Pole Dance (11 page)

Jake left the room and went back to his office shaking his head. Fiona was a piece of work. They had a thing going for about a week when she was first hired years ago. Had taken a lot to convince her that he was done with her and their final scene was bad. First time Jake had ever wanted to hit a woman. Didn't do it, though he sincerely wanted to.

Jake settled himself behind the desk before he heard a knock then saw Fiona poke her head in.

"Wanted to see me?"

"Come in, Fiona," Jake indicated the chairs in front of the desk. The phone rang and Jake took the call while Fiona sank into one of the visitor's chairs and crossed her legs. She had covered herself with a sheer jacket that hid nothing.

"Good. Take him out back. Dale? Okay," Jake rumbled before hanging up the phone. Jake looked at Fiona as he tried to contain his temper. The bitch was sitting there half naked and smiling. "What's the number one rule here, Fiona?"

He watched Fiona's body flinch at both his tone and his words as the smile slid from her face.

"Excuse me?" she asked with a snort and a shake of her head. "You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack. Askin' you again, Fiona, what is the number one rule at Fuego's?" Jake's voice was as hard as steel and he held her eyes.

He watched as she sucked her cheeks in and her eyes darted around the room.

"Don't remember, Fiona? Come on, you have to sign the rules every year to show you agree to them."

She flipped her hair and re-crossed her legs before fixing him with a stare.

"Never. Fucking. Show. Pussy. Right, Fiona? Isn't that the rule you agreed to?"

She broke eye contact as she blew out a noisy breath and started to cross her arms over her chest.

"Doesn't apply to me," she sneered with a dismissive wave.

"You're shitting me." Jake couldn't believe she just said that.

"I'm the one that brings in the high rollers, Jake, and you know it. Without me, you have no real talent working the poles. So if I leave, those big spenders will leave with me."

"Have other dancers, Fiona--" Jake began.

"You have shit, Jake. Without me you have just a handful of sluts with no talent clomping around on stage," she said with an ugly twist to her mouth.

Jake did another slow shake of his head.

"I'm the star here, Jake. Without me this place is just another little strip club in a backwater town." Fiona's chin jutted out. "I'm the best thing you've got."

"Rules, Fiona," Jake's voice was firm. "You broke the number one rule."

Fiona glared at him as his voice continued.

"Givin' you thirty minutes to get your shit and get out."

"But, Jake--"

"Thirty minutes, Fiona. Ain't gonna say it again."

"You don't mean--"

"Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now!"

And Fiona finally began to move but she turned back at the door.

"Don't say it, Fiona," Jake murmured with a sigh.

The office door slamming gave evidence to Fiona's anger. It wasn't even three minutes later when the door opened again to admit Dale, dressed to perfection in a navy blue suit and blue striped shirt opened at the neck.

"Heard we got a situation," Dale said leaning back against the door, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Max caught Fiona flashing while giving a lap dance. Have it on tape. Just had her in here and told her she has thirty minutes to get out."

Dale nodded. "It go okay?"

"Yeah. 'Bout as well as can be expected." Jake snorted. "Why don't you go supervise her highness's leaving, yeah? I've got to check in to see if they got Jamison out of the club and on his way."

"What about Jamison?"

"That's who she was giving the flash dance. Jamison." Jake still couldn't believe it.

"Okay, I'll go see to Fiona. We got any body armor, a bulletproof vest, maybe?" Dale asked with a smile.

Jake grinned and shook his head.

"My last will and testament is with Sam," Dale called over his shoulder as he left the office.

Jake chuckled and was surprised at the sound of it. He was still angry but talking with Dale had helped. He made his way upstairs and used the front door as he didn't want to walk through the club to get to the back. To get to Jamison. Gave a finger flick as he passed by Hank who was working the door and continued around the building. He saw Max and Tony holding the arms of a very inebriated bank president standing under the light of the kitchen door.

"There he ish, the shmut peddler, himshelf," Jamison slurred when Jake joined the group.

Jake did a chin lift to his guys and gave the bank president the once over.

"He's trashed," he said, stating the obvious.

"Been here since noon, right Tony?" Max said.

"Yeah, slammin' 'em back. Sky tried to get him to leave earlier but lover boy here didn't want to go."

"Wash waitin' for my Fiona," Jamison interjected with a sway and a shuffle. "Shesh the best."

"Somebody called a taxi?" Jake asked Max.

"Yeah, just waiting for it to show, boss."

Jake saw Jamison suddenly bend at the waist and Max took a quick step back while still hanging on to Jamison's arm. Tony wasn't quite as quick and Jamison's vomit splashed on his shoes and pant legs.

"Motherfucker! I just got these kicks last week." Tony yelled before yanking on Jamison's arm. "You are one stupid fuck," he yelled in Jamison's ear.

Jake held back his grin and glanced to Max who had turned his head away.

"I'll take your place, Max, and wait for the cab. Think Dale could use some backup in the Dressing Room, yeah?"

