“Did you get some rest?” her mother asked as she poured gin and vermouth over ice into the shaker. She didn’t wait for an answer before giving the flask a quick shake and then dividing the liquid between two glasses.
“Yes, thank you. Is Gracie alright? I thought she would have flaked out by now,” Olivia answered, picking up a magazine from the coffee table and skimming through it without really paying any attention to any of the articles. Her mother squeezed a little lemon oil into each drink and topped them both off with a couple of olives.
“Gracie is fine, she had a little nap on the couch.” Cynthia picked up both glasses and carried them both across the room. Taking a seat next to her only child, she placed them both on the table and then, without so much as another word, she pulled Olivia close and held her.
Her mother hugging her surprised Olivia – not that her mother wasn’t a tactile person; she was. There had been hugs and kisses throughout her childhood. Compared with many of her friend’s parents, Olivia’s childhood had been pretty standard. Of course, she did have a nanny. Her mother was away on films sets and stages late into the night, and for weeks on end, but whenever her mother was home, she was a mother, not an actress. They would play and read, go to the beach or swim in the pool. There were no boyfriends that Olivia knew about, though she guessed her mother must have had them. Her mother ignored party invitations and only attended events she absolutely needed to.
No, what surprised her was that her mother hadn’t questioned her first. In fact, there had been no questions at all.
Chapter Six
It had been a week since their arrival, and still Olivia’s mother was yet to inquire about the reason why she wasn’t going back to London, or the fact she had broken up with Ava and moved her child halfway around the world. After all, England was Gracie’s home. It was all she really knew. Even her accent was British.
But still, her mother had said nothing.
She hadn’t heard from Ava either, which was a blessing she hoped would continue. There had been rumours in the press that her ex had been seen out on the town with several women already, so Olivia doubted she was shedding too many tears over their breakup.
It still hurt though.
Spending time with Gracie at the beach had been the best thing so far. Olivia drove them down to Malibu and parked the car in the drive of an old school friend before taking Gracie’s hand and slipping down the small alleyway that led from the Pacific highway through to the sand and ocean.
It was as if the houses that lined the edge of the county literally separated the world from paradise. It was the perfect spot to just throw down a towel and watch as her little girl ran around on the shoreline and built sandcastles, squealed when the cold water hit her toes, and let loose without a care in the world.
With her long, dark hair piled up high on her head, Olivia would lay back and get settled for a day of basking under the California sunshine, recharging her batteries. She always did feel better with a tan; her skin suited it.
Her evenings were spent at home with her mother, and Gracie, of course. They would have dinner together and talk about the day, but she could see the way that her mother would look at her, waiting patiently for her to say something. She never pushed, just gently encouraged.
“Darling, why don’t you go out for the evening. Gracie and I can entertain ourselves. Catch up with old friends, make new ones.” Cynthia winked.
Olivia smiled. “I’m not sure that I’d be very good company.”
Gracie was nodding furiously. “Yes you will, Mummy. Everybody loves you. Don’t they, Nanna?”
“Yes, they do, Gracie, you’re quite right there.” Cynthia smiled at the youngest member of the family.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to spend a few hours doing something,” Olivia finally agreed.
~MB~
Drinking margaritas and snacking on nachos, she sat back and watched the world around her dance the night away. Many nights she had sat just like this with Ava, only they hadn’t people-watched, or eaten nachos. They would be the ones whom people scrutinised. Nights out with Ava had been crazy and magical. No matter where they went, Ava would be recognised, or her P.A. would phone ahead just to make sure. Paparazzi would be waiting before and after, jostling each other in order to get pictures of Ava and her celebrity friends. In some ways Olivia loved every second of it. But sometimes, she just wanted to be at home with Gracie and Ava, and be a family. None of that mattered now though as she glanced around the room again.
She noticed the telltale flashes as cameras clicked from outside the bar and the door opened, revealing several huge guys in suits piling in surrounding a man and woman who seemed more interested in each other than in anyone else around them. It wasn’t strange to see straight celebrity couples hitting gay bars in WeHo; the clubs had all the best DJs in town.
It was getting close to 11 p.m., and on Friday nights that meant one thing, according to the numerous posters adorning the walls: dancers! Hot men and women would appear in tight shorts and bikinis and begin to strut and pose, flexing muscle and doing whatever it took, within reason, to get someone to place dollar bills in their waistbands. Most of them were young college students in need of a quick, easy, and well-paid way of getting through school. Others did it for the kick, or the chance to hang out with Hollywood producers. Olivia had already recognised a couple of her mother’s friends out on the prowl.
It wasn’t really Olivia’s scene, but she was here now, wasn’t she? May as well make the most of it.
The server arrived and took her order for another margarita as she leaned back against the cushioned wall to continue watching the entertainment. Three Hispanic-looking guys, a black guy with dreads, and the nerdy-looking white guy who was probably the most buff of them all began to move to the music, thrusting and gyrating in the faces of the men who stood close enough to reach up and tuck a bill inside their waistbands. Then she noticed the blonde, all by herself in the centre of the room to the left of where Olivia sat. Her view through the glassless window was somewhat obscured, but what she could see, she liked. She had her back to Olivia. Even when she twirled around the strategically-placed scaffold pole, her hair would fall down and cover her face, so Liv concentrated on the view that she did have.
