The Billionaire's Command
Page 3
The seating area was empty, but there were enough bags and clothes strewn around that I knew I wasn’t the first one to arrive. Most of the dancers did their hair and makeup at the club, and by 3:30, everyone would be sitting around packing on eyeshadow and gossiping. I needed to talk to Poppy before that so she had some time to cope with the news about the owner, and then I needed to shower and get ready. I didn’t have time to deal with the fresh meat.
I tossed my bag on a couch and said, “Okay, new girl. Make yourself pretty. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Fresh Meat nodded at me, eyes wide. What was she thinking, calling herself Tawny with that hair and that skin? She looked Mediterranean as all get-out. Probably Italian. I would have to think of a better name for her.
I went into the dressing room and found Poppy in her usual spot, wrapped in a silk dressing gown and carefully applying her false eyelashes. “We need to talk,” I said.
“Well, hello to you too,” she drawled. “Is there a problem?”
I glanced around the room at the handful of other dancers working on their makeup. I didn’t want to do this with an audience. “Let’s go outside for a minute,” I said.
Poppy heaved an enormous sigh, like I was asking her to climb Mt. Everest with no oxygen, and heaved herself out of her chair. I really didn’t understand why she was head dancer. She was lazy, whiny, and not very good at interacting with the clients; but she’d been here for years, so maybe Germaine just felt sorry for her.
She followed me out into the main club, and then stopped and folded her arms over her chest. “What’s this about?”
No reason not to cut to the chase. “The owner’s coming tonight,” I said.
“Oh my God,” Poppy wailed, hands flying to her face. “Tonight?! When did this happen? Germaine didn’t say anything to me!”
“She just told me,” I said. “It’s really not a big deal, Poppy. He always just sits in the audience, it’s not like—”
“Everything has to be perfect,” she said, and frowned at me. “You know that.”
“Sure,” I said. I didn’t agree with her, but it was easier to keep my mouth shut. “Good luck with that. I have to get in the shower.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Poppy said, seizing my arm. “You’re going to help me.”
“I can’t,” I said. “Seriously, I walked here and I’m super gross. I have to get ready, and Germaine asked me to show the new girl around.”
“Ugh,” Poppy said, utterly disgusted with me for wanting to do my job. “Fine. We’ll see what Germaine has to say about that.”
“Good luck,” I told her, and headed for the back. It was so typical that she’d go running to Germaine to tattle on me. What was Germaine going to say: Oh, Poppy, you’re right, Sassy doesn’t need to do her makeup, she can absolutely go on stage looking like something the cat dragged in!
Workplace politics: even strippers had to deal with them.
Fresh Meat was right where I had left her, sitting on the couch with that deer in the headlights look. “If you’re really that terrified, maybe you shouldn’t work here,” I told her, too annoyed for tact. I opened up my bag and dug out my toiletry kit.
“I’m not terrified,” she said. “That’s just my face.”
“Your customers like you scared?” I asked. “Sweet little girl, all alone in the big world?”
“Basically,” she said.
I laughed. Maybe there was more to this girl than met the eye. “I really need to get in the shower,” I said. “Five minutes. Then we’ll talk. I’ll come up with a better name for you.”
“I’ve already got one,” she said.
“Tawny sucks,” I said.
“Not that,” she said. “I mean I’ve got a different one.”
“Okay, lay it on me,” I said.
“Tempest,” she said.
The girl didn’t look like a storm to me any more than she looked like a Tawny, but whatever. It was better than Tawny, and it hit the right note: the clients liked trashy names because it made them feel like they were doing something naughty. “That’ll do,” I said, and went to get in the shower.
I didn’t linger: a quick scrub, some conditioner in my hair, and I hopped out and pulled on my robe.
Fresh Meat was still sitting on the couch, clutching her enormous duffel bag.
“I hope you’ve got a change of clothes in that thing,” I said.
She nodded.
“Cool,” I said. “Let’s go get pretty.”
I led her into the dressing room and we sat in empty chairs at one end of the long counter. A few of the primping dancers gave us curious looks, obviously wanting to know what was up with the stranger, but I ignored them. No time for introductions now.
I opened up my makeup kit and slathered lotion on my face. “So, Germaine already covered the boring money stuff, I guess.”
Fresh Meat unzipped her duffel and took out a small zippered case, which she opened to reveal a butt-load of makeup. Good. “She explained all of that to me, yes.”
I rubbed on a thin layer of primer and dug out the rest of my makeup while I waited for the primer to dry. “I’m assuming this isn’t your first time stripping.” Nobody worked at the Silver Cross without at least a year of experience on stage.
“I was at White Elephant for a while,” she said.
“Not bad,” I said. “You’ll do fine, then. Same clientele here, basically. Some of them are a lot richer, but they don’t flaunt it. The only difference is—”
“The private rooms,” she said. “Germaine told me. I’m on board.”
“Decide now what your limits are,” I said. “Not when you’re already in there with a client.”
She turned to face the mirror, using a sponge to apply her foundation. “What are yours?”
