I opened a text and replied back with:-
Me:
Receiving an instant reply of:-
Jonas:
I didn’t reply. Clearly, he wasn’t in a jokey GPS system.
Less than an hour later, I’d checked in, showered, eaten some snacks and was falling into a much-needed sleep in some bed sheets of questionable cleanliness. In Jonas speak, they were: ‘Hygiene Status = Unknown’.
Six hours later I was queuing to get inside Mansion’s nightspot. When I finally paid the exorbitant cover charge and wrestled my way to a bar, I screwed my head on straight and got down to work.
There was more than one bar so I started at the busiest and positioned myself at one end of it, ordering a whisky and coke. I decided to play the moody single guy. It gave me an excuse to nurse a drink and turn the ladies away when they came sniffing around. Because they would come. I was me; it was inevitable and some bitches could smell vulnerable and sad at a hundred paces. They thought they could make it all better, make you forget your troubles and move on. Honestly, it was a great pulling tactic.
Bar staff came and went and thankfully they wore nametags. After forty minutes, no one named Rebecca appeared, so I moved to the next bar and repeated my dark and broody whisky act. I knew I needed to keep the alcohol to a minimum so I was heavy on the coke and light on the whisky.
At one point the lights dimmed and the atmosphere in the place went hyper. I could see people, both guys and girls, hustling drinks and heading in the direction of the dance floors. After a minute I was the only one left at the bar, which was now littered with empties. Turning in my seat to see what the fuss was about, I waited until the darkness was broken by spotlights being clicked on in anticipation. There were old fashioned bird cages suspended above the packed dance floor and they became alive with dancers cutting shapes inside. I couldn’t make out much, but once they began to move, the crowd went nuts and joined in.
I reminded myself I wasn’t here for that and I needed to focus. As appealing as the show seemed to be, it gave me a clear opportunity to confirm no one tending the bar was called Rebecca and I moved onto the next.
Standing at the last bar, my eyes followed the staff coming and going with trays from a sectioned off area, segregated by plush velvet ropes tied to brass posts. This was the club’s VIP area and I began to fret that she was working in there. If she was, I’d have a difficult job figuring out if someone was watching her. I knew if that someone wanted to get close to her, having her wait on them personally in a secluded area would be the easiest way.
No one came past me with the name tag Rebecca as I tried to keep tabs on the VIP area and then the lights went down again, causing the same level of commotion at the bars and the surging wave of bodies keen to get back on the dance floor. Having a clearer view of all the wait staff, I rechecked them all just in case a new face appeared. Then the PA system kicked in, followed by crashes of bass being used to create thunderclaps as smoke started to fill up the dance floor. “Fucking marvelous,” I complained to no one, wondering how the hell the fire marshals approved this shit.
“Guys and girls, come on. It’s our last performance of the night, the one you’ve all been waiting for. Get your moves ready, feel the passion, feel the energy. I give you… Rebecca!”
The screams and pulsing of the crowd matched the tempo of the music. The biggest cage suspended above the central dance floor area was bathed in lighting and the figure inside became visible. My pulse spiked when I remembered I was looking for a Rebecca, which meant I couldn’t ignore the faint possibility that I might have found her.
The girl busting serious dance moves was dressed in a pair of skin tight pants that made her legs look like fine oil poured straight from a gas station pump. Her feet were encased in Nike sneakers and she wore a boob tube that hid lots but revealed everything in your imagination. Her hair was teased out wildly in an eighties perm and when the electro beat began to hit a dance medley of Grease tunes, I knew exactly who this dancer was supposed to be.
The other dancers were all geared up like T-Birds or Pink Ladies, but it was all about her. She was the queen of the dance floor. She owned each and every one of those bird cages, even the ones she wasn’t in, and it didn’t take long for me to figure out why.
She was mesmerizing.
Never had Grease been so full on and fucking sexy. This dancer commanded her crowd and made the other so-called professionals pale in comparison.
