Copyright © 2018 by Cameron Collins; All Rights Reserved
Published by Juliana Conners’ .
Chapter 1 – Jenny
“Hey, baby. Why don’t you bring that sweet ass over here and gimmie a dance!” A rough male voice shouts at me as I shoulder my way through the packed club of Max’s Showroom. Max’s Showroom, the one and only strip club in Red Bridge Falls, New Hampshire, right off the highway, surrounded by motels and restaurants that should probably have been condemned and closed years ago.
“Can I get a shot, Bruce?” I shout to Bruce the bartender, a handsome guy with spikey black hair who looks younger than he is.
“What’ll it be?” he asks, eyebrows raised, clearly aware of my mood tonight.
“Whatever,” I sigh. “Just make it strong.”
“Sure thing, Rose.”
My real name is Jenny Summers, but here I’m known as Rose. All the girls have stage names. Bree, the hostess, is Natalia and puts on a fake Russian accent when new guys come in. Sarah goes by Violet and likes to wear purple stockings, heels and thongs that she should probably wash more than once a week, and Jessica likes to be called Caramel and likes to use spray tan on top of her already unhealthy twice a week visits to the tanning salon.
“Look at this place would you!?” Kristen, aka Chastity, says excitedly as she slides up beside me. “It’s hoppin’!”
Kristen is my best friend and the reason I got into this business to begin with. But our attitudes on dancing couldn’t be any more different. For me, the club is a way to make a buck. I’m the laziest stripper in the world. Ninety percent of the time I don’t even take my top off. I wear a crop top t-shirt (my favorite being the one that says “I’m so good, I moan my own name in bed”), a thong and some heels, and spend most nights in the champagne room bringing bottles to my regulars and basically acting like their therapist.
Kristen on the other hand loves the job and works hard for her bucks: giving lap dances, working the pole whether it’s the small stage or the feature stage, and works more nights a week than I do. She doesn’t have an established client list of regulars who come back to see her, so she has to spend more time really hustling. I could never do what she does. I can barely bring myself to come in here the two nights of the week that I do now.
The life of the stripper is not as fun and glamorous as guys would like to think. The things that go on in the locker room would leave most girls speechless and most men sneering and looking for a bucket to puke in. Aside from the panty checks during “shark week,” the running and hiding from the girls who haven’t bathed in the last week, there’s the mental breakdowns from the new girls and mothering that I inevitably end up roped into when one of them starts crying about her life.
“What am I doing here?” I ask rhetorically as Bruce hands me a shot of what looks like Tequila.
“Oh, don’t be a Debbie Downer,” Kristen says, planting a kiss on my cheek. “It’s going to be a good night!”
Kristen’s wearing a school girl outfit tonight. Most of the girls are pretty traditional with their clothes. I’m the only one who could be considered alternative. I prefer black, rock and roll, and a bit more edge. The thought of wearing lingerie for strangers makes my stomach twirl. I guess you could say I’m not exactly the ideal stripper fantasy. But the fact is, I make way more money than the majority of them, so I must be doing something right. And that is the answer to my own question. What am I doing here tonight?
The truth is, I’m here for the same reason we all are here tonight: money.
Lots of money. I’m a single mom with a deadbeat ex who doesn’t pay child support, and two kids to support. My oldest, Ella, is fifteen and can pretty much handle herself, but there’s still plenty of bills and a college fund to keep pouring money into. My youngest, Josh, is only seven and is autistic. He requires a lot of attention, and this is the only job that lets me spend most days with him and still bring in enough money to support the family.
Colin, my ex husband and the father of both of my children, hasn’t paid a single child support payment since I divorced him five years ago. I got pregnant with Ella at eighteen, and we got married right after. I thought I was in love. I thought he was the one for me, but he turned into my biggest nightmare. Looking back on things now, as an adult, I can see the warning signs. But when you’re young, what do you really know about relationships? What do you really know about love?
After Ella was born, Colin started to drink heavily and was out almost every night of the week. None of his friends had kids, and I think he was just trying to pretend he was still young and free of responsibilities, which left me to care for Ella on my own. When I’d try to talk to him about it, he’d get mad and start yelling. Soon the yelling turned to shoving, the shoving turned to slapping, and before I knew it, I was just another girl stuck in an abusive relationship.
It wasn’t until Josh was born that I had the courage to get out. I filed for divorce, got a restraining order against him and got him out of my life. I never received a dime of support from him, and I raised my children on my own. It’s been hard, but I love my children more than anything in the world, and I will do whatever it takes to take care of them.
My phone buzzes, and I see it’s a text from Roger, one of my regulars.
You working?
I quickly reply.
Yup! Coming to see me?
His response comes almost instantly.
Five minutes away!
“Kristen!” I say, feeling a warm sense of relief wash over me, momentarily making me forget about the hot, sweaty room with thick recycled air, and the obnoxious house music blaring in my ears. “Roger is coming in!”
“Oooooh, Roger! Is he bringing his partner?”
“He didn’t say, let me ask.”
Is your partner coming?
I write.
Sure is ;)
“Affirmative,” I say with a smile. Kristen smiles back. We both know what that means: more money.
Ten minutes later we’re in the champagne room with Roger and his partner Greg, who Kristen is keeping busy in the corner of the room. Roger is a sweet guy, a little overweight, with a face that looks like a cherub. Everything about him screams scented candles, interior decoration and his partner being his “partner,” if you get my drift. But he’s been a regular of mine for over six years.
A few years back his mom died, and he inherited a ton of money. I don’t know how much, but whenever I mention anything in my life going on, Roger offers to pay for it. I’ve turned him down on most things though. I like to work for my money, and I don’t want a sugar daddy.
A lot of the girls here do “extra” work outside the club, but that’s not my style. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. It’s just not me. I’ll dance if I’m forced, but mostly I keep my clothes on and talk to my regulars. I work with my brain, not with my body.
“Everything going okay with you?” Roger asks me as he sips his champagne.
“Eh,” I say with a shrug. “Things could always be better.”
“Problems with Colin?”
“Oh, there’s always problem with him,” I say with a sigh. “But nothing I can’t handle. A lot of bills coming in lately. My car needs some repairs.”
“Let me take care of them for you,” he says, putting a hand on mine. “I said I’d replace that for you. Just ask.”
“You’re too sweet, Roger. If I wasn’t such an honest girl I’d end up bleeding you completely dry!”
Roger laughs and raises his glass to mine for a toast.
“To honest strippers!” He grins.
“The one and only,” I laugh.
As I down my glass, I realize we’re out and need another bottle.
“Refill?” I ask him. He looks down and sees the situation.
“Refill.”
“I’ll be right back,” I say, rubbing him on the shoulder. He smiles and turns his attention to Kristen, now in full on lap dance mode in the corner with his partner Greg.