Front Man: The Complete Trilogy (12 page)

"Not everyone
reads the papers, Erica. If I can just talk to her, I'll know for
sure. If she says she doesn't want to see Jack, then fine, that's the
end of it." 

"So you are
going?"

"I thought I'd
swing by tomorrow night. Just check it out. What harm can it do?"

"You want me
to come with you? I still think you're crazy, but if you need my
help..."

"I'll be fine,
Erica. Anyway, you've got that thing with Matt, right?"

"Yeah. Dinner
with his aunt sounds way less fun than playing detective at a strip
joint, though."

They both laughed.
Erica pulled Sara into a tight hug, then said goodnight, leaving Sara
alone with her thoughts. What had happened between her and Erica
ought to bother her more, she thought...but somehow it didn't feel
that weird at all. They had always been close. Being intimate had
felt like an extension of that. Sara was more preoccupied with the
thought of finding Laura. She wondered about what Erica had
said...Jack felt immense guilt about what happened to his sister, but
even so, would she really have stayed away for all this time? Could
she possibly have missed everything the media had been saying over
the last few weeks? Sara contemplated just sending Jack the details
of the club, but she would feel stupid if Erica turned out to be
mistaken on the girl's identity. She had to see for herself. 

The next day was
miserable, grey and rainy. Cooped up alone in the apartment, Sara
paced the floor, itching to get going. The club didn't open until 6pm
though, and while she wanted to get there early before it got too
busy, Sara thought waiting at the door might look a bit weird. 

Her thoughts, as
ever, turned to Jack. She pictured him by the pool of some five-star
hotel, sipping a cocktail, oiling up some bimbo with a perky pair of
DDs. Sara sighed. She wondered if he ever thought of her, or even
remembered she existed. If he did, it wasn't enough to make him want
to call, or email, or even text. Erica was right, she knew. She had
to put him out of her mind and try to move forward. Starting
tomorrow, Sara resolved, she would erase Jack Carter from her memory.
She just had this one thing to do first. Sara couldn't help but
relish the idea of Jack's gratitude as she delivered his missing
sister to him. Oh yes, he would see her value then, be beside himself
to thank her, take her for dinner, invite her to his hotel
suite...and she would take great pleasure in politely declining. "No
need, Jack. It was just a favour for a friend. For old time's sake."
Then she would flick her hair and leave, Jack full of regret as he
watched the most amazing girl he had ever met walk away for the last
time. Yes, Sara thought, it would all be extremely satisfying.

JACK was thinking
about Sara. As the plane soared over the clouds, the Atlantic ocean
far below them, he gazed out of the window and wished for the
umpteenth time that she was there beside him. The problem with
touring, he thought to himself, was the long periods of time spent in
transit. It gave him way too much time to think. To regret. Once
again, Jack reassured himself that he had made the right decision.
This was no life for a beautiful girl like Sara. Sure, he had money,
could give her all the finest things in life. But he couldn't be
there when she came home from work, with a Chinese takeaway and a
bottle of wine, ready to give her a foot rub and hear about her day.
He would be stuck on a tour bus, or a plane, or buried in the
recording studio. Even when he was there...the sadness inside him
would never loosen its grip. He had watched his father slowly destroy
his mother over the years, taking his misery out on that poor woman
day after day. Jack swore he would never become his father, but some
days, when he took a bleary eyed look in the mirror after a heavy
night on the drink, it was if he saw his father's face staring back
at him. He had already lost his sister. Clearly, Jack thought to
himself, he was not the kind of man that could make a woman happy.
Not for more than one night, anyway. Sara deserved better than that.
She would find someone who was worth it, he was sure of that.
Probably already had, he considered, and the thought of Sara with
someone else gave him almost physical pain. But it's all for the
best, he whispered to himself. 

