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“Tomorrow is too late,” she said. “You know what? I need to get over my strip club stigma. That way I can finally go see my next-door neighbor’s act.”
“She’s a stripper?”
“His boyfriend is a stripper. He himself is more of a burlesque performer.” She glanced back at the poker table where Lorelei and company sat losing their money and looking glum. Her star crashing a strip club might not be better press, per se, than her star losing two hundred dollars at poker, but it would be more exciting. “Yes, we’ll be there in a few. Ask Colton to commence the polite but provocative tweets.”
The strip club, long and low, lingered on the outskirts of the Strip, not so close that the casinos could chase it off, but not so far away that the tourists wouldn’t be tempted. The lighted walkway from the parking lot to the building was lined with paparazzi. Wendy’s heart leaped. Daniel’s plan was working. When the two taxis full of Lorelei’s party pulled up, Daniel himself was leaning against a column at the front entrance with his arms crossed. He walked forward and opened the taxi door for Wendy.
Beside her on the seat, Lorelei said wistfully, “Such a gentleman. The best Colton can do is not slam the door in my face.”
Wendy was more concerned about whether Daniel was, in fact, a horny gentleman. He’d dressed down for once, though he still looked like he’d stepped out of a men’s magazine in a tight designer T-shirt, dark jeans, and expensive shoes. He didn’t seem drunk—he moved smoothly as ever—but his steps and gestures weren’t as big, as if he were purposefully holding himself close to counteract the alcohol. In short, he wasn’t three sheets, but he was probably as loose as Wendy would ever see him.
And as much as she ached to run her hands across his perfectly defined chest, she didn’t want to seduce him. No, she didn’t. She would get in trouble at work, and he would dump her anyway, and it wasn’t worth the heartache. But thanks to their charade, she could act like she wanted to seduce him. The night promised to be fun.
She stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” He nuzzled her ear and gently bit her earlobe.
She sucked in a breath, and her eyes darted around the paparazzi as if she’d done something deliciously guilty. But they were focused on Lorelei as she stepped out of the cab, long legs first. She stopped and talked to the photographers, even hugging one she hadn’t seen in a while. Wendy shook her head. This was the reality of Lorelei. At least there would be gorgeous photos of her online tomorrow, giving the cameras her genuine grin.
Daniel held Wendy’s hand, saluted the bouncer, and led her through the doors into the dark club, music throbbing. One woman shimmied onstage, and strippers boogied around poles throughout the room. About half the patrons were women, Wendy noted with relief. That’s what Sarah had told her about the strip clubs she’d crashed sometimes with their friends in college. Wendy had always opted out. In the club where she’d worked for a week, only men had leered at her.
Daniel squeezed her hand. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. He watched her as if he expected her to elaborate, but she didn’t particularly want to talk. She wanted him to talk to her again. Every time he put his voice and his breath in her ear, all her blood rushed downward.
“How’s your head?” he asked.
“A lot better,” she answered truthfully.
“I guess you don’t want a drink,” he said doubtfully.
She shook her head. She could have used one, but there was way too much over-the-counter painkiller in her bloodstream for a drink to be safe.
“I’m drinking a soda now myself,” he said. “I had to cut myself off.”
She laughed. “You don’t seem drunk, but you seem very careful.”
Oh, he treated her to that rare, open laugh she loved so much. “You’re right. It really has been fun tonight. Colton and his posse have become my best buds, which tells you a lot about how drunk we all are. Thank you.” He kissed her on the lips.
She hadn’t been expecting the kiss. It was so fast that her heart opened to it after it was over.
Daniel had sat down in a huge booth scattered with shot glasses and entire bottles of liquor. He scooted over to give her room, pulling her by the hand. Obediently she sat beside him. He let go of her hand and sandwiched his fingers between her crossed thighs. It was a signal of possession that was not allowed in polite settings and was barely socially acceptable even in a strip club. Wendy felt like the presence of his hand was a hot rock sinking and melting through the ice of her body. They were fully clothed. They were not really together. And she had never been so turned on.
