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EPILOGUE
Club Southside
Chicago, Illinois
The dance music was drumming through the walls. Sometimes Alicia thought it got so loud that the very walls vibrated.
“Hi, Alicia. Sorry I was late,” said Amber, the new receptionist for Club Southside.
“Amber, this is the fifth time since you started, and you only started last week.”
“Well sometimes the L runs late…”
“Then take an earlier train. If I can’t depend on you to be here on time, I’m going to have to look for someone else.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Amber with a snort. “I’ve already got several of the Doms looking me over…”
“Mostly wondering how long I’m going to put up with you. Just be on time, okay?”
Amber was one of those women that men couldn’t help looking at. She was blonde, with perfect hair, perfect teeth, and the perfect size eight wardrobe. The problem was once you looked closer, you could see most of all that perfection was fake. The hair was dyed, her teeth were capped, her smile was fake, and that perfect set of boobs came from implants.
Alicia looked down. She could see what Amber saw—a rather schlumpy woman in a pencil skirt that was at least two sizes too big for her, an ill-fitting sweater, flats with mousy brown hair, and a frame that carried a few too many extra pounds. But Alicia had a reason for dressing like this. No one gave her a second glance, and that was just the way she wanted it.
She would have loved to play at Club Southside. The Doms were dreamy, but more than that they were good to the subs. A Dom, or Domme, didn’t get out of line more than once. If the infraction was serious enough, they were tossed out on their ear. If given a second chance, they were watched with an eagle eye and could lose their privileges at any time.
But the last thing she needed to do was call attention to herself and the club’s rules clearly stated subs were required to wear fet wear only in the dungeon and lounge. Doms had to be in leathers on the floor of the club but could be in the lounge in street wear.
Alicia loved working for Cerberus and loved hanging around the club and all the employees. Okay, maybe not Amber, but she’d come with good references, and they really needed someone to act as a receptionist or hostess for the club.
Well, she was here now, and if Alicia could catch the L, she could make it to her own little slice of heaven, The Majestic, a burlesque club in the heart of the Chicago Blues neighborhood, where she could unleash her alter ego, Sonata Royale. She ran up the stairs to the elevated platform and just managed to get onto the train before the doors closed behind her, almost catching the hem of her frumpy skirt.
Sitting at the back where no one could sneak up behind her and she could see everything, she settled in, pulled out her make-up bag from her hobo purse and began to transform herself into one of the headliners at the club. Once she arrived at the club, she nicked into the dressing room, grabbing her chic, black wig cut in a Roaring Twenties bob and shimmied into the red and black lace can-can dress with the red and black detachable feather train.
“Sonata, Bobby wants to know if you’re doingFever?”
“Absolutely. I think I’ve finally perfected my routine,” called Alicia.
“That’s a shame,” said Scarlett Champagne—not her real name. “The men always go nuts when you wear that black leather corset and thong and doMy Heart Belongs to Daddy.”
Alicia shrugged. “Fortunately for me, they don’t get to choose.”
Making sure her boobs looked good, Alicia slipped into her heels and took the stage as soon as the curtains closed.
“You ready, honey?” asked Bobby. He called all the girls ‘honey.’
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied and then shook off the last of her nerves.
“Next up,” said Bobby, “is one of the Majestic’s best. She’s debuting a new number and I have to say the outfit isva-va-va-voom. Let’s give a big round of applause to Sonata Royale doingFever.”
There was a wild round of applause while the live band started the introduction and Alicia struck a pose. She loved it here—not so much the Majestic or Chicago, but on stage. Here she didn’t have to be Alicia Rennault or even Alicia Jennings. Here she could be Sonata Royale. Here she didn’t have to be afraid. Here she could remember what it was like to be free. Here she could indulge in her fantasy world.
Alicia let everything slip away as she gave herself over to the music. When she heard the subs talking about subspace, she felt she knew what that was. She hit it every single night she performed. The routine went perfectly, and the bouncers were having trouble controlling the mostly male crowd.
Striking her final mark, the music ended, and the curtain began to fall.
“Alicia!” called someone from the audience.
She had long ago schooled herself not to react to her name. No one at The Majestic knew her as anything other than Sonata.
