Page 41 of Fang
I slip the robe on, accepting the money that the stage sweeper hands to me. Then I follow Happy back to the locker room. I don’t bother to count my money as I shove it into my bag.
“You should really share the wealth with the rest of us. You take all the best slots then expect us to prime them for you. We should get a cut,” Venus says.
Some of the other girls agree. While the other girls don’t seem to like me, Venus is their ringleader for sure.
“Would you like to share yours with me then? I’d be happy to go on earlier if you will share your profits with me,” I retort.
She sputters, “You make a lot more than us. You obviously wouldn’t need part of our money.”
“No, you just want me to get up on that stage and share my body with the world and then give you a cut because you can’t seem to get the men to drop as much for you. Sounds like you want the cake and to eat it too. That’s not how life works,” I tell her, slamming my locker shut before locking it.
I still have one more dance tonight. I need to get into the shower to wash off all of this makeup so I can apply the makeup for the next set, but this bitch doesn’t seem to get it. She is still griping about this shit as if she doesn’t have the same exact job as I do.
“You are a selfish person. We share our bodies on that stage too,” she says.
“I know. So why would you ask someone to share their earnings when you know how hard it is to earn it? Besides, Jenny gets the prime spots too, but you don’t seem to be asking her for her earnings. So admit it. You just don’t like me.”
Happy stays to the side, not saying a word. I appreciate his calm, silent presence.
“I don’t.” She steps forward, getting in my face. “You are a little prissy bitch who thinks she’s too good to walk the floor and earn money from the back room. You refuse to do anything but dance on stage. You don’t even get fully nude up there because of the law stating we can’t. So no, I don’t think you deserve to earn all that money for barely doing shit.”
“That sounds like a personal problem,” I whisper, smirking at her.
A whistle rings through the air, stopping all movement. Venus looks to the side, but I don’t take my eye off of her. I’m well aware from years with my mother that the moment you look away from the threat is when they will make their move. Weak bitches like her go for the sucker punch. She won’t hit me straight on.
Venus steps back, her eyes falling to the floor. Only then do I glance at Fang standing in the doorway. I swallow hard when I see the tension rolling off of him.
Shit is about to hit the fan.
Seeing Venus step up to Cami like she is has my blood boiling. I know Cami can handle it herself. I heard her sticking up for herself against the vapid bitch, but this protective part of me had to put a stop to it. I have a feeling it would have come to blows. One bruise on Cami and I might have killed Venus, not giving a fuck if she is a female.
“Listen up.” My voice rings through the now-silent locker room. “I don’t give a fuck what your problems are with the other girls. If you want the prime spot, step the fuck up and show that you deserve it. Right now, no matter what slot I put her in, Cami is the top earner. That means she is the priority here for the club and for the MC. If you want that to change, then become the girl the men come for. You should be thanking her for bringing in the clientele that she brings. There are high-class men spending thousands a night to see her. When they find out they can’t have her, they throw that money around in the back room for those of you willing to put on a show. You think you would get that money if she isn’t up on stage making them horny? You think they even think twice about going in the back room when they see your flaps up on that stage? No. They don’t. Men want one thing. The chase. They like the fantasy of a woman leaving some shit to the imagination. So say what you want about Cami and her rules for herself, but they fucking work. Maybe some of you should close your fucking legs and take a goddamn lesson. No one will be sharing tips with anyone but the house. If I hear another word of it, I will fire you on the spot. This catty shit ends now. This is a fucking business, not a high school. Act like adults or there is the fucking door.”
Some of the girls are shaking. I think I even hear one sniffle. Not Cami, though. She is looking at me with anger in her eyes. Here I am sticking up for her, and she looks like she could kill me. That won’t do.
“Spread the word among the girls who aren’t here. I won’t put up with any more disrespect. You don’t control this club. I do. Questioning how it’s run is questioning me and, by extension, the club. Get back to work.”
Everyone disperses as many of the girls hustle back out to the floor while others go to their vanity to get ready for their next dances.
“Cami, my office,” I say, hating how she glares at me.
As soon as she steps inside, I close the door.
“Why are you pissed at me now?” I ask, feeling exhausted.
“You made everything worse. They already felt I was the favorite, but you just confirmed it. You think you stopped something, but you only made it to where they won’t do it if they think you will find out. I can handle my own shit, Fang. Trust me to handle it.”
I run my hand down my face. “You shouldn’t have to, though. I know you think this has to do with you, and part of it does. I want to protect you, but that’s not the only thing. If I let them continue to act the way they do, it undermines my authority. It makes them think that they have power here. They don’t. It sounds harsh, but I can find more girls. I can’t let them think that they are indispensable. That’s how mutiny happens.”
She moves to sit on the edge of my desk, her robe opening. I get a glimpse of the skimpy red lingerie she wore onstage. I meant what I said to the other girls. The draw Cami gets from men comes from the fact that she is modest. She doesn’t wear G-strings and the smallest pasties she can find. She always encases herself in lace and straps making men imagine what they could do to her while she wears it.
Maybe it’s just me, though.
“I get what you are saying, but they hate me because I refuse to do the things they do. They don’t like that I have limits and I’m willing to stick to them,” she admits.
My fingers itch to spread her legs to make room between them for me. I want to stalk over to her and hold her to me as I reassure her.
I don’t, though. I resist the urge.
