by M. S. Parker
Real subtle, Casanova.
“We don’t allow specialty drinks,” I said, feigning ignorance. “If you’d like to change to something else, I’ll be happy to take that order now.”
Sometimes, I really wondered who we all thought we were fooling. There was no way these men thought that a woman half their age, crammed into an uncomfortable and overly revealing uniform, had no greater joy than to listen to their foul-mouthed remarks and smile at their jokes.
“I got a couple orders you can take,” he said, grinning as his friends burst into laughter.
“Why ain’t you up there on the stage?” A stocky guy on the far side of the table asked. “Some of us like our women a little…younger. You look like you ain’t old enough to drink with us.”
Lovely. I gave him a plastic smile. “Everyone here at DDD is of legal age.” I picked up the last glass as I gave him the company line even though I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn there were underage girls here. I’d gotten hired a couple months before I’d turned twenty-one, and that hadn’t stopped Ruby from shoving a tray into my hand and sending me out with alcohol I couldn’t legally purchase. “I’ll have your refills in a minute.”
I tensed as I turned away, waiting to feel a meaty hand grabbing my ass or my wrist. The rules said no touching, but security generally only enforced that for the strippers. Unless a guy paid extra.
A cloud hung over me as I went behind the bar to pour the drinks. Most days, I could get through work by turning off my brain and going on automatic pilot. Times like this, however, were happening more and more frequently. Times when I couldn’t get my brain to turn off.
I’d never get out of here. I couldn’t find another job, even if I took out most of my earrings and washed out the hair dye. One look at my wardrobe and I’d be laughed out of any serious interview. I’d tried going to a thrift store to find something more respectable to wear, but the nicest things I’d ever been able to find were plain blouses and pencil skirts, both a few years out of fashion, and those were not made for someone built like me. I generally had better luck in the juniors’ section, and those clothes didn’t exactly scream responsible adult.
As I came back out, I noticed two new customers in my section. Grateful for the excuse to hurry away from Ruby’s table, I found myself smiling as I dropped off the drinks and then headed over to the newcomers.
Both men were watching me as I approached, but they couldn’t have been more different about it. The older-looking one kept ruffling his sand-colored hair, his dark eyes saying he was enjoying ogling me and thought I must be admiring him back. The other had these gorgeous blue eyes that somehow managed to be intense and humorous all at once. And he also, looked way more intelligent than the average DDD client. He was frowning, and even though I didn’t know him, the expression seemed off somehow, like he wasn’t used to wearing it.
“Good evening,” I said, automatically pitching my voice to be heard over the music. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Tequila,” the sandy-haired one said. “Best you’ve got.”
His words were blunted, not quite slurred, but getting there. He’d already been drinking somewhere else. Wonderful.
I turned to his friend. “And you?”
“Are you even old enough to be serving that?”
I sighed. Here it went again. At least he didn’t seem to be asking it because he was hoping I was as young as I looked.
“Slade, we’re not working.” The other man slapped the dark-haired man on the back. “Just order something and enjoy the show.”
Working? My stomach clenched painfully. Why would it matter if they were working unless they generally busted underage people in places like this? Were they cops?
“Shut it, Neely,” the man called Slade snapped. He leaned forward, his expression earnest. “You can tell us if you’re not supposed to be here. You won’t get into any trouble. You have my word.”
I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out my ID. I held it out to him without a word. I’d seen enough kids try to lie their way into a drink or two that I’d learned the types of behaviors that made them unbelievable. I wasn’t lying about being twenty-one, but any one of a dozen little ticks could complicate things.
“Cheyenne Lamont,” Slade read out loud. “Says here you’re twenty-one.”
I nodded and held out my hand. “All nice and legal,” I said as I took back my ID. My fingers brushed against his, and I repressed a shiver.
What the hell?
“What are you having?” I asked, my voice harsher than necessary.
“Whatever’s on tap.”
I thought of the nasty dishwater Julio was using to ‘clean’ the glasses. “How about a bottle of our best dark?”
Slade gave me a puzzled look but nodded. “That sounds good.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I turned around and forced myself to keep a normal pace to the bar. Something about Slade made me want to hide in the back, so I didn’t have to face that gaze again…but it also made me want his arms wrapped around me, keeping out all the shit that made up my world.
Fuck.
It was going to be a long night.
Seven
Slade
She was twenty-one, and that should have made me feel better about staring at her, but it didn’t. When she first came toward us, I’d been shocked at how young she looked, and the DEA agent in me had automatically been looking around for who I could arrest. Then she’d shown me her ID, and any excuse I’d been making about thinking she was cute was rendered moot.
Cheyenne Lamont. Twenty-one as of January seventh. Only the fact that I had a great eye for fake IDs made me believe her.
Eight years younger than me, with pink streaks in her platinum blonde hair and multiple piercings in each ear. Cadet blue eyes. If she was five feet tall and weighed more than a hundred pounds, I’d be shocked.
All in all, she was absolutely nothing like my type. Which was strange since I didn’t think I had a type.
