Business with Pleasure

by Mia Madison

  “He looks like he’s got a whole lot for me to get… and get on top of.” She lowered her eyes, and bit her lip, doing a lewd pelvic thrust.

  “Looooord.”

  I rolled my eyes and groaned. Trixie was a sexual animal at times, and she confessed to almost going all the way in some of her VIPS. I didn’t like hearing this; it sounded like a recipe for disaster. It wasn’t safe either. Yet at the same time, I knew she was stubborn. She would do as she wanted to do, regardless of how I, or anyone, felt about it.

  “Relax. I’m just playing.” I nodded to appease her, but she was really trying to convince herself - and not I - that she meant what she’d said.

  There weren’t any girls in the locker room for the moment, but we kept our tones low. You never knew who was listening.

  “You know I just want you to be safe.” I wiped myself down with cleaning wipes, changed into a scalloped red camisole, and continued to groom myself in preparation for the floor.

  “I know, and I am.” She slapped her tanned butt. “I’m just making memories here and there. He just looks like a good memory to make.”

  I gave her my knowing look, the one that says, “You can’t fool me, heffa. I’m your best friend.” She rolled her eyes playfully.

  “Did I judge you for fucking Cam?” She whispered his name, making sure nobody would hear that besides us.

  I felt an instant punch to my stomach at the mention of him. “That was… different.”

  She folded her arms and cocked one hip to the side. “Was it?”

  I shot daggers at her. It’s been weeks since we left Cam and that club behind. I was doing my best to move on.

  “There was a connection. We had something.” I defended myself. Pointing a finger to the ground, I added, “But it was still inappropriate. I slipped up, and thankfully it happened when I was leaving.”

  That’s also the very reason why I left him behind when I went to this club. What club owner wants to be involved with a dancer who takes off to make money elsewhere?”

  “He really liked you though,” Trixie said with sympathy slipped into her voice. “He really liked you, and it showed.”

  Her empathy for him was evident, and it filled my heart with guilt. I had no argument against her statement, because it was true.

  Trixie picked up her car the next morning, solo, while I was at school. Cam had done a lot. There were expensive, fresh new tires, her fuel system had been cleaned out, and he’d even had a tune-up on the vehicle. The work was topped off with a detail.

  She worked a few extra nights at the club out of gratitude, and then quit. But after that last night with Cam, I never looked back. I didn’t want to show my face, as it was obvious we had something going on. I couldn’t face the dirty looks of the other dancers.

  … And though I really enjoyed being with him, I couldn’t face him either.

  I ignored his calls and texts. They were relentless for a few days. I told Trixie to say I was sick. I dodged him horribly, to the point where it he ever tried to stop by, I wouldn’t have known. I spent all my free time at Starbucks, or on campus until he stopped contacting me.

  As delicious and amazing as the sex was, it was wrong. It shouldn’t have happened. And I didn’t have to deal with that passionate mistake I’d made as long as I moved on and never looked back.

  “You ever think about calling him?” Trixie asked. “Maybe just to apologize, or clear the air?”

  Yes, but… nah. Not happening.

  Guilt riddled me with feelings of obligation. Deep down inside, I would love to see him, to speak to him and apologize for the way things ended - but I knew that wasn’t possible.

  Cam didn’t open up easily. He also didn’t strike me as the forgiving type. Apologizing for the abrupt disappearance after weeks of no contact wouldn’t end well, especially after all he’d done for Trixie? He’d done a lot on account of his affinity for me. No thanks.

  An undeniable churn seized my stomach. I’d been thinking about Cam on the low, and quiet as kept, every time I did, my stomach did painful somersaults.

  I wished Trixie hadn’t brought him up. Quiet as kept, I condemned myself for my behavior. I believed in karma, and in treating people the way you wanted to be treated. I had done anything but with Cam.

  Heavy feelings of my transgression sometimes twisted my insides so badly, I’d make myself nauseous. I’d also burst into tears angry with myself for how I handled the situation.

  This was another one of those moments. The familiar churn of vomit coming to the surface seized my being. Fearing the worst, I ran out of the locker room. I almost slammed the bathroom door into another dancer, and made it just in time to the toilet.

  “What the fuck!” She hissed. I retched, filling the bathroom with horrific echoes of the sounds of my vomit. The sour smell of alcohol, plus the pasta from dinner, saturated the air.

  “Oh shit.”

  She sounded every bit as horrified as she should have. Every retch attempted to purge me of the self-indignation, guilt, and unspoken apologies festering inside me.

  Once I’d thrown up everything I had, and every ounce of stomach bile, I collapsed in tears. I’d emptied my stomach, but I’d never empty my soul from the truth:

  I wasn’t shit for what I’d done, and there was nothing I could do about it. And while I never planned to see him ever again, I knew, deep down inside, I’d probably never feel at peace until I atoned for this in some way.

  The problem is, I didn’t know how I would do that.

  22

  Cam

  One Month Later

  Time heals all wounds, huh? Bullshit. You live, you learn, and you bundle up your heart because it’s a cold world out there.

  With the departure of Trixie and Blair, things seemed to level out slightly. Lena started coming to work on time again, and she didn’t seem to drink as much.

