6. Lucy
Lucy
Ipull up to the brick exterior of a strip club called Gentleman’s Delight.
My stomach churns. Never in a million years did I think I’d ever apply for a job at a strip club.
But that’s exactly what I’m doing. It’s what I have to do to save Wally. To survive.
I take a few minutes to fill out the job application I picked up at the Mile High Diner half an hour ago. I would have just done it there, but then I saw that guy from the coffee shop, and I just wanted to get away from him.
A flicker of anger sparks through me when I think about how he tried to apologize. How he followed me even when I told him to leave me alone.
I didn’t want his apology. He didn’t even sound all that sorry. He just sounded like he was trying to unburden himself so he could go back to thinking he was a good person.
When I think about how he tried to give me cash out of his wallet, I get even more mad. He seriously tried to pay me off to alleviate his guilty conscience. What a jerk.
I finish filling out the form. I’ll drop it off later today. The head server I talked to was really nice and made it sound like I could start as soon as I turn my application in.
If I can work that job in the mornings and afternoons, and then work this job in the evenings, then I’ll make the money I need for a deposit on an apartment. I can finally pick up Wally, and we’ll finally have a home of our own.
I set the diner application on top of my passenger seat, then hop out of my car. I open the heavy metal door to the club and walk inside.
I stop just to take it all in. I’m twenty-one years old, and this is the first time I’ve ever set foot in a strip club.
The empty space is dark and hazy. I glance around. There’s a big stage in the middle of the space with three stripper poles. Two smaller stages, each one with a single pole, are on either side of the main stage.
Everything is black and shiny. The walls, the floor, and the bar in the back are painted the same glossy black color. Even the rickety tables and chairs adorning the space are black. It smells like stale smoke, beer, and cheap perfume.
“Can I help you?”
I turn and see a middle-aged woman standing behind the bar. Her hair is dyed bleach blonde, and she’s wearing the boldest shade of red lipstick I’ve ever seen.
I walk over to her. “I saw your sign outside. Servers wanted. Are you hiring?”
“We are.” She runs her gaze along the length of my body. “You sure you don’t want to apply to be a dancer? You’re a hot little thing. You’d make a killing. Especially with your red hair. Men love redheads.”
I let out a nervous laugh, shaking my head. “No, um, that’s not…I’m a horrible dancer.”
She laughs, then lights up a cigarette. “Oh, hon. It doesn’t matter how well you dance. The men that come here wouldn’t give two shits if you got on stage and did the hokey pokey as long as you did it topless.”
My mouth hangs open at her brashness. “Oh. That’s…good to know.” I cough. “But I really am only interested in the server job. I’d like to apply if that’s okay.”
“Suit yourself.” She leans down behind the bar and pulls out a paper application. “Fill this out.”
I hop onto the barstool next to me and complete the form.
When I finish, I hand it to her. “I’m sure you have to do a background check, but I swear, I have a clean record. I’ve gotten a couple of parking tickets, but I paid them.”
She waves a hand as she looks over my application. Her cigarette hangs out of the corner of her mouth.
“I’m sure you’re good, hon. You look too innocent to be a hardened criminal. No felonies, right?”
I almost laugh. “Absolutely not. I’ve never even been arrested.”
“I figured. You’re too sweet and pretty to be a serial killer.”
I let out another nervous laugh.
After another few seconds of her looking at my application, she sets it down. “Well, Ms. Lucy Bailey. You’re hired. You can start tonight.”
I can’t help the grin that splits my face. “Thank you so, so much.” I shake her hand.
“Tonya,” she says.
“Thank you, Tonya. I’m excited to work here.”
She makes a sound that’s a cross between a scoff and a laugh.
“Right. Me too.” She coughs and taps her cigarette ashes into a nearby empty beer glass.
“So, anyway, we open at five every evening. Close at three. Sometimes four on Fridays and Saturdays, depending on how busy it gets. Your base hourly pay is fifteen bucks an hour. You keep all tips. You don’t have to tip out the DJ or the bartender. They do just fine on their own.”
“Okay, great. Is there a uniform for me to wear?”
She shakes her head. “Wear whatever you want. The skimpier the better.”
My eyes go wide. “Oh…”
She cackles. “This is a strip club, hon. You think that because you’re not dancing on stage, you shouldn’t dress a little sexy?”
“Right. That makes sense.”
She takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows out a puff of smoke. “Listen, I’m not saying you have to walk around in pasties and a thong. We’re not gonna make you wear anything you don’t wanna wear. But if you wanna make serious money, fast, show some skin.”
Tonya’s right. Sex sells. And I need money, fast.
I nod once. “Of course. I’ll see you tonight at five.”
* * *
I pull down the tiny black mini skirt I’m wearing with one hand while trying to balance my tray of vodka shots in the other.
Some slow jam I don’t recognize blasts through the speaker system. I head to the table I’m serving, which is a couple in their late twenties.
I set down their vodka shots and plaster a smile on my face. “Here you go, babes.”
I’ve only been at this job for a few hours, but I noticed that when I call customers a cute nickname, they tip better.
The guy’s gaze falls to my boobs, which are spilling out of the low-cut sparkly crop top I’m wearing.
