Queen
All day shopping, and she hadn't found a thing.
How was that possible?
What was she going to wear tonight?
Judged under the harsh light of a dancer at Ten, even her most flirtatious outfits seemed... lacking. Cute, sure. Sexy even. But they just didn't have enough... what was the word she was looking for? ...Glamour. Yeah.
Where did the other girls shop?
A little late to be asking that now.
Shoot. Maybe Monique would let her borrow another outfit. She seemed pretty cool. After all, she'd given Angela the break she needed. Angela was going to have to find a way to pay her back.
Oh, right. The money from last night. Technically, it belonged to Monique. That was the deal they'd made. Ouch. It was a lot easier to promise away such a sum before it landed in your hand as a big fat roll.
Hey, girl, you're not in this for the money, remember? Besides, you'll get more tonight.
Maybe a lot more.
Zora smiled when she saw Angela in the hallway. "Hey, girl! I hear you're dancing tonight!"
"Yeah." They hugged; Zora squeezed the smaller girl almost too tightly.
Monique came out of the dressing room. "Better watch out. Kat's pissed."
"Why?"
Just then, Kat walked by, making a point of stepping on Angela's toe and bumping her off-balance.
Angela swore she heard Kat mumble something under her breath. Sounded a lot like "amateur slut."
Zora explained. "Kat thinks every girl on stage that's not her is stealing her money."
Monique rolled her eyes. "Jeez. As if her regulars give anybody else the time of fucking day."
"So, um, Monique..."
"Need to borrow an outfit?"
How'd she know that's what I was gonna ask? "Um, yeah. Just for tonight."
"Yeah, sure, okay."
Angela looked down. Monique was in her usual six-inch clear heels. "So how's the ankle?"
"Fine. And now that Dino's put you on the payroll, at least for tonight, I don't have to pretend I'm lame anymore."
"Thanks. You really helped me out."
"No problem. Us girls gotta stick together, ya know?"
With Kat safely out of the dressing room, Angela slipped in and found an unoccupied corner to stash her backpack purse. She looked around for an unopened water bottle -- she needed another pill, and her throat was dry -- but there weren't any, so she headed toward the bar.
"Hi." It was the DJ -- Raj. She liked Raj. The other regular DJ, Cameron -- a forty-something balding guy with graying stubble and a gut -- gave her the creeps. Actually, he gave everyone the creeps, but apparently he knew people and saved the club money on royalties somehow.
Raj... Angela remembered when she first took a drink up to him -- she called out "Roger" and then the door was opened by a young Indian guy. "It's R-A-J." Weird -- he didn't *sound* Indian over the PA. "That's my announcer's voice." His normal speaking voice was deep and soft and carried a hint of a British accent. He was nice, and kinda cute -- Angela would have liked to spend more time talking to him, but Sasha didn't like anybody hanging out in the DJ booth, and when Raj was working, he never left it.
"Hi, Raj. How you doing?"
"Okay. Um, I heard you're dancing again."
Angela smiled. "Yeah, who woulda thought?"
"Surprised me. Not that I'm complaining."
Angela expected his eyes to dart down for a quick check of her figure, the way most men's eyes did, but Raj maintained eye contact. His smile betrayed that he knew more than he let on.
Angela's tone was playful, not accusatory. "You knew, didn't you?"
"Knew what?"
"That I wanted to dance. And that I'd be dancing again tonight."
He chuckled. Busted. "I guess I had a feeling, yeah. And I knew Sasha would ask you to come back, seeing the way you knocked 'em dead last night, especially Mr. Sinclair's guest. Not to mention Howie."
She was hoping he'd say "not to mention Dino," but he didn't.
Waitasec, Howie?
Howie was Howard Jones, one of Kat's regulars. Mr. Jones stopped by the club two or three nights a week, and spent obscene amounts of money -- and only on Kat.
Actually, now that she thought about it, Angela was surprised that Mr. Jones had even been around last night to see her, since Kat had left early when the place was dead.
"What was Mr. Jones doing here?"
"I guess *Howie* had a rough day yesterday. When he found out Kat wasn't here, he made Sasha call her. Every ten minutes. For two hours. He was leaving when you went on stage. He actually stood in the doorway for both songs. Then he took off."
Hmm. Angela would have thought, if the rumors about Kat seeing regulars on the side was true, that Mr. Jones would be at the top of that extra-curricular list, and so would have no trouble getting a hold of his favorite girl.
Then again, if he was actually hooking up with Kat on the side, why would he keep coming here, throwing money at her like confetti? Maybe the rumors weren't true.
One rumor Angela knew was true: Kat *had* been seeing Raj -- not "professionally," but actually dating.
And when Mr. Jones saw them talking outside the booth, and saw Raj take her hand -- a chaste but unmistakably-emotional gesture -- he lost it. He cornered Kat immediately. The word "raghead" was used. Five minutes later, Kat dumped Raj -- with a note on a napkin. "Business before pleasure."
Angela knew the rumor was true because Raj was the only one besides Kat who dared refer to Mr. Jones as "Howie." And unlike the way Kat said it, Raj's "Howie" was anything but a term of endearment.
She also knew it was true because Kat's napkin-note was pinned to the wall in the DJ booth.
Angela thought about Mr. Jones watching her dance. She frowned. That wasn't good.
Raj registered her concern, if not the source of it. "Hey, don't worry about it. You'll do fine. You *are* fine."
"Yeah, except that I don't have anything to wear."
"I bet Monique will let you borrow something."
"Yeah, I already talked to her."
