Chapter 3
Chapter Three
GYPSY
Staring at myself in the harsh lights of the vanity mirror, I let my mouth fall slightly open and dragged the cold, waxy lipstick across my bottom lip, painting it in a deep, seductive blood red.
The brown eyes looking back at me were flat and hard.
Not that it mattered. The men out front weren’t paying a bit of attention to my eyes.
As long as I faked enthusiasm while I shook and gyrated in front of them, giving them the illusion that I viewed them as more than bottom-feeding perverts, they were happy campers. And I was really good at faking it.
“Hey, Gypsy girl!” McKenna, the newest girl to join our fine establishment, parked herself on the bench of the vanity next to mine, both of us oblivious to all the half-naked women covered in oil and body glitter that packed the dressing room in the back of Pink Palace.
“Hey, hon. How’s it going?”
“Good,” she chirped, her bright smile making her doe eyes even bigger.
McKenna was a great girl. Problem with that was, she worked here.
She was still so sweet and excited about life in general that I felt an uncomfortable ache in my chest, knowing she’d eventually become just as jaded as the rest of us.
“It’s packed out there. Good night for tips, right? Fingers crossed!”
My face softened. McKenna was so innocent and optimistic, it brought out that protective instinct that had been instilled in me since I was eight years old and my brother Rhodes came into the world.
“Yeah. Fingers crossed.”
“Three weeks, and I still get so nervous every time I’m about to go out there. Does that ever go away?”
“It does,” I assured her. “Eventually, you won’t even see the men’s faces.”
“Yeah,” she said, lowering her voice as she looked to the door.
“That would definitely make going on that stage easier.” She gave me a small, self-deprecating grin.
“I love to dance. I’ve always thought it would be so cool to work at a burlesque type club, you know?
Where the girls put on shows and acts? But… I’m not really a fan of this kind.”
Reaching over, I placed my hand on top of hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I feel the same way, babe.”
“Really?” Her chest rose and fell on a deep breath, and her shoulders sagged in relief. “But you’re so damn good. I thought… well, you just make it seem easy.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
She leaned in, eyes big like she thought I was about to unveil state secrets or something. “Yeah?”
I scooched closer and lowered my voice to a whisper. “It’s all an act.”
McKenna sat up straight and scrunched her face in confusion. “Huh?”
“It’s an act, Mac. You’re just playing a part, that’s all.
I smile and shimmy and make them think they get me hot, but the truth is, I don’t even see them.
Not anymore. Used to be, their slimy smiles and cheap cologne made my skin crawl.
I’d get done with my set and want to scrub my whole body with a Brillo pad. ”
“I know the feeling,” she muttered quietly.
Damn, I thought sadly. I’d been hoping she had a little longer before the shine dulled off her world, but it looked like it was happening faster than I’d expected.
“When I go out there, I’m not taking my clothes off for all those assholes.
They don’t even exist. It’s just me and a song.
And the only reason I’m working that pole is because it’s an excellent form of exercise. ”
McKenna let out a little giggle. “It is pretty good for my core.”
“See?” I grinned. “There’s a silver lining to every single dark cloud.”
“Truth, girl. But hey!” she started excitedly. “Maybe the new owner’ll dress this place up a bit. Make it better for us girls so we don’t have to dread walking out there.”
My eyebrows dipped in a frown. “New owner?”
“You didn’t hear? Doug’s gone. Sold this place and took off to some island resort.”
Well damn. I wasn’t a fan of Doug’s. In fact, I didn’t like the guy at all.
He was a massive pain in the ass. A chauvinistic pig who thought that since he owned a strip club, he owned the women who danced in it.
He was a handsy asshole, and most nights it took everything in me not to break his fingers when he tried to cop a feel.
But when it came to most things in life, I firmly believed that the devil you knew was better than the one you didn’t.
Even if the devil I knew was far too lax with his “no touching the dancers” rule, and not-so-subtly pushed the girls to offer “extras” for more cash during lap dances.
“Any clue who bought the place?”
She shrugged. “None. But it can’t get any worse than Doug, right?” McKenna crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out, her goofy face making me laugh.
A sharp pound landed on the dressing room door, followed by the deep rumble of the security guard’s voice. “Five minutes, Marilyn!” the security guard Bruce called out, using my stage name.
McKenna went to finish getting ready for her set, and I turned back to the mirror, giving my thick blonde hair one last fluff before standing from my seat.
The floor rumbled and the vibrations of the loud music filtered through the door as I moved on my seven-and-a-half-inch platform stilettos with the same ease I would if I were barefoot.
The razor-thin tip of the heel clacked as I crossed the room and slipped the cheap satin robe from my shoulders. I hung it on the hook right by the door, grabbed the knob, and pulled it open, immediately assaulted by the irritating beat of Motley Crüe’s “Girls, Girls, Girls.”
God, I hated Motley Crüe. Honestly, I hated all things 80’s glam rock.
Which really sucked, seeing as I worked at a strip club where the likes of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and all the other cliché stripper songs played on a continuous freaking loop hour after hour, night after night.
It was enough to make me want to permanently deafen myself with a spiked heel to the eardrum just so I wouldn’t have to listen to one more godforsaken hair band.
The god-awful song ended a few minutes later and the curtain pulled aside as Spencer, the dancer who’d just performed, left the stage, her full, naked breasts bared for all to see as she gave me a friendly wave and headed back toward the dressing room.
The DJ’s voice sounded through the speakers a moment later. “And now for the woman you’ve all been waiting for. The hottest of the hot,” he continued, riling the crowd up.
I freaking hated this part.
“The sinful princess of the pole. The one and only… Marilyn!”
