G-Men: The Series (6 page)

The door to Janine’s office opened, and a teary-eyed, twenty-something girl came out. Her face was blotchy from crying. I felt sorry for her without even knowing why. She couldn’t have been more than early twenties. I cringed at the thought of Lindsey ever having to make her living in a place like this.

What the hell? I was here fully prepared to do just that. What a contradiction. I rationalized that I wasn’t here to really earn a living. I was here to find my identity. That made it more palatable in my mind.

I saw a woman who I presumed to be Janine poke her head out of the office and look over towards me.

“Are you Samantha?”

“Uh, yes. Janine?”

“You guessed it, sweetie. Come on in.”

I made my way over to her office. She closed the door behind us and instructed me to take off my coat.

I’d worn a pair of my new, tight jeans with a clingy spandex top, and three-inch, heeled boots. This was done per Vonda’s strict instructions.

“She has to see your body, sweetie,”‘ she explained. Vonda had also told me to wear a bikini underneath my clothes for my dancing demo. I’d been forced to order one online because it wasn’t actually bikini season in Indianapolis. I’d paid more to have it shipped next-day than for the bikini itself. It was a simple black bikini, trimmed in gold. I thought it had a classy appeal to it.

“So, Red says you’re looking for some part-time shifts, pole-dancing only. Let me take a look at you.”

“Red?”

“Oh, sorry. That’s what I call my sister, Vonda. I mean seriously that hair of hers is something else, right?”

I simply nodded.

She lifted my shirt up to look at my bare stomach. “Nice and flat tummy, no stretch marks. Those tits your own?”

“What? Oh, uh yeah. They’re mine.”

“Lower your jeans, babe. Red says you have a perky tush that’s to die for.”

I felt myself blush. I hadn’t done that in ages because I hadn’t had cause to do that in ages. I unfastened my jeans, kicking my boots off and lowered my jeans, stepping out of them.

“Now, turn around please.”

I did as instructed, letting Janine peruse my bikini-clad body.

“Red’s right. You’ve got the body for this place. Need to see what you can do on the pole, though. Follow me.”

I followed Janine back out into the main room. She headed over to the jukebox, asking me what song I wanted for my dance.

“Is ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ by Def Leppard on there?”

“Honey, this is satellite music. We can get anything your little heart desires. Def Leppard it is.”

‘Boston Kevin’ was still behind the bar, setting up glassware I noticed as I took the stage. He was totally inattentive to my dance demo, which made me more comfortable. It was probably old hat to him anyway.

The music started. This was the song I’d used for my dance at Foxy’s. Ginger had given me a 9.5 out of a perfect 10 score. I now put everything out of my mind. I let the music take over. The length and width of the horseshoe stage allowed for lots of creativity, and there were three poles spaced apart on each stage.

I executed perfect form on my spins and climbs, twirling around and around on my triple snowflake. I ended the song with my upside-down twirl, hooking my outside leg around the pole, my arms outstretched, my back arched as I descended down the pole, my legs outstretched into straddle splits at the end, my head bowed down, my face buried behind my forearms that were now clutched in front of me.

“Not bad; not bad at all, girlie. Let’s talk.”

I followed Janine back into her office. I put my shirt and jeans back on while she gave me the lowdown on the club. There was an open slot left by the previous dancer, Diamond. Janine was willing to give me a shot at filling it.

All of the dancers had stage names. My name would be ‘Diamond.’ She cautioned me about giving personal information out to the other dancers or the clientele.

“This isn’t a strip club and it’s not a whore house. We provide entertainment to mostly male clients. Most of them are regulars, and some of them are wealthy. I don’t know your particular situation, Samantha, but I have a feeling you’re a babe in the woods, even at your ripe old age of thirty-five.”

I started to say something, but Janine held her hand up to let her continue.

“I only know your age because Red told me. You look and dance like you’re twenty-five. Trust me, if you looked your age, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. That’s not a jab, honey. Thirty-five is still young in my book, but in this business, it’s a rarity to have anyone past thirty dancing. It’s a shame because these young girls don’t always have their shit together. That’s where problems can and do occur. Diamond’s gone because she made coke and Percocet her priority over everything else. My dancers need to stay clean. I know that isn’t an issue for you. I can tell.”

Someone tapped lightly on her door.

“What?” she hollered out.

‘Boston Kevin’ poked his head in the door to let Janine know that another candidate was waiting to be interviewed.

“Tell her to sit tight. I may not need to interview her, depending upon how things go here.”

He nodded and shut the door.

“So, Sam, are you interested?”

“I might be,” I said, surprising myself. “What will my shift be?”

“Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday from 6:00 p.m. until 10:30 p.m. That’s considered our second shift. We stagger the dancers, so you’ll dance about once every half hour. You’re expected to socialize with the customers, up to a limit.”

“What’s the limit?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know if any customers go beyond it. We have plenty of bouncers and servers that keep their eye out for any funny stuff. They report any behavioral issues directly to me or the assistant manager, Lenny. One of us is always here.”

She pulled several forms out of her desk drawer and handed them to me.

“Here’s a listing of proper attire and where to purchase it. You’re required to have at least four different ensembles to wear and rotate them. The next sheet is our code of conduct which is strictly enforced. The third one is to be filled out and returned for setting you up on payroll. I’ll need photo identification to copy for your personnel file.”

This was all going so fast. I was in a fog, only half-hearing what Janine was saying. My God! What was Jack going to say when I told him?

Maybe I wouldn’t tell him. Maybe this was something that would just be mine and no one else’s.

