“No, we like the Flamingo fully staffed at all times. You know that, Susie. Plus, customers start drifting in at nine or so, so it’s important to be prepared. Bring your best outfits, just like usual,” he trilled. “See you then!”
And with that, he was gone. I hung up, still a little puzzled. Honestly, the Flaming has probably fifteen customers between the hours of seven to ten, but then again, Mickey was right. It was better to be prepared once the rush started late at night.
So with a sigh, I got into the shower, sudsing myself off before stepping out and staring at myself in the mirror. Wow. Was that really me, with the flushed cheeks and curly brown hair? It was, for sure. But my double life as a librarian cum stripper lent a sparkle to my eyes and a special curve to my smile because I had secrets no one would ever know.
Shimmying into a red bra and panty set, I pulled out my highest heels and then wrapped my curvy form into a trench coat. It was a standard dancing outfit. With a couple accessories, the red bikini could be turned into a 20’s flapper, Medusa, or even the Queen of England, depending on what mood I was in.
So with another secret smile, I grabbed my purse and headed out to the club. And after letting myself into the backdoor, I looked for Mickey.
“He around?” were my words.
Camilla, an older stripper who’s had lots of plastic surgery done, jerked her thumb to the back while smacking her gum.
“Better be quick, girlie,” she said. “You’re on in fifteen.”
I knocked on the wooden door in the back.
“Mickey?” I called. “It’s me, Susie.”
Immediately, his voice sounded.
“Come!”
Hmm, weird. The tone was a little high and nervous-sounding. I wonder why? But when I pushed the door open, the reason became immediately clear. Because a guy as big as a Mack truck stood next to Mickey’s desk, imposing and huge. He had a flat top and absolutely no expression on his face.
“Heya!” greeted Mickey, scrambling up from his chair a little too quckly. “How are you, Suse? I mean, Pearl.”
What the hell? What was going on? But I let myself into the office.
“You know I don’t do lap dances,” came my warning voice, casting a suspicious glance at the stranger. “I don’t do any type of extras, for that matter.”
Mickey simpered a bit while showing me to a chair.
“Of course not!” he sang. “That’s not why you’re here at all. Let me introduce you to Harry.”
Hmm, no last name? But that’s common in my line of work, so I nodded although my eyes were still suspicious.
“Hello,” came my frigid greeting. “How are you?”
He nodded his head.
“Ma’am.”
That’s all? He wasn’t going to say more? But Mickey jumped into this awkward situation.
“So Harry’s here because he has a proposition for you.”
I stood up to go, shoving my chair back.
“No,” was my firm word, shooting daggers at my manager. “Absolutely not. You know I don’t do this, I don’t even know why you’re asking.”
“Wait, hold on, hold on!” begged Mickey, both hands up in a placating gesture. “Just hear me out. Harry here has a proposition, but it’s not for him. It’s for his boss.”
I shook my head wearily.
“Doesn’t matter,” were my curt words. “I don’t do extras, not even for the President of the United States.”
At that, Harry’s eyes flickered a little, although I couldn’t exactly see why it mattered. That was just an expression. Did it trigger something?
But Mickey was babbling now.
“It’s just a date,” he assured me, voice running at a million miles an hour. “What’s so bad about that? Nothing extra. Just two hours of your time, and you’re good to go.”
I shook my head.
“No,” was my firm word. “Didn’t you hear me? That’s not part of my schtick and you know it, Mickey. How many times do I have to tell you?”
But my manager’s expression fell then.
“Well, I didn’t want it to come to this, but then you’re fired Pearl. The Pink Flamingo won’t be needing you anymore.”
I gasped, outraged.
“What do you mean, fired? This is retaliation! You can’t just fire me because I won’t go on a date with some strange man who I don’t know from Tim, Dick or Bobby. He could be some rapist or a criminal warlord for all we know.”
But Mickey shook his head regretfully.
“Unfortunately sweetheart, it’s not a mistake. I got word from the higher-ups that you need to go on this date otherwise it’s a pink slip for you. Effective tonight.”