Strong muscled arms and hands gripped the pole. The woman twisted and flexed. Shoulder blades glistened as the heat brought a light sweat to her skin. Olivia’s eyes travelled down to shapely calves in four-inch heels. Her quads and hamstrings bulged as she squatted down and thrust upwards against the pole. Olivia was sure that this might be the sexiest performance she had ever seen. Butch-looking women hung around close by, admiring the show. Every now and then one would reach up and tuck a green bill into the elastic of the skimpy bikini bottoms that covered the pert backside that quite frankly, even Olivia would pay to see.
Her drink came, and she sipped longingly on it as she continued to watch and enjoy the movement of the dancer. In all her years she had never considered walking up to a dancer like this and slipping several dollars to them, but right now she quite liked the idea, of course, she was a little drunk, and that certainly helped her decision as she rifled through her clutch for her purse. She fished out $50 in five $10 bills and stood, chuckling to herself at what she was about to do.
With one last swig of her drink, she drained her glass and grabbed her bag, preparing to leave, but only once she had paid a quick visit to the dancing blonde. She swayed gently to the music as she walked out of her cubicle and into the throng of sweat and movement. She felt hands on her waist as she passed through, then fingers hooking in the belt hoops of her jeans, someone attempting to dance with her, but she just kept moving, looking back over her shoulder to catch a cute short-haired woman acknowledging her. She smiled quickly before she turned back to complete her mission.
The lights were flicking and flashing from red to green and blue before a splash of white started the whole sequence again. Then she was there, looking up at
tight glutes and sun-kissed blonde hair that hung low across the shoulders before the dancer, realising she had hooked a voyeur, bent slowly and let her hair fall forward before flipping it back as she rose up and twisted around to face the newest fan.
“Olivia!”
“Hilary?”
They both exclaimed at the same time. Hilary stopped in her tracks and stared down at the woman she had seen on the plane just a few weeks ago. She was about to climb down when she noticed Olivia shaking her head and smirking.
“Oh no, I came over here to put these in there.” She pointed to the waistband of Hilary’s very skimpy panties. She waited for Hilary to get it, and when she smiled down at her and laughed, she couldn’t help but giggle too.
Hilary began to writhe again and move to the music once more, only this time she kept her eyes firmly and only on Olivia. Several of the other women grumbled or attempted to move her, but Olivia held her position firm.
As the music came to an end, Olivia reached up and one by one tucked each of the five ten-dollar bills into her waistband before she waved and mouthed a ‘thank you,’ then she winked once and turned on her heels to leave.
Olivia was already gone before Hilary could climb down from the podium. She could do nothing more than laugh to herself. Her time slot was up, and so she wandered back to the dressing rooms and counted up the bills she had collected. With Olivia’s $50 she had $73, which for ten minutes’ work wasn’t too bad. She still had another three slots to cover, and each one brought thoughts of Olivia staring up at her.
Chapter Seven
Hilary Palmer came from the tougher side of the tracks. Her parents had divorced when she was four, her mother being the parent that left the family home, only to fall ill and die within months. Michael Palmer had done a wonderful job, in her opinion, in raising her and her three sisters. Money had been scarce, but love was never far, and as she had returned from her travels to the apartment her dad was living in and that she was now going to be living in, she considered how best she could help him.
The first thing she needed to do was get a job, any job because the last thing she was going to do was sponge off her old man, not that he would complain or refuse. In his world, his kids came first, even if they were all grown up now and with families of their own in two cases.
On her second day home she got up early, put on her best clothes, and hit the streets. Her first stop had been the print shop, where she left with fifty copies of her resume. She stopped in every coffee shop or café and left her details. Any store that had a sign up for staff, she walked in and applied.
By seven p.m. she was beat. The stores were mostly closed, and now all that was left were the bars and clubs. She went with West Hollywood. It would be a trek from home to get here, but it was where she felt most comfortable, and if she was going to be working amongst the drunk and sometimes disorderly, then she would prefer it to be here.
She was having no luck until she got to Proton. The guy behind the bar looked her over as he scanned the resume.
“It says here you were a dancer?” he said, his feminine voice not quite matching his macho physique.
“Yeah, I worked a couple of months on a cruise ship teaching ballroom dancing to seniors and lonely hearts,” she answered with a grin, which he matched. He was a good-looking guy, and she imagined he had no lack of attention every night. “Learned when I was a kid.” She continued smiling.
“Well, I got nothing bar-wise, but I do need a dancer.” He raised an immaculately sculpted eyebrow at her and waited for an answer.
“What kind of dancing?” she queried as she took in the place. She had been here a few times in the past, but never in daylight, and usually not sober. It was a mixed hangout, boys and girls all looking to have some fun, hook up, or simply hang out with straight pals. It looked a lot different to how she remembered it, which was probably down to the new ownership and redo on the décor. It was built around an old building, made to look derelict.