It was difficult to tell whether this Rebecca was my Rebecca… well not my Rebecca exactly, but either way I needed to confirm it or rule her out of my search. What I was seeing was nothing like the girl cheerleader that Jonas had described and there was every possibility this was her night off.
Weaving my way through the mass of her followers, I found myself caught up in the movements, so I adopted a ‘groove and go’ approach to keep my progression consistent. When I got to the bottom of her cage, it was sectioned off to stop people from getting directly underneath it and there were four guards stationed at twelve, three, six and nine o’clock underneath her. As well as keeping the crowds at a respectable distance, they spent a chunk of time gathering up the money they were throwing in her direction. They’d pick it up and push it through the bars of the cage, to encourage her to keep performing, but it seemed that she didn’t notice. The dance itself was her life blood.
This chick was popular and raking it in, unlike the other cage inhabitants.
Realizing I was stood still in front of her, I began to throw a few shapes, all in the name of blending in. Her makeup was heavy and I still didn’t know if it was her. When a guy next to me pulled out a cell phone and started taking pictures, one of the heavies moved in front of him, indicating for him to stop immediately, leaving me with an opening in her protection details to get my own clear shot of her.
I needed one to try to identify if this was her, but deep down I wanted one for me as well. I didn’t need any reason other than that she demanded to be captured on film. She was beautiful and talented.
I’d been shifting and toe-tapping for a while when the lights dimmed and everyone booed and groaned as a collective. The tidal wave of people began to retreat in the direction of the bars, but I worked hard against the swell to remain in the covered darkness of the dance floor.
A small security light appeared in the bottom of the cage and I could see her holding the bars, gasping for breath, with the biggest smile I’d ever seen on someone’s face. This girl had clearly enjoyed herself. Another one of the heavies appeared with a towel and a bottle of water while a second began to grab fistfuls of money and stuff it into a bag. Just as I was about to turn and start my bar scoping process again, I heard a latch clunk open, the sound of metal on metal and another bouncer saying, “Let me help you, Miss Monroe, great routine. Never thought I’d be swaying to Franki Valli in a place like this.” He chuckled.
Miss Monroe.
Fuck. It was her.
The realization that she was drawing this much attention to herself made me mad, especially as she’d sent up a flare for help. For someone who had been forced to take a new identity, to then go and put themselves back in the spotlight was just fucking nuts, but I wasn’t here to judge.
Knowing I’d found her, I walked away and sent a text.
Me:
A few seconds later, a reply came through.
Jonas:
Me:
This time I attached the picture I’d taken when I hit send.
Jonas: < Fuck. Stay on her. Dick stays in your pants. Keep reporting in. Get me pics of staff for background checks.>
Me:< Roger that, red leader.>
Pocketing my phone, I ordered another drink understandin
g that I was about to become a Mansion’s regular.
Shame that. Having to sit and watch that gifted beauty move had just become a serious perk of this unexpected job.
Rebecca
Turning down Mr. Mansion had become a new hobby. It was also my least favorite thing to do while I was on a break at work. He was that persistent.
Every time he mentioned it and I declined, his face would take on a desperately ugly look. It didn’t take a genius to work out that things were escalating. He was single minded about all of this and had one game plan—make it impossible for me to keep turning him down. I’d acquired some body guards and they were nice guys, but I didn’t know whether they were there to protect me from the crowds or stop me from getting away. Either way, they treated me kindly and and I didn’t want to get them into trouble by being difficult, so I went with the flow and listened every time he upped or adjusted his already ridiculous offer.
The DJ had started to announce my appearance by name and it pissed me off because I hadn’t agreed to it. It was a passive aggressive way of getting my name advertised and out there without me accepting to his terms. My tips were through the roof, but I’d also noticed an increase in my wage packet. As soon as I realized, I tried to give it back to Martha, apologizing for someone else’s clerical error, but I was always told, ‘instructions from Mr. Mansion’. That seemed to be enough to excuse her from having to discuss it further.
