Stripping Her Gears

by Kelly, Sahara

  Yes, he'd thought through most everything, he hoped. He was sitting in the central room, looking through the broad archway toward the dance floor. He really had to name these rooms something, he realized. Quiet room, dance room and room with fireplace wasn't cutting it somehow, given the elegant ambience he was striving for.

  His attention was recaptured by Cora and the other women with her, now happily tapping their way through a music-hall classic--My Old Man Said Follow the Van.

  Jack's eyelids lowered a little as she leaned over, her ass stretching the shorts delectably snugly over her buttocks. Dear God. He'd really like to do some dilly-dallying with her.

  She was good, too. Her movements were natural, not forced at all, her limbs responding instinctively to the rhythm. Her smile was easy and cheerful, as if dancing in hot pants to old English music hall songs was something she did every day.

  He knew enough about her from her application to realize this wasn't the case, and the rest he'd gleaned from a quick phone call to Dane Lowell, who--bless him--had recommended Cora in the first place.

  Kudos to Dane for his brilliant notion and also to his girlfriend Livvy for suggesting her friend apply.

  He'd heard that some sort of IRS bill was looming or in repayment. Whatever the reason behind Cora's arrival in Jack's sphere of existence, he was glad of it. He foresaw an interesting time ahead for them both.

  One that would be mutually satisfactory and leave them both sweating and relaxed.

  Coincidentally, sweating was exactly what Cora was doing at that moment.

  He chuckled to himself as he watched them finish the number and then catch their breath. Or at least it should have been a chuckle. But she turned around and he caught a last glimpse of her ass as she stretched out one leg and rubbed her thigh.

  God. Now he was sweating too.

  Chapter Two

  He'd been watching her surreptitiously for the past several weeks now. Cora sighed as she turned and once again caught Mr. Jack Brandon self-consciously not looking at her, which he tended to do if he thought she might catch him in the act of looking at her.

  It was all horribly junior-high-school, and if he hadn't been such a luscious dish, Cora would have given him a piece of her mind. But in her more private moments, she confessed to herself that she'd rather give him something else--something a little more intimate.

  Her boss, the owner of Goggles and Cogs, was one dee-licious hunk of masculinity. Although they'd only exchanged mundane greetings and the occasional necessary work-related conversation, Cora was sensing more than just the routine interest from Jack Brandon. Her sex-radar was registering him as a major blip, especially when he gave her one of "those" smiles. The ones that got her panties all sticky.

  He managed to be around when the evening was done, always checking to make sure his employees had transportation home. If his hand brushed her spine as he escorted the staff to the street and wished them goodnight, well, it was a casual thing and she shouldn't read anything into it. If she turned and found him near her a little more often than was to be expected, well again...she shouldn't read anything into it.

  She tried hard not to read anything into anything, and she also tried very hard not to let her awareness of Jack interfere with her job, which she liked a lot more than she'd anticipated. But he was not a man she could treat casually and he was almost impossible to ignore.

  As a general rule, most men over six foot or so got noticed. Jack was at least six-four. Cora appreciated his height since she was five-foot-ten with bare feet. Not that it bothered her, since she didn't mind dating shorter guys...she never really thought about the matter of any difference in elevation. After all, as she was fond of saying, everyone was the same height lying down.

  But when she stood next to Jack and found herself looking up into his face...well, all of a sudden she shivered through a surprising ripple of feminine awareness. She didn't get anything like that from staring at the top of a man's head.

  Besides the height thing, there were those eyes she saw when she tipped her head backward. Cora was a sucker for a man's eyes. Jack's were hazel, changing from golden brown to green depending on the light. Or possibly his mood. She wasn't sure and didn't know him well enough to figure it out.

  The fact that she would very much like to know him that well scared the crap out of her and drove her far far away from him whenever such ideas intruded into her mind. Her main goal was to focus on her job, scooping up the generous tips and not missing a step in any of the four or five dance routines she had memorized...those were the important things.

  She wasn't one to get tangled up in emotional affairs or deeply intense relationships. Cora was all about having fun and keeping it light.

  Lusting after her boss wasn't on the agenda.

  So she'd damn well better cut it out.

  She tried. She really tried. But by the end of the first month, when they were all getting into a comfortable routine with each other and the work, Cora knew--all the way down to her ten tapping toes--that Jack Brandon was interested. In her.

  And she could deny it to herself all she wanted, but she also knew his interest was reciprocated.

  She wasn't as tired as she'd been the first week, of course. The frantic opening, the first few evenings--well, it had torn into her lifestyle and turned it upside down. She'd spent the Sunday collapsed on her couch, alternating between blinking at the sunlight and napping.

  Now that she had a few more weeks under her belt, knew where everything was and felt quite at home with the little tap routines...well, it was much much better. Three nights a week of exorbitant tips didn't hurt either.

  Apparently Boston's elite loved dressing up in late Victorian costumes and hanging out with like-minded folks in feathers, top hats and an assortment of other things that made Cora blink.

