Chapter 8 Bianca
BIANCA
I thought Rouge was going to come straight at me when I saw her, that I was going to get the dressing-down of my life, possibly in front of all the Aces patrons.
But she merely sniffed in disapproval—one of her favorite moves—before disappearing into the crowd.
Perhaps she enjoyed the performance herself but doesn’t want to admit it to me.
I haven’t sung like I did tonight in years.
I’m not going to lie, I normally phone in my Aces sets.
It’s been years of the same old rep—all those jazz standards are permanently ingrained into my brain after years of repetition—and while I have always delivered a solid show, I’ve been going through the motions lately, not really enjoying the magical moments that live performance can create.
Tonight was different.
Even those songs that I’ve been performing for years felt new tonight.
I did the entire set twice, and on the second go-around it felt like I was singing them for the first time.
But then when I added that extra encore—“Somewhere” from West Side Story, one of my dream shows—it was like the Muses themselves took hold of me and made me their vessel.
The song was singing me as much as I was singing it.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt the spark in me that has been absent for so long.
The reason I pursued a career on Broadway—as painful as it turned out to be—in the first place.
I love this.
I fucking love this.
Performing for a live audience, feeling their energy come back to me as I give mine to them. It gives me a high no drug ever could.
Sweet inspiration has come back into my heart, and I’m going to do my darnedest to never let it go again.
A lot of it has to do with that man—Harrison O’Rourke—who I brought into the club on a complete whim this evening.
I knew for a fact that I was breaking the rules. That I would get my sister’s panties into a twist.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. That sculpted jaw, the smattering of stubble gracing his cheeks, those dark eyes and nearly black hair styled into a spiky coif.
I’d be lying if I said simply meeting him, feeling the electricity between us, didn’t inspire me in part to break from the Rouge-approved rep.
But I was mostly inspired by myself. I convinced Chet to let this man into the club. I broke the rules after years of never putting a toe out of line.
And it felt…awesome.
I didn’t expect Rouge to come back from Jade so soon, and that played a part in my decision to add an encore.
But news of my little diversion would likely have made it to her ears anyway, and seeing her eyebrows twitch from across the club as she realized what I was doing was delicious. Intoxicating, even.
Normally, any indication that Rouge was displeased with me would terrify me, but tonight I feel emboldened, like I could take on any force in the world, my sister included.
In fact, I’m going to tell her that from now on, I’ll decide which songs I sing at the club.
I will of course welcome her feedback, but I’ll have final say on rep.
After all, I’m the one singing it. She can meet me halfway.
I’m going to sing songs I love because pieces that fit my personality will lead to a stronger performance.
And that’s what the woman who owns the club should want, right?
Right?
A knock on the door.
My blood freezes in my veins.
Time to face the music—literally.
“Who is it?” I ask, knowing full well exactly who is at my door.
“It’s me,” the cold voice of my sister replies. “Are you decent?”
I swallow. “Yes. Come in.”
The door swings open and Rouge glides inside, her face completely neutral. If I hadn’t seen her myself, I might wonder if she had heard my little encore at all.
I get to my feet. “Rouge. I didn’t realize you’d come back.”
She tilts her head. “Didn’t you?”
I blink. “No. I figured you’d be at Jade the entire evening. And didn’t you have to check out the Caterpillar as well?”
Rouge crosses the room and takes a seat at my makeup mirror, examining her own reflection.
“Austin Waverly runs a tight ship at the Jade Sanctum. It took very little time for me to complete my inspection. I decided to come back, perhaps catch a little bit of your sets.” She grabs my mascara brush and runs it through her eyelashes.
“Imagine my surprise when I entered and you were singing a song I’d never heard before. ”
“Rouge, I—”
She holds a hand up, turns to me. “Let’s put a pin in that discussion for now. That isn’t the reason I came by.”
I bite my lip. It isn’t? Why else would Rouge be in my dressing room? She normally loves to flit around the club in her outrageous attire, checking in with her guests. They’re the ones paying her to be here, after all.
“Then why are you here?” I ask.
She grins. “A patron has requested your…services for the evening.”
My heart sinks.
Surely it isn’t Harrison. He could get my quote-unquote services for free if he wanted.
I didn’t peg him for the type who feels he has to purchase the physical entertainment of a woman.
Then again, I barely know the man.
Maybe letting him into the club tonight was a mistake…
“May I ask who?”
Rouge narrows her eyes. “One of our most seasoned patrons. Cale Calloway.”
I can’t help a grimace. “Seasoned” is a generous word. Cale Calloway has been a member since our father ran the club. He was middle-aged then, and now he’s got to be pushing ninety. He was decent-looking forty years ago, but now…
“I don’t think so, Rouge.”
She nods. “I understand. But before you turn him down, you might want to consider the price he’s offered.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t care about that. I have no interest in sleeping with a man who could be my grandfather.”
Her eyes flash wickedly. “Not even for ten thousand an hour?”
I drop my jaw. “You’re kidding.”
She shakes her head. “You know I never kid when it comes to matters of the heart, Bianca.”
“This is a matter of money, Rouge, not the heart.”
“They are not mutually exclusive.” She folds her hands together. “Should I tell Mr. Calloway that you’re not interested?”
I open my mouth to say, “Hell, yes.”
But then I think it over.
Ten grand is nothing to scoff at.
I’m in decent financial shape. Rouge pays me well. I have a nice apartment in the heart of the Loop downtown. I don’t even have to drive to Aces. I walk here when it’s warm enough.
I don’t need the money. It would have made a world of difference when I was scrounging to survive in New York, trying to make it on Broadway, but now? I’m not dying for the cash.
