What Lola Wants (London Dolls Book 1)

by Kenrick, JoAnne

She sighed, hung up, and dialed information. They connected her to her bank, but some automated opening-hours message played so she ended the call and passed the phone back to the Doll. “Thanks.” She’d try again in the morning.

  “Anytime. Enjoy the show.” Polly slipped two pink cards her way. “Have a couple of drinks on me, and you’ll soon forget that ex of yours.”

  She glanced at the tickets, each valid for one cocktail. “Thank you, that’s very kind.” Louisa peeled off her coat. “These drinks will go a long way toward shaking off the day’s crapiness.” She turned to Dennis. “We can stay for a drink, can’t we? And some of the show?”

  “Sure.” His mouth kicked up at the corners. He handed her garment to Polly and ushered Lola up the grand staircase.

  “I’m quite curious to see these dancers.” Standing tall, she tilted her chin high and ascended while trailing her index finger along the smooth metallic railing.

  Dim lighting greeted her at the peak. Crimson velvet-draped round tables topped with storm candles filled the space between a bar and the stage. Red damask wallpaper and gold lights gave the space movie star glamour rather than cheap, stripper-joint ambiance.

  The Doll House bustled with laughing and chattering drinkers. A party of bachelorettes knocked back shots and danced around their bridal-veil-clad queen, and a bunch of executives wearing plastic birthday hats watched and cheered them on. Women, dressed in their finest admired each other’s outfits, and twenty-somethings in jeans and tees browsed the program for the evening’s performance.

  She wanted to sit up front and order cocktails from the laminated, pictorial menus—strong drinks with ice and a straw—then finish every one of them before crawling into Dennis’s bed. Yeah, that’d improve her night. Not so much in the morning when his fiancée turned up, though. Ouch. Perhaps not. A fiancé thief she was not.

  “I’ll have one drink.”

  Spotlights crossed the stage curtains, and excitement bubbled in Louisa, fading her worries. It’d been a long time since she’d been on this side of the curtains before a show.

  The anticipation thrilled her.

  Deep, sensual jazz notes bounced around the room, and the audience hushed to rapt silence.

  “Just one?”

  “Yes, and make it quick and strong.” She thrust the coupons at him. “Use these.”

  “In that case, do you want a Pink Doll?” Hints of green shimmered through his oceanic stare.

  She snickered. “Erm, okay.”

  “What?”

  “Since when did your kind of drink have ‘doll’ and ‘pink’ in its name?” she prodded, unable to contain a chuckle.

  “It’s popular around here.” He shrugged then ordered two draft lagers instead.

  “Damn, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. A Pink Doll sounds more appealing than a pint.”

  The barmaid wore a similar outfit to Pocket Polly’s. “I’m not pouring two pints, that’s too boring. Two Pink Dolls it is.” She mixed and poured the concoctions while swinging her hips to the rhythm, pivoting then bending to retrieve napkins from a lower shelf, she flashed red and white stockings and frilly undies. Nice pink knickers.

  Dennis cleared his throat and turned his attention to Lola. “How much did the bastard steal?”

  “Almost fifty thousand.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yup.”

  “I can spot you some cash, pay me back whenever.”

  “Thank you, but I have enough on me so I should be good. Hopefully, he only got hold of my savings, and my credit card account is safe.” She kissed his cheek and lingered for a moment. Resisting the urge to tilt to the left so her lips would meet his, she put on a smile. “I need to call my bank first thing. And I have a paycheck due in a few days so I’ll need to divert that to my credit account or something. I’ll figure it out.”

  The barmaid plonked their fancy pink drinks in front of them and took the tokens. The concoctions were decorated with miniature pompoms stuck on glow-in-the-dark cocktail sticks. The whiff of alcohol tickled her nostrils, telling her they were strong drinks. She took a tiny, testing sip.

  “Hmm, fruity.” With one hell of a kick.

  “Do you want straws? I’ve got some under the bar.”

  “No,” Lola Louisa blurted, “if I drink this through a straw I’ll be pissed pretty darn quickly. I want to relax, not forget.”