They would be at
JFK in a few hours, then a cab would drop him at his city apartment.
He'd finally be home, although none of his residences felt like home,
not really. They were houses, comfortable, safe for the most part.
Since the drugs scandal had blown over, there were no longer hordes
of reporters on his doorstep. Requests for interviews were polite,
enthusiastic, and directed through his agent. For the first time in a
while, the media were on his side, and he was enjoying it while it
lasted. Jack was glad that they had a few days off before the
additional US dates. The tour had been amazing, there was no doubt
about it. There were kids in the front row that probably couldn't
remember their first album, a whole new generation of fans who were
downloading Compass' back catalogue, using his face as the background
on their smart phone. They were back on top, and it felt damn good.
If he could just shift that hollow feeling in his chest, Jack thought
to himself, then life would be perfect. But there would always be a
void that fame couldn't fill. Laura. Sara. His lost girls. 

Jack sighed, and
reached into his carry-on for the little bottle of pills his doctor
had given him. Just a little something to help him sleep. To stop him
thinking, at least for a little while. He washed the blue capsule
down with the last of his free First Class champagne and waited for
oblivion.

***

Sara almost missed
the turning, seeing the faded sign only at the last minute. The
dubious looking strip mall also held a nail salon, a liquor store and
a fried chicken joint. The Pussy Parlour occupied the biggest unit,
and the entire front was painted black, with neon signs already
flashing in the dim evening light. Locking the car, Sara felt a
twinge of anxiety. She had never been to one of these places before,
and as much as Erica talked it up, she wasn't sure if she'd be
welcome. Keeping the purpose of her visit in mind, she took a deep
breath and pushed the door open. 

It took a moment
for her eyes to adjust; the inside of the club was so dark, the only
lights coming from the central stage and the candles on the tables.
The place was quiet, but not entirely empty. A group of guys were sat
up close to the stage, barely paying attention to the dark skinned
girl who writhed around a pole inches from their faces. They seemed
more interested in laughing at each others jokes and slapping their
friends on the back than the dancer, who nonetheless seemed to be
giving it her all. There were a couple of other occupied tables at
the back, a guy sat on his own, staring at the stage with glassy
eyes, and a couple engrossed in each other. Sara slid into a corner
table, trying not to draw attention to herself. She planned to buy a
few drinks, be friendly to her waitress, casually mention an old
school friend who used to work here and take it from there. If she
was lucky, Laura might even be working tonight. 

"Can I get you
anything hon?" Sara nearly jumped out of her seat. She'd been so
busy rehearsing her plan, she hadn't noticed the waitress sneak up on
her from behind.  For a second, Sara dared to hope that her
server would be Laura herself, but the curvaceous brunette bore no
resemblance to the photographs. 

"Can I get you
a drink, hon?" she drawled, flashing a row of pearly whites, and
Sara tried to keep her eyes off her generous cleavage as she asked
for a rum and coke. She would need a little dutch courage for the
task ahead.  

"There we go
Darlin'," the waitress bent over to place Sara's drink on the
table, almost falling out of her tight dress in the process.

"Thanks so
much, um..."

"Brandi, and
you're very welcome. Anything else I can do for you?" 

"Actually
Brandi, I was wondering...an old school friend of mine, she used to
work here I think. Her name was Laura something or other. Do you know
if she's still here?"

Brandi narrowed her
eyes, and it was hard to tell if she was suspicious or just thinking.
After a moment, she offered, "Laura....no Lauras here that I can
think of. Mind you, a lot of the girls don't use their own names in
this business, so it's a little hard to tell. My Mom didn't christen
me Brandi, put it that way."  

"I guess that
makes sense. No biggie, just wondering. Thanks for your help."

"Not a problem
sweetheart. You just give me a wave when you need another."

Sara had been
nursing her drink for almost an hour; she was driving, after all, so
she couldn't risk ordering another one. She sensed Brandi was getting
fed up with her. Sara was about to give up and leave. She had been
diligently scanning the club for a glimpse of Laura - if Erica was to
be believed, she had kept the distinctive strawberry blonde hair
colour she sported in all her old photos. But so far, there was no
sign of her. Sara twirled the straw in her drink, idly poking the
slice of lime that had sunk to the bottom  of the glass.
Suddenly, an explosion of noise from the table full of frat boys made
her look up.  

