Ladies Night (11 page)

A short while later, Amp stood nervously backstage, waiting for his cue to go on.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” DJ Dime spoke into the darkened room. “It is my pleasure to introduce to you this strong and sexy piece of a man. I know it's amateur night, but let me warn you, ladies. Something tells me that he is no amateur. He looks like he knows exactly what he's doing. Ladies, give it up for Amp!”

The women in the club began to whistle and cheer as the curtains slowly parted, giving them a full view of Amp's silhouette. Barefoot, wearing a wife beater and some khakis, Amp walked to the center of the stage. With every step, the women howled. Although Amp had chosen not to wear the entire uniform at the last minute, no one seemed to mind, including Madam, who had just entered the room to take a peek at her latest moneymaker.

The lights were low and the crowd was excited, tantalized by the shadow and shape of Amp's amazing physique, no longer hidden underneath that security shirt and jeans. Amp stood perfectly still as the music came on, even though everything in him wanted to shake the nerves away. He still couldn't believe what was about to go down. He was about to take it off for money. Willing himself to keep his mind on his ultimate goal, he prepared to grind for this crowd of horny, rowdy women.

The bass was deep and thick. The song Amp had chosen for his opening routine was called “Insomnia.” It had a slow groove, and the lyrics were very provocative. He'd predicted that this would make the women hot and ready for his performance. It worked. They were on fire. As soon as he made his first move, someone screamed “Take it off!” But he was a teaser. He wanted to build them into a climax at the end, so he had to make them wait.

Amp moved just a little with every beat of the music, rolling his groin area slowly and intensely, making sure everybody watching knew that he had skills. DJ Dime put a spotlight on Amp's manhood. This drove the women in the audience crazy with anticipation.

Amp was a hit from the start. The audience absolutely loved the newest addition to the club. Amp, on the other hand, couldn't wait for his ten minutes of fame to come to an end—at least until the chants of the crowd helped him loosen up a bit. Then their excitement encouraged Amp to give them what they'd come for. It was too late to turn back now.

The cheering crowd lured Amp from one side of the stage to the other during the first song as he rolled his hips, moved his body seductively, and made eye contact with as many of the women as he could. Remembering what Babyface had told him, Amp looked at each woman as if she were his and he was dancing just for her.

Any time his thoughts wandered back to the reality of what he was doing, Amp forced himself to let it go. He couldn't get caught up in his thoughts; he needed this money if he was ever going to move on with his life. He decided to get out of the way and let his body, the music, and the crowd take over. He became animalistic, using the audience's energy and lust to bring out the freak in him.

Eventually, Amp wasn't even moving his body to the beat of the music anymore, but to the tune of the crowd. As the women got louder and louder, his movements got stronger and stronger. The women were making music of their own, so to speak, and Amp was dancing to it.

By song number two, Amp was in his zone. He had chosen a gritty, Dirty South strip-club song that had the crowd on their feet, dancing and clapping too. The beat had that Atlanta bounce to it, with a heavy bass, and every time the drums hit, he thrust his manhood as hard as he could at some lucky woman in the crowd, paying special attention to the big girls.

It had turned into a wild party. Amp started removing some of his clothes, starting with his wife beater. The ladies lost their minds when Amp exposed his six pack. His upper body looked like something most of the women had only dreamed about—literally.

“Jesus!” a woman called out, and it wasn't because of the one foot cross tattooed on the left side of Amp's chest.

Amp stood there momentarily and let the women take in the view. All the while, he gazed across the room at the ladies, running his hand over his five o'clock shadow. Amp did this intentionally, to make the women contemplate which one of them he was going to take home that night. He was being slick and strategic in making sure he turned them on. This may have been only his second time on that stage, but he did know women and what they liked. Amp was surprised to find that this whole stripping routine came very easy to him. Maybe he was a natural, he thought with amusement.

Amp removed his pants one leg at a time, letting the women take in the full sight of him and his bulge. He smiled, confident in how well-endowed he was. Then he turned to the back of the stage and shook his ass, knowing that probably every woman in the room was imagining what it would be like to grab that ass while he was deep inside of them. He then turned back around to let them see his quadriceps of steel. One woman reached her hand out and stroked the air as if she were running her hands up and down the maze of definition on his torso.

By the handful, ones, fives, tens, and twenties floated to the floor next to Amp's feet. He could see that he was making more on this stage in ten minutes than he had made all week at Mr. Lam's store. The lure of fast money was definitely pulling him in.

