Page 69 of Lady Sings the Blues

18.

Elise

Never did I see myself watching a pole dance, especially up close and personal. No judgment. I mean, I’d been a phone sex operator. Though, I never saw myself as a biker’s old lady, either. Life certainly has thrown me some curve balls.

The way she swings upside-down using one leg, no arms. These women aren’t sleazy. They’re acrobatic with sick core muscles. Two dance to pay for Masters programs, and one for medical school. And they’ve impressed me.

Seriously.Slick, the MC’s newest acquisition, has some pretty fantastic dancers, with some pretty fantastic abs.

Before Beau sat me down in my very own office, at my very own desk cluttered with blueprints and contracts this morning, talking me through the brothers’ vision for the club, I’d never been inside a titty bar. No reason to. I have them so why pay money to see others? Their vision though, now that the renovations have started, is off the charts cool. Like I’d do girls nights out here just for the décor kind of cool.

First off, the walls have been painted black. Tables and chairs in a black lacquered finish as well. To the right when you walk in is the bar. The bar has a serpentine ripple to hold the maximum amount of bodies, classy black high back bar stools with a grate pattern along the high backs sit intermittently along the ripple. Opposite the bar is the VIP section with high backed leather, half-circle pleated seating. Each individual seat has a small square table set in equal spaces apart from each other to set beers or shots down on.

The VIP section is semi-private for lap dances. Then there’s the stage. Three stages actually. The main one is the largest, an oval with a prominent pole and plenty of room for exotic dancing. Then there are two smaller satellite stages for private bachelor parties and the like. Blue light cascades down over everywhere. All glassware is frosted to look like ice so they appear to glow under the blue lights.

Even the new waitress uniforms look like class. Our version of the little black dress, shimmery satin, sleeveless with a bustier bodice, fitted and only dropping an inch below their bottoms. A slit up each thigh, almost reaches the crotch and there’s a shimmery black satin pocket sewn on the front between the two slits to hold the float and tips. The pocket blends in with the rest to reveal a seamless look.

The women are allowed to wear the shoe of their choice as long as the heel is three inches or higher and black. As I said, class. The men already had the concept down. Had started gathering materials and stores such as tables, chairs, glasses and uniforms all kept in a warehouse while searching for the right location. Smart. Really smart. Because as soon as they signed on the dotted line, renovations started. Which is why, after only owning the place for a couple days, they’re so far ahead. For a real high end titty bar, which this place is, we require high end atmosphere, dancers and wait staff. Only the best for our customers.

Once Pepper, the girl we’d been watching, our med student, finishes her dance, I rush the stage because in this moment I couldn’t be more excited if I were in Disneyland instead of a titty bar and she was Cinderella instead of our headlining dancer.

“Would you consider teaching classes?” I ask, although the asking sounds more like down on my knees with hands clasped against my chest begging. “Because I seriously want to put a pole in our bedroom like, yesterday.” My eyes cut to Beau’s wide ones as he listens with an air of rapt excitement. “I think it would be good for the club, teaching classes not the putting a pole in my bedroom, pulling in a female clientele. That’s a whole lot of untapped revenue. Plus, if women know what it’s about and how good a shape they’d be in, I see less dramas showing up on our doorstep from women who might not like their men hanging out here. I read in the paper, just last week a man and a bouncer were sliced by a broken bottle because the guy’s wife showed up at another club. Drama and expense we don’t need.”

“That’s fuckin’ brilliant,” he whispers into my hair, arms wrapping around my waist from behind. “Why didn’t I want you workin’ here?”

“Because you’re a caveman who wanted me barefoot and pregnant, and afraid titties would offend me.”

“Recoverin’ caveman,” he counters. “And yes, I still want you pregnant. But I’m so glad to know titties don’t bother you.”

“I have them. Even been known to whip them out when my man’s being a good boy.”

“Don’t I know it…but I’m never a goodboy, darlin’. I’m all man.” He shoots a grin. It’s big and it’s wicked.

“Compromise, then. We’ll put a daycare in the back. Show our kids that boobs aren’t a big deal.”

“Fuck no!” He protests.

“Why?” I do not like the direction this conversation is heading one bit.

“Why?And rob my boy this father-son bondin’ moment? They’re tits not udders. It’s a big moment in a boy’s life when he discovers the true beauty of a pair of double Ds.”

But, “That’s just contributing to rape culture.”

“Not my boy. He will know how to respect women and that no sure as fuck means no.”

“What if we have girls?”

He shrugs. “Boobs are just boobs. Seein’ as she won’t be datin’ until she’s twenty-five and I reserve the right to handpick the bastard, it’ll be up to her old man to show her the beauty.”

“I’m sorry, you’re going tohandpickher boyfriend attwenty-five?”

“Yep.”

“That’s older than I am now, you realize. Older than we could possibly be having said daughter. And my father never chose who I dated.”

“Elise, darlin’, look how that turned out.”

Okay, now I’m pissed. “Horrible.” I reply. I can see the smugness creep onto his beautiful face. “Because I ended up with a caveman biker who can’t seem to remember women won the right to vote, own property, fight in wars, run countries.” This last part I say in my best Scarlet O’Hara, as I clasp my hands over my heart, batting my lashes at him, “Whatever would we do without a big, strong man to help us decide how many breaths to take in a day?”

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