“And he was pretty wound around you.”
“Yeah,” LeAnne smiled wider.
Tori’s hand touched hers. LeAnne looked over at her, wondering what provoked the touch. Tori wasn’t any more touchy-feely than she was. Plus, her friend’s eyes were clear and serious. “Be very careful, LeAnne. Everyone isn’t what they seem, and Dorian isn’t either.”
LeAnne stared at her, trying to decrypt the message. “Are you trying to tell me he’s a criminal?”
“No. I don’t know. He gives me the heebies. Just, promise me you won’t let him get you alone. Not till you know him better.”
LeAnne nodded and didn’t argue. She would do what she wanted, as she always did, but something in the way Tori said it made her think maybe she should listen this time. Her friend’s cop instincts spotted trouble much faster than her own instincts did. She should probably trust it. “Okay.”
“Good.” Tori lay sideways, away from LeAnne, and curled against the end of the couch. “I’m so tired.”
The way Tori said the words made LeAnne feel she meant more than the standard physical fatigue from a night out. Tori’s life had entangled with Michael’s in a way that had changed her. It was more than the new wealth, her club-owning boyfriend reminded LeAnne of a TV mob boss. Moreover, Tori looked taller, paler, and strangely more powerful with him. There was also an intangible quality now that made her seem older, as if she had seen horrific things that aged her even more than being a detective had. It was almost creepy.
“I’m sorry.” LeAnne laid her head on her end of the couch. “What can I do?”
Tori was silent for a while, then said, “Nothing. I’ve gotten myself into this mess, and I’m not dragging you in with me.”
“I’ll always be here for you.”
“I know.”
LeAnne thought she heard Tori sniffle, but she didn’t ask. Her friend was keeping secrets she would tell in her own time. Right now, she needed rest, peace, and maybe a spa trip. The best LeAnne could do for her tonight was let her have a little privacy.
* * * *
LeAnne woke to the sound of her phone vibrating, unsure of how long she had slept. She glanced around the dark living room, and realized the sun cast an orange glow around the edges of the drapes. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table. According to the digital readout on the screen, it was just after seven in the evening. A little envelope at the top of the screen glowed, indicating a new text message. She clicked it and found two. One was from Tori, and it contained the address of the club for the meeting. The other message was from a local number she didn’t know. It read: Evening, beautiful. It had to be Dorian.
She typed back: Who is this?
Within seconds, the phone vibrated again. Forgotten me so soon?
Dorian?
Of course. Sleep well?
So-so, she responded. You?
The same. I would have slept better if you had let me drive you home.
LeAnne laughed aloud and typed: You are hilarious.
I will take you home tonight.
His confidence made her smile. I can’t see you. I have a meeting.
All night? He sent back quickly.
Unfortunately.
I’m disappointed.
Sorry. She realized she was frowning. If things change, I’ll text you.
Perfect. Dorian responded. Now, have a good night and be safe.
Thank you, LeAnne replied and put her phone back on the table, smiling. Even though she barely knew Dorian, he made her happy. Maybe it was because his advances made her feel beautiful and hopeful for a life with someone who truly loved her, just like in her favorite love story.
She stood and stretched her stiff back, then rolled her neck to pop it. After a yawn, she hurried through a shower and dressed, then stood sideways in front of the mirror on back of her bathroom door. There was nothing wrong with fit of the worn denim skirt she had picked up at GAP or how the red top with the deep V-neck hugged her curves; the problem was with her body. She could not quite get her stomach flat enough to feel comfortable. There was a pooch—small, but there, despite what people said. She had either a few more pounds to lose or liposuction to purchase. Until then, she would tan and dress to distract from the flaw.
While she put on the black slippers with little red trim, her phone went off again. It was Dorian. Just tell me his name.
Again, she laughed and typed back. He is still not worth it.
