by JA Huss
I shake my head and take a swig of water, logging Mitch’s music, picturing his act as I wait for my next appearance.
I’ve been doing this for about nine months and I’ve seen and heard pretty much everything. But tonight was the first time anyone’s ever got a kiss in.
A knock on my door pulls me out of the funk and then Bill enters. “Hey,” he says, “Chandler wants to see you backstage.”
“There in a sec,” I say, and he leaves. I know what Chandler is gonna say. Every once in a while the girls take it too far. But it never happens to me. Sure, I take it too far. That’s my job. But we are never supposed to let them take that control away. So I’m expecting a lecture from Chandler when I make my way back out after Mitch’s act is over and Sean’s act begins.
“You missed a meeting today,” he says as I walk into the main office backstage. “And you’re lucky that corporate never showed up or you’d be out on your ass, Fletcher. They’re tired of you.”
I get this lecture every month like clockwork. Lots of people would like me to go away, but the fact is, I make them money. And since the world is filled with greedy assholes whose only desire is to count that pile of money they hoard in a corner, they keep me around. “I just forgot, man. I mean, look. I work here when I work here. I get paid per show. I’m expected to show up for rehearsals and shit from nine to noon, Tuesday through Friday. Then I’m off until Saturday night’s show. I use those hours, man. I’m a busy guy and you know that. So if they want to pay me to show up when I’m off, let’s put that shit into the next contract.”
“You’re not gonna get another contract, Fletch.”
His words are not angry, just matter-of-fact. We’re friends. We both grew up on the North Shore of Lake Tahoe and we’ve been friends for a long time now. He got me this gig when I came to him nine months ago and told him what was up. He’s had my back a few times and I’ve had his. But we’ve grown apart the last few months. He’s got a steady girl now, maybe thinking about getting serious, and I’m… not. I’m too busy surviving, still finding my stride. I can’t get excited about life plans when I’m struggling to keep up and hold it together.
“You won’t, Fletcher. Not if you keep this shit up.”
“Chandler, I’m the star of the show. Most of those women come here asking about me. We all know that. And I’m not trying to be a dick, but I’m a contributor. I’m part of its success. And for fuck’s sake, if I’ve got the afternoon off, then I’ve got the afternoon off. Leave me alone and let me do my thing.”
“I get it,” he says, slumping down in his seat. “I do, man, but you have to try a little harder.”
Try harder. Jesus Christ, I don’t know how much harder I can try. I don’t say that, of course. But it pisses me off that people think I’m lazy.
“Not that you don’t work hard, man.”
Yeah, buddy. Too little, too late. But again, I let it ride. Because fuck it. Fuck everyone. Fuck the fucking world. “Look, the meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow morning during working hours. So everyone will be happy. OK?”
We fist-bump and I leave with just enough time to make it backstage before Sean finishes his act. The rest of us line up and wait for Chandler to bring us all back out on stage together. This is the fun part. For me at least. Because this is when I look for a possibility. A girl I might like to fuck tonight. I’ve been running a dry spell lately. No one’s caught my eye in more than a month. So I’m horny. I need a slutty, forgettable girl to wipe this fucking day away.
Chapter Two
Chandler cues us with his intro and then the curtain lifts up. The spotlights are going wild on us. Smoke, some flames for good measure, and the smell of chicks in heat get me pumped for the finale. We walk out on stage together. All the guys have ditched their costumes and they’re all dressed like me. If you can call ratty jeans and boots a costume.
I’ve done studies on what the ladies like, and this getup is it.
We break into our dance when the thumping turns to music and the screaming starts. Some of them are practically begging for attention. Chandler whips his shirt off—this is his only act since the new girl put her foot down—and since he’s been here the longest and has the most promo time, he gets an extra enthusiastic cheer he joins in off to the side.
Then the spotlights begin weaving around the crowd. This is my favorite moment. The moment when I get to choose. The moment filled with tonight’s possibilities.