“Anything they want, as long as they keep their pants zipped up,” I said. “Works for me.” I used my fingers to apply my own foundation, blending carefully along my jawline so that it looked natural. “You can do whatever you want on stage. Pole dancing is fine if you want to do that. I don’t. You’ll watch tonight and see what the other girls do.” I set my foundation with powder and started on my eye makeup. “What’s the first rule of stripping?”
I tossed my bag on a couch and said, “Okay, new girl. Make yourself pretty. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Fresh Meat nodded at me, eyes wide. What was she thinking, calling herself Tawny with that hair and that skin? She looked Mediterranean as all get-out. Probably Italian. I would have to think of a better name for her.
I went into the dressing room and found Poppy in her usual spot, wrapped in a silk dressing gown and carefully applying her false eyelashes. “We need to talk,” I said.
“Well, hello to you too,” she drawled. “Is there a problem?”
I glanced around the room at the handful of other dancers working on their makeup. I didn’t want to do this with an audience. “Let’s go outside for a minute,” I said.
Poppy heaved an enormous sigh, like I was asking her to climb Mt. Everest with no oxygen, and heaved herself out of her chair. I really didn’t understand why she was head dancer. She was lazy, whiny, and not very good at interacting with the clients; but she’d been here for years, so maybe Germaine just felt sorry for her.
She followed me out into the main club, and then stopped and folded her arms over her chest. “What’s this about?”
No reason not to cut to the chase. “The owner’s coming tonight,” I said.
“Oh my God,” Poppy wailed, hands flying to her face. “Tonight?! When did this happen? Germaine didn’t say anything to me!”
“She just told me,” I said. “It’s really not a big deal, Poppy. He always just sits in the audience, it’s not like—”
“Everything has to be perfect,” she said, and frowned at me. “You know that.”
“Sure,” I said. I didn’t agree with her, but it was easier to keep my mouth shut. “Good luck with that. I have to get in the shower.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Poppy said, seizing my arm. “You’re going to help me.”
“I can’t,” I said. “Seriously, I walked here and I’m super gross. I have to get ready, and Germaine asked me to show the new girl around.”
“Ugh,” Poppy said, utterly disgusted with me for wanting to do my job. “Fine. We’ll see what Germaine has to say about that.”
“Good luck,” I told her, and headed for the back. It was so typical that she’d go running to Germaine to tattle on me. What was Germaine going to say: Oh, Poppy, you’re right, Sassy doesn’t need to do her makeup, she can absolutely go on stage looking like something the cat dragged in!
Workplace politics: even strippers had to deal with them.
Fresh Meat was right where I had left her, sitting on the couch with that deer in the headlights look. “If you’re really that terrified, maybe you shouldn’t work here,” I told her, too annoyed for tact. I opened up my bag and dug out my toiletry kit.
“I’m not terrified,” she said. “That’s just my face.”
“Your customers like you scared?” I asked. “Sweet little girl, all alone in the big world?”
“Basically,” she said.
I laughed. Maybe there was more to this girl than met the eye. “I really need to get in the shower,” I said. “Five minutes. Then we’ll talk. I’ll come up with a better name for you.”
“I’ve already got one,” she said.
“Tawny sucks,” I said.
“Not that,” she said. “I mean I’ve got a different one.”
“Okay, lay it on me,” I said.
“Tempest,” she said.
The girl didn’t look like a storm to me any more than she looked like a Tawny, but whatever. It was better than Tawny, and it hit the right note: the clients liked trashy names because it made them feel like they were doing something naughty. “That’ll do,” I said, and went to get in the shower.
I didn’t linger: a quick scrub, some conditioner in my hair, and I hopped out and pulled on my robe.
Fresh Meat was still sitting on the couch, clutching her enormous duffel bag.
“I hope you’ve got a change of clothes in that thing,” I said.
She nodded.
“Cool,” I said. “Let’s go get pretty.”
I led her into the dressing room and we sat in empty chairs at one end of the long counter. A few of the primping dancers gave us curious looks, obviously wanting to know what was up with the stranger, but I ignored them. No time for introductions now.
I opened up my makeup kit and slathered lotion on my face. “So, Germaine already covered the boring money stuff, I guess.”
Fresh Meat unzipped her duffel and took out a small zippered case, which she opened to reveal a butt-load of makeup. Good. “She explained all of that to me, yes.”
I rubbed on a thin layer of primer and dug out the rest of my makeup while I waited for the primer to dry. “I’m assuming this isn’t your first time stripping.” Nobody worked at the Silver Cross without at least a year of experience on stage.
“I was at White Elephant for a while,” she said.
“Not bad,” I said. “You’ll do fine, then. Same clientele here, basically. Some of them are a lot richer, but they don’t flaunt it. The only difference is—”
“The private rooms,” she said. “Germaine told me. I’m on board.”
“Decide now what your limits are,” I said. “Not when you’re already in there with a client.”
She turned to face the mirror, using a sponge to apply her foundation. “What are yours?”
“Anything they want, as long as they keep their pants zipped up,” I said. “Works for me.” I used my fingers to apply my own foundation, blending carefully along my jawline so that it looked natural. “You can do whatever you want on stage. Pole dancing is fine if you want to do that. I don’t. You’ll watch tonight and see what the other girls do.” I set my foundation with powder and started on my eye makeup. “What’s the first rule of stripping?”