Jake moved to grab Jamison's arm and Tony was now wiping his shoes on the backs of his trousers while muttering obscenities.

"You thin' you're shome kind o' shtud, don' cha' Mr. Bibsh-Bigshot?"

Jake turned his head away to avoid the fumes and spit flying from the bank president's mouth. He saw the lights of a car coming round the back of the building. He hoped to Christ it was the fuckin' cab.

It was.

He let go of Jamison's arm and left Tony to help him into the cab.

"Yo, Rick," he greeted the cabbie as he reached in his pocket for his money clip and peeled off a fifty. "Take him home, yeah?"

"Sure thing, Jake. Know the way as this ain't my first time cartin' his drunk ass home."

Jake grinned and tapped the roof of the cab in farewell as he turned to make his way back into the club.

What a fuckin' night.

*.*.*.*.*

"How'd it go with your professor?" Marianne was stretched on the mound of blue-hued, comfy pillows on one side of the coffee table with me draped across the comfy cushions of her loveseat on the other. We had just completed one heck of a meal of lasagna and a salad tossed with my home-made lime cilantro vinaigrette and ending with cannolli and hazelnut flavored decaf for dessert.

"Weird," I replied on a sigh. "I was prepared to march in there and argue my case when he asked me if I'd be willing to give an extra speech each class period to bring up my grade." I remembered feeling awkward even approaching Prof Davis since he was only a few years older than me to ask for ways, suggestions or ideas to bring my grade up. But all my grand plans of begging and pleading fell by the wayside with his more than generous, though pre-emptive, offer.

"Cool," Marianne said softly. "Once in a while, us good guys get a break."

"Uh, yeah," I replied not letting myself think about being on the side of 'the good guys' whoever they might be. Remembering her warning regarding Mr. Jamison, I wondered idly if Marianne's world was in black and white instead of the multitude of gray shades I seemed to have in my own.

"Did you bring your speeches?" Marianne asked as she slowly rolled to her feet and began clearing our dessert dishes and coffee cups.

"I left them on my bar. I'll just run and get them," I said, knowing that I'd be back in under a minute. I closed Marianne's door and just as I was turning the key in the lock to my apartment, I heard Layne from Four clumping down the stairs from her second floor apartment.

"Hey, Cay!" Layne was nothing if not enthusiastic. As a jewelry designer, she was the 'artsy' one of us at Casa de Lela as I called our collective. Though officially named 'Arminster Arms' after Grandma Lela's maiden name, it seemed too stuffy to describe the cast of characters that currently resided there. Layne was tall, with long sleek black hair that she always wore half up in complicated twists held in place by some of the works of art that she crafted "in her spare time".

"Got somethin' for ya," she declared as she raced back into her apartment then appeared again at the top of the stairs. "Delivered yesterday."

My eyes swiveled and caught on the large box tucked to her side facing away from the railing as she lightly skipped down, the bottom portion of her black hair bouncing around her shoulders.

"I didn't order anything," I stated as she reached me at my door. Marianne popped her head out from across the hall at the goings on.

"Package without ordering?" she asked with a smile. "A mystery! Cool!"

I felt their eyes on me, one blue and one such a deep brown as to be black. Swallowing loudly I tenderly grabbed the package that Layne was shoving at me.

"The return label says Meer's" Layne announced, all of us familiar with the high end department store that was the king of all things material in our neck of the woods. A place that I had visited but never purchased anything from since they were priced far, far out of my reach. So far out of my reach, Meer's could've been in another galaxy.

"Aren't you gonna open it?" Marianne asked. Layne nodded giving her silent approval.

"But I didn't order anything from Meer's," I was maintaining my innocence in what was sure to be a mistake.

"Aw c'mon," Layne encouraged. "Just a quick peek. I've been so curious since I signed for it. Aren't you even wondering what's in there?"

It was true, I did want to see what was inside. Turning back towards my door, I unlocked my apartment and the three of us traipsed in. With only the low wattage over-the-stove light to guide me, I quickly turned on the standing lamp on the other side of the bar. The girls took their places on the barstools as I bustled to locate my utility knife in the bowels of my junk drawer in my tiny kitchenette. I'm a firm believer that every kitchen needs a junk drawer even if there are only three drawers in the tiny, miniscule room.

"Geez, Louise, Caitlin. You don't even have a dishwasher," Marianne declared as her eyes swept my little cooking area. It's true, mine was the least updated apartment in the building but Grandma hadn't wanted any of the 'new-fangled' appliances or accoutrements that the other units had. Although my tiny shower did have railings on two of its three walls which the other apartments didn't have. All the better to hang my shower stuff without having to buy one of those over-the-showerhead thingies, I told myself.

Finding the utility knife, I carefully followed the tape of the carton and pulled the flaps back carefully. Bubble wrap was the topmost layer that only covered yet another box, but this second box was elegantly encased in light green wrapping paper gaily printed with small springs of lavender. As I pulled it out and away from the carton, I saw it was twined in gorgeous olive green ribbon tied in a fluffy bow.