*****
I pulled my car into the parking lot of The Velvet Rope nightclub and did a few laps in search of a decent spot. Tonight was a busy night, it seemed. They’d been advertising the debut of their "Nightingale". That was the hook they were trying out for Liz. She had won the admiration of my boss with an enticing fan dance and Andre, creative genius he isn't, thought the large feather fans made her look like some exotic bird.
Personally, I don't know how a bird can be considered sexy, but either way, I was proud of her. Liz had almost no confidence when I first met her. She was quiet, rarely made eye contact with anyone, and always second-guessed herself in everything she did. It pained me to see such a beautiful girl be so diminutive. Especially when I could just tell she was hiding a really large, and amazing, personality behind her sheepishness.
I don't know what made her behave that way, and to be honest I haven't asked her. It was probably a childhood thing, and I was in no position to analyze her. All I could do was try my best to boost her self-esteem and coax out the woman I knew was hiding inside.
I'd helped her practice for her audition—such a pretty word for our line of work—and was surprised by how well she moved. She was a natural. Once she had the confidence she needed, she would be spectacular.
The air conditioning hit me at full blast the moment I stepped inside. It sent a shiver over my skin as the cold air hit the small beads of sweat that had formed on my neck and back.
"You're just in time, sugar. Liz just stepped onto the stage." A deep baritone voice greeted me when I stepped out of the entryway and into the main room.
Jackson was six-foot three, and about as wide as two of me standing shoulder to shoulder. He was bald, but it was hard to tell if it was the kind of bald that came from genetics or if it was just his preferred style. He didn't look old enough for his hair to be falling out, so I assumed it was just a force of habit from his time in the military. He had two heavy-looking hoops dangling from his earlobes and some smaller ones which ran all the way up the curve of his ear. If there was ever an incentive for the patrons to be on their best behavior, it was an intimidating, pierced up, ex-marine watching everybody’s every move.
I smiled at him as he stepped down from his stool by the door. While most people would shrink within themselves at his looming size, I knew that behind the grind-your-bones-to-make-my-bread appearance he was just as sweet and cuddly as a carnival teddy bear. All the girls adored him. He was a complete gentleman, thanks largely in part to his southern upbringing.
I wrapped my arms around his mid-section, but my hands barely touched at his back. He was all hard muscle behind his thinly-stretched Velvet Rope Security t-shirt. Burying the side of my face against his chest, I let him hug me back, though he held a certain air of caution when hugging us girls. Maybe he thought we would shatter in his arms.
Pulling away from the hug, I stared up at him and smiled. "Thanks Jackson. Come have a shot with me on your next break, okay?"
He smiled and nodded before taking his post back at the door and jutting a hand in front of an entering male.
I left him to check ID's and found a small table near the edge of the stage. The music was sensual and slow and took me to a place of exotic flowers and waterfalls. Carefully sliding into the small chair, I turned my attention to the performance.
Liz was dancing with two oversized feather fans in a deep blue color. The middle of the fans, where she held them, were sparkling with rhinestones that glinted and played in the lighting above her, almost as if they were alive and a part of the show as well. She held one fan in front of her and the other behind, encasing her nimble body in the soft plumes of the feathers.
Every few seconds, she would lift the fan in front of her, allowing her captive audience to peek at her scantily-clad body. She was all jewels and feathers wrapped in navy blue silk. Her stomach was adorned down the center with more rhinestones, giving the impression that she, herself, was a fan like the ones she held in her hand. Darker blue feathers lined the top of her bustier, only giving the audience a tantalizing peek at her cleavage. Her skirt was done in the same fashion, but was more feathers than silk. Her legs, all lean muscle and fair skin, were wrapped in blue fishnet stockings held up by a rhinestone garter. Her heels were strewn across the stage already kicked off.
One of the cocktail waitresses brought me my usual Amaretto Sour, but I paid no notice to it. I was too busy watching my friend work her magic on stage. I wished I could have taped it to play back for Liz, because I knew wouldn't she believe how incredible her performance was. Everything we had practiced together, Liz did with flawless perfection. Every tease and every expression was pure art.
She danced her way towards an ornate chair that sat in the middle of the stage, her hips sashaying hypnotically, and swung one leg over it, spreading her thighs wide so she could sit backwards in the chair. She trapped her fans together between the front of her body and the chair, giving the crowd the full pleasure of her long, flawless back.
Her arms rose slowly over her head and she tugged her elbow-length gloves off in time with the music. Once her arms were bared, she wrenched her right arm behind her, reaching up her back towards the clasp of her top. With a deft snap of her fingers, the clasp popped open, and without missing a beat she twisted her upper body so she could look at the crowd over her shoulder.
The look on her face made me laugh. It was a very comical, and yet still sexy, look of feigned surprise. As if she had no idea how her top had just undone itself. She slowly smiled, gave an exaggerated wink, and turned to face the back of the stage again.
