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She’s giddy, almost dancing in her seat, making the lady working on her nails look at her sharply. “Miss, I cannot do the contours correctly if you keep moving.”
“Sorry,” Allie apologizes, turning back to me. “So, yeah, new job!”
“Oh, my gosh, are you quitting?” I ask, worried. Allie’s my best friend. I couldn’t imagine what work at Petals would be like without her.
She laughs, shaking her head. “Of course not. Nothing pays like the club. But this is a shot at some classical ballet. Two classes a week to adults who want to stretch and tone and feel graceful. It’s not much, but it’s a start, and I can use my training for more than splits and spins on a pole.”
“That’s so awesome, Allie,” I reply honestly, grinning. “If I could hug you or high-five you right now, I so would!”
Even though we don’t move, the nail tech by Allie gives us a shrewd look. It’s just that I know Allie’s been busting her butt to make some sort of inroad on her dream of working in the ballet world. She trained for years, even to the point of injuring herself to try and get more turn-out on her feet before an eating disorder put her in the hospital.
Even just her dancing in a strip club is a step for her. I think it shows that she’s at least a little confident in her body again. Sure, she’s got bills a mile high, but in almost every other way, I think she’s almost a role model for me.
Finally, when our nails are done, I’m able to give Allie a congratulatory hug, both of us keeping our nails away from each other in a weird forearm patting embrace.
I’m truly happy for her to get this job because I know she misses ballet. She has an empty room in her apartment lined with mirrors so she can dance and improve. I’d teased her about her voyeuristic sexcapades the first time I’d seen the mirrors, but when she turned on some music and began swaying and leaping through the small space, I knew exactly what that room was for her.
It’s her sanctuary. I guess we all need one.
“Come on, let me buy you a cupcake to congratulate you on your new gig!”
Allie grins but refuses. “Thank you, and maybe later, but I should get going. I work tonight and need to get ready. You working?”
I glance at my watch, surprised at how late it is already. “Yeah, I’m only doing a partial shift tonight though. I’ll be in at ten ‘till close. But come on, one cupcake? I’ll make it double-fudge red velvet.”
Allie glowers at me, then grins. “You’re buying.”
Chapter 8
Shane
“Room check,” I say quietly into my ear mic, notifying Nick, the guy working the door. It’s just another Sunday night at Petals. You’d think Sunday would be the lightest night of the week. I mean, East Robinsville has a lot more churches than strip clubs, but it’s not. It’s not quite as busy as Saturday night, but Sundays aren’t slack either.
There are quite a few patrons. Maybe it’s a carryover from their Sunday morning activities, or maybe it’s the fact that they’re not looking forward to Monday, but the customers seem pretty chill.
But tonight just doesn’t seem the same. Instead of the shitload of things I should be watching for, including but not limited to making sure the customers behave, that the dancers are comfortable, and that Marco’s not getting stiffed at the bar, I find myself waiting for Meghan. I even know her schedule, and she’s not supposed to be in for a little bit, but that’s not stopping me from anticipating her arrival.
Trying to rein my attentions in, I scan the floor. The new girl on stage seems to be doing all right, although I can’t remember her name. Candy? Caramel? Something with a C that’s definitely fake.
Most of the patrons are watching her with rapt attention, except for the bachelor party that seems more intent on roasting the groom-to-be, leading to some raucous laughter from their table. They haven’t gotten to their lap dances yet, but from what I see, I’d say the bride-to-be has nothing to worry about. Her beau’s got a look on his face that says he’s enjoying himself, but he’s just putting up with his buddies’ antics and he’s going to behave.
Still, I scan each face for a moment, making sure it’s just good ol’ boy fun and not going to be an issue before continuing my threat assessment of the room. It’s a normal Sunday crowd, with guys in just about every age bracket, wealth bracket, and confidence bracket . . . and three girls, two of whom are having ‘nights out’ with their guy friends.
Petals is a decent place, more high-class than most country clubs, so we don’t get too many low-life types. Still, there’s always a mix of folks to keep an eye on, especially in Dominick’s place where he rules with an iron fist. The inherent combination of guys full of liquid courage and sexy women flirting with them is a dangerous equation, like sparks near dynamite . . . unless the rules are strictly followed.
