I'VE never had to tell Tyler to keep his hands to himself. He's always been sweet, respectful, kind of attractive, and a gentleman to boot. He's become one of my regulars, and I find that I actually don't mind seeing him. In fact, I look forward to it. For him it's all about the human contact and the idea of a pretty girl paying him attention. He books the same private room each week, orders the same drinks, and pays me the same tip each time. We talk about anything and everything and if all of my clients were nice as him, my job would be a whole lot easier.
I slip in through the heavy curtain to find Tyler already sitting in the soft lounge seat with a glass of bourbon in his hand. He looks up and I smile, always happy to see a familiar face in a city full of strangers.
"Hey, sweetie."
His smile is bright and his eyes are heavy. "Hey, gorgeous."
Leaning in for a brief hug, I press my fingers to his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath them. "Long day?"
He shakes his head. "Long week. Eighty hours since Monday."
My eyes widen with concern, and I place my open palm against his scruffy cheek. "You're going to make yourself sick."
That's the nice thing about someone like Tyler; I don't have to pretend. My affection for the guy is genuine-it's not the same as lust or real attraction, but there's something gentle and almost boyish about him that calls to the mother in me. He's just begging for someone to take care of him, and in my own special way I do. He just pays me for it.
He shrugs, slipping the expensive suit jacket from his arms and draping it onto the seat beside him. "Let's not talk about work tonight," he says with a tired smile. "How's tricks?"
"Same old," I reply as my thumb slides down the screen of my mp3 player. Tyler's eyes light up when the song I pick starts up. I grin, flicking my hair over my shoulder. "An oldie but goodie, right?"
He watches me from his seat, his eyes drawn to my legs. Tyler is a leg man, and tonight I'm in a pair of sky-high, patent leather heels. They pinch my toes and make my calves cramp, but they also make my legs look long, and it's nice to be able to look guys in the eyes sometimes.
I don't fuss too much with Tyler. I dance a little, peeling my gauzy camisole off before sliding onto his lap. I rock and I grind, I press my hands to his chest and his arms, using his shoulders for leverage as I swivel my hips over his lap. He smiles through the whole thing, his hands respectful and his eyes soft as he rests his head back on the seat.
Something tells me that if I weren't here the guy would be fast asleep in two seconds flat.
Still, we talk a little-just the easy stuff: the weather, the basketball, the new flashy restaurants he's been to, and it's simple and nice.
But in the end his time come to an end, and he slips me my tip with a thank you before disappearing out into the club again. It's as easy as that.
Most of the time.
I don't know if there's a full moon approaching, but Saturday night the club is full of men absolutely begging to sink their money into top shelf drinks and expensive company. By one o'clock the place is packed, and I'm doing all I can just to stay on my feet. My calves are killing me and my lower back hurts, plus the push-up bra I'm wearing is pinching under my arms and if I weren't already being paid for it I'd rip it off.
Nick has me on the main floor for a little while, sitting in lap, booking by dance card so to speak. About midnight I finish my turn on stage and spend a little time "mingling" before swapping out with Katie and taking my shift in the private area.
Blush is all about luxury settings and the illusion of complete privacy. Each room holds either a single seat or a circular booth that can hold up to four at a time. The clients wait their turn in a plush waiting area in the centre, where waitresses keep them plied with drinks so they're more likely to empty their wallets into our waiting hands. The private areas are watched over by security at all times, and there are cameras in each room with a feed back to security and Nick's office.
Again, it's all about the illusion of privacy.
A group of men-well, almost men-are waiting in the lounge, their eyes wide as the girls walk by.
"David?" I ask sweetly, fluttering my false lashes beneath my blonde bangs.
A timid-looking guy in the centre raises his hand. "Th-that's me."
I saunter over, letting him and his friends get a good look, and take a seat on the sofa beside the groom.
"Someone told me you're getting married next week."
He nods, swallowing hard enough that I see his Adam's apple bob up and down.