Her arms disappeared in front of her, almost crossing over her chest, and I knew that she was about to give a swift tug to one strap. To those seated directly behind her, it would look as if the strap pulled down her arm by an unseen hand. It was all part of the teasing and entertaining. Another look of false surprise, this time over her other shoulder, and the second strap did the same as the first.
With her back completely bared for the horny masses to feast upon, Liz began to move her upper body in slow, rhythmic circles. Again, her hands shot up in the air, but this time she fell backward off the chair. Her back arched deep, and she let her body go limp so that she could hang backward off the seat.
With such a sudden motion, the audience thought they were about to be rewarded with a complete baring of her breasts, but her large feather fan fell back with her, keeping her chest covered and drawing sounds of disappointment and appreciation from the men.
Her next move had impressed me when we were practicing. It was a testament to true core strength of the human body. Something I would never be able to do, myself.
Fully extending her legs on either side, Liz spread-eagle before using her abdominal muscles to lift her lower body, very slowly, off the chair while her head and hands braced her on the floor. She remained in a half-split half-handstand for a few seconds before pulling her legs and pelvis forward, rotating her hips until she could lower her pelvis down to the floor. Anyone else would’ve done the last part quickly. Liz, though, had the most amazing control I had ever witnessed. She continued to move at a slow, steady, impressive speed until her ass touched the ground, and she pulled her upper body up once again.
She stunned the entire room into silence for a few heartbeats. What she had done was amazing, beautiful, and the imaginations of the men around me thrust into overdrive as they bore witness to her body control. To put it simply, she'd become the sexual fantasy of every man sitting in there. Such an irony considering Liz preferred women—though, I guess to be fair, that was a fantasy unto itself.
When Liz finished by falling sensually across the chair, one fan spread over the front of her hiding her near-nudity, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. I clapped, and the rest of the room joined me in a thunderous roar.
Finally taking a drink of my Amaretto Sour, I leaned back in my chair and let the taste settle on my tongue. I felt like a proud mama watching my best friend nail
that dance so perfectly. Liz would be making a name for herself here; that much was certain.
It wasn't a terrible place to work either, as far as gentlemen's clubs go. It was the most prominent strip club in Houston. Sure, they had their typical strippers and topless dancers but they also had the Burlesque girls like me and Liz. We were what set The Velvet Rope apart from your garden-variety titty bar. It brought in deeper-pocketed clientele and kept the business a "respectable" one. As respectable as half-naked women could be, anyway.
Aside from the club's reputation, actually working in the place was pretty good, too. Our boss, Andre, was a pretty easy going guy. He wasn't a dog like some club owners who thought they were pimps and their employees were hookers they could sell to the highest bidder. He actually cared about the girls' safety and well-being almost as much as he cared about the reputation of his business.
I’d wandered so deeply into my own thoughts that when an excited, "Harley!" erupted from behind me, I nearly jumped out of my chair.
Lizbeth Logan was a lot shorter than me, standing at a petite 5'2'', but was well put together for her size. She had every proportion just right. Her perfectly-blond curls cascaded down to her waist like a small cloak of silken softness. They were the type of curls someone could get tangled in and be completely at peace with their predicament. Even I found it hard to resist running my fingers through them.
Her cheeks were well defined, unlike mine which were round and full, and her face seemed like it had been created by a master sculptor. Her bright blue eyes were large and shining and kind.
One of the reasons I had been instantly drawn in to our friendship was because of how sweet and kind Liz was. She could almost appear naive at times, but I often wondered if that was just for show. There was something hidden deep inside of those eyes and I’d always wanted to pick at it and find out what it was.
Liz threw her arms around me and squeezed my neck to near asphyxiation, still fighting off the excitement from her performance. Once she was able to compose herself, she released her grip and sat in the empty chair next to mine.
"Did I do good up there?" The confidence from her time onstage was beginning to disappear. "I think I got all the steps down. It felt like it."
"You did great, Liz. It was beautiful!"
"I thought I was gonna fall on my ass, but... thank you so much, Harley. I wouldn't have had the guts to do that if you hadn't pushed me."
A smile tugged at my lips, and I grabbed the top of her hand, "I like to think of it as persistent persuasion. Besides, all I did was crack your shell. It was all you, Liz." We giggled and smiled at each other, drinking in the excitement of the moment.
"So, how'd it go with Braedon?" Liz asked with a knowing smile.
Yeah, I actually flushed a bit as I thought about the date. I didn't want to admit to her that she had won this particular argument, but I couldn't stop the smile crawling on my face. Rather than admit defeat, I turned in my chair and gestured one of the waitresses over to the table.
"Can I get two shots of Jack, please, Amy?" I turned back over to Liz, who had finally managed to calm her breathing down. "You're going to have a shot with me before you go back to work."
