Ican understand why some people hate New York. it’s constant noise and smells, there’s always elbows to jab into your ribs whether on the sidewalk or crammed into the subway, the persistent activity and not to mention it’s dirty. The thing I learned quickly about Manhattan is you must become an aggressive walker, or you get nowhere, you’d just shuffle along in the rabble. It was nothing like back home, the city went at a thousand miles an hour never stopping, it sure made people watching interesting.
But I love it. You learned to grow a thick skin swiftly too. I might have been corn fed when I arrived, but it only took several drunk men pissing in the street yelling for me to move my fat ass for me to realize I was not Dorothy in Kansas anymore. I was in the big, bad, sometimes ugly world.
I loved it the moment I arrived, and that shine hasn’t worn off four years later.
I truly believe I was meant to land my fake Valentino shoes here.
I may not be a native. I might still have my southern twang, as people tell me, but I am wholly a New Yorker. I’m eating a hot dog right from the street vendor at 10pm for Christ sake, how much more New Yorker could I be?
I took the subway to Avenue C 7th street and heard the music from Inferno Palace long before I turned the corner.
Noah always did like a show, I thought, approaching the crowd of people gathering outside as bluesy music pumped from inside the red bricked building and greeters handed out fliers on the corner dressed as go-go dancers. Who queued around the block to get into a strip club? Noah Fierro drew crowds of people wherever he went. I accused him of being the pied piper of NY nightlife. Where Noah touched, people wanted to go. I suppose that’s why he strived for bigger and better. His fleet of clubs were never enough, not when there was more to conquer and call his own.
“Hi.” I told the doorman. Expecting to see Miles standing outside who would usher me past the crowd without question. I belated remembered his wife had given birth to a baby son and he was off playing papa. I’d sent flowers from Noah and I for his wife and I’d drop off the baby gifts sometime this week.
I didn’t recognise this guy.
“Hello, darlin’. Name?” His finger scrolled on a tablet. Tonight’s reopening, was invite only. The well to do’s and rich perverts alike, along with the press.
Noah kept his private life lowkey but went all out when it came time to promote his empire. He’d treat his strip club as he would any of his other places, just because a woman danced with her tits out was no different to his high-end clubs for the rich Instagram famous kids.
“Sena Black.”
A minute later he gave me the stink eye. “Sorry, you’re not listed, darlin’. It’s invite only.”
“I know. I’m invited. Can you look again?”
He repeated the same thing, this time with a little more irritation, like he thought I was lying to him while standing in front of him in my blood-red jumpsuit and five-inch ankle breaking spike heels, my red tipped hair piled on top of my head.
Screw you, list.
I glowered. The crowd of people looking at me in the same accusatory way. This never happened, all the doormen knew to let me in any of Noah’s clubs.
This wouldn’t be going on if Miles was here.
What a time for him to be on paternity leave. So selfish.
I huffed and rolled my eyes. “Look, I’m friends with Noah Fierro.”
He sketchily snorted. This upstart ass laughed in my face like it was the worst lie he’d heard tonight. “Of course, darlin’. They all are. Come back tomorrow when it’s open to the public.”
It’s not as though I want to play the ‘do you know who I am’ card. I’m not conceited, but I’m best damn friends with the owner! This would never happen to a Queen Kardashian. I was irritated having to ask this guy to call through to Noah.
He of course refused, pushing me aside a little, he began to check his little fucking list and allowed others in while I was left standing like day old chopped liver in my epic jumpsuit with the tiny belt cinched at the waist.
Hell no. I did not take an hour to paint my face and pour myself into this contraption to stand out in the street. Didn’t he know the agony a woman went through by wearing a jumpsuit when it came time to pee?
That was dedication to fashion.
I texted for rescue.
SouthernBelle: Your guard dog won’t let me in.
SouthernBelle: I’m outside like a street hooker. I can’t even get into a strip club. See the irony??
KingOfManhattan: The fuck? I’m on my way.
He appeared a minute later. Larger than life, striding like a dark god out to rip souls from innocent humans. He clashed eyes with me and I shivered from the force. Dressed completely in black with a hint of blue on his shirt I nearly swallowed my tongue and then licked Noah from head to toe at the same time.