Within minutes, she was out the door. Shortly after that, she pulled into the parking lot of the tanning salon, got out, grabbed her bottle of lotion, and locked the Sequoia doors behind her. She pushed open the glass door to Bahama Tan and walked into the cool, tanning lotion-scented building.
“Hi. Do you have an appointment?” The tiny, tanned, blond attendant smiled.
“No.”
“Are you looking for spray tan or bed?”
“A bed.”
She glanced over a computer screen. “Will stand-up be okay?”
“Sure.”
She followed the attendant back to the booth. The girl let her into the room, gave her a quick rundown of the equipment, and left her alone.
After she locked the door, LeAnne stripped and slathered herself in lotion. Luckily, the lotion smelled great and she wasn’t a sweating type of person, so no one would know she’d been tanning moments before her meeting. When she reached her neck, LeAnne realized she had forgotten her hair clip. She glanced around the room, looking for something to put her hair up with, and considered trying to tie it up with a twisted sheet of paper towel. Finally, she picked up her red lace undies. After all, they were clean, and no one would ever know.
She tied up her hair, put on tanning goggles, and stood in the booth, soaking up the rays while listening to an oldies station pumping Don’t Worry, Be Happy, then Sexual Healing through the salon speakers. When the bright lights kicked off, she took a deep breath, popped off the tanning goggles, and stepped out of the booth. Her phone vibrated.
Curious, LeAnne picked up the phone and read the text from Dorian: Hey, beautiful.
She smiled. Hey.
What are you wearing? :D
She laughed. Nothing.
She put on her bra and shirt during a long delay. Then he sent: Where are you? I’ll be there in five minutes.
She laughed out loud. Too late. I’m heading to the meeting. She slipped on her skirt and shoes.
Nude?
She laughed and walked out of the room. That would sure clear the room.
I doubt that. You’re hot.
She laughed again and shook her head.
“Have a great even—” The attendant stared at her with her mouth open.
LeAnne waved. “Thanks.” Then she typed You are so funny and pushed open the door to the salon. She climbed into the Sequoia, put her phone in the cup holder, and threw on her seatbelt. After cranking it, she looked in the rear view mirror. Her heart fell straight out of her chest.
Her hair was still tied up.
In red lace panties.
She jerked it out and looked around, first panicked, then laughing hysterically as she realized what the attendant had seen. Quickly, she shimmied into the panties in her seat and still giggling, she headed to the meeting.
Finding the strip club wasn’t difficult. A giant vertical neon sign with the same pink monkey from the business card above the words Le Singe Rose illuminated the darkness with a garish pink haze. LeAnne pulled into the parking lot, which engulfed the closest half of the block, and drove toward the backside where a two-story dark grey metal building stood. There were no windows except in the center, where a set of glass double doors stood, each with an equal-sized glass panel beside them, the total of which had to have been at least sixteen feet. Over the top of those was a long strip of glass just as wide and about two feet
tall. The lights inside were barely visible through the dark tint. Above the glass doors hung another sign, also in neon and of the pink monkey. Overall, her first impression of the club was not that of a welcoming environment, which might be the first thing she would change, if she took the job. It also needed a lighted letter board to announce sales and events to passing traffic.
LeAnne parked in a spot just to the right of the entrance. She stuffed her keys and some cash in her pocket, got out, and locked the vehicle. Nervous moths fluttered in her gut, but she took a deep breath to steady them. All change is scary at first, she told herself and marched to the entrance.
“LeAnne!”
Tori’s voice made her turn around. Her friend and Michael walked up behind her, arm in arm. He was in another suit. Tori was in jeans, tennis shoes, and a blue T-shirt that made her blue eyes look amazing even in the dark. Over that, she had on a very feminine black velvet jacket with puffed sleeves that probably hid a pistol. Tori went absolutely nowhere without her gun.
“Hey,” LeAnne smiled. “Glad I’m not late.”