"So... you thinking about going shopping?" Was that his way of asking if she was going to dance as a regular thing?
Was she? Just until she had the goods on Dino.
But if she quit right away, wouldn't he know it was her? She supposed she'd have to keep at it a little longer, to throw him off. Actually, now that she thought about it, how would the police make sure Dino didn't find out it was her? Or would they just throw her into the witness protection program or something? That would suck. She liked Oak Valley and didn't want to live anywhere else. She'd have to talk to Miguel about it...
Raj looked at her funny. "Hey, don't break your brain. If I thought it was a hard question to answer I wouldn't have asked."
"Sorry. I guess I haven't thought that far into it yet."
"Speaking of... um, about last night. I hope you're not mad."
"About what?"
"About the name."
Oh. Right. Heaven.
"It was my idea," Raj confessed.
"Really? I thought last night was all Monique's doing."
"Well, it was, I mean, she told me what she was doing for you, but I came up with the name. It was the first thing that came to mind. If you want to change it..."
Angela looked at Raj. First thing that came to mind, huh? That's sweet. If it weren't for everything going on, that might even be enough to get me to go out with you.
"No, Heaven is fine. Flattering, actually. Thank you."
"So, *Heaven*," Raj addressed her by her stage name, as if trying it out, "do you have any songs in mind?"
Songs?
"To dance to."
"Oh." Angela hadn't thought about it. Who sits around thinking about songs that would be good for getting naked in front of a bunch of strangers? "I don't know, I never even thought about it." Apparently she was the only one who didn't. "But what you played last night worked."
"Which one?"
"Both of 'em. Who does that first one?"
"'Hot for Teacher'? Don't you know Van Halen?"
"Before my time I guess."
"Mine too, but still, who doesn't know Van Halen? Did you grow up in a cave?"
"Well, the song sounded kind of familiar, I guess, but that's not really my kind of music."
"Okay, but still, who doesn't know Van Halen? Next thing you're going to tell me you don't know Motley Crue."
Angela gave him a blank look.
"'Girls, Girls, Girls?' 'Looks that Kill?'"
"Oh, that's who that is."
"My God, girl, you have lived a sheltered life."
"Because I don't know about music from before I was born?"
"Technically not before you were born. 'Hot for Teacher' is from 1984."
"Before I was born."
Raj looked confused for a moment. Then he leaned closer to her. "How old are you?"
Oops. Angela remembered she was supposed to be twenty-one here. "You're not gonna tell anyone, are you?"
Raj held up his hands and looked away demonstratively. "Not my business."
"Why do you play that old metal stuff anyway?"
"Because I like it. Actually, it's the customers. No matter how hip they try to act bobbing their heads to rap, the white guys in their 30s tip more when they're reminded of the fantasies they grew up with. And in case you haven't noticed, we get a lot of white guys in their 30s."
"And older." As a waitress Angela always seemed to attract the middle-aged guys to her tables.
"I have music just for them, too -- though I generally don't break that out much. The younger customers practically run for the door whenever I put on something like Foreigner."
"Who?"
"Way before our time. Guys like *Howie* like it. But everybody responds pretty well to recent pop. I thought it was raining money when I put on 'Slave 4 U' last night. Too bad you didn't get to keep it." So he knew about her deal with Monique. "You'll make it up tonight, I'm sure."
She hoped so. Seeing that guy who looked like Noel Aquino last night reminded her of the debt hanging over her head. It would be nice to get clear of it. If she had to dance a few nights to get close to Dino, she just might make enough to pay Noel off. Kill two birds with one stone. She grinned at the thought.
"Anyway," Raj said, turning toward the DJ booth, "I'll pick out some good stuff for you. You want just two songs, or three?"
Could she do three whole songs? She didn't exactly have any practiced moves.
Raj saw her furrowed brow. "We'll start with two and see how you do, okay? You just work whatever pace you're comfortable with. Don't worry, I won't leave you out there too long."
Her face brightened. "Thanks, Raj. I know I'm in good hands."
She tried not to think about the image that comment might put in his head...
Angela left Raj to get ready, rounding the corner to head for the dressing room.
"Hey, asshole." Kat's voice stopped Angela in her tracks. "Yeah, DJ, I'm talkin' to you."
Whew! At least Kat wasn't after her. Angela didn't need a run-in with her tonight. Still, she felt compelled to listen to the exchange. She tucked herself as close to the corner as she could safely get.
Raj's response to the dancer's rude collar was clipped. "What?"
"I heard you played my song for the new girl last night." Angela's heart leaped into her throat. Uh-oh.
"You don't *own* it."
"I do in this club."
"Not anymore. You know, she *killed* last night."
"She won't last. And you won't either if you pull another stunt like that."
"We'll see. Now run along before your pimp sees you fraternizing with the 'raghead.'"
Slap! Angela gasped at the sound.
Kat raised her voice. "You're treading on thin ice, Hadji. Maybe I want him to see us talking. Maybe a word from me to him to Sasha gets you fired."
Raj lowered his. "Don't be so sure. Maybe you've lost more than one of your songs."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The door to the DJ booth closed with a thud.
Angela scurried down the hall, past the dressing room to the employee lounge. She didn't need Kat cornering her just now.
Shoot. I know Kat hurt Raj, but I wish he hadn't used me to get back at her like that. Now she's going to hate me even more.
Don't worry about Kat. You can handle her.
Maybe, but I don't need the distraction. I'm not here to take anybody's song, or man, or job. I just want to get close to Dino.
