Beautiful Failure Page 7

  Chapter 6

  Three days. Three days to think about The Phoenix and I’m sitting in a bookstore dreaming about things that will never come true.

  Every morning for the past six months, I’ve been coming here as soon as the doors open.

  I take my seat near the windows in the back, open my laptop, and let the words for my latest story flow freely. Every time I come here, I tell myself that this story is the story, the one that will have the New York publishers calling my phone and begging me to sign with them, even though I know it’ll never happen.

  “Still working on your book?” A coffee barista sets my drink on the table.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you on a lunch break from work? I never see you here this late in the afternoon.”

  “I don’t have a job right now. I’m unemployed.”

  “Oh...” He runs a hand through his hair. “You know, we’re hiring. Management is pretty lenient and they’d probably let you work on your book during the slow days, especially if you worked in the book section.”

  I smile, thinking that maybe this is where I should be working—not in some sweat and smoke filled strip club.

  “There are good benefits too,” he says, taking a seat. “You get two free books a month, free coffee during your shift, and you get to read a lot of the books before they hit the shelves.

  “Is it full time?”

  He nods. “If that’s what you want.”

  “How much does it pay? If you don’t mind me asking that is.”

  “Of course not.” He smiles and crosses his arms. “It’s a pretty good hourly rate. It’s eight fifty.”

  Did he just say eight fifty? As in eight dollars and fifty cents an hour?!

  “What do you think?” He smiles. “Sounds good, right?”

  Welp...There goes my need to “think” about working at The Phoenix.

  “Yeah, sounds amazing. I’ll get an application on my way out.”

  He looks overjoyed as he stands up, as he looks over his shoulder and smiles while walking away.

  I shut my laptop and pull out my notebook, scribbling a few things I need to address: How the hell will I hide The Phoenix from Virginia and Henry for the long term? Will this shit be worth it? Do they really expect me to be able to learn how to strip in two weeks? Why did I lie about knowing how to dance? I only took three semesters of ballet in high school and I was average...

  When my list of questions reaches the number twenty, I drop my pen.

  Half of them don’t have any answers because I won’t know unless I take the job...

  Chapter 7

  It’s Friday. Four thirty in the afternoon.

  I’m pulling into the parking lot of The Phoenix—telling the security guard, once again, that I have a reason to be here.

  He waits for me to park my car, and then he personally escorts me inside. As if he’s annoyed with my presence, he tells me to wait for someone named Robyn before he disappears.

  I stand in the empty hallway for a while—checking and rechecking my watch, hoping Michael won’t think I declined the position because this Robyn person hasn’t come for me yet. Just as I’m about to venture off on my own and find my way to his office, a woman wearing a skintight white dress steps out of the room across from me.

  Drop dead gorgeous, her skin is the color of caramel and her eyes are a soft mix of light hazel and green.

  “You’re the new girl, right?” she asks, but she doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “Follow me and pay close attention because I never repeat myself.” She walks me down the hall and onto a small elevator.

  It rises one level and then she steps off. “We’re a little shorthanded this week, so your audition will be next Friday.”

  “What? I thought I got two weeks...”

  “Well, tough shit. You don’t have to do the pole since you’d probably fall off anyway; we can teach you that later. You just have to serve drinks, but no sipping. I’ve heard about you.” She rolls her eyes. “You’ll also need to give lap-dances. We had a last minute bachelor party that was booked this morning, so you can either agree to audition within a week or leave. What’s it going to be?”

  “I’ll stay.”

  “Good.” She shows me into a lavish room that features velvet chaises and plush couches. There’s a small stage and a pole a few feet off the ground near the back and a wet bar.

  She hits a few switches on the wall and the lights dim. A mid-tempo song begins to play, and she plops down on the chaise directly in front of me.

  “Okay.” She sighs. “Show me what you got.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Dance.”

  “Now?”

  “No. Tomorrow.” She rolls her eyes.

  I stand still, completely unsure of what to do. I’ve never danced for anyone before.

  “Pretend I’m a stockbroker who just told his wife he’s in Alabama for a business trip. I’m desperate to have a beautiful woman in my lap, I’ve got hundreds of dollars in my breast-pocket, and you want me to give you every single one. Dance.”

  She spreads her legs as if she’s a man, and then she leans back with her lips pursed, looking as if she’s ten seconds away from telling me to leave.

  “I thought I was going to be taught first.” I swallow.

  “I am teaching you. Dance.”

  I’m still not sure what to do.

  I take a deep breath and start moving my hips, looking into her eyes. I give her my best ‘I know you want to fuck me’ look—something I’ve perfected over the years, but I can’t do much of anything else.

  I step forward and awkwardly rotate my shoulders, trying to move them in rhythm with the song. I suddenly remember that I’m supposed to be “stripping” so I pull my shirt over my head and toss it across the room.

  I start thinking about some of the ballet moves I learned in high school, so I place my feet in fifth position and gracefully stretch my arms. I’m about to grab the zipper on my skirt, but Robyn raises her hand and tells me to stop.

  She lifts the remote and hits a button, stopping the music and brightening the lights. “Are you fucking serious? Do you think someone is going to pay you for that?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know how to dance.”

