by Karen Bell
‘So newbie, are you buying or are we feeding you to the wolves like cold turkey?’
‘Buying,’ said Mila with as much confidence as she could muster. She pulled out the note and handed it to Taz without daring to look up.
‘I might not be bringin’ more tomorrow yunno. So there’ll be no comin’ back for seconds.’
‘That’s okay, I haven’t got my first pay cheque yet.’ It was preferable, she thought, to appear hard-up than prudish.
‘Whatever. Hey and no offence about the seat before. Just godda let people know who’s boss.’
‘None taken,’ she muttered under her breath as Taz walked off.
Mila drank the cap down with a swig of water before she could think better of it.
‘What time d’ja go on?’ asked Kelly as she did the same.
‘A quarter past seven, ten and one a.m., with hopefully some private dances in between.’ Her palms started to sweat a little more and she felt her mouth start to dry up. One foot down the rabbit hole, she thought.
‘Don’ expect it’ll kick-in before ya first show, but ya should be parked at party central by ten. And you’ll be a pro by the last one. The privates are a walk in the park. You can just free-style an’ give’em a bit more that their money’s worth an’ they’ll love ya.’
‘Do you wear the same outfit for the privates?’
‘Hell no.’ Maybe half of it, or sumfin’ else completely. I design me own so I got hundreds to choose from. The boss just likes ‘em tasteful like – nuffin’ too trashy.
Mila looked at her watch yet again. It was time to get dressed. She’d already taken off her original bra and briefs under her robe to prevent any elastic marks from showing on stage and she thought she’d ask Kelly for help with the hard to reach bruises.
‘No probs. I still remember me first job e’en though I was high as a kite. I got me period smack bang in the middle of it. Didn’t even realize till I come off stage. Them’s some priddy impressive bruises. Your ol’ man beat up on you?’
‘No, nothing like that, this time. My husband’s dead.’
‘Oh sorry,’ she answered with learned etiquette.
‘No, it’s a good thing,’ Mila replied.
Kelly nodded knowingly.
After running to the toilet and checking her mental calendar with regards to her period, Mila returned to her locker to dress. She ignored the shooting pain through her foot that came with each step and concentrated instead on the not-so-simple task of dressing. Gathering up the silk stockings the way her mother used to, she gingerly slipped in one pointed toe, before drawing the delicate mesh over her instep and then her heels. Immediately she caught a snag. ‘Damn-it,’ she swore aloud, watching the ladder run up her leg as she drew it higher. She had a spare pair but now they’d have to last for three shows.
Her hands shook almost uncontrollably as she did up her bra and struggled to turn the corset around after fastening it the only way she could - back to front. Her heart fluttered as though it was a bird was trapped inside her ribcage.
Bending to put on her shoes Mila was overcome by a wave of light-headedness. Please don’t faint again! She stood up quickly as the room turned, and reached for the handle of her locker to steady herself while waiting for the sensation to pass. Pass it did, but she was left with a buzzing sensation that seemed to flow through her, making her aware for a millisecond of every cell in her body. She took a breath, as deep as she was able, given the confines of her tightly cinched lingerie and continued putting on her costume. It had been forty minutes since she’d swallowed the little capsule and she wondered if the heightened self-awareness she was feeling now was a result of nerves, claustrophobia, or maybe the first effects of the drug. She still had about fifteen minutes until call time and she stood there with eyes shut, breathing deeply, trying to visualize positive things: Pink, on stage, baring her flesh and soul, somersaulting and diving and flying effortlessly above the crowd. God she’d been beautiful to watch, so expressive; Mila tried to imagine herself, as liberated as that, performing for a crowd, an anonymous crowd who would not know her or judge her. This is good Mila, let go of all that negative energy.
She opened her eyes and continued to dress, putting on first her earrings, then the long gloves and the elasticised diamante bracelet over. She was relieved to see that her hands were shaking less and she’d been able to manage her accessories without fumbling.
She was caught by the incredible shine of the faux jewels as they bent and refracted the dressing room lights. There was no sense in sitting down now. She’d only crush the skirt. Mila thought she’d check herself in the full-length mirror and then take a sneak peak from the wings at the current show. She’d still have time for last minute touch-ups.
Walking in her heels through the dressing room, a few of the girls called out to wish her luck.
‘Thanks.’ She dipped her head shyly and continued on.
She paused, only a little self-consciously as she got to the mirror, and was sure she overheard someone say. ‘I thought I’d seen them all but she’s actually the best Marilyn we’ve had yet.’
‘Is she on now?’
‘No, after Sunny I think, but I might sneak a look when the time comes.’
These girls aren’t bitchy at all, thought Mila delightedly. They were really kind just then. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and was able to see herself as someone else might. It was as though she had another level of consciousness from which to operate and the person staring back at her was actually beautiful. She was delicate but curvaceous, sexy yet vulnerable, she had a long graceful neck, and translucent skin and what’s more, Mila actually liked her. She closed her eyes again and thought back to all the documentaries she’d seen about Norma Jean both before and after her rise to Marilyn fame. It was as if a door had opened and she’d stepped through the opening into the fragile psyche of the person, the actress and all that had propelled her through her life and her career. It was as though she had a looking glass or maybe a kaleidoscopic view into the Norma Jean’s vulnerability; her insatiable desire for love and acceptance; the relationships that had been destined to fail because of it. Mila didn’t just understand Marilyn; she could feel her spirit in every pore. It made her sad but incredibly grateful at the same time.