I literally couldn’t move, just gaping at him from my chair.
“No way,” were my slow words. “I’m a solid moneymaker on Tuesday nights. I always show up for my shifts and even have some regulars who come to see me week in and week out. You can’t fire me just because of this.”
Mickey’s expression was mournful.
“Sorry sweets, but that’s the deal. Management needs full-service girls, and if you don’t go tonight, then we’ll have to find someone else who will. Sorry,” he shrugged.
Yeah, right he was sorry. If anything, the dude was a monkey in a purple pin-striped suit who just took orders. But that was the problem. Mickey had no decision-making authority, so there was no point in pleading my case to him. The powers-that-be had already decided.
I took a deep breath, mind churning furiously. What would happen if I quit? Of course, I could always get a job at another outfit, but was I ready for that? Was I ready to go somewhere new, where lap dances were part and parcel of my responsibilities? Was I ready to let men grope my ass and touch my boobies, all because it was part of the job?
Plus, what about my schedule? I was used to dancing prime time on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the Flamingo had promised me a set on Saturdays as soon as one of the older girls vacated. If I started somewhere new, I’d be at the bottom of the totem pole again, relegated to picking up shifts whenever and wherever I could. The money would be worse until I managed to claw my way up the ranks.
So it was pretty clear what the choice was, and in essence, there was no choice. I needed the money. It’s impossible to survive in the city on a librarian’s salary, and without the Flamingo, the options went from bad to worse. So I took a deep breath.
“How much will I be getting paid?” came the terse question. It was rude, but valid. What were we talking for a private date with some random unknown dude?
Mickey opened his mouth to speak, but Harry the bulldog cut in then.
“Five thousand,” were his calm words. “For two hours.”
Both Mickey and I turned to gape at him.
“I’m sorry?” was my gasp. “What did you say?”
This was a huge amount of money, even for an experienced dancer. Mickey was even more mercenary.
“Is this on top of the two thousand that you’re paying the Flamingo?” he asked in a whiny voice. “Or is our fee included in that?”
What? The Flamingo was gonna make two thousand off of me just from this? My mouth dropped open and I turned accusing eyes to Mickey, but he didn’t even notice.
“So what is it?” the small man pressed. “Two thousand total or four thousand total?”
Fortunately, the man wasn’t perturbed, responding in a polite tone.
“The two thousand for Ms. Evanescence is in addition to the two thousand we’ll be forwarding the Flamingo. In fact, I have it all here,” he said, pulling out two bulging envelopes. “If you’re ready, ma’am, I’m happy to escort you to the location.”
Mickey’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
“Oh sure, I’m sure this is all fine,” he said, waving his arm airily. “Isn’t this fine Pearl? Come on, it’s almost seven. Your date is about to start!” he exclaimed, greed in those beady eyes.
And slowly, I took a deep breath before looking at Harry.
“I want you to k
now I’m a law-abiding citizen,” were my slow words. “Whatever your boss thinks is gonna happen, probably isn’t going to happen. And there are no refunds, no matter what.”
Harry nodded respectfully.
“Of course, ma’am,” he said. “We absolutely recognize that, and value your input. We understand that, and I can assure you that my boss has much more at stake than you.”
I squinted at him. What did those words mean? But with a slow nod of my head, I agreed.
“Okay,” was my curt reply. “I’ll do it then.”
And damn if Mickey didn’t bounce out of his chair and do a little jig then.
“Perfect!” he squealed, grabbing one of the envelopes. “You’ll have a great time Pearl. See you when you’re back!”
And slowly, I followed Harry out of the office with the two thousand dollars burning a hole in my purse. Because nothing good could come out of this, right? I was literally going to parts unknown with a strange man who wasn’t even the man I was supposed to meet. Instead, I was going for a rendezvous with his boss, who could be a gang member, a movie star, or more likely, just some married guy who didn’t want his wife to know. That made me sad, the energy draining from my limbs. But again, there was no choice. If I wanted to survive, I had to go on this date or be fired. So with a heavy heart, I got into the black SUV waiting at the curb and sped off to destination unknown.
