chapter 3
In the dressing room, Heather was sprinkling her body with glitter powder when Dusty, a cowgirl themed dancer, came up to her.
“Oh my God, girl. They’re back. And good Lord, I think I’m in love. I’m definitely gonna get one of them in a back room tonight.” She fanned herself as she walked over to a chair facing of the long mirror and sat down to touch up her make up before Showtime.
Heather shook her head and laughed at Dusty’s antics. She was always taken with patrons, and Heather suspected she broke the rules a time or two with the ones that she was “in love” with.
Mama was pretty strict with the girls, although she couldn’t be everywhere at once. Mama owned Bottom’s Up, and she was there every night, not trusting a manager with the day-to-day operations. No drugs, no sex, and no dating the clients. Those were the rules, and if you got caught breaking them, you were out. Period.
Heather knew that drugs were around, though. She could tell by the hazy look in some of the dancers' eyes, but those girls never stuck around very long. If any of them got caught doing more than dancing for the clients, they got canned on the spot, although some of the girls would do anything for money. And nobody was allowed to date a client, though most of the girls had been known to slip a client their number on the sly.
Heather hated it when the girls broke the rules. Mama created and enforced the rules for their safety and for the reputation of the club. Without those rules, the girls were nothing more than whores. And Heather was no whore.
When Harve announced her number up next, she was ready. She wore a rhinestone studded bra and g-string set, covered with a see-through dressing gown with feathered edges that hit just above her thighs. She enjoyed having a little more to take off. It gave her more time to tease, and that’s what her job was all about --- teasing.
As soon as she entered the stage, she felt the white-hot heat in her belly that she associated with the blond man. Heather looked up. Sure enough, he was sitting there staring at her. He was closer tonight but still not near the stage. She did get a better look at him. In fact, she had a hard time taking her eyes off him.
His intense gaze showed electric blue eyes on a face tanned from exposure. His face was framed by blond hair, streaked with platinum high lights that looked natural to Heather. He was sitting at one of the small tables, but he was seated slightly away from it, and she could see long legs, crossed in front of him casually. His frame was lean, but he looked tall and well-muscled.
Heather managed to tear her gaze away from him. She mounted the pole, executing the turns and spins that she had spent hours practicing. They had become second nature to her. As she worked her way up and down and around the pole, she concentrated on nothing but the pole, otherwise she would get dizzy. She’d learned that the hard way. Once she finished her pole maneuvers, she slid down into the splits and noticed a man standing on the edge of the stage. She sauntered over to him and laid down on the ground, legs splayed, and began writhing and undulating for him.
The smell of burnt matches caused her to look up into the face of the man she was dancing for, and she saw it was the dark man from last night.
This man was the antithesis of the other. They truly were light and dark. He seemed to be of Mediterranean descent, with intense black eyes, a strong straight nose, and wavy, glossy black hair. He was tall and broad and carried himself with a grace born of athleticism, although it was hard for Heather to tell, as he was wearing a tailored suit that was probably more expensive than her entire wardrobe.
He was dropping twenties on her belly, one at a time, as if they were scraps of paper. One, two, three…six, seven, eight. Her eyes widened at his display of nonchalance. His severe black eyes never left her body, and the look chilled her to the bone.
Heather rolled over onto her stomach to hide the goosebumps from the man with the huge wallet and cold eyes. She did a couple of hip rolls, feeling twenties drop onto her. She bounced her butt in his face and felt his hot breath between her legs. She would dance for the guy all he wanted, but as soon as he touched her, she was out of here. He was definitely giving her the creeps, with those cold eyes. She was glad she couldn't see them anymore.
He never touched her, just kept dropping twenties on her body, as she danced for him. She didn’t dare leave him to dance for anybody else, not with the kind of cash he was literally throwing at her.
When the song was over, she scooped up massive amounts of twenties and went back to the dressing room to put the money in her locker. Dusty came running back to her, her face gleaming.
“Holy shit, girl! What kind of perfume are you wearing? Can I borrow some?”
“What?” Heather was confused.
“Not only did you rake it in with the sultry bad boy, but the golden child has asked for a back room with you specifically.”
“I’ll be right out. Let me lock this up real quick.” She ran a brush through her hair and left to find Mama.
When she found her, Mama didn’t say a word, just held up two fingers, indicating the man was waiting in room two in the back. Heather went, feeling a strange anticipation in her gut.