DJ Dime's voice floated above the crowd. “We have a bachelorette in here tonight. Nina, where you at? Raise your hand.”

At a table in the middle of the crowd, a group of women started whooping and hollering, pointing at a petite woman wearing a tiara with a veil attached. Her thin-framed glasses and the way she tentatively raised her hand made her look like an innocent little secretary whose friends had twisted her arm to get her to the club.

DJ Dime threw a spotlight on the table. “Since this is her last week of freedom,” she said, “Amp, would you be so kind as to bring her up on stage and give her a treat? Let's send her off into marital bliss with a bang! But go easy on her. We wouldn't want her leaving her man at the altar.”

Amp obliged without hesitation. Babyface had told him that audience participation was a sure way to increase your night's earnings, and he was becoming pretty relaxed anyway, now that the money was flowing freely onto the stage.

Apparently the woman's friends loved the idea of the bride-to-be getting some special attention. As Amp approached and she shrank back in her chair, they began nudging her, urging her to go to the stage. She finally relented and stood up, taking Amp's hand, which he'd been holding out for her. He grabbed her chair with his free hand and carried that up to the stage with them. It was time to see if that YouTube video would pay off.

The bride, who whispered shyly that her name was Nina, pretended she wanted to go back and sit with her girls, blushing and shaking her head; but it was all for show, because she was not fighting Amp one bit.

As they made it to the stage, the third song started to play. This time it was “Adore,” a Prince song, and the women went wild. Amp placed the chair in the middle of the stage and sat Nina in it. He circled around her. She was his sensual prey.

“I ain't never wanted to be another broad in my life, but I damn sure wish I was her right about now,” one of the women in the front row yelled out.

Between Babyface's instructions, the videos Amp had watched on YouTube, and a couple of freaky nights he'd had with ex-lovers, Amp gave Nina the private dance of her life—only it wasn't so private, as all eyes watched Amp's every move. He had Nina sweating and cooing without even touching her. He came close enough to her, though, so that she could smell his scent, hear his breath, and feel the heat of his incredible body. He made her—and the horny onlookers—salivate with desire.

Feeling inspired to go all in as heaps of paper money cascaded to the stage, Amp spread her legs apart into a split. He stood slowly and picked her up effortlessly. Her waist was level with his head, so that to the audience, it looked as if Nina were being kissed in the most intimate of places. The way she was suspended in the air looked like some sort of erotic Cirque du Soleil.

His glutes tightened, and his razor sharp calf muscles went to work in balancing the woman. She was no longer acting like she didn't want to participate. This future bride had given in to the ride of a lifetime, and her friends were astonished. Everyone in that room had just witnessed her climax. Amp had achieved his goal.

Those women lost it. So much money went flying Amp's way that if there were any other dancers left to hit the stage, all the women had left in their purses to give were bobby pins, gum wrappers, and lip-gloss.

Amp placed the blushing bride-to-be back down on the chair as the song ended. His body, now glistening with sweat, was a sight indeed.

The lights went dark, and Amp left the stage the same way he had come—with the crowd on their feet, wanting more from him. Now he only hoped it was all worth it. He'd find out just as soon as he counted his earnings.

Madam stood in her office doorway, nodding her head in approval. Amp acknowledged her, as well as the crowd that was yelling for an encore. They were demanding more; now Amp would be left with the decision of whether he would give them what they desired.

After his performance, it was back to work as usual for Amp, although he definitely had to come down off of a high. He hadn't had attention from a woman in years, so now to be dealing with a room full of women showing him that much love was somewhat overwhelming.

He returned to his position as club security and continued his regular duties for the night, every now and then having to bring his thoughts back to reality after traveling to his moments on the stage. Club Eden had certainly reminded him just how beautiful the female species was and how it felt to be next to a woman.

Around two in the morning, women began to leave the club.

“Be safe,” Amp told a group of them as they passed by.

“You t—” One woman started to return the same sentiment, until she looked up at Amp. Squinting in the semi-darkness, she said, “Wait a minute. Aren't you that guy that was just inside dancing?”

Amp had already recognized her as one of the big tippers who'd been seated in the front row. Apparently she'd been staring too hard at his body to get a good look at his face, because now that he was in his security uniform, she wasn't sure it was Amp who had been dancing.

