Oh the FEELS! There are so many different ways today’s #1lineWed theme could be translated. I decided to go in the direction of why a part-time college student in her late twenties would need to go to work as a dancer…even though I don’t explain why in this snippet because…spoilers! 😆 Here’s a fairly long scene from the next Nightrider book, NIGHT MOVES, which is Hollywood and Lainey’s story. She REALLY needs a job that pays big money fast so she’s “auditioning” for a dancer’s slot at Chasin’ Tail, the Nigtrider-owned strip club.
“You ever dance before?”
I stared at the manager. He was tall, wide, wore a leather vest, and hadn’t shaved in several days. He scared the heck out of me but hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
“Uhm…not like this. Exactly.” And I wouldn’t be dancing like this at all if my need for money wasn’t so desperate.
“Like this. Exactly. You mean you’ve never danced naked?
“Wait…naked? I thought the dancers wore G-strings and…uh…bras.”
“We’ll discuss that. Are you a dancer?”
“Only recreationally. But I was a gymnast.”
“What’s that mean? Exactly.”
“I’m flexible.” I eyed the stage behind the man. “Watch.” Brushing past him, I placed my hands on the edge and hopped up, like I was getting out of a pool. Planting my butt on the lip of the stage, I sat for a second, getting my nerve up. My fingers brushed over the wooden surface, finding each knick and crack. Unable to stall any longer, I swung my legs around, and stood. Approaching the metal pole like it might bite me, I screwed up my mouth and considered options. Tossing a sheepish smile at the guy, I shrugged. “Okay, this might be a little easier with some music.”
“Yo, Wiz, hit the soundtrack.” The big guy bellowed like there was a crowd in the room.
Music belched from a dozen speakers and I clapped my hands over my ears. “Can you turn it down?” I shouted over the noise. Moments later, I could actually hear the music, catch the beat. It was something slow, sensual, with a driving bass that reverberated in my chest. Not what I expected—or was used to—but yeah, I could work with this.
I let my hips loosen and move on their own while I kicked off my cowboy boots. I made a mental note to dig out a rosin powder bag if I got the job. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I hopped, raising one knee high and then charged three steps into a front walk-over. My landing put my next to the pole.
I walked around it—slowly. Slinky. I need to think slinky. With a side of sexy. With another hop, I grabbed the pole several feet above my outstretched hands, rolled my hips and legs until I was upside down, one knee hooked around the pole to anchor me. Too bad they didn’t have aerial silk rigged. Maybe if I got the gig I could talk them into it. Doing an act like that, I wouldn’t have to be naked because I could hide in the cloth.
Using the pole to me advantage, I arched and slithered, twirled and snaked up and down the apparatus. When the song ended, I curved around the pole to land on my hands and did a back walk over to stand upright.
“Like I said, I used to be a gymnast. This isn’t exactly the balance beam, but I can work the pole.” I glanced down at the manager. Oh hell. He had a woody the size of Cincinnati. “Uhm…I guess you liked it?”
“Damn, babe. You do that naked and you’ll be rollin’ in twenties if not hundreds.”
“I sure hope so.” Dang it. That came out sounding far more needy than it should have.
“Can you start tonight? One of our regulars called in sick.”
“Oh…I…uhm…sure. I think I can get a costume and stuff. What time?”
“We’ll fill out the paperwork now—”
“Paperwork?” I cut him off. “What kind of paperwork?”
“The business kind. We need name, address, phone number, social security number, all that crap. You make an hourly wage. That’s paid by check and we take out all the applicable taxes. The tips? Those are all yours to do with as you please, though you’d be smart to cut the bartenders and waitresses in, especially if you do private.”
“Private?” Dang. Why did my voice pick now to squeak? “As in…like…alone with some guy in a room?”
“D’uh, babe. Yeah. The real money gets made doin’ lap dances in the suites. You get them to buy one of the packages, you and the waitress make out like bandits.”
“Uh…make out isn’t a euphemism for anything is it?”
“We don’t whore our girls. A dancer wants to do that on her own? That’s her business and it’s done off property. We run a legitimate business here.”
So what about y’all? What need is in your writing, reading, or life? 😉