Angela waited behind the curtain. She was actually doing it again. She was going to take her clothes off in a roomful of horny men.
And they're not allowed to touch you. If that's not power, what is?
What about the power of not letting them see me naked in the first place?
Don't be a prude. Do you want to nail Dino Sinclair or not?
Depends on what you mean by "nail."
Does it?
Shut up.
Angela adjusted her halter top again. The shiny metallic purple fabric looked great, but it was stiff and uncomfortable. Not that she'd be wearing it long. Less than three minutes, actually. Assuming the knot held out that long. Angela gave the bow an exploratory tug. Nope, she wouldn't pop out of it, at least not until she wanted to... She checked the knot that held her skirt. Skirt! More like a pair of dinner napkins on a string -- if dinner napkins were made of purple lame'.
Hey, it's not supposed to be decent, remember? It's a costume.
Right. A costume. For an actress.
And the award for best femme fatale in a crime drama goes to...
The music started.
"Here she is, only her second performance *ever*, give it up for Heaven!"
And with that, Heaven took the stage like she was on a mission. There may have been a room full of men there, but she saw only one: Dino Sinclair.
I just can't get you outta my head
Boy your lovin' is all I think about
I just can't get you outta my head
Boy it's more than I dare to think about
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
Once the music took hold, her body moved of its own accord -- swaying, turning, leaning back against the pole, flipping around, giving the briefest and most subtle of pelvic thrusts against the hard brass before sliding to one side and dipping, hands sliding down the pole to slow her dramatic descent until she sat on the stage, legs pointed and demurely crossed, back arched. She did two quick up-and-down and two quick side-to-side scissor kicks, giving the anonymous guy with the $5 bill on the rail a quick peek up her skirt. She'd give him a lot more to look at in a minute...
There's a dark secret in me
Don't leave me locked in your heart
Set me free
Feel the need in me
Set me free
Stay forever and ever and ever and ever . . .
Heaven picked out a particularly cute Dino at the other end of the stage who'd stacked four dollars on the rail. She dropped quickly to her knees in front of him, arching back to point her tits skyward, then flipping forward, hands stretched off the stage, almost into his lap. He jumped in surprise; Heaven just smiled. She put her hands on the rail, then leaned forward, parking her jiggling orbs on the cool brass, thrusting them lewdly up, almost bursting out of her top.
Almost.
Her hands found the ends of the knot in her top. She slowly leaned back on her haunches, pulling her chest away from the rail. The ends of the knot stayed put, trapped on the rail by her hands. As the loops in the knot got smaller, the guy's eyes got bigger, until...
Pop! The halter fell to the sides of her breasts, which she immediately pushed together for maximum effect. Heaven's pose was a vision of artful mock-innocence, made more effective by a genuine innocence so recently put aside.
With a suddenly-deft hand, the knot behind her neck was loosed, and Heaven leaned all the way back to let the halves of the top fall away to either side.
The first song ended. The bills she'd pulled down off the rail were immediately replaced.
Topless, Heaven stood and strutted back to the other end of the stage to a harder beat.
Say hello to the girl that I am!
You're gonna have to see through my perspective
I have to make mistakes just to learn who I am
And I don't wanna be so damn protected
There must be another way
Cause I believe in taking chances
But who am I to say
What a girl is to do
God, I need some answers
Mister Lincoln was back on the rail, along with a lot of his friends named George. Apparently the guy and his buddies at the end of the stage were pooling their resources.
It bought them a front-row seat to the unveiling of the cutest ass they were ever going to see.
What am I to do with my life
(You will find out don't worry)
How Am I supposed to know what's right
(You just got to do it your way)
I can't help the way I feel
But my life has been so overprotected
I tell 'em what I like
What I want
What I don't
But every time I do I stand corrected
Things that I've been told
I can't believe what I hear about the world, I realize
I'm Overprotected
She closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to dance with Dino to this song...
...or to do more than just dance...
Hips rolled round in slow circles, knees dipping lower and lower...
Mmmm... her fingers traced a teasing line as she swiveled to the beat, from cheek to chin to neck to breast, to navel, to the top corner of her thong, down the left side, lingering just a beat, then back up the right...
Leaning back on her hands, extending one leg langorously, then scissoring both legs, then slowly spreading them into a Y, one foot above either rail... letting a dirty little smile creep over her face before suddenly spinning to one side, popping her eyes open in mock surprise, seeing with satisfaction the surprised-yet-satisfied look on the guys' faces as she swept their money off the rail with a sexy sweep of her high-heeled shoe...
While the beat strengthened the role she played, the lyrics of the song soaked into the girl's heated brain, sparking a streak of defiance that fueled her performance. The song spoke for her, words that were so true, it was as if it had been written about her...
I don't need nobody
Tellin me just what I wanna
What I what what I'm gonna
Do about my destiny
I Say No, No
Nobody tell me just what what what I wanna do, do
I'm so fed up with people telling me to be
Someone else but me
What am I to do with my life
(You will find out don't worry)
How Am I supposed to know what's right
(You just got to do it your way)
I can't help the way I feel
But my life has been so overprotected.
"All right! Let's hear it for Heaven!"
It took a moment for the crowd to recover their senses enough to let out hollers of appreciation.
Angela simply swept her booty into a pile as best she could, crawling along the stage as she did, giving particularly-generous guys a wink or a nod or a breathy "Thank you." She clutched the pile to her chest, standing unsteadily, nearly spilling off the stage into the arms of Silk Shirt With Bolo Tie before hooking an elbow on the pole to stabilize herself a moment before tottering off behind the curtain.
