by ANDREA SMITH
The news reporter was doing a live telecast standing on some corner in Fort Wayne, Indiana, which, apparently, was that chapter’s clubhouse.
My mind went back briefly to the big-mouthed, asshole biker from Fort Wayne, that had been in the club the night I’d tried to dance for Slate. Slate had been royally pissed at me for still working at Jewels.
It had been the night that he’d thrown a one-dollar bill on the floor for me to pick up. It was the first night we had fucked; the night of my first orgasm. If truth be told, it was the night that I started falling in love with Slate, a road to nowhere.
The following week, I heard about another opening for a pole-dancer at a club nowhere near Jewels. I’d seen something posted on the bulletin board at Foxy’s. There was no way that I was going to let Vonda know that I was going to apply for it. I wasn’t sure how close she and Janine were, but probably close enough that it would get back to the girls at Jewels and I couldn’t risk that happening.
The name of the club was Sharkey’s and it offered the lower class clientele, though it was purported to be biker-free. That was good enough for me.
I was only able to pull two shifts per week for the hours I wanted. It was enough. I worked both Thursday and Friday from 5:00 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. It was on a bus route, so that would work out fine.
The dancers there also had stage names, so I simply stuck with Diamond. I’d called Becky to let her know I was back in the work force. I knew she wasn’t pleased about it, only because she worried about me, but she didn’t voice her opinion other than to say, “Whatever makes you happy, Sam. I know you’ve been kind of down lately.”
She knew that Slate and I were no longer fuck buddies. She hadn’t hid her relief about that from me at all.
I showered and waxed Thursday afternoon in preparation for my debut at Sharkey’s. I’d taken my wig out of mothballs, shampooing and styling it at home.
This club didn’t offer any help with hair and make-up, so I brought my case of cosmetics from home to store in my locker there. I was fairly certain I could handle my own make-up, having watched Margo go through the paces many times.
I selected one of my dance costumes from the trunk of my car where I kept them in a wardrobe bag, and headed to the bus stop from the Park and Drive.
Sharkey’s offered private dancing rooms for customers willing to pay the high dollar amounts. There was a glass partition that allowed the customer to see the dancer; however, the dancer could not see the customer.
I wasn’t particularly thrilled about that part of it, but Juanita, the manager, had assured me that no customer requests for stripping or fondling by the dancer should be tolerated. Plus, there was no way that some pervert could get to the dancer, because of the glass-enclosed compartment. There was just enough room to do some simple glides, and then climb and twirl the pole in the center.
I asked Juanita if the customers who bought this individualized service pleasured themselves while watching. Her response was simply, “Don’t think about it. Just dance.”
Oh yuck!
My first evening on the job, I had three private dance requests. The customer would pick the song and, as the music started, a black velvet curtain would open so that whatever customer was on the other side of the glass could see me on the lighted mini-stage take the pole.
The private dances cost eighty bucks. The dancers received a flat rate of fifty dollars for each dance; the club got thirty. The customer could then put an additional tip in the slide-in drawer at the end of the dance, if he (or she) so chose.
I received a total of eighty dollars in tips for those three requested dances. It wasn’t so bad by the third dance. In some ways, it was almost better than having to dance in front of horny, sweaty men that you could see.
By the end of my shift my first day, I’d collected about three hundred dollars total. Definitely not as good as what I’d netted at Jewels, but I was new, and needed to build a following. Juanita assured me that I had what it took. She expected my Friday cache to be much larger. It really wasn’t about the money with me. I didn’t need to share that with her, though.
As predicted, Juanita was correct. My haul for Friday was over five hundred dollars. I was starting to get into the groove there. I liked the other dancers as well.
Most of them were college girls, just barely past twenty-one, which was different than those who danced at Jewels. They didn’t make me feel ancient, though. They were sweet and looked to me more as if I was their big sister.
The second week working at Sharkey’s, I’d received a call from Jack. The minute I picked up the phone, I could hear the cold anger in his tone.
“Why did you change the password on our savings account, Sammie?”
I immediately froze, my throat constricted by fear, but then I realized there was nothing Jack could do to me over the phone.
“I think you need to answer that question first, Jack. What are you trying to hide?”
“I have multiple business dealings going, Sammie. I simply needed to ensure that I was the only one having access until I finalized them. I didn’t want you thinking that the money was at your disposal for bills or other expenditures, until I had an opportunity to see how my investments were panning out.”
So much freaking bullshit.
Jack obviously had me pegged as an idiot. Maybe for now, that was safest for me.
“You mean that some of that massive amount of money in our savings isn’t really ours?”
“Correct. I deposited some cash that I received as a result of some independent loans, promissory notes that I signed. So those funds are strictly for re-investment opportunities to cover the repayment of the notes with interest, plus profits made from the investments targeted.”
Yeah right…lying bastard.
“Oh, okay. I guess I understand,” I replied. “You know me when it comes to being as well-versed as you are with financial matters. I was just trying to see if we had enough funds for paying off the rest of Lindsey’s tuition this year, since it was after the end of the semester.”
