Death's Privilege (18 page)

‘What do you think? Is going to strip clubs cheating?’ Alison’s question came out of the blue. The wine had made her a little dozy. She’d lost track of Emma’s conversation, but reasoned that she probably hadn’t missed out on much.

‘Oh, odd question. Erm.’

‘We were just talking about cheating and where the line is.’

I bet you were.

‘Joel thinks a man should be allowed to visit strip clubs whenever he likes. But he would, I suppose.’ Alison shot him a look like she was telling off her own boyfriend. Far too familiar for people who’d only just met. ‘I mean, porn’s okay, but actual women is too far.’

‘Porn does involve actual women.’ Emma spoke up, appearing to state the obvious, but it was clear what she was getting at. ‘It’s easy to distance yourself from it through a screen, but each of those women are being used for their bodies.’

Alison looked at her blankly, either from not understanding her difference of opinion or because she didn’t know how to respond. Sarah felt for Emma. With the advent of excessive exposure to pornography, and the widespread acceptance of it in everyday life, moral objectors were often rebutted with accusations of prudishness and calls to lighten up. Emma had a point, but it was a hard one to make against the normalisation of sexual imagery with a billion-dollar industry behind it.

‘They do get paid. They choose to do it and earn far more than we do. They’re hardly prisoners,’ sniped Alison before turning back towards Sarah. Emma didn’t respond, and instead casually turned away from Alison, clearly feeling this was an argument best to walk away from.

‘I don’t mind. Mark’s been. It’s harmless, as long as it’s not a regular thing. I certainly wouldn’t forbid him from it.’

‘No way. How can you say that? He could be bringing back all sorts of things.’ Alison was lecturing Sarah on how to maintain a healthy relationship. Alison, who had clear intentions of walking out of here with Joel whilst her boyfriend sat at home. Sarah found herself conjuring all manner of assumptions about this woman she’d just met as her opinion of her fell further and further. ‘Who knows what diseases they have.’

‘Ladies, no touching goes on. Touching a girl in a place like that would get you dragged into a back room and pummelled by the door staff. And before you ask, I went to a few in my youth. Not something I’ve cared to do any time since then. There’s something about spending all night staring at naked women who you’re never going to sleep with that just doesn’t appeal.’ Joel spoke up before Sarah could respond. The extra few seconds of thinking time may have saved her taking this young upstart to task.

‘People don’t need strip clubs to cheat; dishonest people do it in bars just like this one.’ Sarah looked straight at her. Alison backed off and quietened down. ‘And if you think women who work in strip clubs or in prostitution are all diseased and immoral, you may be in the wrong job.’

Alison’s face dropped. Sarah thought for a second she’d read the conversation all wrong, that this was all just friendly banter she’d taken too personally.

‘Well, we could go and find out? There’s that one at the far end of the high street. Candy Club, is it?’ blurted out Joel.

‘Like you don’t know.’ Alison let out a little louder than natural laugh. Exaggerated either by her mojito or her attempt to defuse the tension.

‘I’ve never been. Guys just like to know where these kinds of place are, ya know. Shall we?’

Sarah looked at the time. It was gone eleven o’clock. Mark and the girls would be asleep and, although she had an early start in the morning, she didn’t have anything booked in. She drank the rest of her wine in one hit. Alison wasn’t going to make her look old and mumsy.

‘Let’s go then.’ She looked back at Joel with a big smile.

He looked at Emma. ‘You in?’

‘No, definitely not. You guys enjoy yourselves.’ Her response was to be expected considering her initial reaction. Her tone was laced with a little shock and a little snobbery. She had a right to be; this wasn’t the way Sarah had been intending to spend the evening either.

They stood up and said their goodbyes to Emma. Alison followed with a snide remark about her being stuck-up and old-fashioned. As they walked out Alison stumbled, put her arm around Joel’s waist for support and left it there. She struggled to walk from the table to the door. Her high heels didn’t help hold her up and she swayed into Joel before overcompensating the other way and almost falling onto a table of late-night diners. Joel strode next to her, sober as a day in the office, forced to hold her up or let her fall flat on her face. Alison hung off him as he opened the door and walked her outside. They’d been flirting all evening. Flirting, or maybe that was just how men and women spoke to each other these days. When sober, and a little less abrasive, maybe they could have got along. But the way Alison was tonight, Sarah hoped Joel had better taste.