I zone in on that redhead who caught my t-shirt off to the left. She lifts her shirt up, showing her tits. But she’s looking at Mitch like she wants to suck his cock right here, right now. So I move on. There’s a blonde in the back, standing on a table, weaving her hips like she’s way too familiar with this job I’m doing. Stripper. I’m not into strippers.
That makes me grin with the irony.
Another blonde off to the right is waving a fistful of twenties at Chandler. He’s not looking to get laid by anyone here. He’s got his girl and he’s happy with her. But I don’t like being second choice.
I look down the center of the stage and find the girl who said no earlier. She’s sipping a drink that might be gin, or vodka, or hell, water for all I know. Her gay BFF is having way too much fun as she sits there stoically. Steve is gay, and it’s pretty apparent when he does his act since it’s to the YMCA tune. So I’m pretty sure her BFF’s got his eye on him.
But that girl. She is blank. Like no expression.
I feel a little surge of adrenaline just thinking of her refusal. Not many people tell me no. And it’s been a long while since I heard that word from a girl in the crowd after an invite to come on stage.
So she’s my target when Chandler gives the cue for us to go find our last pick of the night. We go in order. First Steve, who can’t pick a dude even if he wanted to because this is a ladies’ night kinda gig. He hits up a cougar, like he always does.
Bill goes for grannies. He likes to make them blush and he gets a kick out of sticking their hands down his pants.
I head right to suit girl. She sees me coming and shakes her head no, but I’m in control. That last girl might’ve got a kiss in, but I am in control. I dance around her table, flirting with all the other girls as they stuff their dollars into my pockets, trying to cop a feel. One girl manages to get her hand inside the waistband of my jeans, but I grab it and rub it up against my lower stomach so she doesn’t get far.
I weave back and forth in the middle of the audience, playing with ten or twelve women before the spotlight finally lands on me. And then I run straight towards suit girl who is too busy checking her watch to notice until I jump up, my boots clanking down on the bottom rung on either side of her bar stool, and grab her hair.
She looks up at me in shock, her mouth open, her eyes wide, and her head tilted up.
I am instantly hard.
“What are you doing?” she squeals.
“Yeah,” the gay BFF screams. “Woohoo! Get him, Tiffy!”
I laugh at her name and then lean down into her ear as my hips gyrate back and forth, brushing against her thighs. “Tiffy,” I growl in a gruff voice. “I’d have pegged you for a Jane or a Ruth. Something serious and boring.”
“Get off me,” she growls back.
“I’m not on you, sweetheart.” And I’m not. I’m still standing on those chair rungs, hovering. But I let go of her head and point to my abs. “You wanna lick me?” I laugh.
“I do!” another girl says, jumping up and down with a fistful of dollars off to her right. “I do!”
“Come on, Tiffy. Lick me. Everyone wants to lick these abs. Just open your mouth a little wider and I’ll crash these rock-hard muscles into that sweet wet tongue.”
Her BFF plants her hand on my hip, and she turns her head away from me to yell at him. I take her other hand and place it over the length of my cock. She gasps, tries to pull away, but I am focused on her now. Winning her over. Getting her attention. And hopefully meeting her after the show for some fun because s
he’s damn cute.
Plus… I’m getting hard under her touch, reluctant as it is.
She freezes when she realizes what’s happening, so I grip her hand tighter, forcing her to squeeze me. “Fuck, yeah, Tiffy. You feel good. Where you staying tonight? Here?”
She swallows hard, still holding onto my cock, even though I’ve eased up on her hand. Then she nods.
“What room, sweetheart? I’ll drop by later.”
“Penthouse Three!” the BFF screams. “Penthouse Three!”
I laugh at him as I lean down and breathe into Tiffy’s ear. She shivers and her shoulder automatically comes up to push me away. But her hand is still on my cock. “Jesus, you better answer the door, because I like the way that feels.”
Then I jump up, my boots finding the top rung of her stool, grab her head, and smash her face into my cock. Her hot breath beats against the soft denim of my pants, and just when I think my dick can’t get any harder, it grows for her.
