Chapter 26
S CARLETT
For the second act, I pick a catsuit that covers me completely but doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
I keep my heels on and walk out of the room when the manager, who peeks from behind the stage at the two girls dancing, catches sight of me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, studying my look.
“Getting ready to walk on the stage.”
“Who told you to put that on?”
“No one. I thought we could pick our own costumes.”
He nods impatiently, waiting for me to finish talking.
“No one said a jumpsuit is a sexy costume.”
“This is not a jumpsuit. It’s a catsuit.”
“It could be anything. You go back and put on a bra and some panties. A thong I prefer.”
“I’m not wearing a thong. I can’t wear a camel toe concealer. It slips out.”
“Not my business. Don’t wear one. I hope you’ve waxed your pussy.”
I give the man a death glare.
“Don’t look at me like that. Go. Sexy bra and thong. That’s it. And sexy heels. Do not make me say it twice.”
I stare at him for a second more before I spin around and go back while he shifts his focus to the stage, unfazed.
Fuck him.
I get back in and remove my catsuit when I hear clamor outside. The girls must’ve finished their act.
Rushing, I almost break a nail and smudge my lipstick when a strand of hair slides over my mouth. Men. Why do they have to fuck with everything?
This gig is hard as it is. I don’t need him to micromanage me.
I barely put a thong on and fasten my beaded, fringes-covered bra when someone knocks on the door.
My eyes swing in that direction.
“Who is it?”
“Are you ready?” the manager asks, and I find it odd that he’s at the door.
He behaves like I’m his property.
“Almost.”
“We need to talk.”
The nerve he has.
I push up, glance in the mirror, and check my behind. It’s not a thong thong. It’s a pair of shorts with a low waistband and a high cut that displays half of my butt.
I almost yank the door from the hinges.
He looks down the corridor, probably expecting the girls to show up, and then he tips his eyes down and drags them up before meeting my glare.
“You’re not gonna like this,” he says in response to my crazy eyes.
“What now?”
He studies me for a second, not because he is intimidated by me, but because he wants to say what he needs to say as quickly as possible.
“Someone asked for a private dance after the show.”
I plop my hand up the door frame.
“What?? What is a private dance exactly?”
“Dancing in a costume like this for a client in private.”
I stare at him, washed in disbelief.
“Is that why you didn’t like my catsuit and wanted me to change?”
“Pretty much.”
“I’m not dancing privately for anyone.”
He doesn’t flinch.
“I think you will and like it too.”
He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out two rolls of cash.
I push my eyes down.
“One is for me, and one is for you,” he says.
“How much?”
“Five grand each.”
“What??”
His eyes flicker with anger.
“I don’t have time for this. You finish dancing and go to him. He paid for an hour with you. You dance. You rub his dick. I don’t care. You get your money when you’re done.”
This story moves so fast that I don’t have time to think about it.
“Do I need to have sex with him?”
“You don’t need to do anything. You try to be as pleasant as you can be so we can get our money.”
“It’s not fair,” I say, looking at the cash in his hand.
He pulls it back and shoves it into his pocket.
“You’re doing nothing,” I argue. “I’m doing all the work.”
“I’m doing a lot of work, too,” he says, a cynical smirk on his lips. “I’ll have to not tell on you,” he adds. “That’s a lot of work.”
“Tell on me? What do you know about me?” I ask suspiciously.
“It doesn’t matter. Go dance now.”
He nudges me to the stage.
I don’t budge.
“Who is the client?”
He shrugs.
“He’s just a client.”
“How does he look?’
“It doesn’t matter. You move your hips for him and maybe show him your tits.”
“I’m not showing him my tits to him. How big is the room I’m dancing in?”
“It’s not a room. It’s a private nook with a curtain and a chair. It’s enough space to sit on his lap.”
My heart sinks.
This sounds horrible.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“You’re doing it,” he says in a different tone. “He may have nicely asked for you, but I’m not doing that. I’m telling you to do it. I don’t want any trouble tonight.”
“What trouble are you talking about? You’re getting cash for nothing. You’re calling that trouble? I won’t do it for less than $7,000. I think three grand is enough for you to keep your mouth shut.”
“If I give you seven thousand dollars, you better suck his dick too. I want him out of here as soon as possible, and you too.”
I ponder an answer, noticing the anguish in his voice.
“What did he tell you?” I ask, wrestling with a strange sensation, something I have felt before.
The manager could kill me if he could.
“It doesn’t matter what he said. You’ll spend time with him, so we can both go home tonight.”
“Can you show him to me?”
“No. Go dance. We’ll talk after the show.”
He turns his back to me and walks away when I bark at him.
“You show him to me, and I’m doing it. Otherwise, I’ll go home. Now.”
He stops and turns around, and he looks like someone who could tear me apart with his bare hands.
The gap between us evaporates as he pulls up in front of me.
“Listen to me, you little cunt. You get seven grand to dance for him. I don’t care how you get out of a sticky situation if something happens. You’re an adult. You handle it. You don’t have the option to say no to me or him, or you’ll never see the inside of a classroom again.”
A thunderclap in the middle of the corridor wouldn’t have the effect his words have on me now.
My legs shake, and my lips quiver while my life as I know it seems to be slipping away from me.
It’s never crossed my mind the man who has paid for me to dance for him might know me.