“We just arrived.” Michael let go of Tori’s arm and opened the door ahead of them. “Victoria worked late.” His tone sounded strained and the use of Tori’s whole name made his frustration obvious. Tori’s behavior was obviously taking its toll on him.
“Well, I overslept, so it’s all good.” LeAnne walked in first, hoping he did not catch the lie. She heard her friend kiss Michael behind her and smiled to herself.
Inside, the club was not as seedy as she’d expected. Immediately inside, a leggy brunette hostess in a royal blue satin bustier, ruffled skirt, and fishnets stood beside a sign that ordered patrons to present I.D. and the cover charge. She looked like a throwback from the saloon days, right down to the blue rose in her hair. Of course, Michael’s presence meant they were neither charged nor checked.
“LeAnne.” The woman smiled. “You sure are sticking your neck out by taking this job.” The woman snickered and let out a little snort of laughter.
“Becky,” Michael said.
“Sorry.” She giggled and winked at Tori. “So, is she joining our little cougar pack, too?”
Tori laughed, too. “Have you been drinking?”
She held up two fingers in a pinching motion. “Just a little.”
LeAnne laughed and glanced around. To the right was a coat check with an equally pin-up-worthy girl working the window. Ahead, the foyer opened to a long rectangle with a high ceiling, from which four swings hung in a seemingly scattered pattern among lights that swung, making wild patterns around the room. Topless women hung from them, flirting with the men below sitting at the tables that littered the floor A handful of barely dressed waitresses also worked the crowd as they dropped drinks at the tables.
As they moved in, LeAnne could see that to the far left stood a long bar with a man and woman bartending. On the far right, a huge beaded curtain filled an wide-arched doorway that separated the club from an area lit with a dark pink glow. Along the north wall was a stage centered with a glassy catwalk that extended into the crowd about twenty feet. At its end stood a circular platform centered on a shiny pole, upon which a leggy blonde in the slutty version of a business suit danced to a metal song LeAnne didn’t recognize. Stage right and left had a similar catwalk setup at forty-five-degree angles that extended away from the stage so they looked like three splayed silver fingers. In a word, the club was showy, but it wasn’t tasteless. A few improvements, a little style congruency, and it could be cool.
“Are you stunned?” Tori stood beside her.
“No, just observing.”
Michael took Tori’s hand. “Would you like a short tour, LeAnne?”
“Sure.”
“This area is self-explanatory. Through there”—Michael pointed toward the pink room—“are eight cubicles and two sitting areas for private dances.” LeAnne followed him left to the bar, where he pointed to a door just left of the stage. “Just through there are the stage stairs, an area for the girls to touch up before they go onstage, and a sitting area for them to rest and dress before they come out to work the tables.”
The big guy behind the bar looked like he could have been Fabio’s younger brother and the woman dressed very similar to the way Becky had, but in black and red. She resembled a more voluptuous young Sally Field. “Sherry and Rod are two of the best bartenders around.”
Rod waved at Michael, who waved back before he moved toward a tall silver door at the end of the bar. LeAnne noticed there were big block letters on it, forming the words PRIVATE: Enter if you want your ass whipped. She laughed.
“Back here are the dressing rooms, offices, private restrooms, and storage.” Michael pushed open the door and motioned her and Tori inside. The hall was long and wide. It was as bright and clean as a hospital. All the doors were on the left side. The first one had a keypad lock on it. “This is the bar storage. All the supplies are in here, including coolers.” He kept walking and pointed to the second door. “The dressing room is in here. We can go in later when the girls aren’t so busy.”
“That’s okay. I’ll see it soon enough,” Tori said with a laugh. Even though she’d be working around topless women, she preferred to avoid confronting so many so soon, and in a small space.
“Next two doors are restrooms.” He kept walking. They passed those doors, and he pointed at the third one. “The bartenders’ office is in here. They do count downs, ordering, and so on in there.” As they passed an open doorway, he said, “Break room with vending, TV, and furniture.”