He pinned the doorman with a stare as he reached me.
“Let her through and make sure she’s on the fucking list from now on, you got it?”
The doorman visibly blanched at Noah’s violent rusted tone, not to mention withered a little under his vicious stare. It’s understandable, anyone would, he had a reputation for not taking any bullshit.
“Got it. S-sorry, darlin’.”
I smiled and accepted his apology. “No problem. Have a good night.”
Noah grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd, he didn’t let go as we got inside.
“How long were you out there for? You should have called me. Fucking new kids. Miles knows to add you.”
“Not long, he was at least thorough not allowing gate-crashers in.” I reasoned, taking in my first sight of the club. It wasn’t my first time at a strip club, I can’t say they were my favorite night out, I was too embarrassed to ever have a lap dance, by a woman or man, so it really wasn’t my scene, but I wanted to support Noah.
It boasted three platform corner stages. All of them with a pole in the center, each had a dancer gyrating and a crowd surrounding. Along one far wall was a winding bar, and it was crammed busy already, each seat occupied.
From first inspection, it was a good opening night for Noah.
“Come on,” he told me. “I’ll give you the tour.” I recognized a few sports stars among the crowd. Three football players. Baseball and a few hockey players. And there was that reality star who fucked that girl and got her pregnant. My eyes widened like saucers. “What do you want to drink?” My hand still in Noah’s, he had me tucked into his side, his head bent to speak by my ear over the music. “Have you eaten?” For a second my brain fogged out with his cologne assaulting my nose, he smelled damn good.
“I ate already. But I’ll have something red.” I smiled. To match my outfit. I did like to coordinate.
He gave me an indulging look, mouth twitching. His hand dropped mine but slid his arm around my waist guiding me through a sea of people toward the bar.
I goggled at more famous people popping up.
The barman recognized Noah and rushed over.
“Make the lady a Rossini, Denny.”
“Sure thing, boss-man.” A minute after he handed me a flute of strawberry champagne. I tasted its lush sweetness. He always knew what I liked.
Noah gets me on a bone-deep level but I’m afraid to say what I really want to say, so instead I fill the space with talk of my impression of the club as he showed me around, oohing and ahhing in the right places. Some rooms we couldn’t go into because that’s where the private lap dances are held, and the rooms were already in session.
Inferno Palace looked amazing. So much more welcoming than I’d expected. I’m so happy for Noah’s success, he worked harder than anyone else I knew.
“Are you good to sit and watch from here?” He questioned bringing me back to the bar. “I need to talk to the press a little.” He looked as happy to do that as he would be extracting his eyeballs with a taser. He’d endured a slight irritation with a certain bitchy journalist a few years ago, a bad boyfriend turned sour who’d made it his mission to target Noah with bad press for about six months trying to discredit his reputation. Noah as per his personality rose above it and did what he had to do get the guy off his back…chiefly, he ruined the guy.
Now Noah was jaded against all press people but knew how to use them for his benefit. I spied a pack of them circling, gathering their article information while he’d shown me around on both levels.
He was like moody Moses parting crowds wherever he went.
“You can wait in the office if you prefer?” He offered. His eyes intent, body pressed closer as I sipped my second Rossini.
“No, you go. I’m about to watch that blond honey-bear shake what his mama gave him.” I winked and saw his lips twitch. He brushed a kiss to my cheek, my whole body swelled, and I resisted gulping his scent. It was a hard feat. “No touching the employees, kitten. I’ve seen that hungry look before.” Every thick, dark word dripped with insinuation and caused a ripple to rush over my skin, heating me so fast, putting memories of my orgasm in my head, my face flushed and thank god for the low lightening because he’d see I was as red as my clothes.
“Go play with the media hounds, be nice, they’ll write good things, remember. Leave me to mentally undress the dancer. Oh, wait, he’s already there. Yum.”
He laughed and ran his hand down my back in a slow sweep.
I was sure he was never aware of the tactile touching he did or how it affected me.
“I won’t be long. Tell Denny anything you want.”
I want you. Can I have him, Denny?