Sasha was waiting for her. "You have a request."
"A request?"
"There is a man who would like you to dance for him."
"In private?"
Well, duh. "Yes."
Angela wasn't ready for this. "I don't know if I..."
"Dino sent me to ask you."
Dino wanted her to dance for him? Well, that was different...
"Okay..."
"Take the next song to freshen up, then meet the man in the back booth."
The man? Why not just say "Dino?" Ohh... it's a boundaries thing. This isn't boss to employee, it's client to dancer.
Angela's heart couldn't beat any faster. She quickly fished a pill out of her bag and drowned it with a swig of bottled water.
This was it. This was where she hooked him. Maybe she could get him to say something while she danced.
No, better not to push it. Just draw him in. Flatter him. Tell him how his power excites you. Tell him that people whisper about him. About what he does. About who he's with. About how he makes women melt. Tell him you want him to make you melt.
She heard the song fading out... couldn't Raj have picked a longer one? He put one some old hip-hop tune; Angela heard "that girl is poison" before turning the corner to the last private dance booth and seeing that it wasn't Dino.
Wrong booth? No, the others were empty.
Then she recognized him.
Howard Jones.
Not the obscure pop synthesizer artist from the 1980s, of whom Angela was aware only because her mom used to play his Best Of CD a lot -- Angela used to sing "Everlasting Love" along with her mom, before she was old enough to know that was way uncool.
No, this was Howard Jones, low-key local businessman in construction supply -- concrete, if Angela remembered right.
This was Howard Jones, Kat's "whale."
It must have been a mistake. "Hang on, I'll go get Kat."
She felt him grab her wrist -- gently, but firm enough to stop her. "No, I don't want Kat. I want you."
Oh. Shit.
"Um, are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. Fifty per song?"
Fifty *dollars*? No. Not enough to cross Kat.
He saw her hesitation. "You're right. A hundred per song."
If there was any way Angela could have simply disappeared into thin air, she would have done it.
"But... Kat..."
"Relax. She doesn't have to know."
"I... I can't." Angela pulled away, and retreated to the safety of the employee hallway.
She found Sasha.
"Mr. Jones wants a dance."
"Yes."
"You said it was Dino."
"No. I said Dino sent me to ask you."
"Mr. Jones is Kat's." Kat's... what? Customer? Client? Those were the correct terms, but they didn't seem to fit in this case. Man? Meal ticket? Angela didn't know what to say, so she just said "Kat's."
"I will talk to Kat. You go make Mr. Jones happy. Mr. Jones is a very important man. He needs to be made happy."
Angela wasn't sure if that was a threat, but when she glanced across the room toward Dino, she saw him wave her back toward the private booths. So he knew about it.
This was bad. Was it some kind of test? Some arrangement made to put her in her place? A set-up?
Whatever it was, Angela wasn't afraid of it. She didn't know whose game it was, but she would beat them at it. There was no roadblock, no detour that would stop her from snaring Dino Sinclair.
Kat didn't scare her. She was even shorter than Angela. And older. And if Kat couldn't keep her man satisfied, how was that Angela's fault? She didn't ask for this, but she wasn't going to say No -- that would only create friction between Dino and one of his best customers. Never mind what other business relationships they might have.
"Fine. But if Kat makes a scene, it's not my fault."
"Go, go," Sasha said through a dismissively-wrinkled face.
Angela stopped just before the private booth area to collect herself. Dancing on stage was one thing. A private dance was a different thing altogether. Could she handle it? She knew the rules, just two -- the other girls had recited them enough times in regaling her with stories of guys who Just Didn't Get It -- you could touch them, but they couldn't touch you; and always make sure Sasha or the doorman was close by in case there were any "misunderstandings."
The song Raj was playing sounded old. Was this one of those that older guys like Mr. Jones were into? She listened a moment as she waited for the burly doorman to take Sasha's place standing guard.
You're as cold as ice
You're willing to sacrifice our love
You want Paradise
But someday you'll pay the price, I know
I've seen it before
It happens all the time
You're closing the door
You leave the world behind
You're digging for gold
Yet throwing away
A fortune in feelings
But someday you'll pay
It sounded like Raj was sending a message to Kat. Poor guy; she knew Kat had hurt him, but he needed to let it go.
Enough thinking about Raj and Kat -- time to get to work.
"Hi," Angela said in a breathy voice. "I'm Heaven," she added, the name coming to her as an afterthought.
"Hello, Heaven." Mr. Jones' smile was a mile wide.
He actually looked pretty good for a guy in his forties. Tall but carved in his cement-colored suit and dark blue dress shirt, with evenly-tanned rugged features, salt-and-pepper hair in a longish crew cut, and long narrow hands and fingers -- the kind of hands that had once done hard labor but were now well-groomed and lotioned.
Those hands reached into his jacket and pulled out a money clip, peeling off a crisp hundred-dollar bill. "Just one dance for now," he said with a disarming, almost fatherly smile.
"You sure Kat won't mind?"
"That's sweet. Looking out for your friend?"
"Looking out for myself." She regretted her candor, until she saw the smile on Mr. Jones' face.
"She can be quite the bitch, can't she? Well, don't worry about her; I'll see that she's taken care of. You just worry about making *me* happy."
His comment was a reminder that this was a business, and she was here to work, and there were certain expectations.
She thought of the way Kat had stepped on her foot earlier -- it still hurt a little. And the way Kat was always bumping her in the hallway. And the way Kat had ripped into the mousy waitress who'd dared enter the sacred dressing room.
