4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
L una
Curiosity tugged me into the bowels of the club. I weaved through the velvet sofas and coffee tables until I made it to the “employees only” hallway, turned the corner, and ran into a big, solid chest.
“What are you doing back here?” a deep baritone voice asked.
I looked up into the large, square face of a man with a shaved head and tattooed tree trunks for arms.
“I’m Mr. Fowler’s intern. I wanted to look around and talk with a few dancers.”
“Is this your first time in a gentleman’s club?”
“Is it that obvious?”
He smiled and looked down at my pants and simple white dress shirt. “Yes.”
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Luna.”
He engulfed my hand in his huge one. “Tiny.”
I stared up at him. The name didn’t fit him at all. “Is that what you prefer to be called?”
He studied me. “No. My name is Samuel.”
“Alright, Samuel. It’s nice to meet you. Can I ask you a few questions, and will you introduce me to the performers?”
Samuel shrugged his large shoulder. “Sure. What would you like to know?”
I asked him about security, whether weapons were allowed inside, and the security-to-patron ratio. He patiently answered, and as we talked, he walked me to the large dressing room area. A beautiful woman in ruby red pigtails and sweats walked by, and Samuel lifted his hand.
“Hey, Misty.” He pointed at me. “This is Luna, Roman’s employee.” I didn’t correct him. “Boss said she could wander around and ask a few questions.”
Misty grinned. “Alright. I think it’s just me and Sasha opening, but a few others should be here soon.”
“Hello.” I stuck out my hand, and she looked down at it like she didn’t know exactly what to do. Then she transferred her insulated thermos to her left hand and shook.
“You good?” Samuel asked me.
“Yes. Thanks, Samuel.” He nodded and walked back down the hall.
Misty turned to me. “His name is Tiny.”
“His real name is Samuel. He said he prefers it.”
Misty glanced back down the hall. “I didn’t know that. You’re here with Roman Fowler?”
“Yes. He’s my law mentor, unfortunately. It's complicated.”
“If there’s a man involved, it’s usually complicated,” she mused. “What can we help you with?”
“I’m curious about how it all works.” Misty led me into the dressing room as we talked. Another woman in shorts, a tank top, and no bra stood in front of a rack of what looked like sparkly strings and minuscule strips of cloth.
“Working in a strip club is like any other job, except the dress code is a bit different,” Misty grinned and slipped her flip-flops off. “It really is just a job. Fiona treats us well, and a few girls do some escort work on the side, but they can’t do it here. You learn the moves and tricks to make the most money with the least risk and effort. And then we go home, live our lives, and return for our next shift.”
Sasha, the other girl, walked over and looked me up and down. She was taller than Misty and had a tight, tan body and violet-colored hair. “Hey, I’m Sasha. You looking for a job? You could work the dirty fairy angle if you know how to dance.”
I mentally sighed. I’d been told I looked like a fairy most of my life. “I can’t dance–at all. I’m also going to school full-time.”
“Yeah? What’re you studying?” Misty asked.
“Law.”
Sasha casually peeled off her clothes as a few other dancers walked in. “It sounds boring.” She pulled a purple thong off the rack and got dressed. It took about two seconds, and her outfit matched her hair perfectly.
“What else do you want to know?” she asked.
“Do you earn a living wage here?”
One of the girls who'd just come in walked over. “Honey, we make bank. But only if we're good.”
“Do you get benefits too?”
“A free gym membership and discounts on food and drinks,” her friend chimed in. “And the occasional life lesson.”
“Life lesson?” I echoed. So, it sounded like no medical or dental benefits.
“Yeah, like never walk out to your car alone at night, and don’t trust a man who says he's just here for the atmosphere.” The girls laughed. They talked to me while they put on makeup and body glitter. Then Sasha and Misty walked out to the floor to start their shift. I followed them out a few minutes later.
“Did you get your questions answered?” Samuel asked over the music.
“Yes, and I think you guys need to ask for health care and dental benefits.”
He grinned and shook his head. “You’re a strange one. Come back anytime.” I waved at him and headed toward the bar to find Roman.
“Are you lost, little girl? You looking to give a little VIP service?” The slightly slurred voice came from behind me. I turned to find a pudgy, balding middle-aged man in a golf shirt and shorts leering at me, his smile wide and his gaze hazy. It wasn’t even one in the afternoon, and this guy was way past buzzed.
“No, I'm not an employee.” I tried to sidestep him, but he moved closer.
“Come on, give me a lap dance,” he urged, reaching toward me with grabby hands. I’d already been mauled by Fiona, but this guy was another story.
I backed up. “Do I look like a dancer?”
He studied me with one eye closed. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re pretty, but you need to lose the clothes. What do you look like in a g-string?” His hands went to my shirt, moving fast for being so inebriated.
I deftly blocked him and stepped out of his reach when someone yanked his collar from behind.