"Congratulations," I say with a coy smile and a hand on his knee. "Are you excited?"
His mouth makes a perfect little 'o', and his eyes pop open. "Like, am I turned on?"
His friends erupt into a fit of laughter, and I giggle. "No, silly. About the wedding!"
The guy lets out a breath and nods. "Yeah, I guess," he says with a blush. I laugh. The shy ones are always fun.
"Well, how about we have a little fun before you're officially off the market?" He nods. "Your friends were nice enough to pay for a private dance for you. Let me find somewhere so we can get started, okay, sweetheart?"
I pass a waitress on the way down the hall, and she promises to keep the stag party well liquored. Something about their designer shirts and expensive jeans tells me the boys aren't quite self-sufficient yet. There's always money to be spent when it's not yours, and to be honest, I don't really care where the money comes from, as long as they spend it.
Most of the curtains are drawn, the rooms behind occupied. It's a busy Saturday night, and private dances, especially with a group, can be good money. Not even bothering to check first, I draw the curtain back on room three, expecting it to be empty. A yelp escapes my lips before I have a chance to catch it, and my hand flies to my mouth.
Tania is on her knees in front of some guy who just looks up and grins at me as I stand there in shock.
"You wanna taste, baby girl?" he says.
With a wet pop, Tania lifts her head from his lap and turns to me.
"I'm sorry..." I whisper. "I didn't..."
With a look of contempt, she reaches back and yanks the curtain closed again, leaving me standing in the hallway.
I'm speechless.
There's always the possibility that Tania knows the guy, that they're friendly. But it's common knowledge that she's been screwing Nick, so I have to think that there's also the distinct possibility that he's just some random guy. My head swims with questions like, is he paying her? Is he clean? How long has she been doing this? And worst of all, does Nick know?
I force the thoughts to the back of my mind, trying my best to snap back to reality. I've seen some eye-opening things since I started working for Nick, and the fact that this is what really shocks me really says something.
Thankfully, the groom ends up being an absolute doll. By the time I'm finished with him, his blush reaches from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck, disappearing into his shirt.
"Thanks," he says quietly as I lead him back out to the waiting room.
"My pleasure," I reply with a wink. "Good luck next week."
He's barely sitting before one of his friend stands, his hand in the air like a school kid. "Me next!"
Unfortunately, he's not quite the gentleman his friend is. When I push my ass back into his lap, his hands appear on my thighs.
"Watch your hands, handsome," I say, tucking them by his side again.
He apologizes, and I continue.
He watches with rapt fascination as I straddle his lap and press his head between my breasts. It's not my favorite thing to do, but it tends to keep his kind placated for a while. Of course, this isn't enough, and as soon as his head pops up again he grabs a handful of my ass. I stop dancing and grab his hands with mine. His eyes widen.
"Last chance, buddy," I warn, sounding a whole lot more direct than I did a moment ago. "Keep your hands to yourself, or there'll be trouble."
He nods vigorously. "Okay, sorry. Sorry."
He's got about five minutes left, but he's really pushed his luck, so I slide right off his lap and continue the dance in front of him, just out of reach. As he said he would, he keeps his word and his hands to himself.
Until he doesn't.
Figuring he can get one grab in before I leave the room, he attaches a sweaty hand to my right breast.
"Hey!" I yell, slapping it away. "Mike!" The curtain is whipped aside in half a second, and Mikey-a six-foot, two hundred-pound bouncer-steps in.
"Hands," I say, pointing at the guy, who's suddenly not so cocky when faced with a pair of fists the size of dinner plates.
Without so much as a word, Mikey rips the guy out of his seat by the back of his shirt. He stumbles and pleads, but it falls on deaf ears. "You were told not to touch," is all Mikey says as he drags him through the waiting room. He points a meaty finger at the bunch of guys, including the shocked groom.
"All of you," he booms. "Out."
