Desperate Measures

by Elle Casey

Kiki looked over at Shawnda and could tell that this guy’s attitude was pissing her friend off. Shawnda was really working it, swinging her hips, leaning over to give him her best cleavage shots, and otherwise focusing a lot of her attention on the guy. But even Kiki could see from her vantage point that it was a lost cause. He was definitely not interested.

  Kiki was fascinated. She’d never seen a guy sober who could ignore Shawnda like that. Maybe when they were totally blotto and so drunk they couldn’t see straight, but not sober and if they had eyeballs that worked. The girl was stacked and she knew how to dance.

  Kiki smiled, thinking about how pissed Shawnda was going to be when she came backstage. Maybe she’d be too angry to go through with Bobby’s plans for her. Wouldn’t that be sweet? Kiki wanted to be around for that conversation. Bobby didn’t like being told no. He hung around the club all the time, recruiting for his bottom line. A total sleezeball. Kiki would like to witness him getting shut down by a pissed off Shawnda. Not even Bobby would mess with her when she was in one of her moods – at least not when there were witnesses around.

  Shawnda’s number came to an end, so she grabbed her boa and other parts of her costume that she didn’t want to lose and strode off the stage. She tried to pass by, but Kiki grabbed her arm.

  “What?” demanded Shawnda, not hiding the fact that she was mad.

  “What happened out there?”

  “Nothin’! I was totally working that stupid pole and that suit just sat there.” She held up a five dollar bill. “Five fuckin’ dollars from him. I’m going to have to screw two dicks tonight to make up for this.” She jerked her arm out of Kiki’s grasp. “Good luck, that’s all I got to say. The guy’s gotta be gay.”

  Kiki hadn’t thought of that. They didn’t get a lot of gay guys in the club, unless they were there hanging out with their girlfriends. Groups of girls did come into the club occasionally, out of curiosity more than anything else.

  Kiki reached into the small pocket of her coat, pulling out the black librarian-style glasses she kept there. They weren’t prescription – just clear plastic lenses. They added to the effect of the smart, conservative businesswoman, though. She looked over at the DJ who got on the microphone.

  “Gentlemen ... ladies ... Lola’s invites you to place your drink orders and get ready for the next number which starts in two minutes. Two minutes is all you have, and you’d better hurry. Because tonight, performing in one of her rare appearances as the executive pussycat, is Kiiiiiikiiiiiiii ... ” He waited for the cheers to die down. “And please, don’t forget to tip your waitresses aaaaand the dancers.”

  The regulars continued to cheer. Kiki tried not to smile, but it was hard. They were mostly drunks and pervs, but even so, it was nice to be appreciated. She rarely did this act because the heels were a pain in the ass and the routine was more complicated than her others with the restrictive material of the costume and the timing of different parts of it; but it was usually worth it. She made good tips with this one, and the patrons tended to remember it and request it pretty frequently. If this one didn’t work on the uptight Board member, nothing would.

  The DJ queued up the Nine Inch Nails song “Closer” and set the light system to a darker tone, with an occasional sparkling of white and deep blue from the spinning balls and lights above the stage.

  The first few seconds of the six-minute song beat through the place. People who had been talking stopped, their attention pulled to the stage almost against their will, it seemed.

  Kiki stepped out from the wings, taking long, measured strides to the front of the stage to the beat of the song, looking like she meant business, the lights flashing on and off to illuminate and then hide her face.

  For those who had never seen her before, her beauty, presented mysteriously like this, was simply stunning. Even with her hair up and glasses on, she was like something off a magazine cover. The magic of the strange music, and the lights and the percussion coming out from the walls and floor, dragged men into her world, willingly or not. They sat, all of them without exception, staring at her coming onto the stage, getting closer and closer with every beat. They had no idea what they were in for.

  She started with a simple movement – removing the glasses. She dragged them off slowly, and then put one of the stems onto her tongue, showing just enough of its pink, slipperiness outside her mouth to suggest she would like to lick something other than what she held in her hand at the moment. Every guy in the house imagined it was him she wanted to lick. Money started to burn holes in their pockets.