  “Clearly!” Shaking her head, she stands up. “Have a seat. Let me show you how this is done.”

  I sink down into the chair and she backs away.

  “Okay.” She turns on the music again. “This isn’t ballet or a Broadway show. None of the men are watching to see how well you can actually dance. They just want you to seduce them.”

  She locks her eyes on mine, giving me a look that says, “I know you want me,” and then she gracefully slips out of her dress—pulling it over her head and letting it fall to the floor.

  She’s wearing a see through red bra and lace panties, and I’m just now noticing her shoes; they’re sparkling silver pumps that are at least seven inches high.

  Stepping closer to me, she positions herself in my lap and gently runs her fingers through my hair. She tosses her head back, slowly rolling it around to show off her long tresses, and then she begins to grind her hips into me.

  She presses her hand against my breasts and brings her mouth close to my ear.

  “Tell me how badly you want to fuck me,” she whispers.

  “What?” I’m aroused, but I’m not that aroused.

  “You have to get straight to the point.” She lifts my hand and moves it behind her back, placing it where her bra clasp is. “Unsnap it.”

  I use my thumb to unhook it and then she brings her lips close to mine.

  “Are you going to let me be your slut?” she asks. “Are you going to fuck me right here, right now?” She caresses my shoulders and rolls her hips forward, as if we’re actually having sex. She keeps her eyes set on mine as she rocks into me again and again. “Answer me...”

  I am utterly speechless.

  The song begins to fade and she kisses my neck once it en
ds. Then, as if what she just did was the most natural thing in the world, she slips out of my lap and stands up.

  “See?” She shrugs. “How easy is that? I always close with a kiss on the neck to make it more sensual, but you don’t have to do that. Over time, you’ll have to find a way to make the dance last for a lot longer if someone ever books you for a private show.”

  “How long should the dance be?”

  “We’ll worry about that after you learn how to dance.” She pulls me out of the chair and takes my spot, tossing me her shoes. “I’m going to talk you through an extremely basic routine and then you’re going to perform it again and again. Let’s make this simple, shall we? Step back and take off your bra...”

  Hours later, I’ve realized two things: 1) I am not a dancer 2) Dirty talk is an unappreciated art.

  “You did pretty well for your first day, considering that you can’t dance for shit.” Robyn shows me around the dressing room in the basement. “Never leave the club without a body guard escorting you to your car, and if you think someone’s following you, just make a U-turn and come back. Michael never wants us to feel intimidated, and he will call the cops.”

  I nod.

  “I know it’s early in your training, but you need two names. Now. One is your ‘stripper name’ and one is your name when they ask for your real name. Any ideas?”

  “Carmen?”

  “Carmen?” She clucks her teeth. “Hell no. I’ll think of it in a minute. Anyway, always come straight to the dressing room when you get here, no matter what. The schedule for parties will be posted by the mirrors, and if there are any last minute changes someone will text you. Any questions?”

  “How many hours am I allowed to work in a week?”

  “Legally?” She smiles and changes the subject. “Your hair is really pretty. It’s a rare deep black. Is this your natural color?”

  “Yes.”

  She runs her fingers through it and snaps. “Your stripper name is Raven and your real name...” Her words linger across the air.

  “I’ll use Autumn. I have an ID with that name.”

  “I like that! Do you live alone, Autumn?”

  “No. With my grandparents.”

  “I’m sure they’re very proud of where you’ll be working.” She smiles. “Are they going to be suspicious as to why you come home so late at night?”

  “I’m twenty one, not fifteen.” I say, knowing that Virginia and Henry hardly ever ask me any in depth questions about any of my jobs; they’re usually just happy that I have one.

  “Well, seeing as you need all the extra help you can get...” She laughs. “You should come back and try to learn as much as you can every day until Friday.”

  “Will I get paid for that?”

  “You won’t get paid until you start doing a better job.” She tugs me towards the side exit of the dressing room. “Go sit in the audience and watch me work. I’m officially your new role model.”

  I sigh and walk around the showroom, looking for a seat. I’m the only female who isn’t holding a tray of drinks or dancing, and the men in the audience are eyeing me suspiciously—probably wondering why I’m fully dressed.

  I take a seat on an empty couch, and watch as the lights in the room change from a dim yellow to a sinful red.

  “Gentlemen,” a voice says over the speakers, “Introducing your premier lady of the evening...Robyn.”

  There’s a loud applause and Robyn slowly struts onto the stage—looking as if she owns the place. She makes eye contact with a man in the front row, and with every third beat of the bass, she undoes a button of her brown trench coat.

  Little by little, she undresses herself—teasingly sliding off her garter, her long stranded pearls, and finally her bra. Eye-fucking her target, she wraps one leg around the pole and hoists herself up—guiding her way through a routine so sexy and erotic that the stage is covered in bills before she’s halfway done.

  Jealous, I watch her and several other girls dance effortlessly for the rest of the night. I watch them earn hundreds of dollars.

  In between sets, I slip into one of the party rooms and watch how the lap-dances are given—noticing how confident and “into it” the girls seem.