“Go-go dancing,” he said, nodding with his chin jutting out behind her. “Up on the boxes.”
“You mean naked?” she exclaimed loudly, earning a snort from him.
“Oh, hunny, no, in your underwear, bikini, that kind of thing. Of course, you’ll have to audition so I can see your moves, but—” He took a step back and really looked at her. “You definitely have the look for it. Girls will be eating you up.”
“I don’t—”
“It’s $75 a shift plus whatever tips you earn. Shifts are an hour and a half a night, and you work as many as you want or we need, and you’re free to work any other club when you’re not booked here. I’ll be honest, the boys tend to be more popular, but we’ve had a lot of interest in having some girls on board, so…” he finished with a small flourish.
It wasn’t like Hilary was shy or even that picky about a job, but a go-go dancer? That was just one step above stripper in her mind, and she wasn’t quite so sure she could do it, not to mention that if her dad found out he would probably have a shit fit.
“Auditions are any time you’re ready,” he said, grinning. “You can change in the back room if you’re interested.” She turned and walked in the direction he pointed.
And that was how she ended up dancing at Proton. She worked four nights on her first week and took home $638 dancing for strangers. She also picked up some shifts in a small coffee shop, and so she felt pretty good going home and being able to pay her way. When her dad asked what she was doing, it was easier to just say bar work. He didn’t need to know what his little girl was really doing.
Days had turned quickly into weeks, and Hilary had even begun to get a small following. She was one of only three female dancers at the club and so had become quite popular with the ladies of WeHo.
She still did the four shifts, alternating Saturdays and Fridays each week, but her tips had started to go up, and now she was earning almost $800 a week from dancing. Adding in the money she earned from the coffee shop, she was taking over $1000 a week.
She was pretty optimistic that if she could keep up this kind of earnings, then it wouldn’t be too long before she would be able to get her own place, something she was really looking forward to. She had missed spending time with her dad, but being away on her own all these months had given her a sense of independence, and she wanted to enjoy that again as soon as possible.
Nothing, though, compared with the surprise of seeing Olivia at the club. When the brunette had turned down her offer of a drink, she had shrugged it off, but she could never quite forget about her travel buddy.
Olivia Copeland and her dark brooding eyes had watched her dance as though she were about to devour her. There was something exciting in the way that Olivia had enjoyed the performance.
She hadn’t been embarrassed to be seen at the club. She looked comfortable and at home standing in front of the podium, looking up with those eyes that brought thoughts of melted chocolate that Hilary wanted to pour all over herself and then ask Olivia to lick off. She had winked and flirted a little, insisting that Hilary continue with the dance, and then she had paid over the odds with $50 when most people handed over singles.
Hilary had to admit it had exhilarated her to have been scrutinised by Olivia. Hilary had been attracted to her right from the moment she had walked up the aisle on the plane, past the dark-haired beauty sitting with a small child in Row Six. Who wouldn’t be? Swapping seats had been a genius idea.
~MB~
Hilary had casually been browsing the rental sections in the newspaper and had circled a couple of places she was interested in. Rent in West Hollywood was pretty steep, but with the lack of commute it would make life a whole lot easier for her, and living with her dad was fine, but she really needed to find her own place. Looking across the table at him, she smiled.
“Hey Pop, I wanted to thank you for letting me stay here while I got myself together.”
He put the paper down and picked up his cup, looking at her as he sipped. “You don’t
ever need to thank me for that, Princess.” He had called her that for as long as she could remember, and it always warmed her heart to hear it.
“Anyway, I will thank you,” she insisted, smiling at him as he returned the grin. “I got a couple of places to go look at later though.” His grin faltered just a little, but he pulled it together.
“Oh, well I guess I can’t keep you around forever.”
“I love you Pop, but I need my own place. I am 26 now, and I’ve been out in that big wide world, and I like it. I like not having to worry if I’ll wake you up when I come home at three a.m.” She left out, ‘and bring women home to sleep with.’
“Sweetheart, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since Debbie was born.” He laughed, referring to her eldest sister. “But I understand, you girls have been my life, still are and always will be, but I brought you all up to find your place in the world. I am proud of you, Princess.” She winced a little, wondering just how proud he would be if he knew she took her clothes off for a living.
“That’s means the world to me, Pop.” She stood and rounded the table, kissing his slightly balding head as she wrapped her arms around broad shoulders. “I’ll be back after my shift at the coffee shop.”
“You not working tonight?”
“No, but I might go out for a drink or two. Nothing too riotous though. I need a good night’s sleep,” she called out over her shoulder as she walked the hallway to the door. “I’ll see you later, Pop.”
Chapter Eight
“Olivia?” She could hear her mother calling her from downstairs. She groaned as she turned over and picked up her phone from the bedside table. 10:07 a.m. “Olivia? I am heading out to have lunch with Joan, do you want to join us?” The voice was getting closer as her mother made her way up the stairs. The gentle knock on the door came next. “Olivia? Gracie is coming with us. Are you awake?”
Model Behavior Page 4