  Dennis grabbed his drink and knocked back a mouthful, without even a flinch to acknowledge the strength of the triple whammy dose of liquor. “So, you ditched Al six months ago?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He ushered her to a table with a clear view of the stage.

  She sat, straightened her back, and crossed her ankles. Her ballet instructor had drummed it into her to sit like a lady. Good posture was now a part of her, and concentrating on that took her mind off the discomfort the conversation had brought. “I’m sure Jane filled you in on all his wonderful qualities. Probably raced to tell you.”

  Red curtains drew open, revealing a wall of hanging beads and a gleaming, pale wood dance platform. The lush décor and pristine stage told her the owner had pride in his offerings to the public. And a lot of class.

  “I’m sorry, seems I’m not helping matters. Perhaps going back to your mum would have been a better retreat plan?”

  “You’re a good friend, Dennis. But really? Bringing my mum into it?”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t thinking.” He dipped his gaze to his drink and took a gulp. Had she not been so riled up, she’d have found the sight of Dennis drinking a pink cocktail comical.

  “Being with friends beats going back to my drunken mother who cares only where her next bottle of liquor is coming from. Why would I go to her? This is my home. London. With Jane. With you.”

  “Jane isn’t the little girl you left behind.”

  “I know. We’ve all grown up. It’s been ten years since we’ve seen each other, but we chatted all the time on the phone. I’m sure she’s not that much different. But you, well, it looks like the big city has changed you a lot, Mr. Serious.”

  “This is true. Circumstances, I guess. Jane needed financial help. Actually, it goes both ways. She’s taken care of me, offered me so much support in the last few months, I’d have been lost without her. But you? Where have you been?”

  “Yes, yes. All the blame is on me.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “If I could go back in time, I would.” She slumped and sank lower in her chair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dennis.”

  “You really don’t consider anyone else until it suits, do you?”

  “Do you really think that little of me?”

  Glancing away, he murmured, “Until you prove otherwise.”

  “There’s nothing I can say to convince you that I regret leaving after our kiss?”

  “Are you telling me, in all that time away, you never loved your fancy foreign choreographer of a boyfriend?”

  “He had his benefits, but I never loved Al.” Not the way I love you.

  His glare narrowed. “I’m still not altogether clear as to why you didn’t report him to the police sooner.”

  “Because having someone give two shits about me felt kinda nice at first, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “I couldn’t care less.”

  “Clearly, you could. And I like that you do. I won’t lie. My dance career benefited from the prestige of dating the Alfonso Albeta. When I first danced with the company… Oh, Dennis, performing was glorious. I was ballet: lived it, breathed it, loved it.”

  “It cost you elsewhere.” He took a gulp of his drink then leaned toward her. “I overheard Jane’s late-night phone calls with you. Almost came out to see you when I heard he banged up your ankle so he could keep you in the chorus and not in the lead where you belonged. Jane stopped me, told me not to interfere.”

  “Jane was right, I needed to stand up to him on my own. And I did, eventually.” Shame flooded her at her lapse in judgment. �
�I left him when it hit home how controlling he was, on and off the stage.”

  He crossed his arms and exhaled a heavy breath. “You stayed with him for so long because of your dad, didn’t you?”

  She slurped up her drink then hissed, “Al and my dad are both in the past. I’m fine, so let’s move this conversation along.”

  He said, “You’re right. I’m out of line.”

  “Hey, I’m a prima ballerina. It’s all good.” She put on the smile she’d found stopped overbearing parents at school from asking her if she were okay, if her mum felt better. Telling her they were sorry for her father’s death. She used it to hide her pain. But Dennis saw through her act every time. Jane, too. And the sympathy oozing from his blue-eyed gaze told her she still couldn’t fool him.

  He covered her hand with his and squeezed. “I may not be showing it well, and it may seem as if I’m hating on you, but I am glad you’re safe and that you’re here. Really, I am.”

  Weight lifted from her shoulders. “So am I.”

  “And I’m sure this little performance will end your day on an interesting note.”

  “Yeah? About that. There are a million places we could’ve grabbed a drink in London, so why here? Is it because I snubbed off happy hour? Well, jokes on you because I love it in here already, and the show hasn’t even begun yet.”

