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Saying nothing she starts walking away.
Mark looks at Patrick. ‘Roamers.’
Patrick shrugs. That’s a commission he won’t be getting.
I watch her go—one down, three to go. Later I would learn that roamers are hookers who work a few sessions in strip clubs every few months to look for customers they can turn into private clients.
‘I’ll be at the bar,’ says Patrick turning away from us.
‘First time for anybody here?’ Mark asks.
I raise my hand.
‘Right. We run a squeaky clean club here. No drugs. No prostitution. Zero tolerance. Got that?’
‘Got it,’ I say quickly.
He nods. ‘Did you bring your music?’
I nod.
‘Great. The set-up is you’ve got two songs. Keep your clothes on for the first song. Start getting undressed for the second and by the middle of the second track you have to be topless. You have only one objective. By the end of your second track you want every guy in the place to want to empty his wallet all over you.’
I nod slowly.
He turns toward the redhead. ‘Want to go first, sweetheart?’
‘Sure,’ she says with a sweet smile, and gives him her CD. He sticks it into a small machine that is conveniently just under the stage. ‘Ready when you are.’
She takes her time sashaying to the pole.
‘Ready,’ she calls out once she is in position.
Mark hits play and the club fills with the sound of Pussycat Dolls belting out, ‘Don’t You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me’. The redhead is OK, but nothing special, and my confidence goes up a notch. As the seconds tick by I realize I am miles better than her. In fact, she does not even get a chance to finish her first number before Mark snaps off the music.
‘Thanks, sweetheart, but you need more moves. Get some dance lessons and then come back for another audition with the House Mother,’ he dismisses. It is a no, but he has left the door open. He turns toward the black girl.
‘Can I have only the ultraviolet lights on, please?’ she requests.
Mark shouts over to the barman who slips to the back of the bar. Seconds later when the stage is lit by a purple glow she steps into it and suddenly her dark skin makes her disappear. She becomes a collec
tion of pink and green patterns. Justin Timberlake’s ‘Sexy Back’ comes on and she launches herself with surprising energy onto the pole and begins to execute the most intricate moves. But the real beauty is the way she seems to be a geometric shape moving up and down the pole. The way she gets out of her catsuit is pure class. She is damn good and so impressive to look at my heart sinks a little. If this is the standard I am competing against there is no way I am getting this job. When the music finishes it is a foregone conclusion that she is getting the job.
‘Fantastic show. Come back this evening at six,’ Mark tells her, and turns toward me. His eyes travel casually down my body, taking in the red dress that I could shimmy out of in two seconds flat. ‘You want to keep the fluorescent lights going?’
I shake my head. My heart is suddenly beating so hard I feel my blood buzzing through my body. This is it. It is tits out time.
He hollers to the barman and the lights change back. ‘Right. Off you go then.’
The butterflies in my stomach begin to crawl up my throat. I swallow hard and nod.
‘Just be yourself and have fun,’ he advises with a friendly smile.
I give him my CD and walk to the stage slowly, deliberately swaying my hips, but I am so nervous my knees wobble. I climb the steps carefully. No point falling on my ass before I start the show. There are large mirrors on stage and I can see myself walking. Five feet five inches on top of nearly seven inches of heels, slim hips, flat stomach, nothing special chest, dark chocolate hair with tints of copper and a wide red mouth fixed into a professional dancer’s smile. I guess I don’t look too bad. And I can definitely do this. I have practiced this routine for hours. OK, I am not as good as the girl who can magic into geometric shapes, but I can do this. I have a good, foxy routine. Even Ann says so and she has taught hundreds of girls. All I have to do is get to the pole and follow the routine.
I reach the pole.
‘Ready?’ Mark asks.