Finally, they reach the last door where he keyed in a code. “This is the manager’s office.” Michael pushed open the door and flipped a switch that cast the very ordinary but roomy white office in fluorescent light. On the far wall was a tall-backed black office chair behind a mahogany-like desk. The computer looked up to date. On the wall behind the desk was a long matching chest with a printer, paper, and other supplies on top. The rest of the room was bare, with the exception of two black guest chairs and a black leather love seat on the east wall. That would definitely have to change.
“It’s modest, but you’re welcome to do whatever you’d like with it.” Michael walked over to the chair behind the desk and pulled it out. “Please, sit.”
LeAnne did.
“Tori says you’re computer savvy. If you would like, you may check the accounting program for financial details. The profit-loss and cash flow statements for the last two years are here.” He picked up two stapled stacks of printed paper and sat them in front of her.
Tori walked over to stand beside him. “Do you want us to give you some time?”
“No. Stick around. I may have questions for Michael.”
“Okay.” Tori led Michael to the couch, where he sat down, and she slid onto his lap.
LeAnne looked down and skimmed the numbers, trying not to hear them whispering. She tuned them out after a few moments of reading the sales and expense figures for the club. The business was healthy. With only a few tweaks, it could be very profitable. The advertising looked a little low while the utilities and supplies looked high, but it would take research on the industry to know for sure if those were off.
After what felt like an hour of reading, she finally looked up and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. Michael glanced up, then Tori. LeAnne smiled at them. “Everything looks good. We still need to nail down the details of our arrangement, but I see no reason this isn’t doable.”
“Good.” The corners of Michael’s mouth turned up in a little grin. “But I’d like to tell you one more thing before we do. And it is confidential, of course.”
She nodded.
“The guy who was running the club has betrayed me. He left town and put me in a tough spot.” Michael shifted slightly. “I need you to start tomorrow. You will have to change all account information, locks, key codes, and so on. You wil
l also need to check that all bills are caught up, specifically the taxes. Security also needs to be increased. I believe he will try to cause trouble.”
LeAnne sat silent for a moment. The guy could come after her, but if she was in charge, and with Michael backing her, she could take care of that. He would be a bump in the road, at the worst. “I can handle all that.”
“All right. Here is what I propose: Essentially, the club will be run completely as your business with me as a silent partner. I expect to be briefed on things weekly for the first month or so, and after that we will meet regularly to discuss major changes and problems. In exchange, you will get a monthly salary plus thirty percent of the profit as your annual bonus.”
Thirty percent was more than she expected. With the club’s numbers, it was a lot more. Enough to give her financial security. She smiled. “How much of a salary?”
“Think about the numbers tonight and text me your request tomorrow. I want you to be very happy with the job and feel you are well compensated for all the headaches that come along with it. You know the finances and how much the business can afford.”
“Okay, I will.” LeAnne tried not to let her excitement show. The last manager, according to the statements, made a lot more than she would make at the hospital job. She was betting Michael would pay her more just to have someone he trusted. Still, she would think it over as he asked.
“If we can agree on the salary, do we have a deal?”
“Sure do,” she said.
He smiled a bright, triumphant smile. “Now, I’d like to have a drink before I have to leave.”
“You have to work?” Tori said it in a flat tone that reeked of disappointment.
“I do, amante.” Michael’s Italian was smooth and confident. “I am sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” He kissed Tori, who resisted at first, then melted against him.
LeAnne looked away and busied herself with getting up from the desk and generally trying to make enough noise that they didn’t forget her presence. She was starting to see why Tori found him so appealing. One day, she wanted someone like Michael for herself. She needed the romance, someone to say all the right things and make her weak in the knees with a kiss. Someone she could be very vulnerable with, and know he would never let her down. Dorian was a promising prospect, but he was probably exactly like the rest of them. All that men ever want was to get into her pants. Her mother had always said it, and men had proven her right.
Dorian Page 6