  “You wanted to use the phone, remember?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Dennis Bay?”

  The lights dimmed, and a drum roll resounded.

  “Shush,” he rasped and entwined his fingers with hers.

  The master of ceremonies, dressed in a sequined blue suit, entered the performance area and dazzled and sparkled in the spotlight. “Ladies and gentlemen, The Doll House proudly presents...The London Dolls.” He ducked behind the curtain as soft pink lighting dusted the stage, and another drum roll echoed through the space. The audience gasped.

  One by one, scantily clad dancers pirouetted into the performance, their hair sparkling with glitter and jewels as the light reflected back and forth. They gave a glamorous, half-naked spectacular. Unsure if the display was distasteful or not, she studied the curvy performers slinking around and through the hanging beaded curtain. A blonde in a corset and heels grabbed a hat from seemingly nowhere—the magic of show business—then leapt and spun across the space. The other dancers followed suit and lined up. They hooked arms then prowled toward the end of the platform with seductive coyness.

  She couldn’t help but admire their freedom of movement and eyes alight with passion, a fervor she’d long since lost.

  A stand-up comedian entertained next. Short and dressed in faded jeans and a hoodie.

  “Great ter see you all ‘ere tonight. Havin’ a good time?” His accent was thick cockney. A couple of people hollered “yes,” and he replied, “Lovely-jubbley.”

  “Gawdon Bennet! It’s crazy bein’ single in London. I got divorced three years back, an’ I can still tell who’s great fer a quick shag. I mean, take last night. I walked in’er a bar, an’ there’s a bird sipping a pink drink, innit. I ask ’er if she’d like anuvver cocktail, an’ she nods. Only, I’m not offerin’ ’er a drink. Know what I mean.” He leaned forward as if sharing a secret and snickered. “I want to tell ‘er a cock tale. This self-help datin’ book said ter talk about me best parts. So, I describe me dick ter ’er in detail. You know, ‘ow big the thing is, and thick…an’ how I went for a waxin’ the day before. That shit hurts. Nuff said.” He grabbed his crotch and rearranged himself. “An’ the lass, she’s still listenin’. I think I’m well in ‘ere, so I ask ’er to come home wiv me. Get this, she replies in a deep voice, ‘only if you listen to my cock tale first.’ It’s a bleedin’ bloke dressed as a woman, innit.” He grabbed a feather boa from a table of props then catwalked across the platform. “So, I’m seeing ‘im again tomorrow night.” He rounded his mouth and raised his brows.

  Dennis leaned in and whispered, “Are you enjoying the show?”

  “This guy is hilarious.” She giggled. “His facial expressions are cracking me up. And those jokes, filthy as…. Seriously, I love it. I needed some comic relief.”

  The comedian waved goodbye then exited stage right. The emcee twirled onto the platform and paused center stage. He extended his arms and bowed. “Please put your hands together for the wonderful, the luscious, the extraordinary, Lady Jane.” A royal purple velvet curtain dropped in front of him.

  A moment later, a white stocking-covered leg appeared from an opening in the middle of the curtains. Her friend, a classically trained dancer, stole a look around the material and winked.

  She gasped. “That’s Jane.”

  He patted her on the leg. “Don’t be too quick to judge. She is an excellent burlesque dancer. You’ll see.”

  “She always danced better than me. Her passion for the performance was stronger than mine, so I don’t doubt it.”

  A man behind them poked her. “Shush, you’re spoiling Lady Jane’s act.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “That’s my friend on the stage.” She settled back into her seat.

  Jane?

  Burlesque?

  The music changed into a bluesy, deep number with lyrics about being down on luck, and how being a lady doesn’t help in bad times. She related.

  The lights dimmed and a petal-pink spotlight focused on a huge feather fan fluttering. Lady Jane revealed herself one body part at a time from behind the prop, teasing the audience, leaving them wondering what she wore. Or didn’t.

  From time to time, she’d allow a sneak peek at her thigh or naked back. Then she exposed herself for more than a second. Long strings of pearls draped over her, her nipples covered by white sequined circles.