  At first she just looked out into the crowd, but then she looked down, locking her gaze on the guy in the suit. She winked at him, causing hoots of excitement to break out from the guys in the surrounding area. Then she turned away and strutted from the group of them, pulling her jacket down, first off one shoulder and then the other. Six beats later and it was off all the way, thrown to the side to be collected by a guy wearing all black who nobody ever noticed grabbing parts of costumes as they were flung off. It helped to have them out of the way to avoid tripping and breaking the mood.

  Kiki bent over a few times as she danced, making sure they caught a glimpse up her too-short skirt and what was underneath, just as the lyrics from the song suggested something very dirty and honest at the same time, the artist Trent Reznor singing about exactly what he wanted to do to her. The lyrics perfectly framed what was on the minds of every straight guy in the place. She wanted to be sure that not one word of business would be discussed when she was on stage tonight. It was her personal mission to blow this guy’s mind, just because she could.

  She came back to the front of the stage, doing some well-rehearsed and perfectly timed moves to the music, while also taking off her blouse, slowly, one button at a time. She pulled the edge of the shirt off her left shoulder, looking down to the left and bringing her hand up to run across her body, first down at her crotch and then up to her stomach and breasts. She turned slyly to look at the guy in the front row again. He wasn’t talking to his friends yet. That was a good sign. His hand sat lax on his drink, still full and getting clearer in color with the rapidly melting ice.

  Kiki’s other shoulder came out of her shirt, and in one smooth movement, she pulled the entire thing off.

  She changed tactics now, suddenly acting all innocent, as if she were just standing in her bedroom alone getting undressed and maybe these men were just peeping toms – eyes she didn’t realize were watching. After she had the zipper on the skirt down though, she looked out at the men, running her eyes over all of them, and raised a finger, wagging it slowly back and forth to the beat of the music, as if chastising them for watching. Then she changed the finger to one that curved and gestured for them to follow her. She took two steps back and then dropped the skirt, stepping out of it and tossing it off to the side.

  Now she stood in front of them, in just her stockings, bra, underwear and pearl necklace. It was time to drop the bomb then – the first bomb. She took catwalk steps forward as she reached back and pulled out the two pins that held up her hair.

  Her mane of shiny, perfectly mussed hair dropped down below her shoulders, causing more than a few of the men watching to practically swoon. She shook her hair out a little, making sure some of it fell across her face, so a few strands would stick to her lips. It gave her that freshly-ravaged face that she knew they loved.

  She spent a little bit of time dancing now, working the stage and the pole. She was athletic, and it showed in her muscle tone and control. She could take turns on the pole, hanging upside down from it, and holding several positions without support for long periods of time, giving the men ample opportunity to view her assets from all angles. She could move from the pole to the stage and back again, as if she did it all day, every day. If it was possible to be a natural at stripping, Kiki had that talent – that something special that made her sexiness seem effortless.

  The song would be over soon, so Kiki knew it was time to give up the goods. She’d
gone around to the edge of the stage on hands and knees collecting bills from the drooling men. Everyone but the Board member had contributed. He just sat there and watched, almost no expression on his face. He may have fooled everyone else in the place, but not her. His tie was loosened. Not a lot, but enough to know that she’d gotten him hot. She raised her eyebrow at him, almost daring him to do something – she didn’t know what. He raised an eyebrow back, as if meeting her challenge. Interesting, was all she could think before she had to move on with her routine.

  She turned from them so her back was facing the crowd. She slowly lowered one bra strap, looking over her shoulder to see if they were paying attention. She still had them. Of course I do.

  She lowered the second strap and checked again, looking at them coyly, building their anticipation. Turning back toward them, she made sure to give them ample shots of her cleavage, helped by her upper arms pushing her breasts together as she acted shy about removing the last layer of clothing.

