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“Gimme a second,” I barked at him.
The poor guy recognized my face and held up apologetic hands of surrender. “Sorry, dude, didn’t know it was, uh, you.”
I turned away from him and back to Kiki. “I had to come here tonight, the casino manager said it would be good publicity. Can you find me a seat in your section?”
She looked around, skeptical about this request.
“My section’s kinda shitty,” she admitted. “Someone like you doesn’t want to sit here.”
“Don’t be crazy. And hey, if there’s a shitty seat, I oughta know about it. For the sake of my customers.”
She blushed. “Right, for the sake of your customers. I guess… follow me.”
Kiki turned and led me to a silver table, illuminated from underneath by disco lights. It was modest, in comparison to the rest of the club, but I didn’t care. I was too busy watching her toned legs strut forward, her hips twirling with self-assurance. With some great effort, I pulled my gaze back to her face as she came to rest at the table.
“Here you go, it’s all yours for the night.”
“Nobody else was booked here?”
“I mean they were, but you kinda own the place. I suspect they’ll like the upgrade to your reserved table.”
I grinned, sliding into the leather circular seat. “Oh yeah, right.”
She hesitated, then tacked on, “And by the way, just because you’re in my section doesn’t mean you’re, um, in my section. Okay?”
“I don’t catch your meaning.”
Kiki exhaled, and bent down, whispering, “I’ve got a job to do, a job that you are making me do. So don’t try to be all cutesy with me, just let me get this over with.”
“Hey, I’m here for the show.”
“Good. I’ll give you a minute to decide on drinks.”
She disappeared into the haze of the club floor, leaving me alone. Or at least, for a brief moment. Within seconds, my entourage finally sniffed me out and scooted in next to me on the bench.
“Hey, bud, thought we lost ya there for a second.”
Yeah, that was the idea, I thought sullenly.
“Just had to grab a seat,” I muttered.
“Don’t you want a better one?” one of them sniffed, as though he was here on his own dime and not mine. It really was something, to be indignant that your free ride wasn’t finer.
“I like this section. It’s got… good service.”
“Shut up, guys,” Colin insisted. “A new girl’s coming on.”
The lights overhead swiveled and went pink, and indeed, another performer made her way onto the stage, dripping in crystal and pink feathers like some kind of Old Hollywood starlet. She appeared to be black and Asian, with flared hips and large, possibly fake, breasts and dark eyes that would drown weaker men. She was stunning and all eyes were on her. Several of the men at my table made sounds like they were physically wounded by her beauty, and others shifted to cover the tent rising in their pants.
She dipped backwards, and just like that, the boa that had been covering her top half dropped, revealing her pert tits. Another swivel around the pole, and her skirt disappeared. She stood statuesque in just a crystallized thong, sparkling heels, and nothing else.
Just as I was beginning to grow bored, she glided to the edge of the stage and took the stairs down to the ground level, much to the excitement of the rest of the crowd. The performer slinked through them, and the men’s gazes followed with an almost comically animated unison, like their eyeballs had bulged out and gotten stuck to her ass cheeks.
When she made a hard left, it occurred to me what kind of trajectory she had in mind, and I leaned against the seat with exasperation. Of course she was coming to me. I’m sure somebody tipped her off backstage, said, ‘hey, the big boss is here tonight, go make a good impression.’
Every man — and some of the women — in the room were staring at me with unabashed envy, but all I could do was manage a polite smile as the stripper halted in front of my table, stretching her arms out to grab me by the collar.
“Hello,” she cooed in a thick accent.
Before I could respond in turn, she climbed onto the table, hoisting herself onto all fours and diving her head to me, ass uplifted in the air. She was mesmerizing, strong, confident.
And yet, I didn’t give a damn.
I reached into my pants and pulled out a stack of bills, choosing to discreetly hand them to her, as opposed to tucking them into her thong or doing something more ostentatious. I hated when men “showered” performers in money. It made the girls have to scamper around to pick up the bills, which was unnecessary and, I thought, a bit mean-spirited.
“You’re great,” I said with a nod.