“Where is everybody?” she asked, looking around. Except for them, the booth was empty.
Daniel nodded toward the nearest pole, where a stripper talked with Colton. They didn’t look like they were in intimate conversation. They looked like she was giving him instructions. Colton reached up, braced his hands wide apart on the pole, and pulled himself close to it. He was able to hold his body up for several seconds before collapsing to the floor. Lorelei and her friends clapped for him as they approached the table. Colton stood and bowed to them, grinning goofily.
“This has been going on for a while,” Daniel said, nodding to Colton’s driver and bodyguard, who stood to one side of the pole as if they’d already taken their turns. “It started out with everybody displaying their big guns.”
He slid his fingers out from between her thighs, making her shiver. He pulled back his T-shirt sleeve to show her his thick bicep. “Go ahead. You can touch it.”
Seeing him like this was hilarious. She humored him by trying and failing to wrap her hand around his upper arm. “Wow,” she said dreamily.
Grinning, he put his arm down. “Then the lady here”—he gestured to the stripper, who was now laughing with both Colton and Lorelei—“came over and told us that pole dancing is the true test of upper body strength. And here we are.”
“Did you take a turn on the pole?” Wendy asked in disbelief.
“Ha! I’m not that drunk.” He sipped his soda, made a face, and set it down.
Wendy was very glad Lorelei was now hanging out with classy young actresses instead of the reality star and the celebrity hairdresser. These girls had spotless reputations. And they were now taking turns getting instructions from the stripper on how to tackle the pole. In their company, Lorelei wouldn’t look bad when she inevitably tried it.
Sure enough, Lorelei came bounding up to the booth. She asked Wendy, “Am I allowed to pole dance?” Her face fell. “Don’t look at me that way. It was a fitness craze a few years ago.”
“I know,” Wendy said. “Like boxing!”
Daniel pinched her.
Lorelei still stood in front of Wendy, looking unsure.
“Go ahead,” Wendy said. “I think it’s an okay PR move. Even I know how to pole dance.”
“Yay!” Lorelei jumped up on the small stage. The men in the party gave each other knowing looks as they slid into the booth with Lorelei’s friends to watch. There was an interim while the stripper offered Lorelei some pointers and the men poured Lorelei’s friends some shots. Then Lorelei braced herself on the pole as Colton had. She couldn’t hold herself very long at all, but her dismount was a lot more graceful. She curved her body around the bottom of the pole. The men cheered for her.
“Five point five,” Daniel whispered to Wendy in his dead-on British accent, sounding exactly like an announcer in the summer Olympics. “Five point six. Five point five.”
Wendy was laughing so hard that she didn’t realize Lorelei was standing in front of her again until Daniel nudged her. “What?”
“Your turn!” Lorelei exclaimed. “You just said you knew how to do it.”
“Immersion therapy,” Daniel murmured to Wendy. “Hair of the dog. I dare you.”
Wendy raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you dare me, do you? You just want to see me do a pole dance.”
“Duh,” he said.
Wendy told Lorelei, “Let us negotiate for just a second.” She whispered in Daniel’s ear, “We’re supposed to be together. Isn’t this going to ruin your reputation with these guys?”
“Ruin my reputation? You just made my reputation. It’s every man’s dream to be with a nice lady who just happens by accident to know her way around a stripper pole.”
“Every man’s dream, or every fourteen-year-old boy’s dream?”
“That kind of fantasy doesn’t change with age.”
“Is that right?” She examined him more closely. “Are you okay?”
“Very.” He grinned at her. “Why?”
“You don’t seem like yourself, even taking the drunkenness into account. It’s not like you to tell me what you’re thinking. Suddenly I’m finding out that your mind is as dirty as mine.”
He raised his brows. “You doubted this?”
“Yes.”