She was cute though. And had a bit of an attitude.
She side-stepped a table of rowdy men without a second look, then shot daggers at another waitress whose shirt barely covered a massive pair of breasts. I had a feeling the redhead had been up on the stage a few years ago but had since gotten too old to appeal to most of the customers.
A glance in Neely’s direction told me he didn’t care about her age, but I didn’t always consider him the best judge of quality. I didn’t care about the redhead’s age, but the dirty look she gave to Cheyenne immediately made me dislike her.
But I didn’t know Cheyenne. She was nothing more to me than a waitress.
Who I couldn’t stop watching.
The music changed, and multi-colored lights began flashing. A man’s voice boomed from the speakers. “Put your hands together for the pride of DDD, our very own Ice Queen, Elva!”
A statuesque blonde in a barely there blue and silver, fur-lined bikini strutted out onto the stage. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Seriously? They were actually doing a Disney stripper? How the hell weren’t they getting their asses sued off?
“Damn!” Neely said. “I’ll never be able to hear this fucking song without getting a boner.”
It was only then that I realized they were playing a techno version of the song from the movie.
I pushed to my feet. “I’ll be back.”
I headed for the bathroom while trying to ignore the woman on stage shaking her ass. I was starting to regret coming along with Neely. I could’ve just picked up some alcohol and gone back to my place, and it would’ve been more fun than this.
I paused at the restroom door as a flash of pink caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. Cheyenne stalked past me, and I watched her go. I wasn’t a fan of the uniform, but I couldn’t stop myself from checking out her ass as she went. She was petite, so small that she seemed fragile, but something about her told me she could handle a hell of a lot more th
an most people would think.
When I came out of the bathroom, Cheyenne was nowhere to be seen, and I looked. My drink was on the table when I sat back down, and Neely was getting a lap dance from Elva.
I took a long drink and tried to ignore the pair of clearly fake breasts that were smacking Neely in the face with each bounce. I wasn’t sure that technically even counted as dancing, but he seemed to enjoy himself.
“Interested?”
I looked up to see a tanned curvy woman leaning over me. She ran one bright red nail down my arm.
“Twenty-five for out here. Fifty topless.” She leaned down until her lips were at my ear. “A hundred for a private dance, and there’s a lot more on the menu back there.”
I shook my head and pulled my arm away from her. “No, thank you.”
“Come on now,” she said, batting her false lashes. “A girl’s gotta eat.”
“I’m not…” My voice trailed off as something else captured my focus. I was hardly aware I was watching Cheyenne’s progress across the room until the woman next to me started laughing.
“If that’s your thing, wait until the next girl goes on. Melody’s a lot more fun than the waitress.”
I told myself to let it go, politely refuse the offer, then tell Neely that I was heading home. Instead, I found myself asking, “What’s her story? The waitress, I mean. Not Melody.”
The woman shrugged. “Not really sure. Cheyenne doesn’t really talk a lot. She’s been working here a few months. Comes in, does her thing, leaves. She doesn’t get snotty with the dancers, doesn’t call off.”
“Nothing else?” I couldn’t say why I was pressing her so hard, only that something about Cheyenne had captured my attention, and it would keep nagging at me until I figured it out.
The stripper laughed, but it was a good-natured sound, something that told me she enjoyed her life. “You want my advice, honey?” she continued even though I hadn’t said anything. “Don’t bother. If you want sex, there’s plenty of women here who’d do you in a minute, and I suspect that isn’t just women here. I’d forget Cheyenne. That girl is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, or however that saying goes.”
As she walked away, I found myself wondering if maybe that was it. If the reason I couldn’t stop watching Cheyenne was because I’d always been a curious person. That would make sense. Mysteries drove me crazy.
When I was in junior high, my reading teacher decided to have the class read Treasure Island. For a treat, she made a treasure map and hid some of those gold-foil-wrapped coins. I, however, had gotten distracted by a strange sound coming from the gym. By the time she realized I hadn’t come back from the treasure hunt, I’d managed to get myself stuck in the gymnasium ceiling, three feet from the family of squirrels who’d somehow managed to sneak in and build a nest.
Was Cheyenne just another noise in the ceiling? Was I simply trying to figure her out because she was different from all the other women here?
I raised my hand to catch her attention.
Did it really matter why, or just that I wasn’t going to let it go?
Eight
Cheyenne
I breathed a sigh of relief when Elva took the sandy-haired man’s hand and led him away from the table. Him watching me while she’d been giving him a lap dance had creeped me out. At least if he was fantasizing about me while he was getting a lap dance in the back, I wouldn’t have to feel his eyes on me the whole time.
He wasn’t the only one watching me though. The man he’d been sitting with – Slade – had been staring again too. It was different though. It didn’t feel like he was trying to undress me or picture what I’d be like in bed. More like he was trying to figure me out.
It unsettled me in a way I hadn’t experienced before.
No one tried to figure me out. No one cared enough to. They all just wanted to know what I could do for them. Work. Sex. Responsibility. Bragging rights. Fantasies. All words that accurately described how people looked at me. Well, most people. There were a few exceptions like Austin and Estrada.
