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“Eh, alright, Santino. Can you be home around nine?”
Nine? I grimace. Doors open at 8:30. The cover charge triples by 10. The proper girls get there earlier. I need to be shaking my ass at eleven, or later the ones flashing the cash.
“Actually, Santino if it isn’t pushing it, I’ll let you know when I leave tonight. I’m sure there are a few notes Mr. Turner gave to Steven. I’d rather not stress the guy too much. When I’m ready to go, we can time it. I want to lick all the sweat off your body. Just be home with your toolbox.”
* * *
The back officeof the club is rectangular with enough space to walk past a desk. There’s nothing on the dingy white walls. Carlos and his business partners never added a fresh coat of paint when they bought this place.
In the club, the walls are pearl black, with a U shaped stage. The spotlights are trained on it. It’s your typical strip club with a full service bar. The seats the ladies are often popping out of are nice, though, with red leather. That’s where management spent the most money; well, that and the bar.
Felicia pops up from her seat, waddling as she comes around to hug me.
“Santino!”
“Hey, sweetheart.” I give her a one-armed hug. Would Gina hate me less if she knew I was calling them all her most hated nickname, sweetie or sweetheart? “What’s in your stomach, girl?”
I’ll be honest. I called them all Bella before I met my one and only.
“Five months. Probably ten pounds. I crave everything.”
“The lucky bastard.”
“You tell that to Bruno.” She waves a hand with freakishly long fingernails. “Carlos said you would come. You’re headlining.”
“Can’t. Put me on first.”
“I remember your first time, Santino. Don’t insult yourself like that.”
I laugh softly. “Sweetheart, I remember when you got your cherry popped on the stage; legs like a giraffe.”
“Don’t remind me of when I met Bruno. You should’ve been my first. I was trying to give you all my money, even considered tossing my credit cards at your chest.” She laughs. “Anyway, if I put you on first, I’m getting my head taken off by Carlos. Bruno’s gonna want to take Carlos’s head off.”
“Bruno’s not headlining tonight?”
“No. My husband sprained his ankle. He sits around, chats with ladies.” She rolls her eyes. “That motherfucker says it’s to get them to buy more. So do me a favor, remind Bruno what he has at home.”
“Okay.” Information overload.Tell Bruno to keep his dick in his pants and his eyes on his beer. Check.I ask, “Who was supposed to be the headliner tonight?”
“New guy to The Pipeline. He came from one of those rich-bitch cruise lines. Ya know the type? Super-hot. Stiffer than plywood, and I’m referring to hisentirebody.”
Felicia will talk a person’s ear off. I finally get a word in. “Keep the prima donna as the headliner. I’ll take whatever position he would’ve had, had Carlos not made this last-minute change. See, I’m here to make your life easy, sweetheart.”
“Not on your life, Santino. The noob’s already got a sneer on his face. Felt good to tell him. You’re headlong at 11:30, Santi.” She hands over a duffle bag.
In the locker room, I punt the bag across the way. It’s a thirty-minute segment. Once done, all the guys will return to the stage for a big finale. I’ll slip out then.
30
Santino
Stripper 101: look at every single woman as if there’s no one else in the world but her. Like the filthiest fantasies known to mankind are roaming through your mind when your eyes are on her. Make them feel special.
I’m putting on my game face when Felicia tells me that I’ll be doing my broken-hearted Romeo script.
“Fuck, this is stupid,” I mutter. Hadn’t wanted to do any one-on-one action. The purpose for my indiscretion flashes into my mind. The ring. Gina. I remind myself how the stage of The Pipeline is as innocent as it gets.
This isn’t cheating.