“Now,” Janine said, “you’ll need to be fitted for a dancer’s wig. Trust me, those suckers don’t fall off…even when you’re twirling upside down. You’ll need to get here an hour before your first shift on your first day so that Margo can show you how you need to be made up. After that, you’re responsible for doing your own make-up, unless you arrange in advance for Margo to do it. Don’t forget, she works on total commission from the dancers. The club will provide you with your wig and make-up case. You’re responsible for buying your own ensembles, per the listing I gave you. Make sure you get some coordinating palm gloves to go with your outfits or you’ll have horrible blisters.”

I continued to nod, as Janine continued to give me instructions.

“Lastly,” she said, “you need to either get some tanning sessions or schedule a body spray tan session about once a week. Tanned bodies are sexier bodies. If you have an aversion to using a tanning bed, there are plenty of salons that do the spray tan thing.”

I nodded again. That was going to be my choice. I’d never taken to using tanning beds.

“So, do you have any questions for me, Sam?”

“When do I start?”

^{chapter 6}

I sat in front of the lighted mirror in the dancer’s dressing room right behind the stage. This was my third week working. It was a Friday, and the place had filled up fast. Margo came up behind me and twirled the chair around so that she could finish applying my false eyelashes. They had glitter in them.

After make-up, Margo would finish my hair. It was worth it to me to have her do this, and I’d been quick to line her up for my pre-shift appointments. She’d always done the former Diamond’s hair and make-up.

Jack had returned from his nearly two-week trip to Charlotte unexpectedly this morning. We had spoken several times on the phone during his trip. It was mostly him calling to remind me to take something to the cleaners, and then again to remind me to pick it up. He’d talked to Lindsey because he knew about her going skiing over the Thanksgiving holiday, which was quickly approaching.

I’d concocted a last minute excuse for leaving at 4:30 to head to the club. I hadn’t told Jack that I had a part-time job yet. I hadn’t told anyone.

Luckily, I’d taken all of my dancing ensembles, including my six pairs of new spiked heels and boots to the club. We all had lockers there. My make-up case was in the back of my Mercedes, along with my wig case. I’d washed and conditioned the long, light brunette wig that I wore as ‘Diamond.’ It was cut beautifully in long layers. The front had long bangs, feathered around the face. It was quite stunning. I’d been surprised to find out that it was human hair. It had to have cost the club a pretty penny.

My own hair was a bit more of a blondish-brown. It fell almost to my shoulders. The hair in my wig fell way past my shoulders. I could wear it up in fancy hairstyles, with sexy tresses hanging down around my face to frame it in playful, wispy curls. Margo had styled it for me my first two nights dancing. She could work magic with everything having to do with hair, make-up and wardrobe. I loved her from the moment Janine introduced us.

Margo was in her mid-thirties, too. She’d shared with me that she had danced until about five years ago. Her husband had made her quit once they got married. She had laughed when she told me that they’d actually met due to him being a regular at the club.

“He used to leave me humungous tips,” she said. “He always came in on just the nights I danced. He discouraged any other dudes from tipping me. He kind of staked his claim right off the bat, I guess you could say. It really kind of pissed me off at first, then when I saw how sweet and kind he was, I was in love. I guess I should be thankful he doesn’t forbid me from doing the hair and make-up for the dancers.”

Oh God, one of those…

I then mentally smacked myself for thinking like that. After all, I’d pretty much let Jack define me for all of these years.

“What does your husband do?” I asked, as she put the finishing touches on my hair with a generous sprinkling of glitter.

“He manages the Harley shop downtown. He’s looking to buy into it because the current owner wants to spend more time at their vacation home in Denver during the summer. It’s fine by me. We just have to see how we can swing the financial part of it. There you are, Diamond. You look perfect, once again.”

She twirled the chair back around so that I could see the finished product. She did excellent work. I didn’t recognize myself. Margo had, once again, successfully transformed me from plain old Samantha into the beautiful and mysterious ‘Diamond.’ I loved being someone else while I was at the club. Anyone other than who I really was would do.

“You certainly work magic, Margo,” I said, pressing two twenty-dollar bills into her hand. “Thank you.”

“No magic needed for you Diamond. You got the look going.”

We were interrupted when a high-pitched, whiney voice demanded Margo’s attention. It was Garnet, the petite, red-haired dancer who worked the same shift as me.

“Can you spare a few minutes to work on me, Margo?”

Her tone was all about irritation. She gave me a quick glance, then mentally dismissed me. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to earn her dislike, but it was evident in her dismissive attitude towards me.

“Sure, Garnet. Take a seat.”

I left to finish dressing. My dance was coming up and the place was fairly packed. I wasn’t going to let Garnet’s whiney-ass attitude dampen my mood. My mood always seemed to escalate when I was dancing at the club. I loved it.

The money was pretty damn good too. I’d been shocked when I counted my tips up after the first couple of nights I worked. I’d made a little over four hundred dollars my first night, and nearly six hundred my second one. After that, I pretty much averaged anywhere from five to seven hundred per night. Not too shabby for doing something that I absolutely loved doing.

I heard my name being announced as next up on the dance floor. I moistened my lips, smoothed my sequined boy shorts into place, and checked that my garters were straight.

Showtime.

I’d finished my number and was headed back to the dressing room to change when Janine intercepted me.

“Hey, got a customer that wants to buy you a drink, Diamond. He’s over at table six.”

I still wasn’t totally comfortable with this part of the job. It wasn’t that any hanky-panky took place. Janine and the bouncers were really strict about that. It was simply a matter of my being out of my comfort zone. I was a dancer, not a talker. It went with the territory, though, and I needed to get used to it.

“Sure thing,” I replied, turning back and heading out into the crowded room.