Page 45 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
The fact that I had been in a relationship for the last two years—mostly with Paige and then briefly with Pepper—had little to do with it. I wasn’t uptight, but it just seemed a little . . . I don’t know. Sad. The idea of women taking off their clothes for a roomful of horny guys for money. Presumably just to pay their bills? I doubted they liked it. Being one of those horny guys made me feel like a perv.
Cody led us straight to the front of the line. The bouncer at the door recognized him. They exchanged fist bumps. When we got inside it was evident management wasn’t too worried about maxing out on the building’s recommended capacity. A hundred-plus men hooted and hollered as a blonde dressed in a little red devil costume swung around a pole.
“Wait until you see this one girl,” Cody called over the loud pump of music, leading the way through tables. “She dresses like a dominatrix. Man. The girl is fucking hot.” He waved his hand like he was burned. “I’ve gotten a few lap dances from her . . . I think she’s on the verge of giving me her number.”
“You want to go out with her?”
Barrett laughed and Cody shook his head. “Man, you don’t date a stripper. All I need is one night with her.”
I shook my head. Like I said. The guy really was a douche.
I followed Cody and Barrett, wondering where they thought we were going to find a seat up front. The place was jammed. But then a guy wearing a T-shirt with the club logo stepped forward. There was more fist bumping and slaps on the back like he and Cody were longtime friends. Cody slipped him some money and before I knew it we were led up to a table marked reserved in front of the stage.
“And that’s how you do it,” Cody declared as he stretched back in his chair, crossing his stacked biceps over his chest. Instantly a waitress appeared to take our drink orders.
I turned my attention to the stage and watched the red devil working it for all she was worth. She rubbed her crotch against the pole. Some fat, sweaty guy desperately waved a ten and she strutted toward him, striking her heels hard on the stage. She placed her red stiletto square in the center of his chest and let him feel up her leg, taking his time to stick the bill in her garter.
Next to me, Barrett opened up his wallet and showed me rolls of fives with a waggle of his eyebrows. Evidently he came prepared. I looked at Cody. He hadn’t reached for his wallet yet.
As if he could read my mind, he nodded slowly. “I’m saving my money for the dominatrix. You’ll see. It will be worth the wait.”
I faced the stage again, wondering how the hell I let them talk me into this. I’m all for a night out and blowing off some steam, and this last semester my course load sucked, but this wasn’t my thing. I could have invited Holly from my anatomy class over to my place. I could have gone to a party. Made out with some cute freshman. Made out with a of couple cute freshmen. I would have felt like less of a perv than I did now.
A guy at the table next to us wore a loud paisley shirt unbuttoned to his navel. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Show me those titties!”
I winced. The little red devil blew him a kiss. Somehow, miraculously, she didn’t look like she wanted to puke. I settled back in the chair and watched as she sashayed off the stage. She was soon replaced by a cowgirl wearing spurs that jangled with her every move.
Cody elbowed me. “Rick, the bouncer, said that the dominatrix comes on after the cowgirl.”
I nodded absently and glanced at my phone, checking the time, wondering how this night could suck any more.
Brooke
I TOOK A shuddering breath as I stared down into the toilet bowl, convinced I was going to be sick. Hands braced on the graffiti-laced stall walls on either side of me, I waited, staring into the bright blue water, wondering inanely what they did to get it to be such an electric blue. It practically made my eyes hurt.
My stomach fluttered as if a thousand butterflies rioted inside me, but nothing. No puke. Apparently the grilled cheese sandwich I ate this afternoon was going to stay down.
Rising to my full height, almost but not quite six feet in my four-inch boot heels, I exited the bathroom on shaking legs. It was a miracle I didn’t fall. Maybe then I would break my leg. And not have to do this. I mean, a broken leg would be a good excuse not to get on that stage, right?
C’mon, girl. Don’t wuss out now.
I weaved through the dozen dancers, still unconvinced I wasn’t going to hurl. Some were finished for the night and getting ready to circulate out onto the main floor, working for more tips, luring men into a private room for a private dance. Others were still primping, waiting their turn to go on stage.
Waiting. Like me. Except I was all done primping. My sister had primped me. I was primed and ready to go. Except I was probably the only one contemplating breaking her leg. On purpose.
The butterflies fired to life again.
I stopped in front of my sister’s dressing station. Now it was our station. Chelsey and I would share it. Mom shared a station three spots down with Brenda, aka Diamond.
We all had stage names. Mom was Destiny. Chelsey was Star. Mine was Sparkles. Chelsey picked out my name. I told her Sparkles sounded like something someone would name a kitten. She just gave me a look and said, “Exactly.”
My reflection stared back at me, heavily lined eyes wide, my face frozen into an expression of astonishment. Like I didn’t know what I was doing here. Like I didn’t know myself. And I guess that much was true. I had always said this would never be me. That somehow I would avoid this fate. And yet here I was.
I couldn’t make tuition without this. My day job at Burger Land wasn’t cutting it. Even with student loans. If it were just me and Chels, we could probably get by. But there was Mom. Mom with her ever mounting debts. Mom who constantly needed bail money. She needed us. We weren’t prepared to abandon her. She’d end up dead in a ditch in six months. We both knew that. Neither one of us could live with ourselves then.
Staring at my reflection, I hardly recognized myself. I looked a lot like Chelsey in all this makeup. I usually wore T-shirts and jeans. Not this getup. But Chelsey did. Five nights a week. She’d been doing this for us—for Mom and me—for three years now.
She’d given me one of her old costumes from when she first started in the business. Mom’s costumes were too big for either of us, but Chels and I were closer in size.