  Girls still ran in and out my office, trying to use their sob stories to convince me to give them leeway. One girl even attempted to give me a blow job for some extra money. I sent her packing without a warning when she attempted to compare herself to Blair.

  Blair.

  She was still on my mind, but I didn’t want to think about or discuss her. She was obviously a topic of discussion around the club, especially since everyone caught wind of the time we spent in VIP the last night she was here.

  Again, I didn’t give a fuck about the whispers in the dark. Dancers, bartenders, security - they could all think what they wanted. At the end of the day I had the power to do what I wanted, and I lived with the consequences, even if they gutted me to the core.

  * * *

  I kept myself from dwelling on Blair by staying immersed in my business. I couldn’t stand being a club owner, but I needed this club to take care of myself and my mother. This was my livelihood, handed down to us from a man who gave this place his life, even when it didn’t deserve it.

  My brother and I looked over the books with our financial team. Despite its clientele, location, and appearance, the club was turning enough profit that we needed to divest funds to avoid heavy taxation.

  “I have a friend who owns an upscale club in the south side,” my brother offered. “He’s looking to get out the game and move across country so his wife can be close to her parents. Her father’s ill.”

  An upscale club seemed to be a good complement to our portfolio. We knew the business, generally speaking, so running another club would have a shorter learning curve. Upper echelon clientele meant deeper pockets, deeper profits, and hopefully less bullshit with dancers and patrons. You wouldn’t believe how cheap and crazy patrons were at our club.

  I shrugged a shoulder, curled my lip in affirmation, and nodded my head. “Let’s check it out.”

  My brother made a phone call. After a few minutes of speaking, he turned to me. “Want to check it out tonight?”

  “Sure.” Why wait?

  “I’ll let you know now, I can’t go. The kids have a recital.” He gave m
e a look that questioned whether or not I was sure of my plans.

  I shrugged again. “I got this.”

  He nodded. “My brother’s name is Cam.” He rattled down my number to the guy on the other end of the phone, and wrote down the address and phone number before hanging up.

  “He’ll see you after 10.”

  23

  Blair

  “You sure you feel okay?” Trixie asked me as we headed to work. “I don’t want you pushing yourself if you’re still feeling under the weather.”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted. “It’s just a little bug or something.”

  I thought I was sick to my stomach from guilt with Cam. But it appeared I was really just sick to my stomach. Although I cleaned up and finished my shift the night before, I never felt fully settled.

  I went to bed, certain that I’d just sleep off my feelings, but that wasn’t the case. I woke up this morning and felt just as queasy and unsettled as I had before. And no matter what I ate, I couldn’t keep anything down. I got sick of tasting my own bile, so I settled for ginger ale and crackers.

  I would have called out of work, but I’d just started getting in the groove of things, and I craved the money. We brought home $1000 on a bad night, and I needed as many good and bad nights as I could get.

  I wanted to save money for more art classes outside of school because I felt a connection to creative activities. I didn’t have any more electives left on my degree plan to indulge in such classes, so I’d have to pay for classes out of pocket, or take the off campus.

  Either way, I felt it was worth the investment, especially if it led to a path that showed me what I really wanted to do with my life.

  Every time my mother asked, I felt that nagging sense of guilt that I had no clue. She struggled to make ends meet for us, and seeing me excel was important to her.

  “It’s just a case of nerves and PMS,” I said. My period was due and I had each and every single one of my premenstrual symptoms. I craved Lay’s potato chips, had sore, swollen boobs, and felt extra angsty and tired. I needed rest, but I’d get that when I called out for two or three days to lay in bed with cramps from hell.

  “What are the nerves about?” She probed.

  “Life. Not knowing what I want to do, and how long I’ll need to be doing… this.”

  She was silent. From what I could tell, Trixie was enjoying herself thoroughly at the club. She was a night owl and loved to show off, so getting paid up to $4,000 a night to show off was right up her alley. She spoke of majoring in business administration or finance, something safe to guarantee a job, but I started to think she was said that to convince herself more than anyone else.

  She patted my leg after sustained quietude. “We’ll figure this out. Let’s just take it one day at a time. We’re young.”

  “You’re right.”

  I assuaged her concerns, but an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. It felt like a big, gravelly rock kicking itself over and over on my insides. I didn’t know the cause; I just knew something wasn’t right, and I prayed for a quick and easy night.

  24

  Cam

  Even from the road at night, The Venus Suite was impressive. I took in the majestic curb appeal as I pulled up. The landscaping was meticulous, simple but luxurious, and the architecture had an elegance to it.

  This neighborhood was quality. It wasn’t in the process of being gentrified, creating a questionable atmosphere where vagabonds waited to break into patron’s cars and beg for money. You pulled up fully aware this club operated to please the opulent tastes of its clientele and delivered completely. It certainly matched the opulent price tag attached to it.

  When the valet approached the car, I informed them I was there to see Alan. The young man, about twenty-five and clean cut, nodded and talked into his earpiece. Smiling, he informed me that my valet was on the house.

  “Thank you.” I shook his hand, securely transferring a $20 to him before I walked inside. A tall black guy approached me. His black attire was pristine and his build revealed that he worked out regularly. “Mr. Creed?”