  I make the long drive to the club every day this week—letting Robyn critique my every move, allowing her to seduce me multiple times so I can see exactly what I’m doing wrong...

  ***

  On Friday my nerves are all over the place.

  Unfortunately, no one will be able to stop the music and help me with my techniques if I mess up today. I’ll be dancing for real clients who expect me to know what the hell I’m doing and I’m honestly not sure that I do.

  When I arrive at the club, I quickly head into the dressing room and change into a slutty red dress. It clings to my curves and stops right in the middle of my thigh. It’s one shouldered, and it matches the black and cream colored bra I’m wearing underneath.

  “Is this good enough?” I walk over to Robyn.

  “It’s perfect. It’ll be you, me, and Avril serving drinks and lap-dances. Maya will be onstage, and Snow and Bella will run point whenever things get too hectic. Got that?”

  I have no idea what “run point” means and the other girls haven’t said a single word to me all week, but I nod anyway.

  “Michael will be in the room watching to see if you’re a good fit, so make sure you remember what I taught you. You have the eye contact down and you could already move well in heels. Just cut the dance part short and act like you’re having sex whenever you’re in someone’s lap. You’re good at that.”

  “Party’s here girls.” A male voice calls down from the steps. “They’re paying by the hour so hurry the hell up.”

  The other girls rush past me and I follow them upstairs.

  The private lounge looks different today than it has all week. The lights are so dim that I can barely make out how many men are in the room, and cigarette smoke is wafting through the air.

  All of a sudden, a muted yellow light shines on the small stage and a dancer steps behind the pole. She slowly drags a band away from her ponytail, letting her dark red hair fall free.

  Exuding an incredible amount of confidence, she bends backwards, until her hands touch the floor, and then she somehow flips her body onto the pole.

  Completely mesmerizing, she begins to spin around it with ease, and I’m convinced I’ll never be that good.

  I hear a man asking for a cigar and decide to make myself useful. I walk over to the smoke case to get a box—resisting the urge to light one of them for myself. Before I can pick it up, I feel someone tapping me on the shoulder.

  “Yes?” I turn around.

  “Beginner’s luck.” Robyn smiles and lifts the box out of my hands. “You have a request. He’s sitting in the left corner. Blue chaise.”

  “Already?”

  “Get over there.” She pushes me forward and I nearly lose my balance.

  The smoke in the room is noticeably thicker, and the lights are now a dull red. Other girls are grinding against clients, and the man of the hour—the groom to be, is now onstage receiving a lap dance for all to see.

  As I make my way to the corner, a few of the men slip dollar bills into my garter—drunkenly telling me how “hot” I look.

  When I finally make it to the corner, I don’t see anyone sitting there. I walk over to the adjacent corner chaise—thinking that maybe Robyn meant “right,” but there’s no one there either.

  I smile and consider myself lucky because I want to put my routine off for as long as possible, but I suddenly feel someone grab my hand. It’s strong and warm—definitely male, and it’s pulling me towards the first corner, towards the empty chaise.

  The stranger lets my hand go and slowly turns around, rendering me fucking speechless with that heart-stopping smile.

  Carter?

  Images of his sweaty chest at the gas station cross my mind, but he looks sexier in this moment than he did on that day.
He’s wearing a simple white V-neck shirt and jeans, and his hair still looks as if he simply slips out of bed without combing it.

  He leans back in the chair and raises his eyebrow, but I simply stand there.

  “Are you going to dance for me, Raven?” he asks, letting a smirk form on his lips.

  “Are you going to pay me?”

  “Of course.” He clearly thinks this is funny. “Double.”

  I briefly shut my eyes and pretend like I’m in practice again. Tuning out the rest of the room, I look directly into his eyes and move my hips to the slow song that’s playing over the speakers, running my tongue over my bottom lip.

  I step in between his legs and slowly pull my dress over my head—wondering why his eyes aren’t roaming over my body. I run my hands down my sides and up to my breasts, squeezing them as I bite my lip, but his heated gaze remains locked on my eyes.

  Confused, I lower myself into his lap and straddle him. I’m expecting him to say “Oh yeah...” or “That’s it...” like the other men I’ve watched this week, but he says nothing.

  “Do you like this?” I whisper.

  No answer.

  I feel his dick hardening beneath me and hold back a gasp. I don’t have to look down to know that he’s huge; I slide my right hand between us, running it against his thickness—wishing his pants weren’t in the way.

  His eyes still haven’t lost contact with mine, so I stop my half-hand job and start grinding my body against his, feeling his dick swell even more.

  Jesus...

  I lean forward and whisper against his lips since I can’t bring myself to look away from his face. “How badly do you want to fuck me?”

  His lips curve into a smile, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he slips his arms around my waist and runs his hands against my bare sides.

  My breath catches in my throat as he presses his fingers into my skin, as they find their way to the back of my bra. He whispers something I can’t comprehend and slides his thumb across the clasp, using his other hand to grip my hip and hold me still.

  As good as his touch feels, I don’t want anyone else in the room to get the wrong idea, so I grab his hands and move them away.