But…My God. Ten K? For something as simple as a quick roll in the hay?
I don’t care how much money you have. That’s something you’re going to mull over.
Cale Calloway isn’t exactly revolting. For a man of nearly nine decades, he’s in okay shape. I could stomach an hour of him for the amount he’s offering.
But something else is holding me back.
Harrison.
A man I met not an hour ago. A man I’ve had exactly two conversations with, and neither of them particularly profound.
It would be silly to turn down such an absurd amount of money for a man who is essentially a total stranger.
Although he is technically my guest for the evening.
But there were no strings attached to my agreement to let him come in. If he took another woman home, I’d have nothing to say about it.
Ugh. The thought of Harrison with another woman fixes a clamp around my heart.
I shake the emotion out of my head. I have to be rational.
Harrison is at full liberty to take whomever he wants to bed. As am I.
It’s silly that I’m even considering him right now.
I’ve slept with men far uglier than Cale Calloway, and for a lot less. Usually my rate is fixed around a thousand. Sometimes some of the ritzier men offer up to three or four K.
And it’s not as if I can’t put the money to good use.
This kind of money could go into a retirement fund, into a savings account for a down payment on a mortgage.
I can still go out and socialize with Harrison when it’s all over. The night is young, and I’ll be expected to clean myself up and continue my sets once I’m done with Calloway.
I slump my shoulders. I know the answer.
“Fine, I’ll do it.”
Rouge bounces her eyebrows and rises. “I thought you might reconsider.”
I sit down on a pink chaise across from my mirror. “You can tell him… Just tell him he can meet me in here.”
Rouge tents her fingers and frowns. “Actually, Mr. Calloway has requested the pleasure of your company in one of our private areas behind the velvet curtains.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “What? Why? I always take clients in my dressing room.” I gesture to a door that leads to a small bedroom and en suite bathroom. “You had the extra bedroom added to my area just for that purpose.”
“Mr. Calloway has specifically booked the grand suite.”
“But that’s where the cards take clients.” I wrinkle my nose. “That bed must be filthy.”
“The sheets are cleaned after every encounter, as you well know. And the mattress is replaced biweekly. You’ll be fine.”
“But why? Wouldn’t he be much more comfortable in my private suite?”
“It’s not my place to question my guests’ wants and needs, Bianca.”
“But—”
She holds up a hand again. “Bianca, you are more than welcome to turn down the offer. You know how much we value full and enthusiastic consent here at Aces. Mr. Calloway will survive if he is denied the privilege of your entertainment.”
I stifle an eye roll. He’s ninety. A good stiff wind could kill him.
And I know why he wants to take me behind the velvet curtains, as opposed to my dressing room. He wants all of his buddies in the club to see him escort me to the grand suite. It won’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what we’re doing in there.
I twiddle my thumbs. “Is there any way he’d consider coming to my dressing room, perhaps for a slight decrease in the rate? I would prefer not to go to the suite.”
“Why does that matter? You’ve taken guests behind the curtains before. I understand you preferring your private quarters, but it’s not as if it’s completely foreign to you. Unless…” She raises an eyebrow. “Unless there is someone in the club tonight who you’d prefer not see you escorted away.”
Bingo. My sister is ruthless. And fucking brilliant.
I blink for a few seconds. “That’s preposterous. Why the hell would I care who sees—”
She takes a step toward me. “So then you’ll agree to the grand suite? For ten thousand?”
I sigh. “Are you sure Calloway wouldn’t settle for a different deal?”
“Mr. Calloway, and no, he won’t. The offer is resolute. It’s the grand suite for ten K or no deal.”
I run my hands over my hair. Think about what I’m getting myself into. Seeing Calloway’s wrinkled, naked body. Watching him take a fistful of boner pills before pumping himself into me.
And even worse… Risking Harrison witnessing the two of us go into the private area together.
But…the money is just too good.
Even with all the conditions attached to it.
“Fine,” I sigh. “Let him know I’ll do it.”
“Splendid.” Rouge opens the door of my dressing room. “I’ll fetch him now.”
She scurries out and I sit down at my makeup chair, powder my nose a bit. Have to look presentable, I suppose.
I gaze into the mirror, into the small creases in the corners of my eyes. I’m nearing forty, but I could still pass for twenty-five with the right lighting. I look damned good. I could be on the arm of any decent man, yet I’m still selling my body to the highest bidder.
When I first started offering my services to the Aces patrons, I told myself it was only a temporary measure. Just until I was secure, recovered from the bottomless pit of debt from school and then life in New York.
I was already damaged goods at that point, anyway. What did it matter?
Now I’m in much better shape, yet still I allow men to take what they want from me for the right price.
So I decide.
After Calloway, that’s it. One hour for ten thousand bucks, and then I’m officially out of business. If men want to bed me, they’ll have to court me first.
Another knock, and before I can say “come in,” Rouge and Calloway are standing at the door.
Cale Calloway is wearing a tuxedo jacket with a lopsided bowtie. His face is deeply wrinkled, and his nose and ears resemble boiled cauliflower. His eyes, which have drooped and reddened with age, are raking over me lecherously.
“I believe you two know each other,” Rouge says.
“Yes,” Calloway says on a hiss. He takes a step toward me, takes my hand, kisses it with chapped lips. “You look beautiful tonight, Miss Bianca.”
I swallow. “Thank you, Mr. Calloway.”
Rouge grins. “I won’t get in your way. Mr. Calloway, the grand suite is ready for you.”
Calloway offers me his liver-spotted hand, and I take it.
And I pray that Harrison isn’t looking as he leads me out of my dressing room.