She wanted to get a feel for the audience too, before going on stage and as she opened the door, one of the other dancers came rushing through, costume in hand. She was naked, Mila noted in the seconds that followed. She was bare and beautiful as Eve in the Garden of Eden. She had full breasts and a soft belly. She was not skinny like Kelly or even strong looking like Taz, but she was just as appealing. In fact Mila was lit up with a realisation that everyone and everything was exactly as was intended. She too was where she was meant to be at this very moment.
She stepped out of the dressing room and into the backstage area that was abuzz with activity. She felt a warmth and lightness spread through her and over her like a duck-down quilt and she practically floated down the hall with the knowledge that everything was going to be fine. Her body was already feeling the desire to move with the music, as if every beat came with its own set of instructions.
Mila looked out of the dark wings into the audience full of faces. She could hear and feel a universal consciousness that wrapped them all in the same fabric. They were there to celebrate the beauty of women, and Mila sensed that the girl on stage could feel it too. She was positively bathed in adulation and Mila felt her joy in every sensual movement. Mila and Marilyn were both ready to go out there. What had there ever been to worry about?
The rest of the night passed not in a blur, but in an energy infused delirium. Mila was present in every second, her mind and her body synchronized with Swiss precision housed in Italian design. It was as though every piece of training and advice was at her fingertips so that she was at least three steps ahead of where she needed to be at any time. Her entrance was confident and she effused an intimacy, a sense of invitation about t
he room that had the crowd wolf whistling in seconds. Her shyness gone, Mila’s initial moves were laced with sensuality. Effortlessly the outer layers of bracelet, gloves, and skirt came off and she was left in her pin-up girl lingerie, stockings and heels. She’d worked out a whole minute of manoeuvres on the pole that didn’t require bare legs and she discovered a strength and agility previously unknown. She heard the crowd gasp in unison before erupting in cheers as she slid upside down from top to bottom, catching herself centimetres from the floor.
Off came the next layer, one suspender at a time and she stepped enticingly out of her stockings, corset and shoes, the sensation of liberation akin to a bird experiencing flight for the first time. She positively owned the stage and the pole, her movements bold and intuitive. When the time came to take off her bra, she tossed it high into the lights before catching it instinctively behind her the way she’d done a thousand times in her rhythmic gymnastics past. The audience went wild.
When the lights went down a minute later, Mila was floating on air. She returned to the dressing room and felt like hugging everyone in it. Twenty minutes later, one of the house managers came in to tell her she’d been booked for four private performances between now and 10 p.m. And so the evening continued.
When Mila finally made it home and fell into bed, it was four in the morning. After packing up at the club, she’d had to wait for almost an hour for a taxi, since she was the only one, it seemed, who didn’t know that 3:00 a.m. was driver change-over time. Finally in bed, she was still buzzing and restless and rolled onto her stomach to settle herself down the only way she knew how. Her orgasm when it eventually came, was deep and intense and lasted for several minutes. She was still pulsing when she dozed off into a fitful sleep half an hour later.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It was Sunday morning and the surf was pumping so Ryan had spent the best part of three hours clearing his head of the case and enjoying the warmer water temperatures. He was always invigorated by thrill of catching a great wave and today he’d caught many. The joy of flying never left him, the oneness with nature and the focus it required when you were finally up there riding a great wave was the best form of exhilaration and relaxation he knew. Like great sex, it was always new, always different, it didn’t matter how many experiences you had, you were always left wanting more. As he walked over the wet sand he weighed them up. It was a close competition but in the light of recent experiences with Mila, he had to admit that surfing had just been relegated to second.
Licking the salt from his lips, he walked through the front door, Jack at his heels. He picked up his phone to call her to see if she wanted to join him for a long lunch at Watson’s Bay. He pictured them sharing a seafood platter and some cold beers in the sunshine then coming back to his place and making love. Maybe at night they’d go to the Basement to listen to some jazz or just get a video and chill out.
His heart sank as he saw a missed call from the office. This is why you got out of the drug squad and the Feds, he thought with some irritation. At least in the state force you could count on your days off as your days off, instead of always waiting for a call at any time of day or night.
‘Need you to come in urgently. Call on route.’ The message had come in only ten minutes before, and Ryan wasted no time in showering, stripping off his boardshorts and opting for civies instead of his uniform. At least it was a good day for a ride.
He returned the call before leaving. There had been a break-through in the case. The same players that they had been tipped off as trying to smuggle the container-load of ephedrine had also been connected to a batch of high quality MDMA that was flooding the normally undersupplied market. One of a network of local pushers was in custody and apparently ready to spill the beans in exchange for immunity.
‘We can only hold him for so long without charging him. He’s already asking for a lawyer. We need you in the interview room ASAP.’ Ryan gave a few instructions before hanging up. Jack looked desolate as Ryan picked up his laptop and keys and headed towards the door. In recent years, the dog had learnt that the laptop meant work, and that meant that he was going to be left behind.