The opening chords of “I Feel Like I’m Drowning” by Two Feet started playing, and my brain clicked into autopilot as my painted lips stretched into a smile I kept designated for the stage and I threw the red velvet curtains open.
The room erupted into hoots and catcalls, but I was more than used to it, doing just what I’d told McKenna and tuning it all out, listening only to the music as it thumped through the floorboards.
The boning of the corset I was wearing bit into my ribs as I swayed my hips dramatically, but I’d become a pro at ignoring the discomfort that came with this particular job a long damn time ago.
I raked my fingers through my hair, lifting it high off my shoulders before letting it fall back down in waves.
The sultry cadence of the song made my blood sing as I moved to the front of the stage to vamp for the crowd.
I toyed with the hooks holding my corset together, giving the men up front a playful wink without making eye contact with a single one of them, a skill I’d honed over the last year and a half.
I danced with ease, my movements second nature as I slowly undid one hook at a time before dropping the scrap of fabric to the ground, revealing the black-and-red push-up bra that barely contained my breasts.
I slid my palms up my hips and along my waist, over the swell of my breasts and back down again. I touched myself in a way the men in the audience were dying to touch me but couldn’t, making them wish they could get their dirty hands on my body.
The bills flew at me, falling like rain as I smiled and teased, using every inch of the stage as my playground before finally heading for the pole, where I did my best work.
The whoops and hollers grew louder as I used the muscles in my legs to climb up before flipping upside down and spinning around slowly and seductively.
I wasn’t kidding when I told McKenna the pole was an excellent workout.
It took every single muscle in my body to slide up and down, switching positions mid-spin.
Hell, I’d discovered muscles I never knew existed before this.
It had taken some time, but I could now work the pole in a way that made it appear as easy as breathing.
I shimmied and dropped down, dragging my nails along my fishnet-clad legs as I stood back to my full height.
As the tempo picked up, I reached behind me and unsnapped the bra, letting the straps slip off my shoulders while holding the cups in place, only giving the men a small taste.
Only as the song finally reached the end did I let it fall to reveal what they’d been panting after for the past three minutes.
It was amazing what just a brief flash of naked breasts could do. The lights flicked off. Everything went black on a loud, raucous cheer. And just like that, my set was done.
McKenna was waiting in the dressing room with a huge smile on her face as I came back in, pulling the robe over my shoulders to cover my chest and the hint of cheek showing from my itty-bitty boy-cut panties.
“Wow.” She rushed up to me. “You’re amazing. You barely give them a peek and they still go crazy for you.”
Heading toward the mini fridge in the corner, I pulled out a bottle of water and sucked down half. Dancing under those painfully bright lights felt like standing in the middle of the sweltering desert most nights. “Thanks, hon. I’ve watched you a couple times, and you’re pretty amazing yourself.”
And that was the god’s honest truth. McKenna had a natural talent when it came to dancing.
I couldn’t understand why she’d chosen to work at a seedy club in a backwoods town when she had the skill to do something so much more.
But we all had our stories, and I wasn’t going to push her to reveal hers. She’d tell me if or when she was ready.
“Yo, Gypsy,” Bruce called a couple minutes later. “Got a request for a private dance.”
My top lip curled and I heaved out a beleaguered sigh as I moved to the clothes rack across the room. I hated giving private dances, but they were par for the course in this line of work, unfortunately.
Doug used to try and talk me into doing the “extras” he’d all but forced the other girls into doing, but I’d adamantly refused.
I wouldn’t judge the girls who did—no one knew peoples’ circumstances unless you walked in their shoes—but I just couldn’t bring myself to go that route, no matter how hard up for cash I was.
As it was, a lot of men would easily shell out the extortionate amount it cost to get a dance from the club’s headliner.
I’d grind against him for two songs, and then bail out, spending an extra fifteen minutes in the shower at the end of the night to get the noxious smell of cologne and horny desperation off my skin.
Flicking the hangers across the rod, I settled on one of the more demure nighties.
The gauzy pink material fluttered to mid-thigh and was see-through from my ribs all the way down.
The spaghetti straps had cute little bows on top of my shoulders, and the push-up cups were covered in the same frilly ruffles that were on the behind of the matching panties.
I pulled off the black fishnet thigh highs from my set and slipped on a pair of tacky platform Lucite heels that screamed Yeah, that’s right.
I’m a stripper, then headed back for the mirror and gave my makeup and hair a touch-up before bracing for what was to come.
“Where is he?” I asked Bruce as I passed by his big, lumbering form just outside the doorway.
“Table ten.”
Just freaking great. Table ten. All the way in the back near the bar, which meant I was going to have to walk through that gross sausage-fest of a crowd to get to the big spender and escort him all the way across the club to the back rooms.
This was all part of the act I’d been telling McKenna about, and I liked to consider myself a seasoned actor when it came to making these assholes believe I was genuinely interested in them.
Adding an exaggerated sway to my hips in the hopes of enticing this guy into loosening his purse strings even more, I made my way through the front of the club as quickly as I could without making it obvious.
I cast seductive grins at the men I passed and managed to dodge grabby hands as I skirted the tables on my way toward the back.
I’d been so focused on avoiding unwanted touches and watching my step to keep from tripping on my sky-high heels that I hadn’t looked at the man at table ten until I was within a couple feet of it.
Finally glancing up with a flirty expression on my face, I lowered my voice and said, “Hey, honey. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
The man leaned forward, coming out of the shadows that had been obscuring his face from me.
Then the bottom fell out of my world when familiar hazel eyes landed on me and that smooth velvety voice said, “You’re most definitely worth the wait, girasol.”