I should’ve hated it, just like I hated the attention of every other male I’d ever met, but I didn’t.
Which was more unsettling to me than anything else.
When I saw him gesturing for me to come over, I weaved my way through the tables until I got to his but made a point of not looking too eager. The fact that he was gorgeous should’ve been warning enough. Men like him didn’t pay attention to girls like me without a catch.
“Another one?” I asked as I pointed to his bottle.
“No,” he said. “What time do you close? My friend’s been here before, but he seems to have abandoned me.”
The smile he gave me was a great one, and I was sure it’d gotten him a lot in his life, but I wasn’t so easily charmed.
“Thirty minutes. If you want a lap dance, you’ll want to get it soon.”
He leaned forward in his chair until he could almost reach out and touch me. But he didn’t try. “Is that an offer?”
I took a step back, mentally kicking myself for thinking he could possibly be different. If my mother had taught me anything, it was that men couldn’t be trusted.
“My job is to get you a drink,” I said, trying to keep my voice and expression neutral, “not to dance.”
He sat back, a puzzled expression on his face. That wasn’t my concern though. I didn’t give a damn why he was confused.
“Do you want a refill?”
He shook his head. “No, thank you.”
I didn’t acknowledge the comment, focusing instead on the large, bearded man waving to me from two tables over. He’d been drinking beer non-stop, had behaved himself, and was generally a good tipper. He deserved a lot more attention than Slade.
The last half-hour was busy, so by the time I headed to the back room to clock out, I hadn’t seen Slade again. I told myself that was for the best. Whatever weird pull I felt toward him was better left unexplored. Austin was my priority, and I needed to think about getting home to him, not the attractive blue-eyed man.
I hung up my little apron and then put my time card in the machine for its stamp. I hadn’t bothered to grab a jacket, but even if it was cold outside, I’d welcome the change in temperature. The heat and smell here always got unbearable by the end of a shift.
“You’re in a hurry.”
I froze for a split second, then prayed that he hadn’t seen it. Fernando Sanchez was the owner of DDD and showing him any form of weakness was a bad idea. I’d known him for years and he’d only gotten scarier.
“Austin’s sick,” I said quietly. I pulled my purse over my shoulder and turned around.
He was only a foot or two away, his coal black eyes unreadable. He never let anyone see what he was thinking or feeling unless it was to his advantage. Like the times he used to come by the apartment to make sure we all remembered that he knew where we lived. Not that Mom had ever cared about that. She’d been too busy getting high with the drugs Fernando brought her. Sometimes, he collected the money Mom had made over the last couple nights, and sometimes he took his payment in sex.
And every time since I was fourteen, he’d made sure I could see in his eyes that I was the one he wanted.
“You can’t be missing any work,” he said, coming closer.
I wanted to back away, but I steeled myself to keep my feet planted. “I haven’t.”
I didn’t tell him about the fact that I was probably fired from my other job.
“It’s Friday, little girl. You’re working tomorrow, so you got one more day to get me my money.” He smelled like cigarettes and some awful cologne.
“I know,” I said, lifting my chin. “I haven’t missed a payment.”
“Believe me, I know.” He ran his finger across my jaw. “Gotta know if I’m going to need to enforce our agreement.”
My stomach churned, and I swallowed hard. It wasn’t Austin’s stomach bug. It was knowing what Fernando was referring to.
I’d never
taken a dime from him I hadn’t earned, but when Mom died, I inherited her debt. I could argue that it wasn’t fair, that I shouldn’t be kept accountable for what my mother had done, but that sort of thing rarely worked for legal debts, let alone illegal ones. Fernando would’ve laughed at me if I was lucky. More likely, he would’ve raped me, then given me to his crew.
So, I’d negotiated.
I’d make payments every week that barely covered the interest, and if I missed one, I’d work it off in one of Fernando’s other businesses.
“You know you could do away with this whole business of weekly payments,” he said. He was average height, but I was short enough that he loomed over me. “One night with me breaking you in would knock three, four hundred easy off your debt. Then half of what you earn would go toward the debt, and it’d be a hell of a lot more than what you make here.”
It took everything inside me to not let the revulsion of that suggestion show. I shook my head. “I’ll have the money for you, just like I always do.”
He could’ve forced me, and we both knew it. He was bigger than me, had men who would hold me down if he asked them to, had guns and knives that could threaten me and Austin. That was the point, I guessed. He got off on having it hanging over my head. The debt my mom left me with when she OD’d six months ago. The things he’d make me do if I ever failed to live up to our agreement. The things he could make me do if he simply felt like it.
“One day, you’ll be late.” He put his hand on my breast, over the thin t-shirt, and squeezed. “And I’ll make you scream.”
We froze there for one breath. Two breaths. Three. And then he was gone.
I let out a shaky breath and gave myself another few seconds to pull myself together. Fernando was predictable enough that I knew he was now in the backstage ‘dressing room,’ deciding who was going to fuck him tonight. I was safe to leave for one more night.