Nudity For Fun and Profit Chapter Ten: Fresh Blood

“Excuse me, Gorgeous.”

The man addressing me is wearing a used car salesman’s smile and a Hawaiian shirt. His hair is white, and he looks a bit like Don Knotts. Except Don Knotts is better looking. Regardless, this could mean money, so I bend down.

“Yes?”

Sure enough, he unfolds a piece of paper and holds it out in front of my face. “Is my funny money redeemable with you?”

I squint at it. It’s funny money, all right, bearing the name ANGELS across the top. But it’s the wrong color. Blue instead of red. It also looks like the dance ticket has seen better days. One of its corners is missing, and the fold marks are permanent by now.

“I’ll have to check on that for you,” I say politely. “Can you hang on for just a moment?”

“You go ahead and do that, luscious. I’ll be waiting.”

I resist the urge to retch.

… Stay calm, Alicia. If he wants to call you “Luscious,” then that’s what he calls you. He can call you “Bitchface” if he pays you enough for your time.  What difference does it make?

Doing my best to ignore my inner dialogue, I rush over to Jose’s pulpit, where I explain the situation. He conducts a quick pow-wow with Tim and comes back to me.

“It’s okay,” Jose says. “It’s one of our old dance tickets, that’s all. He paid for it here. We’ll take it.”

I’m on my way back over to the Don Knotts guy to do my first lap dance, and Sara grabs my forearm.

“You don’t wanna do that, doll.”

“Like hell I don’t. Do the words ‘final notice’ mean anything to you? Let go.”

Sara shakes her head at me and doesn’t release my arm. “Hang on a minute. Didja take the time to ask yourself why he’s got a dance ticket that’s so old? Angels hasn’t used those blue ones in somethin’ like five years.”

“So what?”

“So, no one will dance for him is what. And for a very good reason.”

“Okay, so I’ll be the first,” I mutter.

“You ain’t even close to bein’ the first, love. But I won’t stand in your way if you’re determined to dance for Nicky the Groper. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when he tries to rip your lips off.”

“Rip my… what? What are you talking about?”

Sara laughs. “And look who’s catching on. Let me answer your next question before you even ask. Yes, I mean those lips.”

My disgust must be showing on my face, because Sara says, “Don’t fret, there will be other dances. You can thank me later. That old S.O.B. doesn’t even tip.”

A few feet away, Nicky the Groper waves his dance ticket again and winks. I shake my head at him and frown. He frowns back, and then he folds the ticket up and returns it to his pocket.

“Nicky the Groper preys on any girl who’s new,” Sara explains. “He won’t even talk to the rest of us anymore. We know better.” She points discreetly to the opposite corner of the club. “See that one over there? That’s Matthew. He’s a regular. Go sit with him. He’s good for at least a couple dances, and he might even take you into the champagne room.”

“The champagne room? Does that room even exist?”

“The VIP. They’re one and the same, darlin’. Go ahead. I already danced for him, and I know he’s got money left.”

I try to bite my tongue, but I just can’t help myself. “Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?”

Sara’s smile fades. “You still don’t understand that the audition thing was a joke, do you?”

I shrug. “That Anna girl looked pretty serious to me.”

“Yeah, well, Anna’s kinda moody. Maybe she wasn’t joking. But the rest of us were.”

She looks so hurt that I start to feel bad, too.

“All right, okay,” I say. “I believe you.”

“Look, you don’t gotta listen to me. You don’t gotta listen to anyone. But you’re in for a rough ride if you don’t. And I’ll tell you what else.” She blows another bubble. It pops and deflates. “No one bothered to warn me about Nicky when I was new.”

I stare at her. She looks away.

“You’ve been here for five years?” I ask.

“Six.” Sara stares back at me defiantly.

“But you look like you’re the same age as me.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Yeah, well, I’m twenty-four. Take your lower lip off the ground, toots. It’s perfectly legal.”

With that, Sara turns on her heel and walks toward the bar. Shit. I didn’t mean to insult her.

The customer she pointed to is short, maybe my height, and chunky. His stringy salt and pepper hair is gathered back into a ponytail with a red rubber band. He’s wearing what looks like a safari jacket.

I suppose all of them are weirdoes or they wouldn’t be hanging out in here in the first place.

Good God. What does that say about me?

