Page 6 of Undeniably Corrupt
But his eyes. Those green eyes. There was something about him that both relaxed me and made me edgy. And the way he stood up for me and gave me those large tips. I twist my bracelet, my heart doing funny, ancient things I can’t explain.
“If our love can only end in pain, let’s hurt with it tonight.”
I gulp, thinking about Vander. About his green eyes. Then I shake myself out of it and force it away. That was a long time ago in a different life.
Hazel and I eat our dinner and play until it’s time for her bath and then bed. I even manage some homework in there. But the moment she falls asleep, the quiet knock on our door sounds.
“Hey,” I greet Keesha. She’s a senior in high school who lives with her mom and aunt a few doors down from me, and I pay her a hundred dollars a week to hang out here at night and stay with Hazel while I go to my other job.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Anything I should know?”
“Nope,” I whisper. “She’s asleep. I should be home at the usual time, if not early. Tuesdays are pretty slow at the club.”
“Great. No worries.”
Keesha goes to the couch with her homework, and I head out the door, mournfully glancing back over at a sleepingHazel. Another year of this. I can get us through another year, and then we’ll move, and it’ll be better.
Adjusting my duffel on my shoulder, I dodge the nightly crew who maintain court on the street the moment the sun goes down. Ricky whistles at me, telling me to come over and suck him off, but thankfully he leaves it there along with high, bone-chilling laughter, and doesn’t come after me, allowing me to briskly walk to The Landing Strip. Rizzo, the weeknight bouncer, is out front, and when he sees me, he hugs me.
“Hey, little darlin’. I saw you were working tonight. How’s my favorite girl?”
“Good. Yes, I switched shifts with Harmony because I had an exam Friday morning and didn’t want to work the night before it. How’s it going in there?” I nod my chin toward the door where I can hear music thumping through.
“Nice crowd. Nothing too wild. A bit busier than a typical Tuesday, as there’s a VIP who came in the back way, which should be good for you.”
I smile at that. Not working Thursday night definitely hurt my bottom line. “Cool. I’ll catch ya later.”
I wave to him and enter the club, smiling and nodding at the bartenders and a few of the girls floating around the room. I started here as a bartender after Mattia left us destitute, and I needed fast money. Bartending didn’t pay the bills, and it didn’t pay tuition either after he left with my loan money, racked up thousands on our credit card, and wiped out my bank account.
It didn’t take long before I was on the stage with the rest of the girls.
The first time I danced, I was so nervous I threw up before I went on, nearly toppled over twice during my dance, and cried in the bathroom after. Still, that wasn’t the first time I’ve had to adjust my expectations and do whatever I had to do to survive. In this case, it’s not just me I have to take care of.
So I focus on my role in it and nothing else. I don’t focus onthe men or what happens behind the scenes. I’m dancing to make a better life for myself and my child, and there is no shame in that.
The backstage area is lit with girls, and I find an empty spot in front of the mirror to get changed into my typical outfit, which consists of a white bra, white thong, white, shimmery thigh-highs, small, furry angel wings, and taller-than-tall white heels. I top it all off with shimmery makeup and a pale pink wig.
“Angel, you’re up,” Yolanda, the stage manager, calls out. Angel. The guy from this morning pops into my head again, making me frown. I glance down at my bracelet, but Yolanda pulls me from my thoughts. “We’ve got a celebrity VIP out there tonight. An actor, Tommy something or other. I hear he’s throwing out a lot of cash at the girls, so go earn that money.”
“I’ll try,” I tell her as I shake out the nerves from my fingers and get to my platformed feet. The DJ announces me, and I saunter onto the stage like a boss to Selena Gomez’s “Good For You”.
It's got a slower, sexy beat that builds, and I move around the stage with it, making eyes at every guy and girl in the room, slipping off pieces of clothes with seductive prowess to rounds of cheers and whistles. I wink and smile and play the part, twisting around the pole and using it as a prop. As a sex toy. Gyrating and grinding and running my hands all over my body as I dance and tease. My thong, thigh-highs, and heels stay on, but by the time my dance is done, everything else is gone.
I can tell immediately who the actor is. He has an entourage and is blatantly drunk.
“Come here, honey!” he yells to me, and with a fake smile on my lips, I sashay over to him where he stands at the end of the stage. “This is for you. I’m sure you can use it and will thank me for it later.”
Fucking pig sticks a hundred-dollar bill into the side of my G-string.
“Thanks for the tip, but I don’t give extras.”
Before he can reply, I collect my clothes, and the stage tech sweeps the bills tossed at me backstage, where I can gather them and shove them in my locker, get dressed back into my bra and wings, and find my way to the floor. I keep away from the actor who is taking a body shot off Diamond. If he’s looking for extras, she’ll give it to him.
I don’t typically do a lot of lap dances if I can avoid it. I hate them. It’s one thing to dance on stage, but another to grind on some horny guy with his hard dick pressing against your ass and pussy.
Which is why I grimace when I’m barely two steps out of the back room and see my manager, Tino, heading for me.
“Angel, Tommy Hardgrave is asking for a private dance. He said he gave you a hundred dollars for it. You know we get fifty percent of that.”