He gave her a small, naughty smile. “Never doubt this.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “You’re sure you’re okay? I just heard a little hint of British accent.”
“Uh-oh.” He covered his mouth with one hand.
She set her forehead against his and asked, “If I do this for you, what will you do for me?”
His eyes widened, filling her vision, black like the darkest night. Suddenly this bargain had turned serious. His lips parted, but he didn’t say a word.
“Kidding,” she said breathlessly, scooting away from him. “This one’s gratis, in celebration of your newfound fun.” She turned to Lorelei. “Get the DJ to put on some Missy Elliott.”
“Um . . . kay.” Lorelei scampered away.
As Wendy slipped out of the booth, Daniel slid to the seat where she’d been. “Your stripping soundtrack is Missy Elliott?”
“She was very big in 2003, and this was my small protest against the patriarchy. While stripping. I know. Shut up.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” he said. “Please don’t fall on your injured head.”
“Don’t worry about me. Though bare skin gives you traction. I think it’s going to be harder to do with my clothes on—”
“Keep your clothes on,” he stressed.
“I love it when a man says that to me. So sexy. Instills a lot of confidence.” She laughed at the face he made at her. “Anyway, I don’t think I’ll have trouble. I haven’t done it in ten years, but I’m sure it’s like riding a bicycle, except without the carefree innocent overtones.” The creepy beat of her favorite Missy groove pumped through the speakers. “That’s my cue. Here I go.”
The helpful stripper waited onstage for her. “I don’t need any pointers, if you know what I mean,” Wendy told her. The girl swept her arm toward the pole: all yours.
The cheers from her booth had gotten so loud that they were attracting the attention of the rest of the bar. Shadowy figures turned their backs on their own pole-dancing ladies and approached their corner of the club, curious. Wendy would have felt intimidated if she hadn’t been good at this.
With a wink at Daniel, she braced herself on the pole as the losers had done, then hefted herself up, splitting her legs on either side of the pole and pointing her toes. The booth was whooping, but she couldn’t pay attention to them. Pole dancing took concentration. She allowed gravity to spin her body down the pole. Then she launched herself up again and wrapped herself around the pole this time, spinning down. After a quick calculation of whether she could hold herself upside down on the pole by her ankles in these particular high-heeled boots, she took a chance on the affirmative.
The hard part was holding herself up by the arms while she balanced her body upside down in the first place. But it looked like the real trick was letting go with her hands and hanging there by her feet. She could tell by the slight resistance that her hair was touching the floor, which, strangely, she was beginning not to mind. All of Vegas was finding its way into her hair, and all of Vegas had taken a piece.
The applause for her was growing wild. The thought passed through her mind that if she got fired from Stargazer, maybe she really could go back to her first career. She could laugh at this now, almost, because she had hope of salvaging Lorelei’s image.
She did a few more tricks, until her head wound began to throb from all the blood rushing to her brain. She dismounted from the pole, curtsied ironically, high-fived the stripper, and jumped down from the stage. The table went crazy. The women kept screaming “Wow!” at her and the men were agog. She focused on Daniel, who’d been laughing moments before but now looked dangerous, his face full of dark shadows, the smudge under his eye still visible.
She shouldn’t come on to him. It wasn’t fair to lead him on, and she couldn’t risk her job by following through. But she wanted him. She breathed deeply, feeling her ni**les tight against her bra, and imagined him wrapping his hands around her heavy breasts. She was twenty-eight years old, a grown woman, and so needy tonight. Why did the man she was falling for have to be the one she couldn’t have?
Against her better judgment, she slid into his lap. He still watched her seriously, which was starting to make her nervous. She tried to lighten the mood by saying, “Boy, will I be sore tomorrow. I’m in okay shape now, thanks to Sarah’s badgering, but I was so much better at eighteen. I used to be built like a truck.” When he looked grim and didn’t respond, she clarified, “A feminine, dainty truck. What’s wrong?”