“Yes, Sammie, that’s fine. I transferred funds from the savings into the checking account that will more than cover that so you can go ahead and pay that to the registrar. You will find all of that information in the file marked “Cornell” in the desk drawer.”
“Okay, will do. What’s your schedule look like?” I asked.
“I’ll be traveling for another four weeks, then I’ll be back in Indy for Lindsey’s spring break.”
“Fantastic,” I said, genuinely relieved for the additional reprieve.
“So, don’t worry honey,” he said. “I’ll continue to handle any necessary transfers from our savings to checking, okay? You don’t have to worry about that part of it.”
“Okay, Jack,” I said cheerily. “That’s fine with me.”
We chatted for a few more minutes, mainly small talk. Jack wanted to see if I’d bought his story on the savings account issue. I gave him no reason to think that I hadn’t.
I knew without checking that he’d changed the password, and come up with new security questions that I, in no way, would ever be able to answer.
What Jack didn’t know, was that I’d downloaded all of the activity on both the savings account and checking accounts for the past two years into an Excel file which I then zipped and e-mailed to Becky. I’d asked her to save it to her hard drive for me. She did so without question.
I needed to take an afternoon or two and sit down and analyze the activity of both accounts and try and figure out what type of a shell game Jack was playing. Becky could be a huge help with that. I made sure that I cleared all of the cookies and deleted my activities in case Jack was monitoring me on our home computer.
The following Thursday, I was putting make-up on in the dressing room when Juanita informed us that a new dancer was starting this evening and would be here any minute. She asked that one of us show her the ropes,
commenting on her way out, “She better already damn well know the poles.”
Several minutes later, I nearly dropped my lipstick when I saw the cute, tiny, dark-skinned, Emerald walk in to the dressing room.
“Oh, my God, Diamond?” she shrieked, running over to me for a hug.
“Emerald, what the hell? You left Jewels? Why?”
“Probably for the same reason you did. I was getting way too much heat from Ivan about those bikers being in there all of the time. It worried him sick, even though he knew that I was just all about making money for the family. Ivan doesn’t make the money he made in Detroit. He hates that I even have to work, but dancing, it’s just a thing with his pride, you know?”
In a way, I did understand what she meant. I knew that Slate hadn’t wanted me to dance there, or anywhere. It just wasn’t for the same reason, though, as Ivan’s. He truly loved Emerald. They were a perfect example of a team.
“Hey, what about you?” she asked. “Is that why you left?”
“More or less,” I replied.
“I don’t mean to be nosy, girl, but was it because of Slate? You can tell me it’s none of my business.”
“It was, in a way,” I said. “It’s kind of complicated.”
“I know you don’t see him anymore,” she remarked softly. “All of us could tell that he’d had his heart broken. He can be a real ass in that place. There were a couple of brawls in there this past month. That was the final straw for Ivan, even though it didn’t involve me. Ivan said something wasn’t right there…not with those bikers.”
I thought about what Emerald said. How in the world had she come to the unlikely conclusion that Slate had a broken heart?
“Emerald,” I said quietly, “can I ask you two questions?”
“Sure girl, ask away.”
“Have you seen Slate with any other women since I left?”
“Not a one,” she replied, “but then, I only worked the three nights.”
I breathed a small sigh of relief. That was something I guess.
“Emerald, would you please not tell anyone else that I’m working here? It’s important.”
“Not a problem,” she assured me. “Is it okay if I tell Ivan, though? It might make him feel a little better about me being here if he knows I have a friend like you. He knew you always had my back at Jewels.”
“Sure,” I said with a smile.
Emerald and I both caught the bus after our shift. I led her to believe I lived close to the Park and Drive. She got a transfer to a different bus once she got downtown.
She had liked her first day at Sharkey’s, though she too, voiced reservations about those private-viewing dances behind glass.
“I mean, I just don’t like not knowing who’s on the other side,” she complained, as she brushed mascara onto her lashes.
“I just try not to think about it, Emerald. By the way, do you care if I call you by your real first name?” I asked, putting my earrings in.
She laughed. “I can’t believe we never got around to that, though the other girls said you were extremely private, so I never wanted to cross that line with you. My name’s Jackie.”
“Hi, Jackie. I’m Sunny.”
chapter 21
It was Tuesday and it was Valentine’s Day.
Jackie had asked if I would take her Tuesday shift for her. Ivan had gotten the evening off, and wanted to do something special with her for Valentine’s Day. I told her that, since I had no life outside of the club, I’d be happy to do this.
I’d bought a new costume special for Valentine’s Day. It was a red sequined pair of boy shorts with a black sequined, low cut camisole top. The top had a big red heart in the middle of it, outlined in gold. It was festive.
I’d asked one of the other dancers to help with my hair. She’d arranged it up in a high ponytail, with red glitter sprinkled generously over it.