  Her Thursday night shift was the quietest, usually couples, not many in costume, and much of the time comprised of friends who found Goggles and Cogs a charming place to meet after work. Members invited new guests who eagerly became members themselves, and Cora realized right away that Jack had found himself an ideal niche market for a club. Now and again there were older patrons who actually knew some of the old songs, and she loved seeing them sing along as she and her fellow waitresses tapped their way through some of the pre-World War I classics.

  Friday nights were the most challenging. Not surprisingly, the crowd was younger, edgy and eager for something new. They seemed fascinated by the concept of Steampunk and it didn't take long for the "let's dress up" idea to take root. These guests partied enthusiastically, arriving early and making plenty of noise. It was always a fun night, which flew by after the doors opened.

  Saturday was different again. These folks were dyed-in-the-wool enthusiasts who had chosen the club to indulge their fascination with all things Steampunk. There were regulars, dressed in amazingly period-accurate costumes, mingling with newcomers who had a hard time managing skirts and tailcoats. Not to mention monocles, which Cora was called upon to rinse and dry on more than one occasion. They had a nasty habit of dropping off a slippery nose and into the wearer's martini.

  Members of the real Steampunk Society liked to drop by on Saturday nights, so it was all hands to the pump and a lot of spit and polish before opening. Almost military in its precision, the club doors were thrown wide at nine pm exactly. Guests were welcomed until midnight or until capacity was reached, which was often well before the shut-off deadline.

  Always flexible, Jack welcomed the Society members, and if one wanted to recite a favorite passage from a Jules Verne novel, they were encouraged to do so. It was informal, delightful and unexpected. The nice thing about a private club, mused Cora. The freedom to accommodate guests and their wishes.

  He'd picked a good time to start up this whole deal. Summer was ripe with visitors to Boston, many of whom had passes to Goggles and Cogs from fellow Steampunk addicts. Word was spreading, and even though August would probably be a little on the slow si
de, Cora figured her waitressing would be good from anywhere between three and five hundred dollars in tips per week.

  She welcomed the "found" money, and her IRS bill was steadily declining. She knew there was no excuse for squandering any of it and was strong-minded enough to bypass the end-of-season sales while gleefully watching the outstanding Federal balance shrink. At this rate she might well be paid off by Thanksgiving--something she'd never expected quite so soon.

  They'd already scheduled a special event for September--a visit by a renowned Steampunk author--and although his fans might not tip as well as her regulars, it would be interesting to listen to him and see what his take on this whole brass-filled gadget-laden phenomena might be.

  It soon became clear that this particular venture wasn't just a money-making cash cow. It attracted a different clientele than the usual private clubs...although they were certainly part of the membership. But there was a predominance of people who enjoyed conversation--and intelligent conversation at that--along with their excellent single malts, Napoleon brandies, and the occasional richly fragrant cigar. A treat which must have arrived in Boston under cover of darkness and behind the backs of the Customs folks.

  Overall, Cora enjoyed it. Even though she was, technically, a waitress, she was never made to feel less than an important member of the club team. She was treated respectfully by the members, many of whom now knew her by name and greeted her when they arrived, much as they greeted their friends.

  She was learning who liked what and got a kick out of seeing their surprised faces as she brought them their drinks without being asked. She also got a huge kick out of the extra tips her little memory exercise brought in.

  All things considered, if she had to take a second job, this one was the absolute top of the heap. And now that she'd managed to adapt to the extra hours and was no longer in danger of dozing over her keyboard during the day, all was good.

  It was especially fun when Livvy and Dane dropped by, in full costume, looking so happy together they made Cora's world glow for the rest of the night. They cheered and applauded her dance routine--it was the standard 'Enery the Eighth song, made popular many decades after it first appeared by a sixties pop band who introduced it to a new generation.

  Cora and two other girls danced behind a handsome waiter singing the song in a lovely British accent and encouraging the guests to join in the chorus which they all did with abandon.

  At the end of the evening, Livvy grabbed a few words with Cora.

  "Damn, girl. This was the most fun. You doing okay? I don't get to see you so much anymore."

  Cora smiled. "I know and I'm sorry. That's the only drawback. I'm loving it here, though. Can't you tell?" She tapped the brim of her top hat in a mock salute.

  "Glad it's working out." Livvy leaned in. "You put the moves on the hunk yet?"

  "Which hunk?"

  "C'mon, kiddo. There's only one for you here. And you know it." She angled her chin toward Jack who was chatting with Dane and one or two other men. "Jack, right? The owner?"

  Cora sighed. "Yeah. He is."

  "All that and more."

  Both women took a moment to appreciate the finer aspects of the male of the species.

  "I'm thinking about it." Cora decided to go for honesty.

  "Think fast." Livvy looked pensive. "He's a hottie. Someone else will hunt him down and bag him if you don't."

  Before she could answer, the man himself moved away from the little group and walked toward them. "Nice to meet you, Olivia. I hope you and Dane will come back again soon."

  He smiled, his eyes crinkling nicely at the corners and bringing a little sigh to Livvy's throat. "Thanks. I had a great time." She glanced up at Cora. "And you take care of my friend here. She's special people."

  "I will." Jack moved to stand beside Cora. "I know how special she is."

  Cora gulped. "You do?"

  "Absolutely. All my folks are special. I wouldn't have hired them otherwise."

