“I’m supposed to talk to Mr. McGraine about a job,” I said, looking between them. “The bartender sent me. I already talked to him once this week—he said I could come back if I changed my mind.”
One of the guys nodded.
“He’s on the phone. Give it a minute, and then I’ll ask him.”
“Okay.”
We stood there for long seconds, me trying to look like I knew what I was doing. One of the men checked me out blatantly the entire time. A second was checking his phone while the third—the one who’d talked to me—stood still and blank as a statue.
Kind of creepy.
I felt a nervous giggle building in my stomach, and I swallowed it down ruthlessly. I couldn’t afford to blow this by doing something stupid. Finally the big blank guy knocked on the door, as if in response to some secret signal only he could hear.
“Yeah?”
“You got a girl here to see you, boss,” he said. “Says she talked to you earlier this week. Looking for work.”
“Send her in.”
He nodded at me as he opened the door. This was it. Taking a deep breath, I stepped through. Inside I found three men, McGraine and two I didn’t recognize. All of them wore suits and an air of nervous tension filled the room.
“Hi,” I said, trying to radiate confidence. “I don’t know if you remember, but—”
McGraine cut me off.
“You still looking to dance?”
“Um, yeah, I am.”
“Great, you can start right now,” he told me. “Half the staff called in sick. You can do lap dances. Don’t want you on the stage until I’ve had a chance to see you perform. In a while we’ve got some guests coming in—you do whatever the hell they say. We’ll make it right with you afterward, got me? Don’t worry about collecting money up front. You’ll get whatever you’re owed and a cash bonus.”
That sounded shady. My eyes narrowed.
“Do you have any paperwork . . . ?”
“Later,” he snapped. “Get your ass into the dressing room and get ready. They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
McGraine strode over to the door and opened it. “Crouse—you take her back. Have one of the other girls fill her in on the house rules.”
Then he shoved me out the door—and it was a real shove, as in his hand on my lower back, propelling me through—and I found myself staring up at the bouncer who’d been checking me out.
Of course Crouse would be the creeper. Just my luck. He smiled at me.
“Follow me.”
—
The “dressing room” was more like a locker room—obviously the budget for fixing up the interior hadn’t stretched to give the girls more than the bare essentials. There was a row of metal cabinets along one wall, two big mirrors, and a counter with a utility sink.
Three girls were getting ready—one of them was obviously a waitress. She wore a black corset top, a short black skirt, and black fishnet tights. Her shoes were a good five inches tall, and they made my feet hurt just looking at them.
“New dancer,” Crouse announced, looking over the women. One wore a bra and G-string, and the second was dressed like a slutty cowgirl, complete with a lariat. All of them jumped when Crouse spoke and I got the sense that employee morale wasn’t very high at the Vegas Belles.
Didn’t matter to me. This was all about the money.
“Hi, I’m Venus,” the cowgirl said. “When did you start?”
“Right now,” I replied, feeling a little nervous. “Mr. McGraine just hired me.”
They exchanged looks.
“Lucky you,” the waitress said. “It’s not always that easy. They’re fucked today—bunch of people didn’t show up.”
“They said I can’t dance on the stage until they have a chance to audition me,” I explained, feeling almost apologetic. If the bartender had been telling the truth, these women had done more than just show up to earn their spots. “I’m supposed to stick to lap dances.”
“Try to get them in the champagne room,” said the half-naked girl. She leaned forward into the mirror, carefully layering her lashes with mascara. “Get the right guy in there and it won’t matter that you aren’t up on the stage. Just don’t forget to tip the waitresses.”
“Thanks, Claire,” said the one in black. She tied a little apron around her waist, then smiled at me. “You’ll do great.”
Then she turned and walked out of the room.
“What are you going to wear?” asked Venus the Cowgirl.
“Um, I have some lingerie,” I said, looking around awkwardly.
“Grab a locker,” Claire said. “Doesn’t matter which one. Put your shit in there and pull out the key. The bartenders will hold on to it for you while you dance.”
That didn’t seem like the best of systems, but I figured it didn’t really matter if someone cleaned me out. I’d only be here one day anyway. I’d left my purse and a spare set of keys hidden in the car. Earl had built a secret compartment into the trunk, so I should be safe even if someone broke into it, unless the entire car got stolen.
I supposed if that happened I was fucked anyway.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” the cowgirl said.
I pulled off my shirt, showing them the black and red bra I’d bought the other day at Walmart. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Then I unzipped my pants and pulled them down. Underneath I wore a matching thong.
They exchanged unimpressed glances—apparently stripping at the Vegas Belles was more sophisticated than at an MC clubhouse. Noted.