"Yeah, Lola!"
yelled one of the guys, and his buddies chimed in with hollers and
wolf whistles. As Sara watched the girl stride confidently onto the
stage, she could see what all the fuss was about. She was tall, with
a lean, toned physique and legs that went for miles. If her full
breasts were fake, then someone had done a good job, as they looked
perfectly round in her sequined underwear. There was something about
her, a sort of swagger, that made you take a second look. You could
even call it star quality. The minute she stepped on the stage, she
commanded everyone's full attention. But it was the face that caught
Sara's eye. She was older, sure, and thinner, the cheekbones more
defined than they had been in her fresh-faced teenage snapshots. But
Sara had no doubt who she was looking at. Laura. Erica was right. 

As Laura began to
dance, Sara couldn't pull her eyes away. Even in the degrading
surroundings of the dingy club, she was mesmerizing. Now wonder she
had her own little fan club. Like her famous brother, there was a
natural grace and rhythm to her movements. How had she ended up here,
Sara wondered? With that body, she could have been a model, a
professional dancer...hell, with Jack's help, she could have been
anything she wanted. Again, the nagging doubt hit Sara...why had she
kept away this long? What had happened between her and Jack that
would lead her to choose this job, this place, over a life of
comfort? It just didn't make sense. But the doubt made her all the
more determined to talk to Laura, to find out the truth. Sara shifted
her gaze as Laura, or Lola as she was on stage, slowly peeled off her
bra top, exposing her pert nipples to the lustful eyes of the crowd.
As the music swelled to a crescendo, she slid her hands expertly down
her toned torso, teasingly playing with the strings that held her
panties together at the hip. The guys in the front row were growing
increasingly rowdy, waving bills in the air as they whooped their
encouragement. Finally, bending at the waist, she slipped her bottoms
off and stood fully nude for a moment under the spotlight. Then the
lights went down and she slipped off stage. Sara felt herself flush,
feeling guilty for enjoying the performance as much as she had. Was
she really any better than those braying idiots at the front?

There was no time
to consider her ethical stance on stripping, however. Sara had to
talk to Laura before she disappeared. She went to rise from her seat,
but felt a touch on her shoulder. Spinning round, Sara came face to
face with the object of her search, now relatively clothed in another
skimpy set of lingerie.

"Leaving so
soon?" Laura asked, playfully. "Only, I saw you watching me
dance. Thought you might be like a private performance?"

Sara felt the
colour rush to her cheeks.

"I, um,
sorry...I didn't mean to stare. You're a great dancer."

Laura gave a
throaty laugh. " Well that's very nice of you to say. And you're
allowed to stare, that's kind of the point. Don't worry, we get a lot
of girls in these days. Seems to be the new thing. Now, are you sure
you don't want to come to the champagne room with me? Pretty ladies
like you get a discount..."

"Oh, I don't
know..." Sara trailed off. This might be her only chance to get
Laura alone.

"Shame. Guess
I'll go see if any of those morons want a lap dance." Laura
winked at her as she nodded in the direction of the table at the
front.

"No, um, Lola,
wait. I wanted to talk to you...the, um, champagne room sounds good."

"Well, sure
thing. Let's go and, uh, chat." Laura reached out and took
Sara's hand, leading her past the bar and through a small door marked
'Private'.

The 'champagne
room' was tiny, more like a storage closet, but the dark purple walls
and velvet covered couches were clearly aiming for opulence. True to
the description, an ice bucket sat on the low table, and Laura poured
two glasses of something sparkling. She gestured for Sara to sit
down, then stood straddling her, her quivering breasts just inches
from Sara's face. Sara could smell her perfume, something heavy and
musky, with just the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.

"So baby, what
did you want to talk about?" Laura whispered. Placing her hands
on the back of the couch, she began to undulate gently, the tight
muscles of her stomach rippling with every movement.

"Uh..."
Sara mumbled, feeling foolish. How had she let the situation get this
far? She felt nervous, flustered, unsure where to begin.