Do it, Alicia. This man represents the roof over your head.

I slide into the chair next to him. He smiles at me.

“Hello, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

“Al… Nadia.”

“Al-Nadia,” he repeats. “What’s that, Middle Eastern? You look like an Irish girl to me.” He leans toward me. “I’m a quarter Irish,” he confides. “On my dad’s side. Middle Eastern girls are exotic for me. I’m Matthew.”

“I’m not Middle Eastern,” I correct him.

“No, I should think not, with that pink skin of yours.”

I get to the point. “Would you like a lap dance?”

Matthew squints. “You’re new, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you here before.”

I exhale. “It’s my first night,” I confide. “I must have ‘fresh blood’ written all over me, huh?”

He pats my arm kindly. “We all have to start somewhere, don’t we? So are you putting yourself through college, like everyone else in the room?” He chuckles.

“What? No, I finished my bachelor’s last year.”

“They all say they’re going to school,” he muses. “You don’t need to say it too. There’s nothing wrong with making a living the way you do, honey. I say embrace it.”

Okay, so he thinks I’m lying about having a degree. I can’t blame him. I might as well be making that up anyway since I’m wasting it so efficiently.

I decide to be more aggressive. “How about if I start by embracing you? In the VIP room.”

Corny, I know. But then again, so is he.

“Regrettably for you and me, my dear, I have already promised Sloane that I would take her into the champagne room tonight,” Matthew says. “But I will buy three dances with you right now. We can talk about the champagne room again once you’re… not so new. Until then, lovely lady, a trial run?”

What am I? A sports car?

Matthew holds up his hand and summons a round-faced girl who is wearing a pouch around her waist and considerably more clothing than the rest of us.

“Would you like to buy the lady a drink?” she asks.

“No, I would hate for poor Al-Nadia to get jugged on the house’s lethal Kool-Aid mix when it’s only her first night on the job.”

He winks at the waitress, and she giggles. It must be a private joke. I don’t get it.

“We will, however, take three dance tickets.” He thrusts his hand into his pocket, produces a wad of bills that would make King Midas jealous, and peels off four twenties. “Keep the change, dear heart.”

The waitress leans down and gives Matthew a kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to have ya back, Matty,” she says.

“Jessie, you know I can’t stay away for too long,” Matthew leers, eyeing her backside as she walks away. “Now, you ought to be sitting a little closer,” he says to me.

I press my leg against his, somewhat reluctantly.

“That’s better, but still not quite right. Come sit in my lap until the next song begins.”

I look around the room. Unfortunately this seems to be standard behavior in here. I see three girls perched on their customers’ laps. One of them is completely undressed. She sits there nonchalantly drinking something red with an umbrella in it and chatting to the customer, like she’s forgotten that she’s naked.

Acting. This is just acting. You were Juliet in high school, and now you can be Jezebel for this guy. It’s that simple.

I plop down on Matthew and he gathers me against him, hugging me close.  Because we’re so nearly the same size, it’s not a very comfortable position for me.

Also, he smells like old man. I don’t know if it’s his skin, or his aftershave, or his breath. Perhaps it’s the combination of all three. It’s not even that the odor is unpleasant in itself. I just can’t say it’s one of my turn-ons.

But he’s behaving himself. He hasn’t tried to touch me anywhere that he’s not supposed to. Between Matthew and what I’m observing with the other customers, I’m actually surprised that they all seem to be so passive. I don’t know.  If there was a hot naked guy rubbing himself all over me, teasing me, getting me aroused… would I be able to keep my hands off him?

“You’re a cutie, honey, you know that? All of the ladies here are charming, of course, but I can tell you come from good stock.”

“Thank you,” I mutter, wondering whether Matthew is at all aware of how condescending he sounds. I’m guessing all of this comes with the territory.

I also know there’s a good chance that the money Matthew will give me is going to be directly commensurate with how dumb he thinks I am. I’m not bothered by that. I don’t really care what anyone here thinks of me. It’s not as if I have anything to prove to these people.

“I think a woman should look like a woman,” Matthew sermonizes, squeezing my thigh. I nod politely, letting my eyes roam the rest of the room.

Suddenly I blink. I take a second look. Then I try not to make it obvious that I’m gawking.