CHAPTER SIX
Susie
Surprisingly, the drive took about two minutes. We literally went around the corner before pulling up in front of a no-name Midtown apartment block.
“This is it?” I asked skeptically, eyeing the gray building. It was completely non-descript. Not fancy, not shabby, just … not anything. You could walk past it on any given day and never notice what you’d just gone by.
Harry nodded.
“Yes ma’am,” he said respectfully. “Just go straight to the concierge and they’ll direct you.”
I opened the door, cinching my coat tighter while looking around. It was the same Manhattan scene that populated most of the town. Gray sidewalks, gray buildings, and even people who looked slightly gray with their sallow skin tone and inoffensive business suits.
But there was something different about the building. As I went through the revolving door, inside was a rectangle metal detector, the kind that buzzes if you’re carrying anything suspicious on your body.
“Really?” I asked the security guard, puzzled. “Don’t they usually reserve these for airports?”
The elderly man laughed.
“In fact, we got this-a-one from JFK,” he chortled. “They’re putting in those new-fangled body scanners at the airport, so their cast-offs came to us.”
But still, why? This was a residential building, and not a high profile target like the Federal Reserve or Department of Justice. Nor were we in a heavily trafficked area like Times Square or Madison Park. So why did this faceless skyscraper deserve its own metal detector?
But sometimes, it’s easier just to give in. And within seconds, I was through. Not surprising, given that I only had lingerie underneath my coat. Nor did my bra have an underwire, which would have triggered the alarm.
“You’re good to go!” the elderly security guard said cheerily. “Right up thataways,” he said, gesturing to the front desk. I sidled up to the woman behind a huge slab of marble.
“Um, I’m Pearl,” I managed on a murmur. “Or Susie?”
She didn’t even blink.
“Yes, Mr. Pattinson is expecting you,” came her smooth reply. “Elevator all the way to the left, and then up to the top floor.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled wanly before striding through the marble lobby. And fortunately, the elevator was right there, the doors swooshing open in anticipation.
But when I looked inside, another surprise greeted me. Because there was an actual attendant waiting inside, perched on a wooden stool and dressed in a natty bellhop suit. It seemed like a throwback to the sixties when every elevator had an operator, but who knew? At this point, there’d been so many unexpected events that I didn’t know what to think anymore.
“Hello,” the young man greeted cheerfully. “Up to the top floor?”
“Um, why yes,” I stammered, getting in. “How did you know?”
“We only go to the top floor,” he said in a bright voice. “How’s your day going, ma’am?”
I didn’t answer, merely looking at him curiously. Because why was there an attendant for an elevator that only served the penthouse? Why did the penthouse have its own elevator anyways? Did the owner not like to share?
My mind was churning because clearly, my client had to be rich. The building he lived in was nothing to behold from the outside, but the lobby had been fancy with marble floors and modern chandeliers. And now, the elevator was pure luxury itself, what with the wood-paneled walls and personal service. What was going on? It seemed like the closer and closer you got to my mysterious customer, the more elaborate things became.
But I took a deep breath. This is just a two-hour jaunt, the voice in my head came. You’re making your two thousand and then beating the hell outta Dodge, it said firmly. Don’t lose your head.
So when the bell dinged, I nodded politely at the attendant before stepping outside into a long, carpeted hallway. Hmm, you could almost smell the luxury now, from the gold-scrolled carpet to the elegant damask wallpaper. I made my way down the hall to the one door at the end, which was huge and oaken with a lion’s head knocker. How weird. Who would have a lion’s head knocker on their apartment door? This was an apartment, wasn’t it? Not a house?
But immediately, a low voice rang out.
“Come,” it said. And somehow, I knew who would be in there before I actually saw him. It had to be the mysterious man from last week, the one who’d watched me dance while half-hidden in the shadows. A shiver ran down my spine as I stepped into the foyer.