I don't need to follow them to know what happens. I've seen Mikey toss men a good eight feet out the side door and onto the bitumen.
"You good?" he asks when he returns.
"I'm fine," I say, patting him on the bicep that's the size of my head. "Thanks."
You'd think guys like that would rattle me, and at first they did. I'd spend the rest of the night jittery and upset, scared that every guy after that would be the same. But now, after being at Blush for almost six months, I've seen it all. It's become part of the job, par for the course. Do I like it? No. But it happens. The alcohol we so readily ply them with turns some guys into heroes, into cavemen, or just into idiots. The fact of the matter is, no matter how big they think they are, or how tough they think they are, there's always someone bigger and tougher on the other side of the curtain just waiting for the opportunity to beat a little sense back into them.
The rest of the night is uneventful. I make decent tips, and Nick is actually happy, which means that the girls are happy, which means that everyone is happy.
Shut-out rolls around quickly, and even though I should know better, as I'm packing up I can't help but wonder if there will be a car waiting for me tonight.
The ride home the night before had been quiet except for the purr of the engine and the low hum of the radio.
"You didn't have to pick me up," I'd said, smiling at him in the grey light of early morning.
He turned to me briefly, something soft and sleepy about his expression. "I was awake anyway."
I laughed. "Liar."
I watched from the corner of my eye as his hand reached for the gearstick between us. I had to hide my smile when I noticed the green Bandaid still stuck to his knuckles. The grey morning rolls past as the Mustang purr through the foggy city streets.
Instead of parking the car, he had practically driven me to the door.
"You're not coming in?" I'd asked, immediately feeling stupid. This wasn't a date, you idiot.
Harry shook his head. "Early start."
I'd wanted to ask what was so urgent that it had to be done at six a.m. on a Saturday morning. But I'd swallowed my curiosity instead. "Thank you for the ride."
His reply had been a soft shrug of one shoulder, a gentle smile curving his lips up a little, and the look had stained the back of my eyelids, appearing every time I closed my eyes.
I feel stupid for hoping he's there again tonight. Hope can be a dangerous thing-especially when it comes in such attractive wrapping. But that little spark buried deep inside of my chest, that tiny little blossom of... something... that's ignited inside of me, feels good. And as stupid as it feels, I want to hold on to it, even if just for a moment.
Nick slips me my envelope as I'm leaving, and I'm pleased to find it contains exactly what it should tonight.
"Good work with those assholes in the stag party, Scarlet," he says, nodding stoically. "See you tomorrow night."
I can't help but smile. That's about as close to a thank you from Nick as I'm ever going to get. "Thanks."
"Nice work tonight, babe," says Nick, tapping Tania on the backside lightly. She smiles, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
It doesn't escape my notice that her envelope is especially thick.
I step outside, trying my best not to look like I'm searching for a black Mustang, and then trying to hide the streak of disappointment that shoots through me when it's not there.
The morning is verging on icy, and I pull my coat tighter around me. It feels good to be in flat shoes again-albeit a little lower to the ground-but my legs are screaming for a hot shower, and my bones ache to be in bed.
Katie follows me out, and the two of us stand at the curb together, her smoking a cigarette, me with my arms wrapped tightly across my torso in an attempt to keep warm. We both watch as a group of drunken girls stagger past, all giggles and messy hair. Heels dangle from their fingertips, and they all look worse for wear. They spot Katie and me waiting outside the club, and the happy-go-lucky demeanor fades.
"Sluts," says one, too loud to be a real whisper.
I ignore them, but Katie flips them her middle finger.
"Can I ask you a question?" I ask her quietly, ignoring the girls as they stumble away.
She nods, the cigarette dangling from her mouth.
I mash my lips together, trying to think of the best way to ask without getting anyone in trouble.
"Have you noticed anything shady going on lately?"
Katie snorts. "You mean more shady than usual?"
A cab pulls up to the sidewalk, and I open the back door. "Well, yeah."