It wasn't like this was Angela's idea. She was just doing her job. It wasn't like she was going to enjoy it.
Anyway, if Kat didn't want anybody else dancing for her customer, maybe she should try harder to keep him satisfied.
The old rock song faded, and in its place came a pulsing electronic beat. Some dance club techno-house thing she hadn't heard before.
Angela -- no, it was Heaven now -- reached for the ties on her top. She knew from peeking at the other girls working that a private dance wasn't about getting naked, it was about being naked. But Mr. Jones stopped her with a gentle hand. "Hold on," he said. "Mind if I do the honors?"
Was that allowed? Heaven wasn't sure. She'd thought the rules were pretty black and white, yet here she hadn't even started her first private dance and she was already in a gray area.
Well, he'd be touching your clothes, not touching you. That's okay, isn't it?
Well, if it wasn't, the bouncer would step in, right?
"Okay," she relented.
Mr. Jones -- Howard -- suddenly looked like the little kid who knew he had the best thing for Show and Tell. His fingers tugged gently on the string of her one-tie top, savoring every inch, watching the knot's bow shrink with gleeful anticipation.
And then the knot disappeared. And her breasts appeared. And Mr. Jones' eyes bulged.
Heaven looked down. Something else bulged too.
The dancer began to sway with the music. Slightly, slowly at first, watching her customer's fascinated stare, gradually increasing her movements, wondering how long a man could go without blinking.
"Turn around," the man breathed; Heaven obliged, working the turn into a sexy roll of the hips, falling into the rhythm of the driving digital beats.
"Closer," she heard him say. She inched back, looking over her shoulder at a mesmerized man. She halted her approach when she felt his fingers at the waistband of her skirt, fumbling for the knot that held it in place.
The skirt fell. Her man gasped. Heaven smiled. "Oooh," she cooed.
Heaven turned around, putting one foot up on the chair between Howard's legs, her toes just brushing his crotch. He groaned in appreciation. She noticed the bulge in his slacks shift upward as it grew. Howard was pretty big. Not as big as Dino, but hardly a pee-wee.
The throbbing electronic beat gained a smooth string-like sound; Heaven reacted by drawing her fingers slowly down her body, writhing in time with the music.
She felt her man's pants twitch when she put her finger in her mouth. She wasn't sure where she'd picked that up, but she was happy that Howard liked it so much. She moved in closer, straddling one leg and replacing her foot with her knee, slowly leaning forward until she felt the heat of his body on her naked chest. She nibbled and sucked and licked her slender digit, pausing to close her eyes and sigh. His eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment, but quickly homed in on her wet finger as it slid down, tracing a line between her breasts, then circling around each one before heading south, skirting her navel, sliding between her legs and then down the front of her thigh, until the back of her hand rested against her lover's tented erection.
The bouncer's cough made Heaven jump back, but she recovered, spinning around and looking over her shoulder playfully before backing into a slow twisting figure-eight of pelvic gyration.
She felt his hands on her hips. He wasn't supposed to do that, but... the bouncer remained silent. She figured some exceptions were made for VIPs like Mr. Jones. And she didn't mind at all...
His hands moved slowly around her hips as she swayed, his fingertips meeting at her navel. She took a small step back, moving closer to him, close enough to feel his body heat on her backside...
The hands snaked every-so-gently upward, just firm enough not to tickle.
She felt her lover cup her breasts, trapping erect nipples between his fingers. Heaven heard a cough, but... it felt *so* good.
Fingers pinched. Heaven gasped. Someone coughed. Loud.
And the beat changed. Slower, harder, raunchier. Some hot rap song.
"Ahem!" Voiced this time. The teasing hands left Heaven's body. She felt her rush cool with disappointment.
"Thank-" Howard squeaked. Stopped, cleared his throat, tried again. "Thank you, Heaven. That was very pleasant."
He was supposed to pay her now. She was supposed to offer to keep dancing for another song if he'd pay more. For a moment she thought she'd be happy to keep dancing for free, but something in the back of her mind said this was the wrong man; she was after a different man. Gradually the girl separated herself from the role.
Angela turned to face the happy recipient of her first private dance. "Would you like it to be more pleasant?" she said with her sweetest smile, only realizing after the fact that "more" might not be interpreted as just another dance.
Thankfully, Mr. Jones declined. "No, I think that's enough for our first time together," he said, the sensual glaze gradually fading from his eyes as he fumbled with something in his jacket pocket. His hand produced a crisp portrait of Benjamin Franklin.
Angela had just taken the bill between her fingers when she felt a sharp pain in her left earlobe.
"Get off my man you *slut*!" It was Kat. Angela couldn't turn to see her, because something had a hold of her ear, but she recognized the voice.
Mr. Jones came to Angela's defense. "Kat, let her go," he said sternly.
But Kat wasn't having any of it. "I'll deal with you later," she hissed. Then Angela felt herself yanked sideways; pain compelled her to follow, limping awkwardly sideways across the club floor. Moments later, she felt herself tossed at the edge of a booth's table.
Dino's booth.
She looked up; Dino wasn't looking at her. He was looking at...
Kat. Who stood in the aisle with one hand on her hip and one hand pointing a disapproving finger at Angela.
"I caught her dancing with my customer."
Dino played it cool. "If she was dancing with him, that makes him *her* customer."
"I don't *think* so. Everybody knows Howie is mine!"
Dino shot Angela a look that made her feel about two feet tall. His eyes slid down to Angela's hand, and the hundred dollar bill sticking out of it, before sliding back over to Kat.
