by Isabel Morin
“That depends.”
“I was wondering if you could tell me how I’d go about getting an audition.”
The dancer’s eyes widened in surprise and then she smiled. “See that stocky guy standing by the VIP door? That’s Steve, the manager. Talk to him and he’ll tell you if he’s interested.”
Emily followed her gaze to a barrel-chested guy, probably Italian, standing across the room. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” she said. Then, because she was beginning to realize that time was money, she pulled out her wallet and handed the woman a ten-dollar bill. She smiled in thanks, tucked the money into her thong, and headed back into the sea of men.
Taking a deep breath and ignoring the flutter of nerves in her belly, Emily made her way over to the manager.
“Hi there,” she said, then inwardly winced. God, she sounded like she was trying to pick him up.
Steve-the-manager looked at her with a generic smile. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
Her heart beat like mad now and her palms were damp. “I’d like to audition.”
“Is that so?” he said, taking the statement as invitation to look her up and down. She’d been checked out more tonight than she had in the last ten years put together. “Sorry, babe. Nothing personal, but your tits are too small and men like their strippers naughty. You’re pretty but you’re not the right type.”
“I can dance better than anyone in here, and I can act naughty.”
“Is that so?” Steve asked, crossing his arms over his chest with a doubtful smirk.
He wasn’t buying it. Her throat tightened as the panic she’d been suppressing threatened to rear its ugly head again. She had to prove she had what it took before he lost interest in her entirely.
She had to show him.
She swung her left leg out and up in a wide arc until her ankle rested on his shoulder and the silky skirt of her dress slid down her thigh. Grabbing him by the bicep, she pressed against him until her pelvis was up against his. Then slowly, one hand gripping his belt while the other rested on her breasts, she arched backwards, lower and lower until she was upside down, her hair streaming towards the floor. Her breasts practically popped out of her dress but she hung there another few seconds before slowly rising back up to meet his gaze with a saucy smile.
One of his hands was resting on her hip, his other arm cradled her thigh. His erection pressed against her, which skeeved her out but also proved that she’d made her point. Swinging her leg back down to the floor she stepped back and straightened her skirt.
“So how about that audition?”
The manager blinked once and then regained his composure, though he looked slightly pissed.
“Come back tomorrow at six. If you bomb I don’t want it to be during prime time.”
“I never bomb,” Emily replied, turning away before he could see her triumphant grin.
She faltered for a moment when she caught sight of the hot bouncer standing a few yards away, watching her with a look she couldn’t read. Whatever it was, he’d obviously caught her impromptu tryout. Too bad she hadn’t been able to try out on him. Now that would have been something.
Unsure what to do, she gave him a smile and a little wave. If he hadn’t believed she was rabble before, her little show should have done the trick.
***
Cutter stood across the room, unable to believe his eyes. The gorgeous blond was grinding against Steve, her long, lithe body moving like a pro. Better than most pros, as a matter of fact. Was she a professional stripper? If so, his reading of her had been all wrong. She’d seemed way too unsure of herself to have worked in a strip club before.
Jesus, her legs. He watched as her dress slid down and her sleek, muscled thighs parted, pressing against Steve as she went into a backbend. In the blink of an eye she’d gone from a delicately pretty woman to a fantasy, her eyes closed and face set as if she were in ecstasy.
What he wouldn’t give to be Steve right now.
He watched, unable to take his eyes off her as she pulled herself back up and stood in front of the manager. Then she stepped back and was all business, her hand on her hip as if she hadn’t just been climbing all over the guy. But then, Cutter was used to watching women pretend they were in the throes of desire. Knowing they were faking it was the reason he was able to do his job without a constant hard-on. They might occasionally be having a good time, but it was work, and the hotter they made the audience, the more money they made.
But what was she doing acting that way with Steve?
She and the manager exchanged a few words and then she turned away, a pleased smile on her face. The smile faded when she saw Cutter and she hesitated, looking uncertain. For a second he thought she might come over, but no such luck. She gave a tentative smile and a little wave and strode away.
Cutter watched her go, her hips swaying beneath the red dress. He wasn’t the only one who noticed her passing, either. In a room with naked women up on stage and strolling through the crowd, she still managed to catch the eye of every man she passed.
He headed across the floor to where the manager still stood. Steve glanced over at him and nodded, his eyes taking in everything that went on around him – the dancers, the audience, the crowd at the bar.
“So what was all that about?” Cutter asked, trying to sound casual.
“What was what about?”
“That woman climbing all over you a minute ago.”
“You caught that, did you? Some girls won’t take no for an answer.”
“You mean she was hitting on you?” Cutter asked, disappointment shooting through him.
“You don’t need to sound so damn surprised. Anyway, she wasn’t hitting on me, she was auditioning. She’ll be back tomorrow to dance. If she doesn’t chicken out, that is.”
“Dancing? Here?” A quick rush of pleasure ran through him at the thought of seeing her again, followed directly by dismay as his protective instincts kicked in. A woman like her shouldn’t be stripping in front of a roomful of drunks.
