Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
Blake
Blake unlocked Siren’s door just after sunrise, the street outside still quiet, the sky a hazy grey. Inside, the club was eerily quiet. No blaring music, no buzz of conversation. There was only the faint hum of the refrigeration units behind the bar.
Ethan flicked on the lights while Blake set up the coffee station. Soon, two industrial urns steamed behind the bar, and the bitter, invigorating aroma of coffee joined the lingering scent of fresh paint in the air.
On a table near the stage, Ethan set out three dozen donuts. He’d let the girl at the counter pick the flavors, but made sure there were a few cream-filled ones so Xander could make the requisite dirty joke.
“Breakfast of champions,” Blake said, rubbing his eyes as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
“The breakfast that’s least likely to carry foodborne illness.” Ethan opened a sleeve of napkins and set out a couple stacks.
Over the next hour, their reinforcements trickled in. Zane arrived first, zombie-walking toward the coffee. Dustin followed, hair damp from the shower, with a lucky coin that just happened to materialize from behind Blake’s ear.
Blake’s friends arrived together, with Xander leading the group like a five-star general.
Bright and perky despite the early hour, he clapped Blake on the back and declared, “Sex gods reporting for duty. Let’s do this.
” The rest of Blake’s friends greeted him and Ethan with heartfelt hugs and words of encouragement.
Tenny was running behind, so while the group settled in with their coffee and donuts, Blake and Ethan went to Virgil’s office to retrieve their whiteboard – the club’s nerve center, with every detail of the show mapped out in dry-erase marker.
As they rolled the mobile whiteboard out of the office, pivoting and working it back and forth to clear the doorway, Blake’s phone vibrated in his back pocket.
“It’s from Tenny,” he said, after checking the message and pocketing his phone. “He’s here with a few dancers who’ve agreed to help.”
When Blake pulled on his side of the whiteboard’s frame, Ethan tugged on his side to keep them in place.
“Hey,” Ethan said, his voice quiet. “Remember, everyone is here to support you. They want to see you succeed. I’ll take care of the whiteboard. Go out there and be the leader you are.”
With a hesitant nod, Blake shook out his hands and hurried to the bar area while Ethan set up the whiteboard in front of the stage.
Near the bar, Tenny collected hats and jackets from the three men he’d recruited to help. One of the guys was familiar – Tenny’s friend Rhys, who Blake had met the day he’d learned The Firehouse was closing. Rhys’s dark shoulder-length hair and striking blue eyes were hard to forget.
“You remember Rhys,” Tenny said.
Rhys stepped forward to shake Blake’s hand. “Good seeing you again, man.”
“Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
“Of course. It’ll be fun to dig my sexy dance moves out of cold storage,” Rhys joked.
Tenny beckoned to a tall man with a blond razor fade and serious muscle definition. His lean, lithe body was a work of sculpture. If Blake was already curious what he looked like naked, he’d be a hit with the audience.
“I’m Gus,” the man said, gripping Blake’s hand in a firm, confident handshake.
The third man, short and solid with messy black hair, extended his beefy hand to Blake. “I’m Hunter. Or Hunt. Whichever.”
“Nice meeting both of you,” Blake said. “What’s your experience with exotic dancing?”
“Extensive,” Gus answered with a chuckle.
“I don’t have any – with exotic dancing, that is,” Hunter clarified. “But I’m a quick study, and I’m up for anything.”
“And he’s packing,” Rhys added with an eyebrow waggle.
Hunter shot a sharp look at Rhys. “Jesus, man, what the hell?”
Porn had trained Blake to assess a man’s junk in seconds. His gaze darted to the impressive bulge in Hunter’s sweatpants. Five inches easy. If he’s a grower, not a shower, his hard-on could top out at eight inches.
Gus put his arm around Hunter’s shoulders. “Relax, Hunt. It’s not going to be a secret much longer.”
“Fine. Let’s get it over with.” Hunter lowered the waistband of his sweatpants, flashing his dick to the group. Even soft, it was thick and long, hanging low in front of big hairy balls.
