Or it kept them in their place. It didn't stop the clientele from acting like pigs though.
I fought back a wave of disgust as someone tried to stuff a twenty dollar tip down my cleavage.
"Why don't you get up there honey? You'd be great."
I just smiled blankly and thought about how that money could go towards furniture for our new apartment. Or community college. Grin and bear it. That was my only choice.
I was the one who had taken a job in a strip club after all.
What the hell was I expecting?
This was the best I could do. Maybe for the rest of my life. If I couldn't finish school, what better did I have to hope for?
No. I was going to beat this. And I was going to save enough to do community college at the very least. I might have to start in the middle of the year but so be it. I would go and I would finish.
Someday.
I just hoped I could keep it together the next time one of these creeps tried to touch me.
So far, I'd only been here a few days and I'd already had to stop myself from slugging at least ten guys.
At least the tips were good. And they hadn't asked for a resume. After pounding the pavement for almost a week I'd finally walked in the door of Sheila's Palace. The name was awful but the decor was actually kind of nice. Not that you could see it during open hours.
They'd taken one look at me and hired me on the spot. The owner Shelia told me right off the bat that my pay was two dollars an hour plus tips. I'd almost walked out.
And then she'd told me what kind of tips I could expect. Basically, I'd make in a night what it took me a week to make at the club. Not enough to pay my tuition but maybe enough to go to a local school. Get a few credits in the fall.
It was better than nothing.
A lot better than nothing.
Minus the creeps of course.
And I didn't have to do anything untoward. Or flirt even. In fact, Sheila had warned me against it. Not because it was bad for business. Just because it would piss the other girls off.
They were more important than I was.
I kept my clothes on.
I sighed and went into the back to take a quick break. Anything to just not be stared at for five minutes. It was weird, how tiring it was to feel eyeballs on you all the time.
Especially since they were almost all old enough to be my dad.
Hell, my dad could actually be out there for all I knew.
I sure as shit wouldn't recognize him.
I cringed at the bitterness in my thoughts. I was already turning into one of these women. Flat eyed and tired. Cynical.
I stood in the hallway with my eyes closed.
"It gets easier."
I opened my eyes and one of the older girls was standing there. Barbara I think. But on stage, she was Bambi. It was ridiculous. Sad. Pathetic.
But her eyes were kind.
"They hassling you?"
I shrugged.
"You know you could make triple the money at least if you got up on the stage. You would blow most of these other bitches away."
I knew she meant it as a compliment. But it was the last thing I wanted to hear at the moment.
"I don't think I could do it. Thanks though."
"Hey, you know what makes it a lot easier?"
"No, what?"
She pulled me into the dressing room and held up a bottle of tequila. The good stuff too. Clear, not yellow. And not a brand I'd heard of before.
Which basically meant it was fancy as hell.
"Mother's milk!"
I watched numbly as she poured out two shots into dixie cups.
She handed me mine and I took it. I didn't want to offend her. Besides, its not like I had to drive home.
I could ride a bike after a drink or two.
Haha.
That was almost funny.
I downed the shot. And the next one she handed me. Then I thanked her and headed back to the floor. Another guy reached out to touch me as I passed his table and I wiggled out of the way, giggling.
Bambi was right.
Mother's milk was a huge fucking help.
Chapter Twenty
Clay
I sat in the darkest part of the club waiting. I knew she was here. I didn't want to believe it but I fucking knew it was true.
After all, the private investigator I'd hired had told me so. Even showed me a picture of Nevada tottering around in high heels and a skimpy cocktail waitress uniform.
With too much makeup on her young and pretty face, she'd looked like a child playing dress up. But her body was all woman. She'd get eaten alive in that outfit.
It had cut me like a knife.
My father and I had gone to the motel, but Dana and Nevada were long gone. The clerk had been unhelpful once again. So had calling around to the other inexpensive places to stay.
It had been weird to see my dad in a place like that. Cheap. Shoddy. But even weirder had been the look of worry on his face.
He actually fucking cared about her.
Like, a lot.
We'd gone home and shared a bottle of booze.
The next day, I'd hired a private detective-with my dad's blessing.