A petty thief. A reserved gangster. An unpayable debt. A steamy arrangement.
One young woman thinks she has an easy mark when she picks the pocket of a seemingly high roller, but when she's caught red handed, he's anything but, and he's not letting...
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Flashing lights, a smoky room, a thick haze of desire, and a crowd of eager men. Crazy Legs was alive with high spirits that Saturday night. I could feel the drum of anticipation all the way in the dressing room.
It was almost time for me to go on. I stole one last glance in the bulbed mirror I called my own at my vanity station, catching my stoic reflection looking back at me. A mere glimpse at my true self before I put on my mask when I hit the stage and became the ideal male fantasy.
I had been stripping since I was fifteen, and I liked to think that after four years, I was numb to it all. But sometimes, I'd get this feeling. Butterflies in my belly. Nerves, I guessed.
Due to my position as one of the top dancers at the club, I always made sure I was on my A game. Being one of the best made me a target. Not many of the other women at Crazy Legs liked me from the beginning. I was younger, smaller, private, and kept an air of mystery about myself that made some think I was stuck-up. Really, I was doing my best to conceal my age and homelessness.
I didn't mind not making any friends, even if it made work lonely. Dancing was a competitive job, the money was unpredictable, and everyone was hungry.
Bedford Heights, where I lived and worked, wasn't an upscale city by any means, but we weren't too far from LA. That and the local hustlers were generous whenever they came through the building.
It was Saturday night, the weekend. There was no telling who would be waiting for me when I went up to the main floor to dance.
Easing out a final breath, I did a last-minute adjustment of my cleavage, made sure every strand of my dyed red hair was in order, and smacked my glossed lips.
A piercing whistle shot through the air and I turned in time to catch the club owner, David, gesturing for me to get a move on as he came and stood in the doorway.
"Let's go, it's time for my best girl to get up there and earn us some money," he said, rushing me through my process of finding my Zen before I went on.
Around me, other girls kept on doing what they were doing at their stations, some chatting, others applying makeup, or removing it.
I stole one last look at my reflection before rising to stand on my six-inch heels. At fifteen, I could barely walk without nearly biting it. Now at nineteen, I was a pro. They gave a healthy boost to my otherwise height of five-three.
Smoothing my hands down the sheer material of my pale pink negligee, I made my way over to David.
He appraised me as he always did. Long and slow. A wolf marveling at an ensnared lamb. "Lookin' good, kid. Knock 'em dead."
I went on by him to get to the stairs. I took them two at a time to get to the main floor and backstage area where another dancer, Amber, was just coming off the stage. She had her top in one hand and a bag of money in the other.
