Careful What You Kiss For

by Jane Lynne Daniels

  The hell-yes confidence part of Tensley’s smile froze as she scrambled to find a piece of paper and something to write with.

  “Something wrong, Pepper?”

  Tensley glanced up. It was Milo, the bouncer. The guy who had covered for her the other night.

  “Got a dancer behind the bar and she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing,” Pepper responded. “That’s what’s wrong.”

  Tensley’s fingers closed on a pad of paper and pen. She gave Milo a nod of recognition, trying her best not to look like a dancer slash bartender who didn’t know what the hell she was doing.

  Milo pointed at her. “Her leg’s messed up so she can’t dance. And Becca’s gone.”

  “So what’s the big deal? I danced with a broken ankle.”

  “Really?” Tensley asked, genuinely curious. “Didn’t anyone notice?”

  Pepper looked at her as though she’d asked if two plus two equaled four. “They weren’t looking at my ankle.”

  “Oh. Right.” Tensley wrapped her fingers around the pen as though her life depended on it. “What were those drinks again?” She could do this. She really could.

  Milo left and Pepper propped an elbow on the counter and repeated each one, slowly and deliberately. A screwdriver, a vodka and tonic, whisky with a water back, a salty dog, three beers. When she’d finished, she asked, “You got that now? ’Cause you’re costing me money.”

  “Got it.” At Tensley’s nod, the other woman walked away.

  The music pounded and a male voice announced Terrible Tawny, the dancer from Tensley’s first night at the club. Tawny took the stage to enthusiastic applause and cat calls, while Tensley, clutching the piece of paper with drink orders, paused to watch.

  Razor had told her she was the best. Was that even possible or was he just speaking boyfriend-ese?

  Tensley had never been the best at anything.

  Tawny was pretty good, but those legs didn’t look like they were straddling the pole at a perfect parallel to the floor, as Lila Delightful’s had. Still, that was an interesting move; how had Tawny been able to transition so smoothly to a handstand with one foot wrapped around the pole, especially when that foot was tied up in a shoe that didn’t bend —

  “You doing okay?”

  Milo.

  “Yes! Perfect!” Tensley put the list on the counter in front of her and grabbed the two closest glasses she could find, doing her best to look busy.

  It must have worked because he moved on.

  Tensley stared at the drink orders. She herself preferred cosmos, martinis and chocolate cake shots. Vodka and tonic was easy enough, but what the hell was a salty dog?

  She squared her shoulders. Easy stuff first.

  Thanks to college parties, she could pour a beer with a beautiful head on it. As more than one gentleman of Delta Tau Delta had hopefully observed, though it hadn’t gotten them anyplace, she gave good head.

  Tensley poured three beers and set them carefully on a round tray, murmuring a silent thank you to the Delts who had taught her well.

  Next, she moved on to the vodka and tonic, but turned up her nose at the bottle of no-name vodka she spotted on a shelf close by. She ran her eyes up and down the bottles until she found one of Absolut tucked in the back. Much better.

  She grabbed it, threw a few ice cubes into a glass and then poured out a generous portion of vodka. Nearly too late, she remembered the tonic part. She found that bottle, added a thin layer of tonic water and then stood back to appraise her work. Something was missing. Color. She sliced a lime and threw it on top. Vodka and tonic. Done.

  Next, a screwdriver. She’d heard of it, but had no idea what was in it. She made a stealthy grab for the purse she’d placed on one of the lower shelves, rummaging through it until she found her cell phone. It only took a minute to pull it out, open the Web and type “screwdriver” into search.

  A photo of a drink had just come up, listing the ingredients as vodka and orange juice, when she heard a familiar growl at the other end of the bar. “Tell me you’re not on the phone when you’re supposed to be working.”

  Tensley jumped, the cell clattering to the floor. She reached down to pick it up as Gary’s gaze burned through her. She threw the phone back into her purse and straightened. “Of course not,” she said, despite all evidence to the contrary.