“My God, I never knew that was a wig,” she said, as I’d pressed my fingertips into the area near the hairline as she brushed it up into a ponytail to keep it in place. “It looks totally real, especially with the fine little wisps of hair cut all around the hairline.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling. “It certainly cost enough.”
I’d replaced the one I had worn at Jewels. I’d spent about two grand on it. It was worth it. I loved the look.
I was first out on the stage for second shift. It wasn’t really crowded yet, but there were some special events planned for Valentine’s Days to draw men in who would typically be taking a wife or girlfriend out for the evening.
One of the promotions offered the private booth dancing at half price, meaning the dancer would get forty bucks, the club zip, in an effort to make sure the girls scheduled for tonight were taken care of financially. Juanita was pretty cool that way.
The club had three separate private dancing booths, and from around six o’clock until near the end of my shift, they were in constant use. I’d already earned close to five hundred dollars, between dances and tips. I’d performed six private dances so far this evening.
It was close to 9:30 p.m. when Juanita approached me to let me know that I had a private dance request in booth one.
“Damn, I’m almost off the clock,” I halfway whined. “Can’t Lauren take it?”
“Dude wants you,” she said. “Suck it up.”
I was really tired. I’d danced more tonight than any night before at either Sharkey’s or Jewels. One more dance, then I could hit the road to home.
I went to the back door of the private, glass-enclosed booth and waited for the music to start, which would move the curtain aside. I always pretended that no one was sitting on the other side of the one-way glass, so that I didn’t have to imagine what they might be doing to themselves as I moved sensually and seductively on the pole to the music.
My heart dropped to my stomach as soon as I heard the first few chords of “Bad Girlfriend” blast from the speakers.
Good God, it’s got to be a coincidence. It can’t be…
I forced myself to focus on the music and not who was on the other side of the glass. I took the pole, moving and spiraling to the beat of this song. The song that Slate had picked for me before; the song he used to punish me.
The words and the melody were now familiar to me. It was if they were ingrained in my mind.
‘She likes to shake her ass; she grinds it to the beat;
She likes to pull my hair when I make her grind her teeth;
She’s a bad, bad girlfriend… . . .’
Somehow, through the grace of God, I made it through the song without fainting or falling on my ass. I convinced myself that it wasn’t Slate. It was someone else that liked this hot song. It was a great song for pole-dancing, if you liked it fast. I liked it slower.
As the song ended with the final chords, the curtain closed and the automatic drawer was sent in with my tip. It was a one-dollar bill.
Oh, holy shit!
My pulse quickened. I felt faint. I sat down on the floor and buried my face into my hands. He couldn’t hurt me if I didn’t leave this booth. Within several minutes, Juanita was pounding on the door to the booth.
“You alive in there, Diamond?”
I got to my feet and unlocked the door. She was standing there looking confused and concerned.
“Are you alright?”
“Juanita, can you find out if whoever paid for my last dance is still in the club?”
“You know the rules on that, sweetie. The identity of our customers who make these private requests and pay good money is protected.”
“I don’t want to meet him for Chrissake! I’m afraid of him. I need to know he’s left the building, you know? To make sure he’s not lingering around.”
“Calm down, sweetie,” she said, taking me by the arm. “Come with me.”
Juanita led me to her office and unlocked the door. She flipped the light on and told me to ta
ke a seat.
“You sit tight here. I’ll check with Damon to see if the customer’s left. I’ll have him check out in the parking lot too, okay?”
I nodded.
She came back twenty minutes later with my street clothes and a cold bottle of water.
“Here you go, sweetie. You relax and drink some water. Get dressed at your leisure. Damon will walk you to the bus stop when you’re ready, okay? There was so sign of him inside the club or out in the lot.”
I nodded, taking the water from her and downing it.
I took my time getting dressed. I knew the bus schedule and I’d already missed my normal bus. The next one around would be the last one for the night. I didn’t want to make Damon have to stand outside in the February cold, waiting with me any longer than necessary.
I was dressed and ready twenty minutes later. Damon walked me to the corner and waited until the bus picked me up. I found a seat near a window and relaxed back against it. The gnawing fear in the pit of my stomach had subsided.
I’d practically dozed off when I realized we were nearing my stop. I hurriedly scooted out of my seat. The driver knew me well enough to pull over.
“Nite,” I said, stepping down onto the curb.
“Take care,” he answered, as always.
The bus pulled away, and as I stepped forward to hit the button for the crosswalk light, I was suddenly snatched up from behind. I opened my mouth to scream, but a hand was immediately clamped over it as I was lifted and pulled backwards to the dark and sinister confines of an alley.
My fight or flight reflex was in full force, as my muddled mind finally registered danger. I quickly thought back to what I’d learned in self-defense training, and not sure of what possible disease I might contract, made the decision to clamp by teeth down as hard as I could on the flesh of the hand that covered my mouth.
Immediately, I heard a loud curse, and the hand that had been restricting my ability to scream, left my face. I took this opportunity to launch a scream, until I was whirled around. My face was within inches of Slate’s.