"A hundred bucks says he isn't." Dino seemed angry at being put in this position. But now that the fight was picked, he would see it through.
"Dammit, Dino, you know how hard I've worked on this." This? Mr. Jones was a "this?" Kat made it sound like there was more than a steady stream of private dances at stake. "I *need* this."
"What do you want me to do? I can't tell a customer which dancer he's allowed to pick."
"She's not even a dancer! She's a fucking *waitress*!"
"Not any more." It wasn't much of an endorsement, but it elated Angela nonetheless.
"All right, fine. I'll make it simple for you. Either she goes or I go."
Dino's answer came without hesitation. "Okay."
Kat waited a moment for Dino to tell his new dancer that she was fired, but Dino just looked at the guest at his table, a stern-looking gentleman in a dark suit. They exchanged a look as if waiting for the interruption to excuse itself so they could resume their conversation.
Kat prompted Dino. "Well?"
"Well what?"
Kat looked like she'd been slapped. "You're not serious."
"Are you?"
"I'll call Kostya."
Dino pulled out his cell phone and pressed a button. "Here, it's ringing." He offered it to her, but she was too stunned to take it. No, not stunned. Afraid. Why was she afraid? Wasn't she Kostya's girl? Or at least used to be? Maybe she didn't have any pull with him after all. Maybe it was true what Misty had said once -- Kat was here in spite of Moroshkin, not because of him. "No? Maybe later." He pressed "End" and put it back in his pocket.
He was really calling her bluff -- with one of his own. Angela couldn't believe it. Kat's relationship with Moroshkin aside, she still brought a lot of customers -- and money -- to the club. Dino wasn't willing to let all that go, was he? That *would* get him in trouble with Moroshkin, wouldn't it? After all, in a way it was Moroshkin's money. Somehow he knew Kat wouldn't actually quit. Didn't he?
Or did he just expect Angela to be able to make up the difference? It was only her second night. She hadn't even danced a full three-song set yet. Surely he wasn't counting on her, was he?
Angela had to check herself. Why did she care if he was counting on her? This wasn't a real job for her. This was a mission. Matter of fact, it would be good if he *was* counting on her. It gave her more leverage. It meant he was that much further under her spell already.
Though she had to admit she appreciated the vote of confidence, coming from him. If that's what it was.
Angela watched Kat and Dino as the seconds ticked by. Neither one moved -- Kat barely restraining her anger, Dino barely paying attention. After a tense moment, Kat backed down. "You haven't heard the last of this."
But Dino wasn't having any. "You better hope I have."
Kat just turned on her heel and stormed off toward the back.
Angela turned to follow -- she didn't need more customers asking for private dances right now -- when Dino stopped her.
"An- I mean, Heaven."
"Yeah?" Her hope that she'd made progress with Dino was dashed when she turned and saw his dark expression.
"What the hell were you doing, dancing for Mr. Jones?"
Huh? But Dino had asked her to!
Angela's mouth opened to protest when her brain caught up to the situation and quickly closed it again.
No, Dino hadn't asked her. Sasha *said* Dino wanted her to.
Why would Sasha lie?
Angela considered explaining when it occurred to her that it would be Sasha's word against hers, and as dumb as it might appear to piss off the top dancer, it would be even dumber to badmouth the trusted club manager. If it had been the old Dino Sinclair, the one she'd thought was real, the one she'd thought she'd fallen for, she knew he'd believe her. But now, she didn't know what to think of anyone.
This is getting complicated.
"I'm... I'm sorry. He said it would be okay."
"You should know better." How? It was only her second night dancing. And she'd only been a waitress for, what, a week?
But he had her dead to rights. She *should* have known better. Men would say anything to get a piece, whether it was an extra-special private dance from a stripper or a roll in the hay with a naive young woman.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
"Do not be too harsh with her, Mr. Sinclair." It was Dino's guest. "Such a pretty girl should not be made to frown."
Only now did it occur to Angela that she was standing in front of these men in nothing but a thong and high heels. She resisted the urge to cover herself -- her body was her power. It made men's dicks hard and brains soft. Her shame was her weakness.
Dino took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, what's done is done." It seemed like he was talking about more than just a private dance with the wrong guy. "Go on," he said, waving her off.
"Yes," Dino's guest nodded, "I am anxious to see you dance again."
Angela felt her adrenaline surge. This man was important to Dino Sinclair. If she made him happy, she'd make Dino happy. And if she made Dino happy, he might see her as more than just an employee. And if he *saw* her, it wouldn't be long before she'd own him.
So, if this mystery man wanted to see her dance again, why not give him the best possible view? Surely Dino would approve of her giving his "friend" a private dance.
She remembered the way it felt... to play that role, of course.
This man wasn't as good-looking as Mr. Jones, but... in her mind they were all Dino Sinclair anyway.
She put on her sexiest smile. "If you'll follow me, gorgeous, I'm sure we can find a private booth..."
She was surprised at the man's uncomfortable reaction. "Ahem. Um, actually, I'd just like to see you again on stage."
Okay, fine. He wasn't ready for that yet. (Funny, she never thought she'd be more willing than a guy...)
"That's cool. Let me know if you change your mind. Any friend of Dino's is a friend of mine." She winked, and smiled with satisfaction at the man's deep blush. Her hips took on an extra wiggle on the way back to the dressing room, knowing Dino's eyes were following.