  “Don’t be thinking you’re going to get any special treatment from me,” he warned. “This is a one-time deal, only while Becca’s gone.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sarcasm in her voice fell into the swirl of applause for Terrible Tawny.

  “And that’s only because I was feeling like being a nice guy to my son. That doesn’t happen much.” He leaned forward. “I ain’t a nice guy.”

  “Can’t think why anyone would ever say that about you.”

  Gary grunted and then slapped the counter. “So get to work. I’m not telling you again.”

  She resisted the urge to slap him, focusing instead on the fact that her helping Max should put Gary out of business. That thought made her smile, a real one this time. Gary looked suspicious, but left.

  Vodka and orange juice. Okay, then. She grabbed the bottle of Absolut, again pouring an ample amount in to the glass, but this time remembering to leave enough room for the orange juice she’d found in an under-the-counter refrigerator behind her.

  A few ice cubes tossed in for good measure. And another drink down.

  Whisky with a water back. Whatever that meant. She searched for and found a bottle of Maker’s Mark, hidden even better than the Absolut. Her absent father had imparted few words of wisdom, but one thing he had said was that there wasn’t whisky, there was only Maker’s Mark. She’d been ten years old when she’d overheard him saying it to some other man. It had sounded grave. And wise.

  “Here’s to you, Dad,” she murmured, pulling the bottle out.

  But the water back part … . She glanced up to see Pepper making her way over to the bar, followed by another topless woman. Time was nearly up.

  Tensley plopped ice cubes into a glass and filled it with Maker’s Mark. The water part could happen when the ice melted.

  A customer flagged down Pepper. She stopped to talk to him, giving Tensley another minute or so.

  Next, a salty dog. Short of coaxing a canine into standing under a shaker and then on top of a tray … . She smiled, picturing it, and then ducked her head so no one would see.

  There was always the margarita approach. Tensley ground the top of a glass in salt and debated what alcohol to put in. Pepper was on the move again. Tensley grabbed the bottle of Absolut and poured it in the salted glass and then shot in something clear and fizzy from the flexible hose. Looked like soda.

  There. About as dog-ish as things were going to get. “Your order,” she said to Pepper, who had just reached the bar. Tensley pushed the tray toward her and turned to the next woman, who thankfully only wanted one whisky and soda and five beers. That she could do.

  “Where’s the water?” Pepper asked.

  Oh. Who knew it was that simple? “Sorry.” Tensley filled a glass and put it on Pepper’s tray before turning to the next woman’s order.

  Pepper returned a few minutes later. Tensley’s stomach turned over, fearing the short turnaround might be because of angry customers, but then she noticed the glasses on the woman’s tray were empty.

  “The guy said that wasn’t exactly a Salty Dog, but whatever it was, he wants another one.” She made it sound like a question.

  “Great.” She did her best to sound like it was no big deal, but she knew she’d packed a fifth of relief into the one word.

  For the first time, Pepper looked as though she might smile, but she managed not to. “They all want another round, even the screwdriver guy.”

  “On it.” What did Gemini the cat know? She wasn’t doing so badly.

  Pepper sauntered over to another table, boobs bobbing, while Tensley got busy making the drinks. Terrible Tawny left the stage and two other wome
n took her place, each grabbing a pole to call her own.

  A few hours later, Tensley had faked her way through most of the requested drinks, covering her lack of knowledge with generous amounts of alcohol. One customer ordered several rounds of rum and coke. Probably because she made it with two-thirds rum and one-third coke.

  The only thing that mattered, though, was getting information for Max — wherever or however she had to do it. As busy as she was, she continued to look around the club, watching for anything that seemed unusual. One problem. She didn’t know what usual was here.

  “Hey.” Tensley flagged Milo down. “I need a break.”

  He hesitated, casting his gaze around the darkness.

  “Seriously. I do. Or it’s not going to be pretty.” She raised an eyebrow.

  Milo jerked his head. “Go on. I’ll watch the bar.”

  “Thanks.” She grabbed her purse before he could change his mind and began weaving her way toward the back of the club, staying close to the walls to be as inconspicuous as possible. Probably didn’t matter, she realized. Who would be looking at her when there were nude and semi-nude women all over the place?

