doing it. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Why did it sound so reasonable when Lizzie said it?
“Well, what else?”
It was harder to say than Suri had expected. “I was depressed last night and maybe a little drunk, and I sort of slept with a couple of guys while I was here at the club.”
“Come on, sweetie, your life must be pretty boring if you think that’s bad.” Lizzie crossed her arms as if waiting to be impressed.
Suri wondered how much shock it would take to impress her more adventurous friend. “Two guys at the same time.”
“Oh, definitely not boring but still not awful.”
“I slept with Dante and Jericho.”
“Well that’s kind of awkward.”
* * * *
“She called me a cheap whore.”
Dante sat back in his chair, wishing he could return to the paperwork scattered on his desktop. He stifled the urge to stab his fingers through his hair. The only way to effectively deal with his staff, especially his dancers, was to remain calm at all times. Even when he wanted to strangle them.
“You are a cheap whore.” The redhead with the gold-glitter eye shadow propped her hands on her hips. “You totally slept with that guy for a tip!”
The blonde curled her hands into fists. “He was my customer first! You’re just mad because you wanted to steal him!”
This was where it got tricky. According to the state of Massachusetts, it was illegal for the customers at his club to solicit sex from the dancers. However, as long as it was consensual, Dante took the girls off the clock and let them make their own choices. Asylum was all about choices. The ones you thought through and the ones you regretted the next morning. At the end of the night, he was just the middleman.
A tired middleman.
“Screw you, Candy! He didn’t want your fake-ass Marilyn Monroe impersonation. The guy was a sucker for redheads.”
He recalled the blonde choosing to call herself Candy Cane in a bid to emulate the early Monroe days. Dante had been in the club business for ten years, and he’d seen more than his fair share of dancers come and go. Why they all thought they’d be more successful trying to be someone else, he’d never know.
“Enough.” He put just enough terrifying in his tone to shut them up. “I’d rather fire both of you than deal with this shit. You both fucked the guy. I hardly think that’s the issue.”
Their garish makeup gave their faces a deer-in-the-headlights quality. He wondered what they’d actually look like under normal circumstances. Did these girls live in these skins all the time?
Why does it matter? It’s none of my business what they do.
“You want to fuck, you do it on your own time.” He gave the redhead a pointed stare. “Fuck a customer on my time clock one more time, and your ass will go to jail for solicitation, understand?”
The one who called herself Tiki bobbed her head in understanding. Her hair was sprayed so stiff it barely moved.
Dante swapped his attention to the blonde. “And, Candy, I don’t want to hear any more whining. If your look can’t keep a customer, change it.”
Another nod, this one accompanied by a distinct pout.
“Now get out of here.” He gestured to his office door.
Tiki and Candy stood up and shared a significant look. When Tiki left and Candy remained behind, Dante wanted to groan out loud.
“Can I help you with something else?” He picked up a file from his desktop and tried to look as busy and uninterested as possible.
She sauntered over, her hips swinging beneath her provocatively short minidress. Perching against the edge of his desk, she propped one platform heel on his chair. “You’ve been staring at me.”
Though it was sort of true, it wasn’t for the reason she assumed. Candy bore a slight resemblance to the fiery blonde temptress named Suri, who had turned his life upside down less than twenty-four hours ago. Candy couldn’t hold a candle to Suri’s classic beauty, but Dante was so distracted even a mild reminder of the previous night made him unable to focus on anything else.
“It’s okay to want me, Dante.” She trailed her fingers up the sleeve of his dress shirt. “I want you too. I’m so hot for you my pussy is already wet. I’ll give it to you any way you like.”
“What I’d like is for you to walk your ass out that door before I throw it out.”
“Excuse me?” She snapped so straight he thought he heard her spine crackle.
“You heard me.” Dante stood, using his height to tower over her slight form. “I’m not interested, and I don’t play games, especially with my employees.”