He was sitting on a short bench behind the curtain of room two, and when she entered, his intense gaze met hers, stopping her in her tracks. The white-hot fire flamed inside her again.
“Hi, honey. What’s your name?” He's just a man, she told herself, as she walked over and sat in his lap.
He shifted under her weight. “Uri,” he said, clearly uncomfortable.
“You new here? You don’t seem like the type that comes to this sort of place.”
He looked at her, his blue eyes searching hers, seemingly full of questions.
“It’s been awhile.” He conceded.
“It’s twenty-five dollars a song.” She ran her hand up his chest, feeling hard planes of sinewy muscles under his tee shirt. A current ran up her elbow at the feel of him under her hands, and the white-hot heat intensified in her belly, leaving her breathless.
He reached into his back pocket, withdrawing a new-looking leather billfold and extracted three one-hundred dollar bills, holding them out to her, his gaze holding her captive.
Her eyes widened, “This must be my night.” She looked back at his face, after slipping the money into her g-string under her feathered dressing robe. “I might even throw in a free song with all this.” She grinned at him wickedly. His eyes still searched hers.
Heather realized there would be no play-acting with this guy. He was turning her on, just by sitting there. She stood and spread his legs wide, running her splayed fingers up his thighs, so she was standing in between his knees. Her body began writhing to the rhythm of the song that was playing, and she bunched her dressing gown in her fingers as she ran her hands up her body, pulling the gauzy fabric tight against her breasts.
His hand reached out and grabbed hers, stopping their movement, sending the current arcing through her body at the skin-on-skin contact.
“Um…Can we just talk?”
Not unheard of. Lots of guys got nervous with the one-on-one stuff.
“Sure. Where you from?”
“Not about me, yet. Can we talk about you?”
This was not a problem, as small talk was actually one of her favorite parts about the job. It humanized the clients, and made her feel less objectified.
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
“How long have you…worked here?” He seemed relieved that they were talking but also uncomfortable at the same time. It was cute.
She sat back down in his lap, since there weren’t any other chairs in the room, but she tried to limit the contact of their bodies, since he seemed uncomfortable. And the scorching heat in her belly intensified when she touched him.
“Eight years.” She inhaled deeply, smelling the scent of him. He smelled like something spicy and sweet like cloves or nutmeg, but not quite. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it made her feel warm all over.
His eyes widened in surprise. “Is it that good of a job?”
“Yes, it is. I started out here, trying to pay my way through college, but I realized that what I wanted to do wouldn’t pay as much as this place did. And the benefits are good.”
“Benefits?”
“Yeah. I get to be beautiful and meet gorgeous guys all the time. What more could a girl want?” She threw him a flirtatious wink. She was totally lying. Most of the men that came in this place were far from gorgeous, but this one was sure pretty to look at.
He smiled a cautious smile, and Heather felt a little trepidation, wondering where he was going. “What about when you get older? What other skills do you have to support yourself?”
She shrugged. Yep, this guy was turning into a downer. “I’ll worry about that when I get there. Why worry about what’s out of your hands?”
“I agree with that, but it seems like your future is in nobody’s hands but your own, and God’s.” He added that last part hesitantly, as if afraid of her reaction.
She was wary. He wouldn’t be the first man to take her into the back room and preach to her about God. Most of those guys lectured her because they felt guilty for being here, and this guy didn't seem to fit that bill. “I know that. But this supports my lifestyle just fine. The money’s good, and it allows me to take care of…things.”
He shifted again, definitely uncomfortable, so she stood and leaned against the wall across from him. It wasn’t a big room, and she was still completely under the influence of his smell and that heat burning her insides. It flared again when he met her eyes with his crystalline gaze. Heather could feel the lust uncoiling in her belly, as she looked at his tee shirt stretched tight across his muscular frame. The saliva in her mouth disappeared, and she swallowed, thickly. She needed to change the subject.
“What about you? What do you do?”
He shifted again in his seat and looked at the ground, as if debating what to tell her. “I help people.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Help people do what?”
“Find themselves,” he said simply.
“Like a self-help guru or something?”
He looked amused. “You could call it that, if you wanted to.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, what did you go to school for?”
She looked down at her feet. “Dance.”
He looked surprised. “Classical Dance?”
“Yeah, Ballet.” She was embarrassed.
“Let me see.” He leaned back in his chair, and she laughed.
“I can’t do ballet to a Nine Inch Nails song. Sorry.”