  About halfway across the club, she came to a private area lit in blue, with a sultry, slow-moving dancer and a man sitting in the shadows, watching. Oh hell. Her stomach knotted at the memory of her and Max, locked into that same horrible, thrilling dance.

  She touched her fingers to the wall to steady herself, breathing in the potent scent of lust and sweat mingled with perfume, hating herself for almost, almost wishing she was back inside there with Max.

  There was so much about this new life she was going to have to forget.

  Keep moving, she told herself. Eyes straight ahead. At least she wasn’t attracting attention. All eyes that weren’t riveted on Pepper’s bouncing boobs were focused on the dueling dancers on stage.

  No one was guarding the black curtain that shielded the dancers’ dressing room. Tensley reached up to pull it back and slip inside.

  She saw that same long green hallway, nicked and bruised by passing cigarettes and careless people. Not far down, the door with the paper gold star. As softly as she could in four-inch stilettos, she crept past the door, glancing behind her every few steps to make sure no one saw or followed her.

  On the right, a women’s restroom, where someone had endowed the stick figure on the sign with generous breasts. Next to it, a men’s bathroom with a similar drawn-in enhancement, this time of a penis long enough to do serious damage.

  Even the restroom signs in this place were X-rated.

  Further down was the exit door she’d opened onto the street after that disastrous time on stage. She took a deep breath, fighting the temptation to slam through it a second time. If she was fast enough, she might be able to outrun this outrageous life and leap back into her new one.

  Her brain was a millisecond away from giving the order to hit the door and run when she spotted something she hadn’t seen that night. Another hallway, more dimly lit. She did a Scooby-Doo double-take. This could be important. This could lead to Gary’s office.

  Another glance over her shoulder told her no one else was around. Yet.

  Tensley crossed quickly into the second hallway, where she spotted two closed doors. Pulse throbbing in her ears, she laid her fingers on the first door, pressing her ear against the wood. Nothing. She tried the knob, but it didn’t turn. Locked.

  Then she heard the sound of a male voice, echoing off the walls in the first hallway. With a shudder, she registered who belonged to that half-snarl, half-grunt. Gary. He’d probably been the one who’d drawn the penis on the restroom sign, as some sort of delusional personal marketing campaign.

  The voice was coming closer. “I am not gonna tell you again,” Gary said. “Don’t fuck with the business.”

  Tensley squinted in the half-light. It was so dark, she couldn’t see if the hallway was a dead end or led somewhere else. She darted away from the first door and on to the second.

  She heard another familiar voice. “But Pop,” Razor pleaded. “It was a good idea.”

  Relief washed through her when the knob turned in her hand. She opened the door and ducked inside a pitch-black room. Then she closed the door without a sound and leaned her back against it, hands splayed.

  Seconds later, she heard the rattle of keys and the sound of someone entering the room next to her. Gary was talking again, but she couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Inch by inch, she scooted her back along the door, feeling with her right hand for the wall. If she could get closer, she should be able to hear.

  No wall, yet. She sidled her body closer, leaving the relative safety of the door frame, and stretched her arm full length. Air … air … there. A solid surface. She scooted over and put her ear to it.

  Gary spoke again, his voice higher, angrier. “That’s what you call a good idea. Putting girls in bikinis in a fucking hardware store?”

  Tensley drew her brows together. A guy who ran a strip club had a problem with girls in bikinis?

  Razor’s voice also rose. “Brought in more customers in one day than we had all last month.”

  “Let me take a guess here, Einstein. You’re thinkin’ those guys are actually coming back once their wives find out what they’ve been lookin’ at in the hardware store.”

  That must have stopped Razor, because all she heard was something that sounded like Gary dropping hard into a chair.

  It took a minute, but Razor rebounded. “Hell, yes, they’ll be back. Not every guy has a wife and if they do, they’re not gonna tell her. I’m only doin’ this one day a week. Callin’ it Wiggle Wednesdays.”