  When the spotlight dimmed, the audience stood and cheered.

  A soft light flooded the performance area in a purple haze. A row of girls dressed in black corsets slinked onto the stage and gyrated to a familiar West End show tune.

  All hushed and returned to their seats.

  Jane shimmied in front of the girls and sang with a deep and demanding voice. The other ladies kicked in sync, then spiraled to the floor and moved fluidly, as if water surrounded the singer. They’d knock half the women in the Royal Ballet off the stage. Yet they danced, in a small theatre that probably only ten percent of London knew existed.

  Jane took center stage, turned, and shook her ample bum, cheeks spilling out either side of a tight G-string. She then pivoted to face the audience and belted out another song.

  All so glamorous. So very Jane.

  “Dennis.” A raven-haired beauty wrapped in a red overcoat tied at the waist prowled toward them from the bar area. The woman puckered her ruby lips and kissed Dennis on the cheek. She seemed familiar. “All right, lovey? How are you? Oh, I see you’re not alone tonight. Who’s your friend?” Her stiff-upper-lip accent, so like the women she’d danced with at the Royal Ballet, made Louisa cringe. Fake. And vicious. They’d stab anyone in the back to get their way.

  “This is Lola.” He kicked a chair out. “Join us.”

  The done-up female dropped into the seat, crossed her legs, and crooned, “Oh, and does Lola get whatever Lola wants? And does she want you? I sure hope not. It’s my turn to ride the Dennis wave.”

  What a bitch. Not because she had her mitts on Dennis, but because she made it obvious she knew she shouldn’t touch yet still did.

  “Name’s Sally, lovey.” The woman blew her a kiss, hazel eyes drawing Louisa in.

  Where had she seen that face before?

  “Nice to meet you, Sally.” She extended her arm to the woman who reached out a gloved hand to return the greeting. “Do you dance?”

  “Is she for real, Dennis? I am the Sally Sweetheart, lovey. My face is plastered all over the West End.” She framed her face with her hands, directing Louisa’s attention to her beauty mark. “And all over double-deckers.”

  “Ah, that’s where I know you from. You’re Hap
py Hour girl.”

  “What remote village has she been hiding in?” Sally tilted her head back and laughed. “With a face and a body like yours, you should join my burleQ classes.”

  BurleQ?

  “I see you’re confused, darling. BurleQ is what us in the industry call burlesque. You have been hiding under a rock, haven’t you?”

  What a cheek. “Perhaps I’ll teach you a thing or two.”

  “La-di-dah, get this one. She thinks she’s better than me. Why I ought to challenge her to a performance.” Sally shimmied and grinned.

  “Good idea. The girl can dance, and she needs the money.”

  “Dennis!”

  He threw his arms up. “What? You telling me you don’t need cash?”

  “I told you, I’ll get a job before you can blink. Besides, I’m not wearing the right clothes for it, and I can’t sing.”

  “Singing isn’t a requirement.” Sally stood and slammed her hands on her hips. “Can’t back out, lovey. Come, I’ll take you backstage where you can strut your talents for us.”

  “I can’t duck out of something I haven’t agreed to, can I?”

  “Sally, are you picking on my friend?” Jane, gray sweats clashing with her glamorous updo and makeup, marched up to them from seemingly nowhere.

  “Ah, here she is. Miss ‘please go and get the only piece of art I have left that I made with Mum’ liar,” Dennis quipped.

  “So sue me.” Jane scowled at her brother but then threw her arms open and raced to her friend. “Louisa! It’s so good to see you.”

  “Jane.” Louisa jumped up and embraced her friend. “Where did you come from? Oh. My… Just, wow. You were amazing. How long have you been dancing and singing like that?”

  “Several months now. It started as a gig to support my West End roles, but eventually, this gig took over. It pays more.”

  “Well, you were amazing. Everyone was.”

  “So, you approve?” Her friend pulled a pin out of her hair and let her locks tumble to her shoulders, glitter sprinkling all around.

  “Approve? You were beautiful up there. Captivating.”

  “Only up there?” Jane cocked a brow.

  “Give over, you know you’re a talented dancer. And I bet you made the costumes yourself.”