Her eyes dart up to mine and I see so many things. Vulnerability first. Then surprise. Then fear. She pushes me back and I jump off, letting all the other girls around me get their share as they fill my pockets with money.
I give a wink and she looks away—ashamed, or embarrassed, or both.
But I know she’ll answer the door.
They always answer the door.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Once the show is over, we spend the next hour flirting with anyone who approaches. Not all approach. It’s not as bad as it sounds. I mean, we charge money for that shit, so not everyone cares to shell out thirty-five dollars for a photoshoot with male entertainers.
So by the time I get out of there, take a shower, pull on some jeans and a t-shirt and get an elevator up to penthouse three, it’s pushing midnight.
I hesitate ready to knock. She didn’t look like a party girl. She looked professional, I recall that much, in that cream-colored suit and a low-cut button-down blouse that was the color of tangerines. It was fluttering a little from the fans above her head that keep the room at a manageable temperature. She had on a gold locket too. Maybe not the kind that opens up and has a picture in it, but it was a heart shape. Her hair was long. I could tell even though it was pulled back in some sort of fancy updo because there were a few long tendrils spiraling down her neck and dragging across her shoulder when I leaned into her. She smelled fresh. Not like heavy perfume. Almost sweet. Like the resort gardens at night when the air is cool.
A nice girl, maybe.
What if she’s asleep?
But then her determined look and firm no the first time I approached her comes back to me. She gave in a little at the end but I bet it was only because there was no easy way out. I bulldozed over her.
So she’s not a pushover. She’s probably more of a conformist.
I knock. What do I have to lose?
The door opens after only a few seconds and then she’s peering back at me. Her eyes are green. I didn’t remember that. Maybe because I wasn’t looking so much at her eyes downstairs. Tendrils of hair are still dragging along her neck and her blouse is still flirting with me from the air-conditioning vents above the door.
“Hey,” I say in my sexy voice, one arm leaning against the doorjamb, nonchalant-like.
“Hey,” she says in her sweet one.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be up.”
“And miss an opportunity to get to know the infamous Mr. Fletcher Novak?” She chuckles. “Not a chance in hell I’d miss that.”
Hmmm. “OK.” I chuckle back, but it comes off as nerves. Why does she make me nervous? “So…”
“So what did you have in mind tonight?” She bats her eyelashes like she’s flirting with me.
Is this the same girl? I squint at her. Yeah. That’s her. Same suit. Same hair. But her new attitude? It’s throwing me. “Ummm, well, we could go have a bite to eat?”
Bite to eat, Fletcher? What the fuck are you talking about? This is a booty call, not a date.
“I already ate. I typically do that at dinner time.” She smiles all flirty-like again.
“Oh. OK. Well, we have different ideas about dinnertime, I guess. I work late, so you know”—Why am I defending myself?—“I eat late too.”
“What do you usually do when you knock on a patron’s door after the show?”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Well, you know, I don’t really do this often.”
“No? So I’m special?”
“I picked you out of a crowd of hundreds of screaming women. So yeah, Tiffy.” I use her name and it catches her off-guard. She looks surprised that I remembered. “You’re special.”
“It might’ve been because I was sitting in the front center table. Maybe I was just the first girl you saw?”
Oh, I get it. She is insecure. She wants me to make her think this might lead to more than just a one-night fuck. But I can tell by her body language she wants to fuck me just as much as I want to fuck her. She just wants me to work for it.
Well, I can work for it. I’m not a total douchebag. So I swipe a finger gently down her cheek and tuck one of those long flowing strands behind her ear. “You were the prettiest girl in that crowd, I guess.” And it’s not a lie. She is totally different from the kind of girl who usually shows up to see the Mountain Men dance. More put-together. More professional. Not there for anything other than curiosity. In fact, I bet the gay friend wanted to go to the show and dragged her along for the ride.
“God,” she laughs. “You are a player, Mr. Novak.”