It was almost time for her second set on stage. Angela was anxious; Kat was supposed to go on stage after her, and she didn't want another run-in with the more experienced dancer. Angela hoped Mr. Jones would keep Kat busy long enough that the two didn't cross paths in the dressing room.
Angela checked herself in the mirror. This was one of Zora's dresses -- they weren't exactly the same size, but this simple tube of bright-white spandex truly was One Size Fits All.
"No, no, pull it down more." Now it was Coco giving her advice. "If you start with it that high up you've got nowhere to go before you take it off."
"Thanks."
"And you need a little color. Use my purple body glitter."
"Thanks."
"Gotta run. See you in twelve."
Three songs. Ten minutes. Twelve if you picked the right songs. As a waitress, Angela had thought a three-song set to be a long time -- she could get drinks for half the room in that time, if she dispensed with all the tip-boosting pleasantries. And when Zora had asked her to watch a whole set to give her a critique -- a request Angela had been too polite to refuse -- three songs seemed like an eternity. Putting together all those moves so it didn't look repetitive, and then the whole being naked in front of strangers thing. Angela smiled at the memory; it had been just a few days ago, but she'd come a long way since then. She was a whole new woman now. She didn't have to be Sapphire to be strong.
Music change. Eight minutes. Angela rebuckled the strappy clear plastic sandals Monique loaned her. Monique was a half-size bigger, but it was close enough, and despite their precarious look the platform sandals had a better grip on the stage than her own black pumps -- plus they looked the part.
Coco's purple body glitter made a striking difference. Her legs and chest sparkled when she moved. No wonder the guys stare. (Like it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that you get *naked*.) She'd have to get some of this stuff.
Angela heard the music change. Four minutes. She checked her wig -- she vaguely remembered Monique saying "keep it" last night. Blue hair. Out in the real world it would look ridiculous -- like an anime girl. Of course, in a place like this, that was just another horny guy's fantasy, and that meant money on the tip rail.
Which meant notice from Dino Sinclair, she reminded herself, the point of this whole exercise.
"Hey, Angela! Oh, sorry, it's Heaven now, isn't it?"
"Oh, hey Beth!" One of the other waitresses.
"Wow, you look *hot*!"
"Thanks."
"I couldn't believe it when I heard. I mean, Angela the wallflower! -Oh, sorry."
"It's okay. She doesn't work here anymore." Angela -- Heaven -- grinned.
"Well, congratulations. Just don't let it get to you."
The waitress-turned-dancer thought that an odd thing to say. "I won't."
Just then Sasha's voice boomed from down the hallway. "People are thirsty!"
Beth ducked. "Shit, gotta go!"
Raj's "announcer voice" broke over the fading song. "Let's all give a nice thank-you to bold and beautiful Coco. If you want an even closer look at this sweet chocolate, be sure to hook up with Coco for a private dance."
That was Angela's cue. Normally there was a full song break between dancers, but this was prime time, and every minute counted; the DJ would fade the generic techno interlude as soon as a dancer had collected her tips, and then it was on to the next girl. Angela stepped up on the stage; any second now Coco would be hustling past, cash in hand, and then it was Heaven's turn.
"Don't forget to show your appreciation for our lovely young ladies. If you're sitting up front, be sure to put your tip dollars up on the rail for every song. New song, new dollar. You know they're worth so much more."
Hmm. Raj only said that when there were cheapskates on the rail -- guys who sat and stared up at hard-working dancers without tipping. Those guys didn't tip waitresses either.
No matter. They'd tip *her*. Everybody would want a piece of Heaven.
"Now, back on the stage at Ten, those of you who saw her debut last night or her first dance tonight know how special she is; if this is your first time, I know you won't soon forget it. Here she is again, Ten's newest star... Heaven!"
Curtain parted. Jaws dropped. Interest raised. Pants tightened. Wallets loosened.
Heaven strutted downstage with a slow swagger, picking up the sweetly-raunchy vibe of the tune Raj had picked for her...
I love myself
I want you to love me
When I'm feelin' down
I want you above me
I search myself
I want you to find me
I forget myself
I want you to remind me
That was as far as Heaven got. She felt herself suddenly yanked back by the hair, losing her feet and crashing hard to the stage.
The next thing she knew, she was attacked by a wolverine.
Sharp claws tore at her dress, dug into her exposed flesh.
Angela instinctively kicked and thrashed; an upthrust knee caught the beast in the torso, slowing the attack long enough for Angela to push it off of her.
No, something lifted the animal away, and was holding it in an outstretched paw. The thing was kicking and screaming.
In English.
It wasn't an animal.
It was Kat.
"You fucking *bitch*! You took my man, and now you take my *song*? I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"
Suddenly she let out a squeal, and then fell silent.
Sasha had his thick arm wrapped around her neck.
"I'll kill-haughkkh!" Kat started again, but was cut off when Sasha flexed his arm.
"Quiet!" he barked.
The entire room fell silent.
"Get off the stage!" Sasha hissed. The look in his eyes scared the hell out of Angela; she scampered back stage, followed by the stocky Russian and his immobile captive.
Music cranked back up without explanation out in the club. Backstage, Sasha pushed past Angela, dangling Kat from the neck like a kitten in transit. Angela followed him to the break room, when he tossed Kat into an empty chair.
The dancer made to get up, her fury already coming back to a boil, but Sasha just pointed at her and commanded: "Sit. Down." She sat, glowering.
"You too. Sit." Angela sat in the indicated chair, across the table from the woman who'd just attacked her.
Dino appeared in the doorway. Mr. Jones stood behind him, looking at Kat with a sad look on his face.