  When the yells and shouts of enthusiasm from the men got sufficiently loud, she closed the deal and took the bra off, sending them into a frenzy of excitement. She turned around and bent over, giving them a shot of one of her best assets – her rear end. Then she turned back, working her magic with the panties, until she was finally standing there, in just stockings, heels, and pearls. She did a few more dance moves and then blew a kiss to the guy in front, making one more round to collect her tips and then strutting off stage at the end of the piece – perfectly timed so the last moment they saw her, the simple, single piano notes of the song finished chiming.

  Shawnda greeted her at the stage door with three other girls, a silk robe held up in her hands. Kiki threw it on and quickly tied it closed.

  “Damn, girl!” said Shawnda. “Have you been practicing at home or what?”

  Kiki smiled. “Good, huh?”

  “Good? Child, please. You just blew them guys’ minds. They all a mess now. I hope my john ain’t out there. I’ll just be a big disappointment to him at this point.”

  Kiki play-slapped her. “Hey, you got five bucks off that guy. I got nothing. Zero. He zipped me.”

  “Whaaaat?” said the group of girls.

  “Seriously. Shawnda wins the prize. She got blood from a stone tonight.”

  Shawnda smiled big. “Well, aallll right. I guess I haven’t lost my touch after all.”

  Kiki drew her into a big hug. “Of course you didn’t. You’re brown sugar, baby. Pure sweetness.”

  “Oh, that’s right. How could I forget?”

  Kiki pulled away. “Don’t ever forget it. Now watch out. I have to go get changed. I’m getting a headache from all this noise.” Now that Kiki had made up her mind to leave Lola’s she just wanted to get home and think – put together a plan or something.

  She had already gotten back into her street clothes when Duke came rushing in. “Whattya doin’? Put your costume back on. He wants to meet ya. Plus ya got othah sets to do.”

  “Sorry, Duke. I’ve got a headache. I’m outta here. For good.” Kiki grabbed her satchel and stuffed her lingerie in it, stepping back from the table.

  “What am I s’posed to tell him? And Pops?”

  “Tell him he should have tipped me if he wanted to talk to me. And tell Pops thanks for the ride. He can mail me my last paycheck.” She brushed past Duke, ignoring his pleas to come back. She went to turn left and leave out the back door, but at the last minute she changed her mind and turned right, so she could leave by passing through the club. Let Mr. Important Guy see her blowing him off. She smiled at the idea.

  She saw him long before she reached him. He was standing near the bar, talking to another guy in a suit and Pops DeLucca, the owner. He looked up at her quizzically.

  She knew he was trying to figure out who she was, to place the face that seemed somehow familiar. Her transformation from naked dancer to girl in a short skirt was complete, changing her look enough to call it a disguise. She stared him down the entire way as she approached, breaking contact as she kept on walking by.

  She didn’t even stop to say goodbye or look back to see what he did as she left. Let him drool. Guys like him were all the same. They thought they were a gift to women. She didn’t have time for someone who thought he was too good to tip a hard working girl, sweating her tits off for the lost and lonely.

  She heard Pops yelling behind her, but she ignored him too. She was done with this place. She’d made over five hundred bucks with that one dance. It was good enough to pay for groceries for the next few weeks, and she had no rent or car payments. She’d paid all her debts off two years ago. She was going to be fine. All she had to do was figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

  Chapter 9

  THE TWO WEEKS SINCE THE last book club meeting had dragged. Elizabeth put the last file of the day on the corner of her desk, wishing she could throw it in her trashcan and light it on fire instead.

  It never ended. Numbers in and numbers out, the same conversations over and over with clients who could never seem to understand that: one, they couldn’t spend every nickel that came into their bank accounts, and two: that they did, in fact, have to pay some taxes. She just didn’t get that sense of entitlement many of them had. That somehow they should be able to benefit from all the governmental presence in their lives without actually paying for it. One client told her today, the one associated with the file she wanted to burn, that the IRS didn’t need to take his hard-earned money for taxes ... all they had to do was have the Treasury Department print some more hundred dollar bills. She’d had to use all of her willpower not to jab a pencil into her eye, listening to him whine over the phone. It wasn’t the first time he’d used this argument with her.