Sarah was surprised the bouncer let them in. Alison could hardly stand, but somehow convinced the door staff there was more filling her legs than five garish cocktails. Joel held her up and had taken out her ID prior to reaching the door, as fumbling around in her bag wouldn’t have made the best impression. Sarah would never have suggested they go to a place like this had Alison not brought it up, but once the decision was made, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Being turned away now would have almost been disappointing.

Everything after the disgruntled bouncer—she wasn’t sure there was any other kind—was more pleasant than she expected. A busty, glitter-bikini clad woman sat in an old-fashioned cinema-style ticket booth. It was a twenty-pound cover and Joel paid for all three. Sarah declined at first, before realising she only had her card. The last thing she wanted was THE CANDY CLUB popping up on the account statement, especially considering the situation at home. She felt a mild headache coming on at the thought of restarting that discussion. Either that, or it was that she’d had too much alcohol.
Oh, give yourself the night off.

The next door led to the club. A catwalk stage split the room almost in two, with tables and black leather chairs all around it. Katy Perry told everyone they were fireworks from the booming five-foot floor speakers in each corner. Pink ceiling lights focused on the main attraction, a brunette secretary stretching her leg vertically up a silver pole. As men left countless cash notes at her feet, Sarah wondered how the lady on stage managed to do all that without a single ladder in her tights.

‘Woah.’ Alison let out an excited wail with a facial expression to match, like a child being taken to her first theme park. She walked ahead to the nearest free table and sat down, enamoured by the place and engrossed in the secretary’s on-stage antics.

Alison staying off her feet for as long as possible was probably best for everyone. Sarah shuffled in between two tables on the way to join her. A man sitting on his own made brief eye contact with her then looked down, looking ashamed he’d been caught in a club staring at the bare jiggly bits of a woman less than half his age. Men at a table further along were eyeing up Alison, no doubt imagining what she looked like naked and what moves she’d pull off if on stage. The chances of her being able to dance coherently in the state she was in were pretty slim and from the salivating looks they were giving her, that was something they wouldn’t mind in the slightest. Sarah took the seat between Alison and their table, blocking their view.
That ought to burst that little fantasy. Nothing but comfortable pants and an ill-fitting bra under all this, honey.

The secretary unclasped her skirt and pulled it off with such force, it was surprising it didn’t launch into the crowd. Letting go of that little number would have caused a mosh pit like no other. She kept her heels on and only a white lacy underwear set remained.

Joel stayed quiet and Alison was glued to the spectacle. ‘This is awesome. See? I told you.’

It was awesome in all the wrong ways. Awesome that men were throwing incredible amounts of money—stacks of twenties covered the base of the runway—all to stare at a young girl’s body. And awesome that in this day and age, people still thought this was a credible profession worth aiming towards.

‘I’m not sure who I feel more sorry for,’ said Sarah, not aware anyone was listening.

‘There’s no one to feel sorry for. The girls choose to be here and the guys choose to pay. Nobody loses.’ Alison held the drinks menu and looked around the room for a waiter. 'It's good money, and they must rake it in on the tips. We're the mugs for working so hard for it.'

‘Just anyone who values their dignity. Are you sure another drink is a good idea?’

Alison rolled her eyes. ‘You’ll make a good mother one day, just not tonight.’

‘I already do.’
You judgemental over-assuming tart. Ouch. Where’d that come from?

Joel snapped out of his thigh-induced stupor and waved over a server. ‘Corona for me.’ He looked at Sarah, who shook her head and then at Alison, who ordered a mojito. The server looked at Alison a little longer than the others and decided she was sober enough to keep going.

‘Stopped drinking already?’ Alison continued to goad her on silly little points that normally wouldn’t bother Sarah at all. Had she been out with the girls, there’d be no drama if someone didn’t want to drink at all, or if they shot off early to take up the kids or any other family emergency. It was unusual that anyone would get a rise out of her, but for some reason this woman, this girl, had sparked her competitive side.