"I'd love to have a shot with you lovely ladies," a voice chimed in from behind us.
A skinny, disheveled man stood behind us, beer in hand, grinning down at the two of us. He wasn't a regular, that I could tell, but it wasn't uncommon for people on vacation to come by and see the show before going back home. Normally, it was men on business trips separated from their wives by thousands of miles, but no one could mistake this guy for someone that even owned a suit.
Most of his face was covered by an unruly mess of hair; not like he had been growing out a beard, but more like he had forgotten to shave for the last week. Just under the beard, on the side of his neck, three long scars disappeared into the twisted collar of his denim jacket. My skin went cold as I stared at the scars, unsure why they were making me feel uneasy.
I tried to put on my best polite smile as I said, "Sorry, but this is sort of a private celebration."
"Harley," Liz whispered over the din of the crowd, "maybe it's best if I just go back to work and take that shot later."
"Harley?" the man repeated loudly, before giving me his full attention.
He looked me over a moment, and I could almost feel his eyes raking over every inch of me. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he stepped up to me and placed his hand at the back of my neck, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
"Hey, come outside with me real quick. I have something you need to see."
I smacked his hand off of me, scooting my chair away from him a bit. While I’d gotten better at controlling my temper, I did not appreciate being touched by some handsy drunk. The only thing that had kept me from full-out punching this guy was the fact I was where I earned my check and I really couldn’t afford to not work.
"I think I'd rather not, if it's all the same," I said, trying my best to hold a pleasant expression.
I turned around to speak to Liz, hinting to the man in a not-so-subtle way to leave, but he didn't take the hint. I felt hands grasp high up on both of my arms yanking me out of my chair and knocking it to the floor with a loud clanking sound.
"No, girly. You’re coming with me," the man growled in my face as he pulled me to him.
He no longer had a drunk, flirtatious look on his face but one of determination and near frenzy. Whatever it was he wanted, he had decided he wouldn't—or couldn't—leave without me in tow.
Personally, I didn't give a damn. I raised my hand up and raked my fingers across his face, the only thing I could reach in the grip he had me in. As I pulled my nails across his skin I shouted as loud as I could, hoping to draw security's attention, "Get your hands off me!"
He cried out from the strike, thin red lines showing up across his face, filling with blood. He shoved me from him so hard I flew into the table, knocking Liz off her chair in the process. I was certain he was going to go after me again, but as he moved to throw his fist he was pulled back by some unseen force. Large, thick arms wrapped around the skinnier man's body, encasing him in pure muscle.
His feet lifted off the ground, and I helped Liz up, putting myself between her and my attacker. Once I was on my feet, I saw that Jackson had restrained him and was trying to drag him outside.
"Now, now," I heard Jackson's voice cut through the excitement of the crowd. "That's not the way you treat a lady. I think you need some air." And then they were gone.
The people inside the club were abuzz, and the staff worked double-time at calming the crowd back down. Andre gave complementary drinks to smooth things over with his customers, and most of them went on about their business. The DJ cued the dancer to resume her set on stage, and after about five minutes everything was as it had been, though the topic of conversation was universal throughout the room.
"Jesus, Harley," Liz said breathlessly. "That happen here a lot?"
"No. Don't worry, it doesn't," I assured her as I squeezed an arm around her shoulders.
The two of us helped one of the bouncers pick up the table and things that had spilled on the floor. Surprisingly there was no real damage, if I didn't count the bruises I could feel just under my skin. He had an incredibly strong grip for someone who looked like they could be knocked over by a gust of wind.
I handed a broken glass to one of the waitresses and glanced over at Liz. "Shit, Liz. Your top is ripped."
Liz looked down at herself and cursed. I grabbed her hand. "Come on let's get you changed. You can borrow one of mine in my locker." We started towards the dressing area when a shot rang from outside.
A symphony of screams erupted from the front of the club. I ran toward the door and pushed through the mass of bodies collecting near the entrance, leaving Liz behind inside the club.
"Out of the way!" I shouted as I forced myself between two onlookers.
Somehow I knew, deep down, what I would find
before I even reached him. It was one of those gut moments where I knew that everything has just gone to hell, and there was no way to stop it. A scent in the air, so to speak. As I made my way past the last wall of bodies, I looked down at the pavement in front of me and choked back a scream.
I fell to my knees, grabbing Jackson's large, meaty paw in my hands. Some unknown was at his head, apparently telling me to back off, but I didn't really hear anything he said. I just stared down at my co-worker, and friend, as the tears started to seep into my eyes. "Jackson. Jesus, Jackson I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He blinked up at me and gave me a weak smile, his normally powerful southern drawl strained. "Well, heaven must be close by. I have an angel crying for me." His breath hitched, his eyes began to close, and before I could ask him what happened, he went completely limp.
Deny the Moon Page 15