“That’s right. We’ll see if she can make the whole goddamn room as hard as she made me. Jesus Christ.”
Looking disgusted with himself, as if he ought to be able to control all such reactions by now, Steve walked away, grumbling under his breath.
Cutter stood where he was, barely breathing. Tomorrow night he’d get to see the rest of that incredible body, every inch of those endless, perfect legs. If he ever got a hold of her he was going to start at the bottom and lick his way up.
Then he caught himself. What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t touch the dancers. He protected them from guys who looked at them the way he’d just been looking. Christ. This girl would need his help more than any of them. The men were going to love her, and he was going to have to work his ass off to keep everyone at bay.
So fine. Tomorrow night the classy blond was going to get naked on stage. It was going to be a goddamn beautiful sight, and he would try his damndest not to care.
Chapter Two
“Gin and tonic please.”
At five o’clock the next evening Emily’s confidence had waned considerably and her stomach was churning like it used to before a performance, the difference being that tonight she was fortifying herself with some liquid courage from one of the hotel bars. As she nursed her drink she reviewed the choreography she’d worked out earlier in the day.
She was most nervous about the pole since she had no way to practice. She was pretty much going to wing that part. Maybe she’d slide up and down as if terribly excited by its phallic nature and hope she didn’t look too ridiculous.
In the duffel bag at her feet were all the things she’d bought that afternoon – thong, garters, four-inch black heels, gold glitter, the works. In the shower she’d become acutely aware of every hair on her body and how it would be seen close-up and personal if she didn’t remove it, which led to a painful appointment with a Brazilian wax. If she didn’t at least make back what she’d spent today she
was going to be seriously bummed.
She stuck to one gin and tonic since she was such a lightweight and was worried that the combination of liquor, nerves and dancing would end in her vomiting in the middle of her routine. Or what if she fell off the pole or was generally so unsexy that she was booed or laughed at?
Almost as nerve-wracking as the situation itself was the thought of the bouncer seeing her up there. Which was ridiculous since there’d be a whole roomful of strangers she needed to impress, and she knew him only slightly better than she knew them.
But it had been a long time since she’d felt any interest in a man. She’d been too focused on her career, and more recently too confused, to get involved with anyone.
The club was a lot quieter when she arrived than it had been last night. A dancer was on stage but the audience was small and its response lackluster. There was no way to know which came first, the lack of interest or the low energy dance, but Emily sincerely hoped she got a little more love or it was going to be hard to maintain a brave face.
The bouncer was there and her heart gave a little leap at the sight of him. He came over to where she was standing, his expression serious.
“I hear you’re auditioning. You sure you want to do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, taken aback.
“No need to get defensive. It’s a tough job, that’s all, and it can do a number on you. I’ve seen it happen and it’s not pretty.”
Emily wasn’t sure how to respond. No doubt he was right, but she wasn’t a fragile flower. And anyway, she wouldn’t be around long enough to worry about that sort of thing.
“I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to worry about me. I’m a lot tougher than I look.”
‘Is that right?” he asked, looking skeptical.
“Yes, that is right,” Emily said, enunciating clearly because the gin and tonic had hit her full on and she was suddenly aware of every syllable as it tried to make its way out of her mouth. Clearly she wasn’t tough enough to handle tonight without a little outside help, but he didn’t have to know that. “I really ought to get ready,” she continued. “If you would just point me toward the dressing room…”
She started to teeter, and she wasn’t even wearing her stilettos yet. Maybe she should have gone a bit easier on the booze, or at least eaten something.
“Easy there, tiger,” he said, the mischievous smile tugging at his mouth changing his entire expression. His eyes glinted with humor and he was suddenly so sexy Emily lost her balance again. His big, warm hand on her arm steadied her but sent her nervous system into overdrive.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” His smile was wider now, the gleam in his eye more intense.
“Emily. Emily Chase. And yours?” she asked, striving for dignity. She drew herself up even straighter to demonstrate her regal posture.
“Cutter Lawrence, at your service. Head to the back of the room there, under that exit sign, and you’ll see the dressing rooms.”
“Wonderful, thank you.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said, and she could have sworn he was trying not to laugh.
Turning away from him, Emily hurried toward the door he pointed out, trying to focus, to get into her role the way she always did before a show. Clearly she should be channeling her attraction to Cutter into her performance.
The dressing room was comfy and innocuous. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d been expecting, but there was nothing shocking on display. Just a sagging blue sofa set against one wall, a couple of armchairs and folding chairs, and a big mirror on one white wall with a counter running beneath it. Another wall held rows of lockers, and there was a doorway that led to a bathroom and shower. Only the rack of costumes and the dangerously high-heeled shoes scattered here and there gave away the fact that strippers were in residence.
The space was empty but for one woman, the redhead she’d spoken to the night before. She was in full costume – catholic schoolgirl, a true classic – but without the makeup, and she looked younger than she had last night. Twenty-two, maybe twenty-three.
Emily stopped nervously in the doorway, bracing herself with one hand, and the redhead glanced up, her surprised look turning to one of recognition.