I try to ignore the cringe that moves through my body at how openly this guy is gawking at me.
This is what you signed up for. You need to get used to people leering at you. It’s worth it if they tip you well.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. He hands me a twenty, and I give him a sweet smile.
“Anything else I can get you two?” I look between them.
The guy’s girlfriend licks her lips as she stares at my chest. She leans over and slinks her arm over his chest. They turn and look at each other, exchanging a knowing smile, before she looks back at me. “You’re really pretty.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I try to keep my tone and my smile sweet, even though the muscles in my shoulders tense at the way this couple is looking me up and down. Like I’m a porterhouse steak.
She licks her lips. “My boyfriend and I love redheads. And we both love to play. And share. You interested?”
I almost ask, “Share what?” before my brain puts it together. They want to share me. In bed.
My smile falters at the shock of their bold request. I try to recover with a chuckle and play with the ends of my hair. “I’m flattered, but I don’t swing that way. Thanks for the offer though.”
The woman, who’s sitting closer to me, reaches out a hand and gently grabs my hip. I instinctively step back. I hate it when strangers touch me.
But she doesn’t seem offended. She just chuckles. “Oh, we’d make it worth your while.”
Her boyfriend smirks. “Definitely. What do you charge?”
My mouth falls open. Do they think I’m a prostitute?
I stammer for a few seconds, then try to laugh. “Sorry, I don’t…offer those services.”
The guy slowly runs his leering gaze along the length of my body, pausing between my legs. I want to crawl out of my skin.
“What a shame,” he says through a smug smile, not even a little bit fazed. He turns back to his girlfriend and traces her lips with his thumb. “I was hoping I’d get to watch you lick her pussy tonight.”
My jaw unhinges. She just giggles and kisses him.
These two are insane.
“You sure you don’t want another drink?” I say, trying to refocus on something, anything else.
“Nah, we’re good,” he says, that smug expression still on his face. “But if you change your mind, let us know.”
I nod and walk off, feeling sick to my stomach. What the hell was that? Do people just come in here and proposition the staff like it’s no big deal?
My head spins while I process the shock of what just happened. I walk to the back of the club, where the restrooms are, and lean against the wall. I take a second to catch my breath.
One of the dancers walks past me, chuckling. She bends down to fix the strap of her platform heel. “I see you’ve met Steven and Samantha.”
“Who?”
“That couple you just served.” She stands up to her full height, which is almost a foot taller than me with those shoes she’s got on. She fixes the strap of the red lace see-through top she’s wearing. “Don’t worry. They ask every girl in here to hook up with them.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. We call them the unicorn hunters.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’re always hunting for a hot woman to fuck,” she says, like it’s no big deal.
I don’t know what to say. Everyone here is so open about the most intimate stuff. Which is fine. I mean, if everyone’s good with it, I guess that’s okay. But I’m not used to this. I’m not used to people leering at my body, making suggestive comments, and outright asking me to hook up with them.
“They’ve hooked up with half the staff here. Mostly the dancers.”
My jaw drops. “Really?” I say again.
“Yup.” She shrugs and makes a face. “Samantha’s way better in bed than Steven though, if you were wondering.”
She walks off. I fall back against the wall, wishing I could crawl out of my skin. I feel so out of place here.
I walk back out to one of my other tables, which is a group of guys in suits.
“Want a refill on your drinks, babes?” I ask, forcing that sweet, light tone in my voice. It doesn’t matter how weirded out I am right now. I need to be friendly and pleasant to my other tables so they like me and tip well.
“Yeah, we’ll get another round of Manhattans,” the guy sitting closest to me says.
I smile. “Coming right up.”
I fetch their drinks from the bar and drop them off a few minutes later.
I start to turn around, but he catches my wrist and spins me around to face him.
“Not so fast, sweet thing.”
My skin is crawling at the feel of his clammy hand on my body.
“Don’t you want your tip?”
He hands me a fifty-dollar bill. I try to smile, even though I want to slap him for touching me. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
I take the cash with my free hand and wait for him to let go of my arm.
His hazy, drunken gaze runs the length of my body. He nods at the cash in my hand. “There’s more where that came from if you let me get a little more hands-on, sweet thing.”
I grit my teeth, enraged at the nerve of this jerk. He really thinks I’d let him feel me up for more cash?
I pull out of his hold and step back. “No, thank you.”
I spin on my heel and walk off. Behind me, I can hear him laughing with his buddies. My skin burns where he touched me. All I want to do is take a scalding hot shower and wash off all the gross feelings coursing through me right now.
I head to the women’s restroom and lock myself in one of the stalls. I reach into my top and pull out the tips I’ve been storing there so far tonight. I count the cash. Almost two hundred dollars.
A tiny burst of hope counteracts the urge to run far away from this place. I’m halfway through my first shift, and already I’ve made some serious cash.
I have to keep going. Just until I have enough money to get an apartment so I can get Wally out of the shelter.
I close my eyes and force myself to take a slow, deep breath.
I can do this. This isn’t forever. Just for a few months.
I open my eyes.
Just keep thinking of Wally. Think of cuddling with him on the couch of my new apartment. A place of our own.
I stand up and steel myself for whatever I’m about to face for the rest of the night. And then I walk back out there.