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“If Samantha owns a majority stake in the paper, I don't care what it is, we're going to have to follow her instructions, no matter how difficult."
So that was it. Somehow, Samantha had a financial control over my employment. Not that it mattered. I looked to Mike and Danielle to see what our plan was going to be.
* * *
And now, 12 hours later, I cannot believe this is the plan that we came up with.
I'm standing off to the side of a main stage in a strip club called "O". It's apparently owned by Prince Sin himself. By the way, I'm actually a bit proud of myself with coming up with the "Prince Sin" moniker as I was writing the piece today. It's taken off pretty fast, going viral along with the video of him waving his dick in the air and his condom flying around smacking those network men with his...
Okay, focus. Yes, it was actually really uncomfortable to sit and watch his fabulous body at work, and yes, maybe I did watch a couple times. And by couple, maybe I mean I spent a good two or three hours watching the video during breaks. And maybe seeing him fuck that reporter and his devil may care attitude, his perfect Greek-god body, chiseled muscles, and twinkling blue eyes got me a little wet. But just because I get aroused whenever I think of him doesn't make him any less of an asshole, okay? I'm serious. I seriously hate him. He made my early life miserable. When he wasn’t ignoring me.
"You'll be fine, kiddo," Mike is saying, standing next to me. He had called in some contacts and managed to somehow talk to the manager and get me an audition in the last half hour.
"But she's not going to get naked," Mike had told the manager.
"What good is a stripper that doesn't strip?" the manager asked, dumbfounded.
"She just needs an audition," Mike said. "If the Prince comes in, then we'll go on stage, but have the DJ cut the music at the two-minute mark. Let the Prince come to her."
The manager smiled knowingly. "Oh, it's one of those things, is it, Mikey?" he asked with a wink and a nod.
And that's when the Prince walked in. More like stalked in.
I still don't know how Mike managed to wrangle this deal as I think back to the last half hour in this club. I figure that when you work in gossip, you know all kinds of characters.
"Two minutes, kiddo," Mike says to me, the manager having told us to get ready. "Two minutes is all you have to get his attention."
I nod. I'm a little nervous. I'm wearing whatever I could find really quick - with a short black skirt, stockings, high heels, and a black tank top.
I'm not sure how I got into this situation.
Actually, wait a second. I take that back. I know exactly how I fell into this situation. I jumped at the chance to get back at Derrick Blaine. I remember back to one afternoon when I was thirteen. I remember it vividly because it was two weeks after the King’s wife had died in New York City. I don’t remember much about the circumstances, but I do know that Derrick was away from school for those two weeks.
When he came back, no one knew what to make of him. But after History, I was walking near a pond when all of a sudden I remember that he was walking next to me. He was staring ahead and I didn’t know what to do. No boy had ever wanted to talk to me. I turned around and looked at him. And he turned around towards me.
His eyes held some sort of longing, it seemed. They seemed to want to say something to me.
At least that’s what I thought at first. But sadly, I was mistaken.
Because that’s when he pushed me. Into the lake.
I remember the kids laughing at me as they gathered around. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. But when I looked up, the evil Prince was gone.
"Alright gentlemen!" the DJ announces to the crowd as the last dancer finishes up. "Put your hands together for an audition from none other than the super sexy...Misty!"
Misty. That's me. That's what Mike decided was my stage name. I hate it! A part of me wants to turn around and run! The other part wants to throw up.
Not that Mike would blame me. It would be perfectly understandable. But I’d be saying goodbye to the fast track that my career was now on then.
And the story would probably go to someone else. And I'd be stuck doing research for Page Eight instead of writing Page Eight like I did today. But if I do this, it advances my career and I get back at the one man who tormented me.
Besides, if Prince Derrick Blaine was a good man, he’d have nothing to be embarrassed about, right?
Yes, I can do this.
Here goes nothing...
I take a deep breath and walk up the stairs onto the stage. The stage hugs the whole back wall of the club and a catwalk juts out from the center of the stage towards the middle of the floor. There's a pole.
