Page 25 of Rigid

SEVEN

Sandy

Dancing was a job. Some looked at it as more; a stepping stone or gateway to being an actress. I knew better. The club was a place for the dreamers to gather. The dancers who dreamt of something better than what they had at home, and the patrons who dreamt of the same.

I looked at dancing differently than most people, and while doing so, compared myself to an actress. When I was on stage, I was playing a part. The people who came to watch me were no different than those who flocked to see the latest installment of the Fifty Shades movies.

I opened the car door, got one foot out the door, and doubled over in pain. Drowning my sorrows in an all-you-can-eat Thai buffet wasn’t a terrible idea, but the hole in the wall I chose to do it at wasn’t one of the best decisions I’d ever made. When the pain diminished, I stepped out of the car and ran toward the back door.

I knocked on the door three times, paused, and then knocked once.

Craig pulled the door open, saw me, and smiled. “Out of breath, as always.”

I pressed my hands to my knees, gulped a breath, and grinned. “Hey.”

“How’s it going?”

I wedged myself between his massive thigh and the door frame. “Not good. I ate Thai food at Thai-cos last night.”

He stepped to the side and wrinkled his nose. “The place that sells tacos on one side and Chinese food on the other?”

“It’s Thai, not Chinese. Thai-cos, get it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t partake.”

“It won’t happen again. I’ve been sick all day.”

Craig was one of the bouncers, and was also a close friend. He was tall, muscular, and looked like a professional wrestler. His head was shaved, he wore a neatly-trimmed goatee, and his skin was as smooth as glass. As with all the bouncers, he was gay, which was one of the owner’s prerequisites for male employees at the bar.

According to the owner, it eliminated the drama between the dancers and the male staff members. The owners only other rule, no boyfriends allowed in the club, was strictly enforced. This left the club drama reduced to the arguments with the dancers.

But it was enough drama to satisfy even the most dramatic of the drama queens.

“Starla didn’t make it,” Craig said. “And Neveah’s still sick. So, we’re short staffed tonight. Might need you to stay ‘till close.”

I’d been exhausted for the last few days, more than likely the result of slight depression. Nothing would help me get my mind off Smoke more than working until I was exhausted even more.

“That’s fine,” I said. “I can use the money.”

He glanced at his watch. “I rotate to the stage in a few, so I’ll be on the floor when you’re up.”

I shouldered my bag and peered toward the dressing room. “Good. I’ll see you in a few.”

If there was a drama free zone in a strip club, the dressing room wasn’t it. Boyfriend problems, girlfriend problems, baby daddy problems, missing tip money, babysitter problems, and lap dances gone bad were some of the typical concerns. The discussions were never simple, and always seemed to either turn into an argument or a fight.

After three years, it was getting old.

Sitting at the vanity preparing for her shift, Nikki glanced over her right shoulder. “Hey, Texxxas.”

I smiled. “Hey.”

Diamond turned to face me and widened her eyes comically. “Guess what George did? After you left last night?”

I tossed my bag on the vanity. “Uhhm. I don’t know, what?”

She cocked her hip, shot Nikki a shitty glare, and then looked at me. “Tipped me $500, and then asked me out.”

“Any guy will ask you out if you jack him off in a booth,” Nikki said without turning around.