“Back the fuck off,” Roman clipped as he dragged the man away. “She’s obviously not a dancer, you stupid asshole .” Roman shook him a few times then let go, and the man scurried away like a rat.
“Are you done talking to Fiona?” I asked.
Roman narrowed his eyes and took my arm. “Yes. We’ll talk in the car.” He pulled me through the exit, and the cacophony of sound faded as we walked outside into the bright light. I shook off his hold and looked around.
“Wow, it’s so weird.” I turned back to the club. “It’s like a different world in there. The girls were nice about talking to me.”
“Do you go looking for trouble, or do you just naturally attract it?” Roman's voice was a mix of irritation and exasperation.
“Neither. He thought I was a dancer, that's all.”
He put his hands on his hips. “You have to be more aware of your surroundings. This isn't the law school or a library.”
“Thanks for the safety briefing, Dad.”
His eyes flashed, and he suddenly backed me into his car. “If you value your next breath, you will never call me your father again.”
My heart pounded. “Alright. But you need to back up because I will knee you in the groin if you ever do that again.”
He slowly backed up, and I shook my head as I opened the passenger door. “You don’t know this, but my father is pretty much Satan incarnate, so I won’t call you that again.”
Roman stared at me like he loathed me. “You need to do what I say and stay out of trouble.”
“I’m fine. I can handle myself, and I know the perfect solution if you want to get me out of your life. Let me out of this internship.” I slammed the car door before he could reply.
He walked around to his side and slid in. “That’s still a no. Did you learn anything worthwhile about strip clubs, then?”
“They’re called gentlemen’s clubs,” I intoned patiently, throwing his words back at him. “And I did.”
“Like what?”
“That it’s like any other job in some ways. Fiona doesn’t allow the girls to act as escorts on-site. They also need health and dental benefits, and a retirement plan wouldn’t be amiss.”
His brows furrowed, and he stared at me. “Really? That’s what you got out of it?”
“I formed a few tentative opinions, but my data is incomplete. Did you get done what you needed to?” I asked.
“Yes.” Roman navigated the car out of the parking lot. “I’m hungry, and we’re not far from the Lamb and Wolf Café. Call them and let them know I’m coming. I want the grain salad with salmon. Look up their menu and give them your order too.”
“So you want takeout?”
He glanced at me. “No. I want the food ready to come out to the table when we get there. Tell them my name and that our ETA is about fifteen minutes.”
Roman liked things a certain way, and I was quickly learning he got what he wanted. Pulling up their menu, I winced at the prices. “This is a lunch place? Their average plate is at least fifty dollars.”
“Pick something and get our order in. I don’t want to be there all afternoon.”
I shook my head and decided on the shrimp scampi, then called and ordered, dropping Roman’s name. The hostess suddenly perked up. “He’s eating in then?” She sounded a little breathless.
“Uh, yes. He said we’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Perfect. We’ll have Mr. Fowler’s lunch ready to be served when he walks in. Tell him we look forward to seeing him.” I hung up and stared at my phone. “You must tip really well because I can’t imagine anyone being happy to see you otherwise.”
He smirked. “We have a stake in the restaurant, so I go there a few times a month.”
“Do you have a stake in Euphoria too?”
“Yes. It’s one of our more… interesting businesses.”
“It was likely a savvy move since you’re probably one of its best customers. With your prickly personality, I don’t know how else you’d get close to women.”
He gazed at me. “You’re certainly curious and have a lot of opinions about my interactions with women. Are you interested, Ms. Cross?”
I sputtered and my face went red. “No! I’m just teasing you. Geez.”
He smirked, and I felt like Little Red Riding Hood staring up at a hungry, amused wolf. The posh restaurant sat outside the Rampart shopping mall, and I arched my eyebrow at Roman when the gushing host fawned all over him and rushed us to a premium corner booth.
Our meal came out less than two minutes later, and I didn’t bother to daintily pick at my food because it was good . I ate steadily until it was gone, and when I looked up, Roman sat watching me with a strange expression.
“What? That was delicious. I’m going to drag Sylvie and Alexa here one of these days.”
He seemed to remember himself and broke eye contact to take a bite of salmon.
As we walked out of the restaurant, I turned to him. “Thanks for lunch. It was wonderful, despite the company.”
He shook his head, and when we climbed into his car, I lay my head back against the headrest, absently gazing out the passenger window. I’d stayed up late the night before watching an Audrey Hepburn movie with Ezra, and I’d just eaten more carbs and food than I usually did in two days. I was sleepy.
“Take a nap. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” His car hummed beneath us as the cityscape swallowed us whole.
“Naps are for old people–like you.”
He grunted, and the road's rhythm lulled me into reluctant drowsiness.
“Then consider it a tactical recharge.”
“Okay.” I slid my eyelids closed and dozed, not comprehending the danger that surrounded me.