“I can play,” I say softly, leaning in to kiss her lips. It’s a small kiss. Just a little tender peck. “If you want to play. But if you’re interested in getting to know me better, then you’ve got my full attention.”
“Really?” she asks, leaning in to kiss me back this time.
“Yeah,” I breathe into her mouth. “Really.”
“In that case, why don’t you come in? Because I’m dying to ask you questions.” She bats those long lashes again and I am mesmerized by her emerald eyes. She swings the door open to reveal a dimly lit hallway leading into the penthouse. I enter, my eyes on the far window, and then wait for her to close the door and lead the way.
“Would you like a drink, Fletcher? You might need one.”
“Huh?” I follow her a few steps, put off my game once again by the change in her voice. “Yeah, sure.”
Her heels click on the travertine tile floor as she walks briskly towards the living room. I follow, my eyes on her ass as I try to figure out what her angle is. But as soon as I look up again, I stop.
“Hey,” I say, putting my hands up. “I’m not into group shit.” There’s a man in a suit. A very nice suit, even I can see that. And the gay best friend standing at the bar on the far side of the room. “What’s the deal here?”
“The deal, Fletcher,” Tiffy says as she pours two glasses of Scotch from a decanter sitting on the bar, “is that you missed a meeting with me this afternoon.”
What the fuck?
“And since I’m really not used to getting stood up by employees”—she emphasizes the word—“I thought I’d pop in on your show and see you in action. I mean”—she walks back over to me with two drinks in her hand—“I’ve heard so much about you.”
I look at the drink she’s offering and decide I need it. It goes down smooth in one gulp and lights a fire in my throat afterwards. “You set me up.”
“I did not.”
“Mr. Novak,” the suit says, inserting himself between me and Tiffy. He looks familiar, but I’m off balance right now, so I don’t have the time to give it more thought. “We’re from corporate. I’m Cole Lancaster, general manager of the western division grouped under Preston Resorts. And you’ve met Tiffy here. Tiffy Preston,” he says, enunciating her last name so it’s clear just who she really is. The boss’ daughter. “Her father, the CEO, has instructed me to train her to take over the hotel when I’m promoted to COO next quarter. The Landslide Hotel and Casino is o
ur last stop after the recent mergers into the Preston family. We’ve heard a lot about you from Amy, and to be honest”—he says it with a laugh—“we thought she was just fucking with us.”
“I’m not following,” I say through gritted teeth. But I’m not having any trouble following. Amy hates me. She always has. But she was just an assistant manager when I was hired by her predecessor nine months ago. She had no say in that decision. And since I’ve packed that house two nights a week every week since I started, once she took over three months back after the merger with Preston, she had to admit I was good.
“This unprofessionalism that you exhibit, Mr. Novak,” Tiffy says, taking over. “The tardiness, the missed meetings, the diva attitude. It’s not a good reflection on my father’s company. But I get it, Fletcher. I really do. You’re a performer. You have an ego that must be stroked and nurtured.” She shakes her head, closes her eyes, and laughs before she can continue. She’s making fun of me. “But propositioning patrons of this hotel for sex is something we will not tolerate.”
“I never propositioned you for sex, honey. You’re the one who propositioned me. I asked you to dinner.” Holy fuck. God loves me tonight. Because I can’t even remember asking a one-night fuck out for dinner before five minutes ago.
She looks over at Cole, who shrugs. He knows I’m in the clear for that. So I keep going. “In fact, you set me up. What I do on stage, what I did with you, that was an act, princess. I’m an actor out there. And you liked it so much you wanted more. Your assistant there—” I point to the BFF.
“Claudio,” he purrs at me with a smile and a wink.
“—Claudio screamed out your room number. And since he works for you, he’s part of this setup. So why don’t you take your self-righteous attitude and give it a little adjustment. I could just as easily say you sexually harassed me.”
“My God, please,” she screams, her face burning a bright red.
“Tiffy,” Cole says with a hand meant to shut her up. “Stop.”