  Even through the wall, Tensley could hear the note of pride in Razor’s voice.

  Something slammed together hard. Gary’s fist on the desk? Razor’s head — she hoped not — against the door?

  Then she heard Gary’s voice again, lower, more menacing this time. “Listen to me. And listen good. I do not pay you to think of ideas. I do not pay you to put girls in bikinis in my hardware store. Hell, if you weren’t my son, you wouldn’t be there in the first place.”

  Sympathy rippled through Tensley. No one deserved to be talked to like that.

  Gary went on. “I pay you to show up and make sure the place sells its fucking screws, hammers and nails.”

  She heard what sounded like a nervous laugh from Razor. “Speaking of screws, one of the girls had this funny idea for a sign — ”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Gary thundered, hurting even Tensley’s ear. She backed away from the wall.

  Razor mumbled something she couldn’t make out, but it sounded apologetic. Tensley leaned in again.

  “You want the cops sniffing around the place? Because I sure as hell don’t.”

  “I made sure it was legal,” Razor offered, but Tensley could practically see him cringing. “And I stopped the guy who was tryin’ to put a tip in Tiffany’s — ”

  “Oh, that’s just perfect. You asked somebody if it was legal? Somebody else. But not me. The damn owner of the place.”

  Interesting. Gary owned a hardware store.

  Razor mumbled something Tensley couldn’t hear. She turned her whole body to the wall where her elbow knocked into something metal and sharp. She stifled a yelp of pain. As she reached out her other hand, to cup her injured elbow, it, too, hit the metal object, knocking something off what had to be a shelf. It fell to the floor with a soft thud.

  Silence on the other side of the wall. Ouch. She could feel wetness on her skin. Great. Her elbow must be bleeding.

  And she smelled soap.

  She took a step back in the darkness and slipped on liquid, her feet going out from under her to crash into the metal shelf. Unable to suppress a cry this time, she landed hard on her backside, legs flailing. The shelf hit the floor next, with a screech of rickety metal and thuds of whatever objects it had held.

  The soap smell was so strong now, it stung her nostrils.

  She
coughed and then held her breath, hoping with every part of her being that Gary hadn’t heard the commotion in the room next to him.

  The door flung open and an overhead light flipped on, nearly blinding her.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Gary roared.

  Tensley looked down to see the floor covered with liquid soap, her legs at awkward angles against the wall, her elbow bleeding, and a now-empty metal shelf on the floor beside her.

  Razor’s head appeared behind Gary’s, his eyes widening.

  Tensley gave him a weak smile and lifted her hand. A blob of soap dripped off her palm and onto the floor.

  This was so not how things went on Law and Order.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Since no one was talking, Tensley thought she’d better. Gary’s face was growing redder by the minute and he had his jaw clenched so hard, she expected his teeth to begin popping out of his mouth, one by one, like Chiclets gum.

  Razor tipped his head, looking perplexed.

  “I needed soap,” Tensley said.

  It took several seconds for Gary to loosen his jaw enough to answer. “And you didn’t turn on the light because, what? Soap glows in the dark?”

  “Good one, Pop,” Razor chortled. Then he stopped, apparently realizing he might be lining up with the wrong team. “I mean, yeah, if you need soap, you’re just gonna go where the soap is and get — ”

  Gary reached back to whack him. “Stop talking.”

  “Ow.” Razor rubbed the spot on his arm.

  Tensley lifted her chin, determined not to let Gary see the beads of sweat forming on her forehead. “I couldn’t find the light switch.”

  “I hid it. Because you’re not supposed to be back here.” Gary’s singsong tone of exaggerated patience crawled up Tensley’s spine. “You need something, Milo gets it.” His eyes narrowed. “You know the rules.”

  So no one but the bouncer was allowed back here. Why? She held his gaze. “Milo was busy. And I don’t leave a restroom without washing my hands.”

  A little tough to pull off righteous indignation when she was sprawled on the floor, covered in liquid soap that wasn’t even the kind that smelled of pomegranates or lemons. Where did Gary buy his soap, Cheap Goo, Inc.?