  “Yes.”

  He introduced himself as head of security and escorted me to Alan’s office. He didn’t talk much, so I was able to take in the environment.

  The lobby was brightly lit, and sparse in population. There were just a sprinkle of patrons, and they were checking their phones or speaking quietly amongst themselves. Most of the gentlemen, as expected, were well-dressed professionals, retirees, and new money.

  “Hello, Mr. Creed.”

  Alan rose from his desk when I entered. He was slim and well-dressed. His eyes were sharp, and I could tell he missed nothing.

  We shook hands and he offered me a seat.

  “Your brother and I are well acquainted,” he said. “We’ve worked together for a few years.”

  I nodded. “He tells me you’re trying to retire.”

  “Yes,” he confirmed, leaning back and steepling his fingers. “My wife and I have lived in this area for a long time. Her family’s on the other side of the country, and her dad’s sick. She wants to move closer to home.”

  He gave me a conspiratorial smile. “You know how it is. Happy wife, happy life.”

  “Indeed.” I couldn’t relate, and for the first time, I felt a pang from that inability.

  “Have you been given a full tour yet?”

  I shook my head.

  He rose from his seat. Nodding toward the security guard, who’d waited quietly at the door, he said. “Let’s go. Gavin - my head of security - will escort us.”

  Gavin led us throughout the back areas of the club while Alan gave me a verbal walkthrough. He told me about the history of the club, gave me a rundown on its renovations and upgrades, and gave me a percentage on the business’s growth and ROI over the past five years.

  “We’re turning a great profit at this point, and our clientele is solid,” he explained. “We’ve worked hard to maintain a distinctive reputation in this industry, and we’re known throughout the region.”

  I nodded. I liked both what I was seeing and hearing. My club ran in the black as well, but there was a massive opportunity with taking this on. I could promote Kelsey to manager at the current club while I managed the affairs here.

  At this point, I’d seen everything, including the VIP suites, but the main floor. I had no idea what to expect, but from the music thumping on the other side of the walls, I knew it had to be sexy, sophisticated, and upscale.

  Alan rubbed his hands. “I’ve purposely saved the best for last. You ready?”

  He didn’t wait for my response. The door opened, and I was immediately sucked into the seductive atmosphere. Gentlemen were seated in comfortable chairs around granite and oak tables. Along the back walls lie plush sofas, some with curtains, where a few men were enjoying table and lap dances.

  The women were mind-blowing, and diverse. There were tall women, short women, very curvy women, and slim women in every shade of the rainbow, although women of color were present in a smaller ratio.

  Each of these women carried an air of erotic sophistication. They looked like women you’d see in an adult magazine, yet they were glamorous and classy.

  The music was just like what you’d expect to here at any club. This club just provided a slicker environment with a higher level of class, prestige, and earnings potential. I could see the dollar signs already.

  “Coming to the stage now,” the DJ announced, “Our new showstopper Kitten.”

  Pause. Eyes squint. Did I hear that right?

  “I’ll be back. Grabbing a drink.”

  Alan slipped away. I didn’t care. I was still processing what I’d just heard. The DJ did not say what I thought he said.

  Kitten. Not my Kitten.

  But when I looked at the stage, my fears were confirmed.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Blair, of all people, appeared center stage. She was dressed in a silky, slinky, glittery champagne-colored
outfit.

  I couldn’t fucking believe it.

  She was alive. She was well. She was sexier than ever. And I was mad as hell.

  Crimson lips and dark eyeliner gave her classic beauty enhancement. She looked as sultrier than ever. Even more beautiful than ever. And she was about to perform.

  They say the deadliest bullshit is odorless and transparent. Such wisdom would never ring true as it did in that moment.

  My father warned me against falling for dancers. He said dancers made money as beautiful illusions. They exhilarated you, put you on a high that left you strung out like a crack addict if you weren’t careful.

  “Nothing’s more intoxicating than an attentive, gorgeous women telling you she wants you and only you,” he said. “But at the end of the day, she’s hair to make money. It doesn’t matter how nice her tits are, how warm her smile is, or the fact that she caresses your face like she’s your wife and whispers sweet nothings in your ear. You’re a customer, and she’s hustling you.”

  “She can smell like fresh strawberries and cream,” he added, “Rub that fat pussy up and down, grinding herself against your cock like it’s the best she’ll ever have. She can tell you how badly she can’t wait to feel every inch of you. It’s all about the fantasy, son. Don’t fall in love. She’s here to get paid. She gets her money, and moves on to the next.”

  My blood boiled and I seethed. I felt a hot stone burn in the pit of my stomach. My fist clenched once I realized that I’d really been played.

  Blair - or should I say Kitten - was twirling her body around the length of the pole. She didn’t do any advanced tricks, but I watched her tilt her head back and undulate her body, like she was about to give the pole the hardest, wettest fuck of its life.

  Dropping to her knees, she pushed herself back on her haunches, whipped her hair, and tossed her head back with her eyes closed. I watched as she rose up slowly on her knees, and did hip circles. I hated to admit it, but her floor work was always mesmerizing.