He decided to play incognito. She'd been pretty rowdy in the club, and now that it was nearly closing time, he didn't want her getting worked up again. In addition, he was feeling slightly embarrassed to be recognized as a guy who'd just taken off his clothes for money. These women didn't know his story. As far as they were concerned, he was just some gigolo, and Amp didn't like the way that felt.

“That's too bad. We were gonna come back next week and spend some more money on him,” she said.

She and her girls were all friendly smiles as they said good night and walked away. Nothing in the way they looked at him made Amp feel like they were judging him. Perhaps he was overthinking it and didn't need to feel embarrassed. Perhaps what he needed to feel was happy that he was a hit, and that they were willing to come back with more money next week.

With that thought in mind, Amp called out, “I think that guy you're talking about might be back next week.”

The big tipper from the front row turned around and said, “We'll see,” tapping her purse.

“See you then,” Amp said under his breath as he headed inside the club.

Amp made his way toward the stage area. He spotted Madam over at the DJ booth talking to Dime. Walking toward them, he pulled the tips that he'd made that night out of his pocket.

“Excuse me, Madam,” Amp respectfully interrupted. “What's the usual percentage that I'm supposed to give you and the DJ?”

Madam held her finger up to pause her conversation with Dime, then she turned to Amp. “On amateur night you can keep it all. If you come on as a regular dancer, I get fifteen percent and the DJ gets five. So tonight, it looks like I'm the one who owes you.” Madam pulled out some bills. “Here's your doorman pay for the night, minus the time that you were in here turning my place out.”

Amp lowered his head in embarrassment, although he couldn't help but smile at her compliment.

“You really should consider doing this again,” Madam suggested. “You're very handsome, have an amazing body, and the women are going nuts over you.”

She must have sensed some hesitation in Amp's body language, because when she saw that the compliments weren't enough to convince him, she tried another tactic, appealing to his work ethic. “You know, when I first met you, you seemed to be very focused, like you're determined to make something of yourself. You could make a lot of money on that stage in a short amount of time—for whatever it is you're working so hard for. Trust me, I know a good fit when I see it, and you are good for business.”

“Thank you. I'll think about it. But tomorrow, I'll be back on the door.”

Amp really did want to have some time to think about it, so he switched the subject in a hurry. Dime was still standing there, watching them have a conversation, so he decided to introduce himself to her. They hadn't formally met yet, because she was already in the booth working by the time Amp showed up each night.

“I'm Amp,” he said, suddenly realizing how attractive she was. Up until now, Dime had basically been a figure in a booth, a voice over the mic. Now he was seeing her figure up close and personal.

She stood about six feet tall in heels, which meant she was at least five foot seven without them. The way the club lights were hitting her pretty brown skin, it only complemented her glow. She didn't wear a whole lot of makeup, but she definitely didn't need to. She had natural beauty that didn't need to be covered by heavy cosmetics. Her long, thick lashes flickered above her big, brown eyes, and full lips that spread into a smile, revealing pretty white teeth.

Amp wasn't good with guessing women's sizes, but she had a nice and natural shape. She was fit and still curvy. She wasn't dressed like one would imagine a typical DJ to dress either. Those jeans she was wearing, that tank top, and those pink-and-white manicured nails made her hotter than any DJ Amp had ever seen.

“Allison.” Dime smiled, and small dimples dented her russet bronze cheeks. “But my working name is DJ Dime.” She stared Amp right in the eyes. She'd already stared at his body for ten minutes while he did his show, so she knew what he was working with.

“Good to meet you.” Amp nodded. There was a long moment where neither of them wanted to break eye contact. Finally Amp spoke up, not wanting to seem too forward, no matter how much he was feeling a spark between them. “Well, I guess I'll see you ladies tomorrow,” he said, tucking his money back in his pocket.

“Definitely,” Dime said with a half-smile. She and Madam enjoyed the view as he walked away.

 

 

Amp had just gotten his workout on at the park and was jogging up the street to the house when he saw Mr. Barrett standing on the porch with a briefcase in hand. His assumed that his parole officer was waiting on him.

“How's it going, Mr. Barrett?” Amp said as he walked up the porch steps.

“Fine. How are you?”

Amp sensed that Mr. Barrett couldn't care less how he was doing, asking only out of formality. Still, he replied, “I'm gettin' by.”

“I heard about the robbery.”

“Yeah. It cost me my job.” Amp shrugged. No need to go into details as if Mr. Barrett cared. “It is what it is.”