“Tune it out. I’ll hum for you.” He finally looked comfortable, as if he'd discovered something. His eyes danced as they looked at her, and she felt a rare blush steal up her cheeks. Her second thoughts about being in a back room with a Bible-thumper dissipated.
“There’s not enough room,” she protested, gesturing to the tiny room they were in.
“Just do what you can, okay? Please?” For the first time tonight, he looked like he wanted to be here.
Reminding herself that this man had just paid three hundred dollars to watch her dance, she nodded reluctantly, before taking off her high-heeled platform shoes. Bowing her head and closing her eyes, she prepared herself to dance in a way that she hadn’t danced in over five years.
From the chair across the room, the most beautiful tenor voice she had ever heard came from Uri’s mouth, as he began humming Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. Not daring to look at him, afraid that she would lose her nerve, Heather began dancing.
Uri’s voice was astounding. But even more astounding was the fact that Heather soon lost herself to everything else but the smooth tenor tones coming from deep within him. Rising almost to her toes, Heather danced around the room, bowing, lunging, pirouetting. For this one moment in time, she was a ballerina, and she held her head high, in the posture of a real dancer. She was under a spell, and the raucous sounds of the club disappeared, leaving Heather in her own world, a world where she danced as she'd never danced before.
Heather allowed the freedom of dancing to take over her body. She was the instrument, Uri's voice the muse. The notes from his mouth flowed over her body, almost palpably, and encouraged her to move in ways she hadn't in years. The white-hot heat that his presence brought to her body spread through her limbs, warming her, making her stretch further, extend herself. Heather felt a euphoria that she'd never experienced in her life.
It was as if she were under a spell or in a dream. She was watching herself dance in a tiny room for this beautiful man with the amazing voice that was doing things within her that she couldn't name. It was the knowledge of dreams, where Heather knew this was right. This was what she was supposed to be doing with her life, but she had gotten off track somehow, and couldn't go back. If only she had stayed her course back when she was younger, this was what she'd be doing. If only…
Uri seemed to know the entire ballet, as he didn’t just sing the main sequence. He began at the beginning and hummed all the sequences of the piece. The few times that she dared to look at him, she could see that he was as engaged in her dancing as she was. The humming seemed second nature to him. He watched her with open-eyed eagerness, until she was sweating and breathing hard. Finally, he stopped humming and held out his arms for her to sit back in his lap.
She sank down as his arms enveloped her, gratefully, taking a sip from the bottle of water that he offered.
“Wow. I haven’t danced like that in forever.” She breathed.
“It was beautiful. I haven’t seen dancing like that in…years.” Uri murmured. He was looking at her with new eyes, an appreciative gleam visible, and he seemed excited.
“Apparently, I need to start doing it more. That short little dance really took it out of me.” Heather was breathing hard, as much from the exertions of the dance, as from the warmth in the stranger's arms.
Uri looked at his watch and grinned. “You were dancing for half an hour---without shoes. I’d say that’s pretty impressive.”
She sank her head back against his firm chest, listening to his heart beat in time with her heavy breathing.
“Have you ever thought about going back to it, seriously?” He asked her after a while.
She shook her head. “No. I’m too old, now. I’m twenty-six, and I haven’t trained seriously since I was eighteen. I wouldn’t be able to get into any good troupes or conservatories. I wouldn’t be able to afford it.”
“There’s got to be something else you could do.”
She turned to look at him. “Why?”
He looked at her earnestly. “You can’t expect to do this much longer. What about your soul?”
Heather bristled at the judgment coming from yet another complete stranger, who assumed he knew more about her than she did. “What about it? Are you here to tell me that I’m going to Hell for propagating the sins of the flesh?” It was an argument she had heard many times, and sadly, she hadn't seen it coming from this guy. Granted, he didn't seem to be into this scene…but he didn't seem like a Bible-thumper, either. Anger flared in her cheeks, while indignation snuffed the heat Uri kindled in her belly.
He shrugged. “Well, not in those words, no. But there’s got to be something else you’re destined to do.”
She pulled the money out of her g-string and handed it back to him. “Thank you for your interest, but I think we’re done here.”
“Keep it.” He said, looking at Heather and not the money. There was something in his eyes still, some kindness that Heather appreciated but didn't feel the need to explore.
Stuffing the money back into her g-string, she grabbed her shoes and walked out the doorway only to be immediately assaulted by the odor of burnt matches.