  Elizabeth grabbed her suit coat and purse, taking her keys out of her desk. She carefully locked her file drawers and left the office, checking her watch to be sure she wasn’t going to be late. She had exactly twenty minutes to make the ten-minute drive. Perfect. She liked it when she had time to go slower and not worry about traffic lights.

  She pulled into the parking lot at the same time as Aimee did, smiling at her enthusiastic grin and happily frantic wave. Elizabeth walked over to the driver’s side of Aimee’s car since it was taking her a while to get out. She could see her struggling with something on the front seat next to her.

  “Can I help you with something?” Elizabeth offered.

  “Oh, sure. Hi! How are you, Elizabeth?” Aimee said, handing out a plate with plastic wrap over it.

  Elizabeth took the plate from her. “I’m well, thank you. Oh, what do we have here?”

  Aimee got out, carrying another plate, also carefully wrapped. “A little surprise. I hope you aren’t on a diet.”

  “No ... ,” said Elizabeth, eyeing the plate from different angles trying to figure out what was under the plastic.

  “Not that you need to be on a diet,” said Aimee, “you look great. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “No, don’t worry about it. No offense taken. I never diet.”

  “I wish I could say the same,” said Aimee, slamming her door shut. She walked to the trunk and opened it up, reaching inside to pull a platter out.

  Elizabeth looked at the interior of the trunk, trying not to be nosy. But it was nearly impossible after she got a look at some of the things inside. “Is that a ... ? What is that?”

  Aimee looked at what Elizabeth was pointing at and blushed a little. “Oh. That’s a needlepoint-covered footstool I got at an antique store. And that’s a child’s chair I got at another place. Oh, and an old Victrola record player speaker thingy.”

  “Huh,” said Elizabeth. “Do you collect antiques?” She had several clients who did, and she’d seen their appraisal reports. Sometimes they were good investments, but usually the clients never got rid of them, so they never took advantage of the appreciation.

  “Not really. I just have a few pieces I like, so I ... uh ... put them in here.”

  Eli
zabeth gave her a penetrating look. “You put your favorite pieces in your trunk.” She said it as a statement, not sure she understood, but noticing that Aimee looked uncomfortable.

  “Yeah. It’s a long story. Oh, check it out! There’s Kiki.”

  Elizabeth looked up, actually hearing Kiki’s arrival before she saw her. Kiki was driving the bright orange muscle car that had been parked by Aimee the last time they’d met in the parking lot.

  The car eased into the empty space on the other side of Aimee’s with a rumble and a loud growl before the engine shut off and Kiki stepped out on the driver’s side.

  “Hey, chicks. Looks like I’m right on time.”

  Elizabeth and Aimee greeted her warmly.

  “You’re early for the meeting, actually,” said Elizabeth. “But just in time to carry something.” She gestured with her chin at the platter in Aimee’s trunk.

  Kiki came over, throwing her big purse over her shoulder to free up her hands. “Give that to me,” she said to Aimee, making as if to take her plate. “You have your hands full. Ooooh goodies. What’s under here?” She went to pry the plastic up on the plate in Aimee’s hands, but Aimee slapped her fingers away.

  “Don’t touch. You have to wait. Take the platter.”

  Aimee waited for Kiki to take it out before shutting the trunk; but Kiki stopped her before she could push it down more than a few inches.

  “What’s that thing? Is that an old record player in there?”

  “Yes,” said Aimee. “Well, part of one.”

  “Are we doing some more parking lot deals tonight?” asked Kiki, raising an eyebrow at Elizabeth.

  Aimee smiled and shut the trunk. “Nope. No deals. Just food.” She pressed the lock and alarm button on her keychain. “Ready?”

  They looked at one another and nodded their heads, turning in unison to walk to the bookstore and chatting as they went.

  “So, how was work for the past couple weeks, Elizabeth?” asked Aimee.

  “And what exactly is your work?” added Kiki.