Blake laughed “Well, we’re not full strip, but it’s good to know what we’re working with.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Hunter murmured, pulling up his pants and putting away his weapon of ass destruction. Adorable pink patches bloomed on his cheeks.
Gus kissed the top of his head. “We’re all friends here, hon. No reason to be embarrassed.”
Blake pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Help yourself to donuts and coffee and get settled.”
“I don’t do sugar, but I’d love some coffee.” Gus wrapped his arms around Rhys and Hunter’s shoulders. “C’mon boys, let’s get caffeinated and meet the rest of the team. Especially the hottie with the purple hair.”
The three of them strolled over to the group seated around the whiteboard, introducing themselves and dispensing piping hot coffee into paper cups.
“These guys are good,” Tenny said to Blake, gripping his shoulder. “They’re used to learning choreography quickly.”
Blake pulled Tenny into a hug, thumping his back twice. “Thanks again, man. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
Tenny hugged him tight, then stepped back to meet his eyes. “I’ll always be in your corner, Blake. Now, let’s go whip these guys into shape.”
When Tenny and Blake joined the group, Xander was sitting in Hunter’s lap, with the stocky dancer hugging him from behind, and Gus had one leg hooked over Zane’s. Apparently, plans were already being made for the after-party.
“Let’s get started,” Blake said, stepping up to the white board.
“As you know by now, three of my dancers and my emcee are sick with food poisoning. I talked to them all this morning. They’re slightly better, but too weak to perform tonight.
” He picked up an eraser. “We have eight numbers in the show, a mix of funny acts and sexy acts.”
The lineup was written on the whiteboard in Ethan’s neat printing.
1. Opening act
2. Dustin: Magic
3. Aston and Steel
4. Blake and Tenny
5: Sully: Comedy
6: Dom
7: Jack/Madge Maker: Drag
8. Grand Finale
“We have to cut Aston and Steel’s number, and Dom’s solo,” Blake said, erasing the entries from the board.
“Me and Tenny are all that’s left of the opening and the finale, which we obviously can’t cut completely.
That’s half the program. I was hoping we could put our heads together and come up with a plan to fill all the gaps. ”
Zane raised his hand. “I can’t dance, but I can sing. My parody songs have an audience participation element.”
“That’s great! Burlesque audiences love that.” Blake said. “How do you feel about wearing something revealing?”
“I’ll sing in the nude if you want.”
Everyone laughed, and in a stage whisper, Gus said, “I’d pay to see that.”
“You know what that means, Ethan. Are you up for doing ‘Masculine’?” Zane asked.
“Sure. I didn’t plan on making it out of this unscathed. Bring on the humiliation.”
Blake examined the whiteboard, scratching his chin. “That gives us another comedy act. Let’s put Zane second, in place of Aston and Steel.” He wrote Zanne in the number two spot. “That’s a lot of comedy. I’d love if we could have another sexy number.”
Gus pointed toward the slide pole. “Is that decorative or structural?”
Blake peeked around the whiteboard. “You mean the old fireman’s pole? It’s structural.”
“I happen to be a pole dancer.”
Excitement fluttered in Blake’s chest. “Do you have a routine?”
Gus wobbled his hand in the so-so gesture. “Kinda? It’s usually free-form, but I have enough moves to fill a set.”
“What would you need costume-wise?”
“Not much. A G-string is enough.”
“I can make you a pair of briefs. I’ll measure you after the meeting.”
Ethan held up his index finger. “Babe, you have a firefighter costume that would fit Gus.”
“Pants are good,” Gus said. “If my legs are covered, I could start my number by sliding down the pole.”
“Can you perform a strip tease while you dance?” Blake asked, already anticipating the audience’s reaction to Gus slowly exposing his athletic build.
“Sure. Stripping and pole dancing go hand in hand. Or pole in hand.”