And who has that kind of money?
I turn to stone.
My pulse is dead.
It can be him.
But it can’t be my ex, either.
Or someone from his entourage.
These are the only two people I can think of.
There could be the principal and people from school, but then their presence here would be just as problematic, if not more problematic than mine.
My ex?
No.
He’s never enjoyed this type of place. And he wouldn’t spend a dollar more on a pack of gum, let alone splurging on some dancer.
Besides, he doesn’t have that kind of money.
He also wouldn’t put the kind of fear I see in the manager’s eyes in anyone's heart.
He can’t intimidate someone to save his life.
So it’s not Joachim.
He also doesn’t live in this area and would have zero reason to be here.
It must be Ewan.
He has the money, the presence, and the power to put anyone in their place.
If it’s him and he has bossed this guy around, I can’t say I’m not happy that he did.
But what if it’s not him? What if it’s one of the men he had with him on that night when I brought drinks to their table.
No. No one could recognize me.
I look different.
Besides, the man just told this dick that I work in a school. So not only did he twist this man’s arm and compel him to make me dance, but he also dropped that piece of information, giving him ammunition to force me to do so.
I don’t know what I’ll do if it’s not him.
Although, it must be him.
Ewan.
That sensation in my body.
That feeling that I’ve been watched.
What is he doing here?
Has he followed me?
Of course he has.
How else could he know I was here?
Oh, crap.
My cheeks burn.
This is not how I wanted him to see me. I guess it’s too late for that.
I hold my hand out.
“I want my money first. And you won’t hear another word from me.”
He reaches inside his pocket and pulls out one of the money rolls.
“You’ll get the rest when you leave.”
I’m sure he won’t dare to take his word back if Ewan is involved.
“I could keep that for you,” he offers, in a more helpful disposition.
“I’m fine. I don’t need your help. You can go fuck yourself,” I say, tucking it between my boobs and moving away from him, going straight to the stage.
His crude laughter echoes behind me.
“I’ll surely do that. Going to my office and jerking off at the idea of you straddling him, you little…”
I flip him the bird without looking back and put my smile on for my next performance.
SCARLETT
Everything I do from the moment I walk on stage has to do with him being present in the room.
I’m no longer alone, a woman wearing sexy shorts and a bra, showing her moves on a stage in front of a bunch of customers.
I’m the woman who kissed this man.
And also the woman who followed him into that hotel.
The one who questioned him and pulled away from him.
I feel guilty. I’m anxious. And for sure, I don’t know what to expect.
We’ll probably have a talk. Most likely we’ll argue.
We could’ve done that for free. He didn’t have to pay for my time.
Maybe he wanted to send a message. To point out my moral compass if broken.
I feel ashamed. And then I’m angry because I feel ashamed. I shouldn’t be remorseful for something that has nothing to do with him.
I didn’t hurt anyone and kept this a secret. Sammy is the only person who knows what I’m doing because she’s doing it herself.
Somehow, I go through the motions.
I dance. I smile. I tease.
I appeared unfazed.
But beyond the red lipstick, hair tumbling down my back, teasing walk across the stage, and shimmying of my chest for the customers in the front row, apprehension grips me.
Everything feels wrong, a disaster.
He’s probably pissed. I’d be. And he’s here to get his revenge. Who cares whether he’s a mafia boss or not?
This situation is dire enough to forget about what he does for a living.
But things are even worse if he’s a mafia boss.
He could do things to me I’ve only seen on TV.
My performance comes to an end, and I appear cool and collected as I sweep my money off the stage and put it in one of the cups of my bra.
I haven’t had so much money on me–and I mean literally on me–ever.
I step out and look for the manager.
He’s not there.
How convenient.
He’s probably fabricating an alibi for later if the police come knocking on his door.
I ask one of the girls where to go for a private dance, and she directs me to a corridor, telling me it’s the second door on the right. I should walk through it, make a left turn, and then a right turn.
That will take me to the most private area in the venue.
My heart beats fast, my palms sweaty.
I don’t stop to refresh my makeup or tuck the money in my bag. Nor do I stop to change my costume.
He has particularly asked for something sexy.
I do expect to have my butt chewed off, and not in the nice sexy way I imagine.
The more steps I take, the farther away I am from the stage and the closer I get to my destiny.
We’ll probably be done quickly. And I’m ready for anything. A quarrel. A heated conversation. Some threats peppered here and there.
He wouldn’t do anything to me. I don’t think so.
Jeopardize my reputation at work and such. But never say never. I don’t know him that well.
I spot a server nearby and ask her if I’m in the right place.
She nods.
“Someone is inside,” she says.
“Thank you.”
The woman pivots––she carries a large tray––and sets drinks on a table.
The customers are only feet away from me. It’s just that they have their back turned to me and are looking at the stage.
The noise is somewhat muffled here, but they’re still very much close to this corner of the room.
Not feeling better in the slightest about what might happen next, I slide my hand around the curtain and pull it slowly to the side.
The interior is small and dim, with no natural lighting. The only glow comes through a window from outside and the lights coming from the stage.
A man is sprawled in what appears to be a comfortable chair.
“Get in,” he says, and his unmistakable voice flows through me slowly like thick blood, annulling my resolve and shattering me to smithereens.