Mansion was trying to tie me to him and his club, and soon, I figured we’d be having another discussion about the way he was going about things. He was doing everything in his power to bring things to a head between us. He was using his authority to force me into a corner and that was not on. Besides that, his attentions were starting to creep me out. When I was leaving my cage after each dance segment, he would be there watching me being escorted to the back room. It didn’t matter where he’d been hiding. He’d appear and raise a champagne flute in toast to me. I’d never met him before I’d danced and now he seemed to be everywhere. The thought of him watching me dance was starting to make my skin crawl, and I’d only felt that once before. I wouldn’t let someone tarnish dance for me again like they had in my past. The final straw, that one that really freaked me out, was when I was walking home, a limo appeared and his head popped out of the window. “Can I give you a ride home? I watch you dance and I feel like I’m taking advantage, Miss. Monroe. You’re doing all the hard work in that cage and you won’t let me reward you properly or give you the recognition you deserve.”
“That’s okay. I’m happy with my current contract of employment,” I replied and continued to walk on. Those were words he was used to hearing from me. I was desperately hoping he’d go away, but that didn’t happen. He continued to ride beside me at a snail’s pace.
“At least let me make sure my best dancer is safe and being looked after.”
The way he said those words reminded me of the past again. Guiseppe Acerbi used to force me in and out of cars and have me escorted to and from Sunset Strip, saying those double-edged words. They’d sounded kind but meant something else entirely. What he should have said was, ‘You’re a prisoner and I want to make sure you don’t run off and escape.’
“I’m not going home. I’m meeting my boyfriend,” I lied.
“I guess it’s only natural that a treasure like you would already be taken.”
Mr. Mansion was odd. He looked mid thirties and acted like he was a billionaire but spoke like was fifty-five. I had no evidence to suggest he wanted me for some underhand purpose, but in my experience, you didn’t get those creepy feelings for no reason.
“Goodnight, Mr. Mansion,” I remarked and turned abruptly into an all night diner I’d been praying I’d make it to when he’d first pulled up.
I sat at the counter with shaky hands and ordered a coffee, hoping it wouldn’t be too long before I could try to make it home again. I was shattered.
“Coffee please,” I heard a voice next to me request and even on top of my own unique smell of nightclub, hard work and body spray, I could smell his cologne. Both of our coffees were delivered at the same time. “You look as tired as I feel,” he said, smiling over his steaming cup.
“Yeah, just finished work.” I usually made it a point to leave strange guys alone but figured he would be a great decoy if Mr. Mansion decided to drive by and check.
“Ah, night working is tough. Shift work in general kills me, but needs must.” He shrugged, “You local?”
“Kind of. Although I can tell you’re not. Well, you don’t sound it.”
“No, just passing through and my body clock’s all over the place. I figured pancakes might help. Want some?”
“Sure, but…” I hesitated and he looked at me, urging me to continue. He was an attractive guy, similar age to myself and he clearly visited a gym on a regular basis. His floppy blonde hair looked disheveled and in need of a trim, and he had dark blue eyes. I could make out stubble but didn’t know if it was intentionally thick or he needed a shade. The lights were odd and my eyes were tired. “I don’t usually accept pancakes from strange men.”
“Understood. So if we happen to order separately, we can eat them sat here, apart of course, and chat a bit if you want. Or not.”
Looking round, I could see there were other late night patrons and it wasn’t like I was in any immediate danger so I agreed and placed an order for blueberry pancakes.
“Same here please,” he instructed the waitress and smiled at me.
We continued to sit in silence and it felt comfortable. Neither of us felt compelled to ask anything of the other. We just carried on eating and drinking until we’d both finished.