‘I know you’ve already forgotten old man, but you’ve just spent three hours with me at the beach. Go have a sleep and I promise to make it up to you when I get home.’ Ryan had gone from being answerable to an old lady, to being answerable to an old dog. Luckily he’d been so fond of them both.
Negotiations were already underway by the time he arrived and he was quickly brought up to speed. The perp’ was clearly agitated but looking to make a deal. Eight hundred and fifty caps found in his possession was enough to put him away for a long time. He didn’t look like a user, not of ice anyway, and his quick talking could be attributed to the fact that he was clearly more scared of what would happen to him if he was caught snitching, than if he was charged for the crime.
The detectives interviewing him had learned that the purchase of a thousand caps was through a middleman, and that the deal had gone down at the buyer’s unit in Waterloo. The guy who he’d bought from was apparently white and spoke good English with an accent that was possibly European.
The offer to buy had come through the week before, via a cold call on his mobile but of course there had been no caller ID. It was not his usual supplier and he’d been a bit suspicious in case it was a sting but the deal was sweet and he’d tried the goods before buying.
Did he see a car? Yes. Did he have any idea of the make, model or number plate? Yes, yes and no came the reply. It was a luxury car, a late model BMW, blacked out. Was there any conversation other than the exchange? Yes, he’d been told to expect some high quality shit to be available in a month. What type? Crank, Crystal meth or Ice as it was better known in Australia.
That was the connection they’d been waiting for, it was that single piece of information that had motivated the team to call Ryan. As a key ingredient in Ice, ephedrine was like gold but hard to come by locally. There’d be no shortage of volunteers to manufacture the stuff once they had their hands on it, so it was crucial that the cops intercept the shipment and hopefully take down the big players at the same time.
Ryan showed the dealer the photos taken at Crown Casino to which he shook his head. No, none of those faces belonged to the guy who did the trade.
‘Can you contact him to buy more?’
‘No, but it’s possible that he’ll call again.’
The detectives stood discussing it outside the interview room.
‘Let’s get him back out there with some marked notes and hope that we can get some of them back through the casino. Give him another mobile to make sure our calls aren’t traced and offer him witness protection down the track. Do we have the manpower to keep him under surveillance?’ Ryan wasn’t sure if it was a good idea anyway. This ring was highly organized and well resourced. There was nothing to say that the characters they were hunting hadn’t already seen him brought into custody.
Where was he arrested? At his apartment. Had there been a scene and were unmarked cars used? There were a million variables that played into the picture and if he or anyone else working the case overlooked any one of them, the cartels involved might be tipped off.
Ryan went back into the room. ‘Anything else you might have forgotten to tell us?’
There was one more thing. One of his customers and sometimes girlfriend had been with him at his unit when the guy had shown up early to do the deal. They’d sent her outside to wait, but he’d noticed the guy had stopped to talk with her on the way out. He’d seen her give him her phone number. She’d written it in eyeliner pencil on his arm.
‘Did she come back in and buy from you after that?’ Ryan asked.
‘Sure. She always buys from me. She’s an old hooker and she sells them through her work.’
Ryan needed to interview this woman but she was unlikely to share information willingly. He had to hope to catch her in possession so he’d have some leverage.
�
��What’s her name and where does she work?’
The dealer hesitated momentarily. ‘I’m not sure if I know her name, you know she pays me for her own personal junk in ‘services’, if you get my drift. She’s got a sweet arse and she gives a killer blowjob and she’s a good customer. She won’t be easy to replace. We got a thing, her and me. You gotta give me some assurance that you’re gonna look after us both if I give ‘er up.’
Ryan couldn’t believe this guy was still trying to bargain with them. ‘Right now you are being looked after but it’s your choice. Choose to make things difficult, I can assure you that the only sex you’ll be getting for the next ten years or so will be compliments of some pretty unattractive bikers behind bars. Or you can do the right thing and maybe your luck doesn’t run out today after all.’
‘I’ve been helpful!’ he whined. ‘But I dunno where she works now. I only know her as Taz. I never been to her work, she comes to me.’
It was an unusual name and Ryan didn’t think it would be too hard to track her down.
He directed an order to one of the younger team members who he knew was street savvy to head to the Cross to find her.
‘Get onto it for me would you? And be discreet.’ He didn’t want it to get around that the cops were looking for her, or this Taz might just disappear and their lead would be gone. Thank God he didn’t have to spell it all out to these guys. They’d been cluey enough to make the connection between this dealer and the bigger case and had called him right away.
It didn’t take more than a couple of hours and they had the name of the club. One phone call, again undercover and they learned she was working that night. There went his plans for a long lunch and evening with Mila. He hoped she wasn’t waiting for his call.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The bleeping noise of the alarm clock took its time to rouse Mila from what was at last, a very deep sleep. On finally recognizing it for what it was, she rolled over and groped around to turn it off before opening one eye. It was eight a.m. and she remembered with a groan that it was Sunday and she’d promised her in-laws that she would come to church and then lunch.