“Hey, there. Come on in,” she said, sitting up and smiling. “I wondered if you’d be back.”
Emily stepped into the room, still gripping her bag. “I wondered that myself,” she said, trying to smile. “I’m pretty nervous, or I was before I got myself drunk.”
“Well, you’ve already taken care of step number one. Clearly you have good instincts. Anyway, you don’t need to be scared. Men are easy. Why don’t you get dressed and then I’ll give you a few pointers. My name’s Cheryl, by the way.”
Emily smiled gratefully and introduced herself, then set about smoothing shimmery lotion over every inch of skin. Next she put on her sexy librarian costume – white blouse, tweed skirt, even a pair of fake horn-rimmed glasses. Underneath all that she wore red lace underwear. It was a bit garish for her own taste, but then her own taste would bore everyone to tears.
When she was fully dressed she studied her reflection – not exactly the Swan Queen, but she’d do. Sitting on a stool in front of the mirror she took out her cosmetics bag and began to make up her face. Luckily she’d been doing her own stage makeup for years and was pretty good at it. Even freaked out and drunk she managed to make her eyes sultry and dark-lashed, her mouth fuller than it really was and deep red.
Some of the girls wore wigs, but since her hair was long and thick and wigs were hot and itchy, she’d decided to go with her own hair. She teased it around the crown until it was full and reminiscent of a Victoria’s Secret model, then smoothed it until it was sleek and slid over her shoulders when she shook her head.
She was planning to throw her hair around a lot tonight, but not until she took it out of her librarian’s bun, so she twisted it into a loose knot and secured it with a pencil. Then she pulled on her garters and looked at herself in the mirror.
A feeling of unreality washed over her as she looked at the stranger reflected back at her. Who was she really, when her entire identity had been based on her life as a ballerina? Would a few weeks here make her nothing more than a hard-up stripper? Would she even recognize herself anymore?
“You look great. How do you feel?” Cheryl said, coming over to inspect her.
“Pretty bizarre, actually.”
“Try not to think too much. This will help,” Cheryl said, pulling a flask out of her bag.
Emily wasn’t sure drinking even more would cure what ailed her, but she was willing to try. A few sips later her she was able to look at herself without having an existential panic attack.
She’d stretched and warmed-up in her hotel room, but that was a while ago now. Kicking off her heels she pulled on a pair of pink legwarmers, grabbed a folding chair for her makeshift barre, and began to move – plié, grand plié, the familiar motions soothing her until she was in her zone.
Two other women wearing only thongs and money came in, their laughter fading as they looked at her in surprise. Emily recognized the tall one as the dancer who’d been on when she came in.
“This is Emily. She’s trying out tonight,” Cheryl explained.
“You sure you’re in the right place?” the tall one asked, her voice sharp. She was pretty in an angular way but her eyes were hard, like maybe she’d been around the block a few times. “This ain’t the ballet.”
Emily had been a bit nervous about how she’d get along with the other women, but she wasn’t about to let anyone push her around. She’d been dealing with whole companies of competitive dancers since she was a teenager and knew how to hold her own.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, looking the woman in the eye. “This is my first time and I’m trying not to freak out. This relaxes me.”
Admitting she was scared did the trick. The woman smiled and ca
me the rest of the way into the room. “I’m Nancy,” she said, kicking her heels off and taking a sip from Cheryl’s flask. “This is Tina,” she said, gesturing to her friend, a petite Hispanic woman who glanced up to say hi before typing something on her phone.
Emily let the women’s chatter float around her. By the time she was done with her warm-up she felt relatively calm and centered, as if she’d just meditated. Pulling her heels back on, she sat down on one of the chairs to wait.
“So what brings you to our little slice of paradise?” Nancy asked.
“I was a professional ballet dancer until I landed wrong and hurt my foot. Now I’m broke and need to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.”
“Wow, it’s like Flashdance, only in reverse.”
Emily groaned and let her head fall into her hands. “Oh God, you’re right. All I need is my welder’s license. Maybe that’s what I should do next.”
“Nah. I’d skip all that and go straight for the rich older guy.”
Nancy and Tina headed back out to work the floor and other women started to filter in, some coming on shift, others on their way out. Emily introduced herself to them if they looked curious, but mostly she listened as Cheryl filled her in on everything she needed to know. Like the fact that they each danced for three songs and you needed to have your breasts on display by the end of the first song and be down to your thong by the end of the second. Then you just showed it all off and raked in the money during the last song. Luckily, she had pretty much figured all that out last night and had planned her dances accordingly.
Her injury wouldn’t pose a problem for the kind of dancing she’d be doing tonight, so there was that to be thankful for. Mostly she had to stay away from jumps and extended periods on her left leg. Ironically, she felt better now than she did when she was still with the company. Back then she had too many aches and pains to count. She’d also gained close to ten pounds since she no longer danced seven hours a day. The extra weight was probably a good thing as far as stripping was concerned, since the gaunt look wasn’t too sexy.