I’d left my car parked at the back of Mansion’s and hadn’t seen the limo reappear so I figured it was safe to leave. I went to fish out some money when he stopped me. “It’s my treat. I haven’t had that good a none-conversation in ages.” I laughed back in agreement. “You mind if I see you safely to wherever you’re going? It’s dark and I’ll be wondering whether you’re okay or not.”
This was when I knew Mr. Mansion wasn’t a straight up good guy, because when this guy said the same sort of words they didn’t make my skin crawl. But I was still hesitant—rapists and serial killers didn’t come with identity labels.
The guy sensed my wariness. “No tricks, I promise. I don’t even have to walk beside you. I can walk on the other side of the street if it makes you feel safer?”
Something about him seemed genuine and my gut was telling me he seemed legit. “My car is parked around the back of the club. If you could see me there, I’d appreciate it. I’m going to be honest, I will be carrying my mace in my hand and any funny business or tricks and I’m bathing you in that shit. And I’ll keep doing it until I see your eyes bleed.”
He held his hands up in agreement. “Understood, sounds like a sensible move to me. Let’s go.”
The stranger dumped enough money on the counter to cover both of our bills plus a healthy tip before following me out of the diner.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
“Rebecca. You?”
“Jake.”
There was no more conversation, just more comfortable nothingness as we made our way to the floodlit parking lot, him with his hands in his pants pockets and me clutching a can of mace like it was a machine gun.
Just as we got to my beat up ride, the limo appeared like magic, scaring the shit out of me. “Miss Monroe, I see you met your boyfriend.” Internally, I started to panic that the stranger would put him right and blow my lie wide open, so I quickly followed up with nod, praying I wasn’t about to be exposed. “Young man, your girlfriend is a talented dancer. I’ve been trying to enhance her terms of employment but I can’t seem to find the right attractive offer. Maybe you could persuade her for me?”
The stranger looked over at me and seemed to be mulling something over for a brief second. “I doubt that, Mister…?”
“Mansion. Owner of Mansion’s Nightclub.”
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“Well, Mr. Mansion, she’s a strong female who does as she wants. If she’s happy then I’m happy, and I doubt my skills of persuasion are any better than yours.” The hot stranger took a step closer to me and placed an arm around my shoulder, looking down at me, winking.
“I’ll leave you two to enjoy the rest of your evening.” Seeming very unimpressed, Mr. Mansion sat back and I heard the whirr of a window rising, followed by car tires crunching over the parking lot surface.
In a smooth move, he brought me in for a hug and then over my shoulder, I heard the click of a camera shutter. “What are you doing?” I demanded, trying to pull away.
“Firstly, I’m hugging you in case he’s watching. He clearly gives you the willies so I figure I’ll continue my fake boyfriend act, just on the off chance. Secondly, I’m getting his car details. If a ‘Miss Monroe’ turns up, well, harmed or no longer breathing, I’ll give the authorities details of your creepy employer. Especially as you felt the need to lie to him. Thirdly, even he would think it’s odd you need a can of mace around your beloved, so I was also trying to hide that. Lastly—”
“There’s more?” I asked, bewildered.
“Yes. I’m making sure you get home. I don’t trust that guy for shit and I’ll be awake all night wondering whether he followed you.”
The mystery pancake stranger waited for me to disagree with his plans, and I wanted to, I really did. I should have, but knowing that Mr. Mansion had been lurking, waiting for me to reappear scared me. His persistence and insane ability to just appear wherever I was felt more like stalking. If creating a fake boyfriend caused him to rethink his plans and employment ideas for me then I was prepared to take a chance. “Okay. Thank you. But I’m not dropping my can of mace.”
“Whatever makes you feel safe,” he agreed.
I drove us the short distance to my house in yet another easy silence, which was strange, especially after what he’d just witnessed. My gut was telling me he was a decent guy and that I was lucky he came along to help. When we arrived, he followed me up the path and then sat down on the step. “Call me a cab when you get inside?”
Alive Page 4