‘I know when to stop. You not on shift in the morning?’

‘Of course. In for seven.’

The secretary finished up. One last twirl and she was fully naked. She strutted to the rear of the runway and through a black curtain at the back. The pink lights switched to blue in preparation for another girl to saunter out and cash in on the baying crowd of cash-rich, self-esteem-poor men. The noise level rose as the blood rushed back to their brains allowing them to talk again. On hearing the conversations, Sarah would have preferred it to have stayed below the waistline.

‘That one was a right slut. We’d get no work done if she were our secretary.’

‘I’d have her working over a desk rather that at a desk.’

‘That arse is the best job application I’ve ever seen.’

The last guy gave a quick glance over at Sarah and stopped himself saying any more. His navy suit, which looked as if it’d once been a sharp tailor-made number, was a little too well worn, and his white shirt collar was open one button too many. His wedding band had seen better days. He looked apologetic, like he’d been caught by a teacher scribbling rude words in his textbook. She didn’t want to judge, but found herself doing so. Men came to places like this for different reasons. She felt like she’d snuck into a place she wasn’t allowed, like the little boy in
The Witches,
seeing things she wasn’t supposed to see. She felt their eyes on her. When she couldn’t see them, she was certain they were either picturing her in stockings and suspenders wrapped around the pole or cursing her for whatever blanket view of women brought them to a place like this in the first place. But when she made eye contact, all that changed. They were reduced to embarrassed schoolboys caught in a lie.

Alison swayed her head back toward the table. ‘You’d let your husband come to a place like this?’

The speakers boomed again before Sarah could answer. A heavy thud repeated throughout the room as the blue lights started to pulse. The punters quietened down and everyone looked back towards the stage. A siren wailed as a woman flung the black curtain back and strode out wearing a short black leather skirt, a black leather shirt and wielding an old-fashioned truncheon. She swung it by her side as she walked towards the pole. Alison clapped. The stripper bent down, sticking her bum in the air making it look like it was pouting, and placed her hat on a drunken guy’s head. He responded by pushing a handful of twenties into her cleavage.
One day they’ll design card swipers to fit in there.
The police officer undid her bun and long, auburn hair unravelled, resting on her shoulders and chest. Alison clapped again and let out a howl.

Sarah leant towards Joel. ‘It might be time we get going. A loose word from her and they’ll all know what we do for a living. That could lead to hassle we don’t need.’

‘You might be right.’ He nodded towards Alison, who was too engrossed in what was happening on stage to notice anything they were doing. ‘We’ll go after this one. It’s rude to walk out in the middle of a dance.’

‘I wasn’t aware there was an etiquette to these things. Watch them strip, put cash in their undies, but don’t turn your back on them?’

‘I don’t know about etiquette, but I’ve got a personal rule to never walk out on a naked woman.’

‘I’m sure they’d be flattered to hear that.’

‘Glad you came?’

‘It’s an experience. Not one I can say I’m itching to have again in a hurry.’

The siren wailed to the background of the heavy bass line. The police officer, now naked from the waist up, patrolled the runway to the delight of the crowd of men that had formed at the side. She looked down on them and twirled her truncheon, her seductive eyes and swinging hips ensuring their compliance.

‘And I thought she was the only copper in the room.’ The server carrying the tray of drinks had a familiar voice. ‘Coppers on stage and coppers in the crowd.’ Leilani Hayes put the tray down on the table. ‘Okay, let me guess. Beer for you. The red wine’s gotta be Sarah’s. And the sweet and sour mojito for your little firecracker friend over there.’ Alison had left the table and was now standing next to the runway alongside the row of men. Security was eyeing her up.

‘Leilani? You work here?’ If there was someone she really didn't want to see after a few drinks, it was Leilani Hayes.

‘My sister owns it. I cover a few shifts from time to time. She’s got me working here every night this week. It helps to make ends meet and helps her out too. What’s this? An office night out?’

‘Oh, I didn’t order anything. I should bring her back over. She’s likely to get thrown out.’ Sarah went to stand up, but Leilani raised her hand before she could.