  "Of course, Mr. Brandon." Cora tried not to let her disappointment show. Damn it all. She wanted to be more than just one of my folks.

  "I have to go." Livvy touched Cora's hand. "See you next week, hon."

  "Bye, Livvy. Glad you came." Cora waved to Dane as he held the door for Livvy. "Come back soon."

  Jack stayed at her side as they left, followed by the last lingerers. Then he turned to Cora. "Can you ask Pauline and Megan if they'd join us for a few minutes? I have something I'd like to run past you guys if you've time..."

  "Sure thing." Cora nodded. "I'll go find them."

  "Cora?"

  "Yes Mr. Brandon?"

  "It's Jack. If you don't mind. Mr. Brandon makes me look around for my father."

  She grinned. "Okay. If you say so. Jack..."

  There it was again.

  That flash of her incredible smile sending tiny shocks of electricity down to Jack's groin and making him feel like he'd had his genitals delicately tapped with a tazer. She strode away--Cora never walked, she always seem to stride vividly through life--and he watched her as she disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared a moment later with Pauline in tow.

  Seconds after that, Megan peered around a doorjamb and Cora waved her over.

  Jack called to her. "C'mon up to my office? I won't keep you long." He moved to a side door and stepped through to the narrow stairs, knowing the three women would follow.

  The little attic room he'd appropriated for himself was small, small enough that he guessed it was originally a servant's room. But it held a desk, a chair, a couple of cabinets for paperwork and his laptop. He didn't need much more.

  It was crowded with the three women in there, and for a second Jack felt dizzy as he inhaled the wonderful scent of sweaty women, a blend of their perfumes and the underlying aroma of old wood.

  For some reason, he could distinguish Cora's scent clearly. She was fresh, airy--kind of like linens that had been drying outside in the sun. And where the hell that whimsical notion had come from he had no idea. He dragged his errant thoughts back into place.

  "Okay, ladies. Here's the thing." He paused, watching them as they watched him. "In two weeks time, we have a special booking. A closed night for a bachelor party."

  There were varying degrees of interest and a groan or two. He grinned. "Yeah, I know. But they're paying top dollar and we are running a business. With what we'll clear from that affair, this month will be ahead of last month's figures by a factor of two."

  "Wow." Pauline's eyes grew large. "That must be some bachelor."

  "It is." He nodded and mentioned a high-profile name that everyone knew.

  "That explains the fee." Cora pursed her lips. "But I'm sensing there's more to it..." She quirked an eyebrow at him.

  He looked away from them for a heartbeat, searching for the right words. Then looked back. "A bachelor party is going to get rowdy. There's no two ways about it. And they're going to expect...er...entertainment of a certain kind."

  "Strippers." Megan looked sour. "Always strippers. What's with men anyway?"

  "Don't get me started." Pauline shrugged with disdain.

  "Ladies..." Jack held up his hand. "I have two options here and I want you to know them both. The first is that I can hire some expensive performers for the night. You know how hard I've worked--we've all worked--to achieve a reputation here. We're unique and I want to keep it that way. So if I go out and hire girls for that night, they will be top class and cost me a lot. But it will be worth it."

  Cora's eyes were glued to his face. "What's the second option?"

  "I pay you ladies to work that night instead."

  "Strip?" Pauline's jaw dropped. "I'm not a stripper, Jack. No way in hell."

  The other two nodded in agreement.

  "I understand. Really I do. And there will be no repercussions if you say no. But hear me out. Local ordinances allow topless performers, but not full frontal, if you get my drift. That's the way it is here in this area. The days of the old Combat
Zone are long gone." He grinned as he remembered his father referring to one of the more controversial adult entertainment areas of Boston that had died a natural death when Jack was very young.

  "I remember hearing about that." Cora stretched one leg absently. "The Piccadilly Lounge. I had an uncle used to hang out there. Until my aunt found out."

  Jack chuckled. "Yeah, that's how it used to be. But we're getting off topic." He straightened. "Here's the deal. You three are fabulous performers and entertainers. I've watched you grow into a team of dancers who are as good on your own as you are together. You can wing it, perform to just about anything, and the guests love you. Which is why you're here right now."

  "Thank you." Cora looked suspicious. "You're setting us up."

  "No, really I'm not." Jack tried to look mildly offended. "That's nothing but the truth and you all know it."

  "But?" Megan tilted her head to one side and waited.

  "No buts. What I'd like to suggest is this. That you think about how you could manage a striptease that isn't a revealing striptease for these guys."

  "Can we get 'em blind drunk beforehand?" Pauline looked thoughtful.

  "Provided they don't throw up on the furniture, sure."

  "You mean we could use props? Like fans or something?" asked Megan.

  Jack nodded. "Yes. Exactly like that. I will not ask you or tell you to do anything you're uncomfortable with. As I said before, I have another fallback option. But if I'm going to spend some cash here, I'd rather it go to you three."

  There was a brief silence. Then Cora spoke. "Okay. So without being too mercenary about this, exactly what kind of cash are we talking?"

  Jack let the tension build for a little, then hit them with a number that made three jaws drop simultaneously.