“Hi, it’s me, Susie,” I said. “Or Pearl,” was my quick stammer. Drat, why did I keep making that mistake? My heels clack-clacked on the marble floors, and I felt nervous yet excited at once. Because the man had been ruling my dreams for the past weeks, and it was frankly embarrassing how I’d been at work thinking about him non-stop. For example, just today at lunch, my friend Lizzie had noticed the dreamy look in my eyes.
“Hello, hello,” she’d said, waving her hand in front of my eyes. “Geez Louise, Suse, what’s wrong with you?”
But I could hardly reveal that I’d taken up moonlighting as an exotic dancer, so I merely smiled weakly.
“Um nothing,” was my reply while biting into a portabella sandwich. “This is really good, mmm!”
Fortunately, Lizzie was more interested in scrutinizing my eating habits than asking about my dating life.
“You’re so lucky to have such a curvy shape,” she said, casting me an envious glance. “I eat and eat and eat, but look at me,” she frowned, staring at her hands. “My fingers are like twigs,” she bemoaned.
It was true, and the perfect distraction.
“No,” I protested. “You look great, Liz! Clothes always look amazing on you, while on me, everything’s too tight in every direction,” I said wryly. “That’s why I have to eat less, not more.”
But somehow, my healthy appetite and resultant curves had gotten the attention of this mysterious customer, and I was curious to finally see his face. So slowly moving forwards into the suite, my body flushed with heat.
“Hello?” I called off towards the sitting room where a light shone. “Should I take off my shoes or anything?”
Immediately, I cursed myself. That was dumb. Of course I didn’t have to take off my shoes. This wasn’t some hippie-dippie dude who listened to Indian music while meditating in front of a fire. Everything so far pointed to a successful businessman, from the driver, to the fancy elevator, to the lavish apartment.
“No, shoes on is okay,” rumbled that male voice again. “Come on in, Susie.”
And tentatively, I made my
way towards the voice. Again, I wasn’t sure what I was going to see, and was a little afraid, frankly. Because I hoped against hope that it was my mysterious patron, but then again, I’ve been wrong before. Maybe it was some disgusting old dude who was eighty years old with a giant potbelly. Totally possible, given that New York seems to be ruled by guys like that.
But when I stepped into the living area, my mouth dropped open and my eyes grew wide. Because the man there was tall and handsome, with flashing blue eyes. But it wasn’t the perfectly cut suit, the broad shoulders, or the knowing grin that got me. It was everything about him … because in front of me sat the President of the United States himself, Thomas Burke.
“Mr. President?” I gasped. “What are you doing here?”
A white smile flashed, one that I’d seen so many times on various news programs.
“I’m your customer,” he rumbled with a knowing smile. “Welcome to my home.”
I merely stood there, astonished.
“But isn’t the White House your home?” came my weak reply. “You know, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?”
He threw his head back and laughed, showing off a strong, tanned throat.
“That’s true,” he acknowledged. “That’s where my mail goes, when USPS hasn’t lost it. But my real home is all over,” he said with another smile. “I’m hardly ever in any one place very long. In fact, Air Force One is probably my true residence, come to think of it.”
I couldn’t handle it. My form dropped limply into the nearest chair, eyes still fixed on the handsome man.
“B-but what are you doing here?” I asked, my voice tremulous. “This is crazy!”
He merely shrugged.
“Well, I saw you dancing last week and thought “Gee, she’s cute. I’d like to meet her.” So here I am,” he bantered playfully.
I shook my head. Was this guy insane? Seriously. The man was the leader of the free world, and yet he patronized seedy strip clubs where they served beers for a dollar? Really, really?
But Thomas merely nodded, shrugging those shoulders.
“Hey, there are benefits to being me,” he said lightly. “And sometimes I don’t want to be noticed, thus the Pink Flamingo,” he added wryly. “So what can I say? Veni, vedi, veci. I wanted to meet you, and my staff set it up.”
The President and the Starlet: A Forbidden Romance Page 4