“Awesome. You’ll replace Dom.” He wrote Gus’s name in the number six slot. “Before I forget, we’ll need an emcee.”
Henry raised his hand. “I can do that.”
Xander groaned. “We want to get the audience excited, not lecture them about… tax law.”
“Taxes? I’m an intellectual property lawyer. Anyway, in college I had a radio show. I know how to work a crowd.” Henry dropped his chin to his chest. “I wasn’t always boring.”
Xander nudged Henry’s shoulder. “I’m giving you a hard time, Hen. You’re not always boring.”
“Just most of the time?”
Smirking, Xander held his hands out and shrugged.
Ethan cut in. “What size jacket do you wear?”
“Forty. Why?”
“You can borrow one of Enzo’s sparkly jackets. He’s a forty-two, so it shouldn’t be too big on you.”
“Sparkly, huh?” Henry said with a frown.
“We’ll make it work, honey,” Quinn said, leaning in to kiss his husband’s cheek. “You’ll look so hot, I’ll have to tear off your clothes backstage and blow you after the show.”
Henry’s eyes widened, and he licked his lower lip. “Um, yup, sign me up. Emcee, that’s me.”
“Thank you, Henry.” Blake wrote MC: Hen at the top of the list, then tapped the marker next to number one.
“Let’s tackle the opening act next. It starts with a filmed intro, with sexy shots of our bodies, then the curtains open to reveal the men of Siren.
This number isn’t too revealing – we’re in jeans, tanks, and boots – but there was a dance routine.
We can simplify it, make it more of an introduction than a fully choreographed number.
Rhys, Gus, Hunter, can you three join me and Tenny? ”
They all nodded, and Rhys said, “You got it, boss.”
Blake took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, his cheeks puffed. “That leaves the finale. Three songs, two group numbers.”
Tenny stepped up to the whiteboard. “I can teach Rhys’s crew the choreography for the last song, but it’s a complex props number. I’m afraid we’ll have to drop the choreo for ‘It’s Raining Men.’”
“Nope,” Xander said. “We got it.”
“We?” Blake asked.
Xander turned to his friends seated around the table. “We can do the second number. I know most of the moves, and we can simplify the routine. What do you say, guys? Blake needs our help.”
Spencer nodded. “I’m in.”
With a chuckle, Quinn said, “Sure, let’s do it.”
All eyes turned to Mickey.
“Me?” Mickey asked, wringing his hands. “I’m not much of a performer.”
Crouching to eye level, Xander rested his hands on Mickey’s shoulders. “You’re solid, and you’ve got a hairy chest. There are plenty of guys out there who’ll love seeing you naked. I’ll teach you how to sell it. Besides, you have a great ass.”
A crimson flush crept up Mickey’s neck. “Okay, I’m in.”
Xander patted him on the back. “Attaboy.”
“Now for the hard part,” Blake said. “We have costumes for all the numbers, but they were made for Aston, Steel, and Dom. The raincoats should fit you guys, but you’ll need to have underwear and boots that match.”
“Make a list of what you need. I can make a run to the mall for any last-minute costumes,” Henry said.
“Awesome.” Blake capped the marker and set it on the whiteboard’s tray.
“We have our show, and one day to make it happen.” He turned to address the small group of men.
“A lot of people are expecting us to fail. Even looking forward to it. Let’s make this the best damn show we can, so they know Siren isn’t going anywhere. ”
As if some unspoken directive had been beamed to the group, they all stood and surrounded Blake, wrapping him in a group hug.
With a happy sigh of relief, Blake murmured, “Thanks, guys.”
Tenny patted Blake on the back, then clapped his hands twice. “Rhys, Hunt, Gus, we’ll take the back rehearsal space. Xander, you and your guys can use the stage.”
The group started to separate, but before they got too far, Xander held his hand out, palm down. “Hands in, everyone.” The guys wandered back, and stacked their hands on top of Xander’s. “Siren on three,” Xander said. “One… two… three…”
“Siren!” the guys cheered, raising their hands in unison.