Her expression suggested she was about to give him a piece of her mind, but self-preservation kicked in, and she hustled out the door. It slammed shut behind her, and Dante sank back into his chair.
If I’d stuck to my no-fucking-the-employees-rule, my life would be a hell of a lot less complicated.
The thought of Suri’s soft skin and the muscular expanse of Jericho’s torso had the power to make Dante’s cock sit up and beg for more. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew last night should have been a fling. So why couldn’t he let it go?
The memory of Suri on her knees between him and Jericho made Dante want to beg for a repeat performance. He and Jericho had locked gazes over her back, knowing that she created a bond between them. With Jericho’s thick cock between her lips, and Dante’s fully seated in her wet pussy, Suri’s passion had shaken something loose inside them both. But the sudden intimacy had made Dante uncomfortable, something he was beginning to think Jericho felt as well.
For a decade, Dante had held firm to his personal policy of staying away from his employees. It had kept him out of trouble. He didn’t get up close and personal with the dancers, the dealers, the bartenders, or even the security staff. His friendship with Jericho was the only exception, but that was different. He and Jericho had history, and they ran a business together. Asylum was a lucrative operation, more so than most people realized. Thinking with their dicks and not their brains could screw things up in the permanent sense. And that they did not need.
A soft knock brought Dante back to the present. “Mr. Torres?”
The “mister” bothered Dante. There was no room for formality between the two of them. “You can come in.” When Suri had started talking about threesomes the night before, Dante had been certain it was time to expand the boundaries of his and Jericho’s relationship. Now, it would be nice to know where their relationship stood after everything that had happened.
“I wasn’t sure if you were in here alone or not.” Jericho stepped inside the office, leaving the door open. “I have some Level Four access approvals for you to sign off on.”
Level Four was for high rollers and well-connected clientele. Dante personally oversaw the approval process. If a client didn’t have something of value to offer him— blackmail, money, political connections, or otherwise—they stayed on Levels One through Three.
Asylum wasn’t a typical club. Customers could indulge in anything from illegal gambling to no-strings-attached group sex and anything in between, as long as they followed the guidelines. Most of the clientele belonged to elite families on the Eastern Seaboard, and D
ante exploited those contacts regularly to avoid the legal ramifications of the club’s illicit and lucrative offerings. At the end of the day, it was his club and his rules. Most customers were too afraid of being blacklisted to cross him. They were bored, and they were rich. Dante offered them a place where anything was acceptable.
Acceptable is one thing, but money and boredom can’t be excuses for everything, especially not having a threesome with your head of security and a dancer.
JERICHO WISHED DANTE would just sign the damn forms. After he turned them in to the business office, he would be free to sink back into the familiar rhythm of work. Only yesterday, he would’ve lingered in the office to shoot the breeze, talking sports, politics, or club gossip with the man who’d become more than just a boss in the ten years Jericho had been working for him.
Now, it was all he could do to act normal while he went about his regular schedule. He had known things might be awkward when he’d made his choice the night before. But living the awkward was much worse than anticipating it.
“How is business tonight?”
Dante’s question drew Jericho back from his brooding. “The usual. Congressman Flaherty must be stressed about his bid for a senate seat. He just signed for the West Suite on Level Four and told Terrence to bring him four dancers for a private show.”
Jericho didn’t add that the congressman had demanded blondes. His gut told him that Dante would react much as Jericho had, which was why he’d handpicked the dancers and sent them up personally. There was no way he was sending Suri into a room with a man like Flaherty, who was incapable of keeping his hands to himself.
That issue alone was why Jericho had always had a hands-off policy when it came to dating coworkers. Regular rules didn’t apply inside Asylum. Suri was an exotic dancer. Getting possessive when it came to the nuts and bolts of her job was just stupid.
So why am I doing it?
“Did Flaherty bring his mistress?” Dante lounged back in his chair, stabbing a hand through his shoulder-length hair.
Boston Avant-Garde 4: Encore Page 4