Leaning over the bar is the most stunning guy I have ever seen in my life. He’s nonchalantly chatting with the barmaid as if he belongs here, instead of on some Hollywood set.

He’s about six foot one with jet black hair, a chiseled jaw and dimples. He’s somewhere in his twenties. His clothes are casual, but I can tell he spent money on them. He’s also lanky, which is fine by me since that’s always been my type. I’ll bet he’s got washboard abs under that shirt. I can’t imagine what he’s doing in here, but I’m getting butterflies in my stomach checking him out… Oh, no. He’s looking at me. I’ve just been busted.

I expect him to look away disdainfully. Guys like him always do. But oh, my God… his full, perfect lips stretch out into a broad grin, his dimples deepen, and he’s locked his eyes with mine.

A tingling feeling starts at the top of my head and spreads until it reaches my groin. I realize that I’m smiling back – grinning like an idiot, in fact – and then I’m the first one to look away.

I turn my attention back to Matthew, who has been chattering the whole time, oblivious to the fact that my attention has been elsewhere. I’ve got to finish with him as soon as possible so that I can free myself up for Mr. Phenomenal, who I think – incredibly – wants me to dance for him.

Now dripping with sexual energy, I decide to channel it for the greater good. I stand up and face Matthew. “Isn’t this our song?” I whisper in a husky voice. I start to peel off my negligee.

Matthew’s eyes widen when I release my breasts. “That’s one hell of a pair of knockers, honey,” he glows. “No wonder they hired you.”

His words fall on deaf ears. I lean forward, running my fingers lightly from his shoulder to his chest. But it’s not him I feel beneath my fingertips. He’s only a prop. Now I’m practicing for Mr. Phenomenal.

As I slowly climb out of my panties, running my hands up and down my body, I imagine myself leaning in on the man I reallywant to be dancing for. I exaggerate my breathing. But I don’t have to embellish it too much. Thinking about dancing for that chiseled guy is turning me on.

The lap dances are a cinch. The DJ plays two R&B songs and then switches to rock music for the third. In front of me, a rail-thin, bored-looking punk rock girl climbs onstage.

“See, that’s what I mean,” Matthew says. “Too skinny. She looks like a little boy in a skirt.”

“Uh huh,” I murmur. The poor girl doesn’t seem to have heard him, and I hope for her sake that it stays that way.

“Not like you, eh? I always say that a woman’s got to have some meat on her. Or else she’s not a woman. Now you, my young fawn, you are one of the meatiest specimens I’ve ever seen here.” He licks his lips. “A little bit of extra baggage goes a long way.”

My jaw drops involuntarily. Did he just call me fat?

Our last song ends. “That’s three,” I say curtly.

“Indeed it is,” Matthew smiles, handing me the dance tickets. “That was very nice. Very nice. Thank you, my dear. I will definitely consider you for the champagne room the next time I’m here.”

Please consider a breath mint first.

“Thanks.” I pull the negligee back over my head and start to walk away.

“Wait, angel face, don’t you go yet!” Matthew cries.

I turn and give him a questioning little half smile.

“We mustn’t forget your tip,” he says.

Before I can say anything else, the Midas wad has once more emerged from his pocket. To my amazement, Matthew peels off six twenties and gives them to me.

I grin back at him, and this time it’s a real one. Adding my cut from the dance ticket, which comes out to thirty bucks, I’ve just made a hundred and fifty dollars in about twenty minutes.

“Now if you see Sloane, will you please tell her I’m waiting for her?”

“Sure,” I say, even though I have absolutely no idea who Sloane is.

He blows me a kiss and I walk off.

I’m carrying the small, gold evening bag I wore to my cousin’s wedding. The one my mother lamented I’d never wear again, although I doubt very much that this is what she had in mind. I fold the bills carefully and put them in the zippered pocket. I check my makeup in one of the mirrors on the wall – it looks like it’s holding up. Now it’s time to go talk to Mr. Phenomenal.

I start to walk towards the bar, but he’s vanished. Crap. He must have gotten bored waiting for me.

I scan the room. He doesn’t appear to be with anyone else, so I guess he’s left the club.

I square my shoulders.

That’s all right. I came here to make money, not friends.

Another gray haired fellow in a suit is giving me the eye. I smile and sidle up to him as if I’ve been a stripper for my entire life.

“How are you doing?” I purr.

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