The cherry from Katie's cigarette disappears into the foggy morning air as she flicks it aside. "Like what?"
"You gettin' in?" yells the driver.
I toss my bag onto the back seat. "Yeah, just give me a minute." I turn back to Katie. "Like any of the girls taking money for"-I let out a shaky breath-"sexual favors? Blow jobs and stuff?"
A little crease appears between Katie's eyebrows. She tucks her dark hair behind an ear, looking at the ground.
"Katie?"
"I've heard some things. That's all."
"Heard what?"
She shrugs one shoulder. "Nick has been throwing private parties. Leah said he asked her to go; said she could earn some extra money on the side."
"Did she go?"
Katie shakes her head. "I guess she spoke to one of the other girls first. She didn't say exactly what was happening, but I got the idea that Nick was paying some of them to sleep with guys."
"Oh my God."
"Did you see something?"
I nod, unwilling to give away any further information that could get me in any more trouble.
"Yo, doll, the meters running here!" calls the cabbie.
"Okay, okay." I reach out and take Katie's hand, squeezing it between both of mine. "Please don't get involved with any of that shit, Katie."
Katie shakes her head, and her dark hair falls over her face. The gesture makes her look her age-so young and naïve. "No way."
"Promise me."
She rolls her eyes, but nods anyway. "I promise."
My head is still spinning, even as I slip quietly into the Eizadis' apartment to pick up Cody.
I pull back the covers and slip my arms under his back. I almost groan with the effort of lifting him from the bed, doing my best to shoulder his backpack and mine without dropping him. He's dead weight in my arms, his limbs limp with sleep, his head lolling against my shoulder.
I climb the stairs slowly and stand outside my front door for what feels like forever, fumbling with my bag, trying to find my keys. It's never easy, but for some reason tonight I just can't seem to juggle everything and work my hands at the same time.
"Want some help?"
My arms tighten instinctively around Cody, and I spin around, my heart racing.
Harry takes a step back. "Sorry," he says quietly, lowering his hood.
"You scared the crap out of me," I whisper, smiling shakily, even though my heart is just about ready to leap out of my mouth.
He motions to my front door. "Can I help?"
"Oh. Um... could you grab the keys out of my bag, please?"
I lift one of the arms I have around Cody, and Harry gingerly slips his hand inside my handbag, searching for my house keys. As soon as he does, I regret it. I can't imagine the things he's likely to find in there: Wet Wipes, candy wrappers, old packs of gum, a thousand old receipts, tampons, and probably one of Cody's toys.
Thankfully, he finds the keys quickly.
"The silver one."
As usual, the hallway is shadowy, but even so when he turns to the door I catch a glimpse of a cut beneath his eye that looks fresh, the skin around it almost purple. He pushes the door open and then steps aside for me. When he looks up I can't hide my curiosity as I look over his face, cataloguing the new cut on his cheek and the small nick on his bottom lip.
"Everything okay?" I ask, hoisting Cody up higher on my hip.
Swallowing, Harry takes a little step back, allowing me to enter my apartment. He looks genuinely thrown at my concern. He nods, looking somewhat flustered and uncomfortable.
There's a long, deep silence between us.
Even with this latest round of marks on his otherwise lovely skin, there's still something soft about the way he looks at me. It makes me feel exposed like nothing has before.
"Would you like to come over for dinner tonight? I'm making hamburgers."
The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about them. I wait for him to politely decline. Heaven knows he must already think I'm a total flake-stripper by night, single mother by day. But his answer surprises me.
"What time?"
"Six?" I practically whisper, the words caught in my throat. I clear it quickly, repeating myself. "Six? It's early, I know, but Cody goes to bed at seven thirty, and I have to be at work by nine."
"Six is fine," he replies with a single nod, handing me my house keys back. "I'll be here."
I smile, and his eyes flicker to my mouth momentarily before moving away. "Okay."
He flips the hood on his jacket up and takes a step back toward the stairs. "Okay."