“You didn't know the guy or have anything to do with it?”

Amp was slightly taken aback, but he didn't let it show. He had to remember that to his parole officer, he was just another ex-con, and if he lost his cool, he would be back in jail before he even made it out of the halfway house. Amp gave the parole officer the benefit of the doubt, telling himself that Mr. Barrett was just trying to stay on top of his job—and his clients. So, Amp simply replied, “No, and no.”

“Okay, I had to ask. Just like I have to ask you to drop today.”

“Okay. You got the cup?” Amp said it matter-of-factly, to let Mr. Barrett know that he had nothing to hide.

Mr. Barrett pulled a container out of his briefcase and handed it to Amp. “Do I need to watch you?” Mr. Barrett asked.

“Nah, I'm clean.”

“Go ahead. You got ninety seconds.” Mr. Barrett raised his wrist, displaying his watch. He really was putting Amp on a countdown.

Amp darted into the house. A minute later, he returned the cup with his sample back to Mr. Barrett. Mr. Barrett took it, nodding just once before he walked off the porch and back to his car.

Paul joined Amp on the steps, and the two men watched Mr. Barrett back out of the driveway, shoot Amp an unsettling look, then drive away.

“Is he always like this?” Amp asked Paul.

“Pretty much.” Paul thought for a moment and then turned to Amp. “I'm going to test you today too.”

“For what?” Clearly Paul knew he had just given a sample to Mr. Barrett. Why did he want one as well?

Watching Mr. Barrett's brake lights as his car turned at the corner, Paul said, “Just to be on the safe side.” He headed back in the house, and Amp followed behind him.

“Okay,” Amp said. What else could he say? Like Paul always stressed, he was the one who ran that house. Amp wasn't about to put up a fight, especially since he was clean. He concluded that working at a bar would give people doubt, but he knew the test would come back clear.

 

 

“So how was your first time?” Madam asked Amp, who was posted up at the front entrance of the club. He and Babyface had been standing there talking and laughing for a few minutes when Madam came out of the club and joined the conversation.

“It was okay,” Amp replied. He wasn't about to tell her the whole truth, how his nerves had him five seconds from running off that stage before the hook of the first song had a chance to play. “The money was good.” Now that was the truth. “Made like three hundred fifty dollars in only three songs.”

Babyface dapped Amp and then headed back inside the club, leaving Amp to talk with Madam.

Madam nodded. “That's good money to make in that short amount of time. Is it something you'd do again?”

“I don't know. Maybe.” Amp had been asking himself the same question ever since he left the stage. His answer constantly changed as he continued to toy with the idea. The money was good, but was that really what he wanted as a career move? Then again, was being a security guard at a strip club any more prestigious? The reality was Amp was an ex-con, so at this point, anything legal was a step up.

“Good,” Madam said. “Because I had a client request you for a private party. You could make three times as much as you made the other night.”

The look of uncertainty did not leave Amp's face, even at the prospect of a bigger payday. “Madam, with all due respect, I'm going to have to pass. I don't think the house supervisor is gonna go for that private party stuff.” Paul had been good about Amp working at the corner store and even up in the club. He hadn't really pressed him too hard, if at all. Amp figured he'd better leave well enough alone.

“Would he allow you to dance here regularly?”

“Possibly. I can ask.”

“You should. The ladies were loving you, so you'll definitely make some good money. Think about it. But if you're going to do it on a more regular basis, you'll eventually have to get a little more creative with your routine. The women love new blood—or should I say fresh meat?—but eventually they'll want you to mix it up some. Maybe incorporate some of that stuff I saw you doing on the bars at the park.”

“Okay. I'll let you know,” he said, and she nodded then turned to go back into the building.

“Madam,” Amp called to her.

She stopped, holding back her smirk. She knew exactly what was coming next.

“If Mr. Harold approves it, when can I start?”

“Next week. You can do amateur night again. It'll give you a little time to work on your routine. Then, you can start full-time Thursday if you want.”

“When I'm not on stage, can I still work the door?” Amp didn't want any down time. He wanted to stay on the clock and keep making money.

“No,” she said. Amp was momentarily disappointed, until she explained, “You'll be making money in between your sets. Those women are going to keep you busy, trust me. I can't have my new star out here working the front door. It's not sexy.”

“Okay.” It sounded good to Amp. As long as he was making money, it was all making sense.