Dino spoke. "Miss Novak."
"What."
Dino nodded toward the back door. It led to the alley behind the building. "That's the door. Use it. Don't come back until you're ready to apologize."
"Are you out of your fucking mind?! Do you know what your little *bitch* did to me?!" Kat lunged to her feet; Sasha stepped forward with surprising speed and thrust a palm into her chest, knocking her back down into her chair like a ragdoll. Angela heard Kat wheeze.
No one moved or spoke for a long time. They just sat and listened to Kat find the rest of her lungs.
Finally:
"Howie?" Kat said, plaintive.
"Not after that," Mr. Jones said flatly. "I don't know you anymore."
"But..." It didn't matter what she said; he was already gone.
Kat looked crushed. "All that hard work. All those times in the back. I was so close. He'd almost asked me. I felt the ring in his pocket. I was outta here." Her expression hardened. "And then *you* had to pick now to come out of your shell."
Kat turned her head toward Angela and glared. Angela looked into the eyes of a woman possessed.
Dino tried to be soothing, sidestepping the fact that Kat had just admitted she was trying to snare a permanent sugar daddy; from the way Dino failed to react, Angela guessed he'd known what Kat had been up to. "Kat, it'll be okay; Howard is just a little shaken up. I'm sure if you give him a little time he'll be back."
"Back for who?" Kat sniped.
"Kat, it's not Angela's fault."
Angela thought she saw the woman snarl. "Bullshit," she spat. "She's been planning this ever since she got here. --Wipe that innocent look off your face before I slap it off."
Kat's intensity took Angela's breath away. But she sucked up her courage and tried to make amends. "I'm sorry, Kat, I really didn't know. R-Raj picked the song. A-and I told Mr. Jones I didn't want to dance for him, but h-he said he'd talk to you and it'd be okay. I didn't know about you... about the other stuff."
Dino played the diplomat, still in the doorway, his voice calming even as his eyes narrowed at Angela. "There, Kat, see? I'm sure Angela will talk to Howard and help straighten it out, right Angela?"
But Kat didn't give the younger woman a chance to answer. She leaned forward, more menacing than a woman of her size had any right to be. "You're dead," she growled.
"Kat!" Dino snapped. Kat jumped -- Dino clearly had her attention -- but she never looked away from Angela.
"You've lost it, Kat. You're totally out of control. I don't know what you're on, but you need to get off it. If you need help finding a program, call Sasha. But you can't be here anymore. What happened tonight wasn't Angela's fault -- it's yours."
But Kat wasn't really listening. Her eyes seemed to glow with desperate hatred. It was the look of a woman who had nothing left to lose. Who was memorizing the face of the person she'd dedicate her life to destroying.
Angela's heartbeat felt like a drumroll in her chest. Kat scared her. Angela expected a little friction, but this woman was around the bend. She hadn't seen such intensely focused hatred since she'd fought The Black Widow. And that wasn't even directed at her.
Would Kat cool off, or would she hold some kind of crazy grudge? Angela expected to make enemies as Sapphire, but this was different. There was no impenetrable forcefield and no secret identity to hide behind. Dino and Sasha were here now, but what about later? What about when she went home? What about tomorrow, and the next day?
Angela glanced over Kat's shoulder at the locker where she'd stashed her other bag. She could almost feel the comforting warmth of the sapphires, just a few feet away, but there was no getting to them. She flashed back to the attack on stage, and imagined what it would be like to try to fight off Kat while she fumbled with the combination lock...
Not that she could afford to reveal her identity anyway. But maybe if her "friend" Sapphire paid Kat a visit...
No. Then she was just as bad as Kat. Sapphire was a heroine, not a bully.
Dino could feel the tension. "Kat? Come on. Take some time off. Get yourself right. You don't want to do this."
The killer's look in Kat's eyes, still boring into Angela, said otherwise. As far as Kat was concerned, it was too late. Howard Jones was gone, and that was all that mattered. The only thing left was revenge.
"Dead," she whispered.
Dino Sinclair calmly entered the room to stand next to Kat's chair. He stood over her a moment, but Kat never stopped staring death toward Angela. Without warning, Dino's hand shot out and grabbed Kat by the chin, yanking her head up, forcing her to look at him. He stared down at her with such a stern look that the dancer recoiled, looking like a predator snared in the act of the hunt by a bigger predator -- a mix of confusion and fear and hatred.
"Out," Dino said to the room. Mr. Jones was already gone; Sasha quickly backed out. Angela stood to join him. "No, Angela, you stay."
Angela saw Dave coming around the corner just as Sasha was leaving; Sasha brusquely body-checked the bartender around the corner; she heard Dave's protests recede down the hallway.
Dino's hand squeezed Kat's chin -- "Ow!" -- just hard enough to focus her attention.
"I tried to be reasonable, but you just don't get it, do you? You're done here."
"Fine, whatever." Her eyes strained sideways, like an unrepentant child just waiting for adults to leave the room.
"LOOK AT ME!" Dino barked. He shook Kat's chin so hard her whole body shivered.
Now Kat's eyes showed sullen fear.
Dino leaned in close. His voice carried an even menace that Angela hadn't heard since that time on the balcony with Jacob.
"If you ever come anywhere near Angela -- if I hear that you've so much as looked at her -- I promise you no one will ever find your body."
The color seemed to leave the whole room. Angela felt suddenly numb.
Katrina Novak had clearly gone off the deep end, and that made her scary.
But Dino Sinclair knew exactly what he was saying, and that made him scarier.