Chapter 13
Rebeckha
I am wearing a light floral dress with sandals, my hair is curled and I have a dusting touch of makeup on my face. I toy with the silver rose pendant that hangs on a chain around my neck as I anxiously wait for my mother to join me for lunch. I’m not particularly excited about seeing her, but we have a standing monthly lunch date that we’ve kept for as long as I can remember. Since I’ve canceled on her the last two months because I’ve been so busy getting my side of the business started with Malcolm and Jacks, I figure there’s no avoiding it this time.
As I wait, my mind drifts back to this morning.
I’ve observed Mal taking his clothes off now numerous times since we’ve been together. He doesn’t know that I watch him undress every chance I get and, honestly, I have no intention to let on that I do. When he removes his clothes, he works it, he makes every move count. It’s a precise technique that he uses to remove each article of clothing.
An art form.
One he has mastered.
I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it and I can guarantee, as I watch him, that he doesn’t know just how turned on it gets me.
Warmth floods me as I sink into the mmeories until a cold and clammy hand rests on my bare shoulder. My mother’s signature scent – Elizabeth Taylor’s Diamonds – floods my olfactory receptors and my stomach curdles. It’s not the fragrance that gets me, it’s more that I associate it with her attitude overall.
“Hey, Mom.” I smile as she sits down opposite me at the table.
“Hello, dear. Have you ordered yet? It looks like you’ve had a few drinks. You look flushed.”
I pat my cheeks and remember why, feeling only mildly embarrassed.
“No, I wanted to wait for you.”
“Then why are your cheeks so rosy?”
“It’s been an exhausting few months,” I answer, unsure if I want to discuss all the reasons with her. I’m not sure whether she will shun me or merely talk down to me about my choices. Just like I chose to accept Malcolm’s job in order to move forward with our relationship, perhaps my mother can learn as well.
“Job searching is that tiring?” she asks in a harsh tone. “You know, it’s not attractive to prospective employers to have gaps in your resume.”
“I actually have a job, Mom,” I say, lacking emotion.
Her demeanor perks up and she gives me a fake smile while leaning in. “And why is this the first I’m hearing of it? First, the news that you have a boyfriend is sprung on me at Deena’s wedding and now this?”
“Well, it’s not like I’m trying to hide anything from you deliberately, I’ve just been busy.”
“So you’ve said. So tell me about this job?” she inquires.
“Well, you met my boyfriend, Mal. He and I actually are working together now, he started a business and asked me to help with the logistics and office side.” I say.
“Oh my god! You’re not a stripper now, are you?” she says loudly before covering her mouth with both her hands.
“No, Mom, I’m not a stripper. And neither is Mal. Did you not just hear me? He started a business and I’m helping with the office side.” I say strongly, in attempt to quell my anger at her.”
“Bullshit. I saw him with my own two eyes. He takes off his clothes for money.”
I sigh, trying to gather my words and keep my wits together. “Mom. He’s a dancer, well, he was, but now he’s a business owner.”
“He’s a stripper,” she says with finality.
“Whatever,” I say brushing her off and picking up my menu, hiding behind it and taking a minute to diffuse my anger towards her. Her judgmental nature and her unwillingness to budge from her first impression of who he is makes me crazy.
“I thought I raised you to be a better person,” she says with disdain.
“Mom, I’m not a stripper. Malcolm is not a stripper either. I had the same preconceived notions when he and I began dating. I’ve learned that there’s a lot more that goes into being a dancer. He trains, he choreographs and he’s all business.”
“He. Takes. His. Clothes. Off. For. Money,” she seethes.
“Enough!” I slam my menu down on the table, startling her. “The waitress serves people over-priced food for money! The cab driver drives people around for money! I help manage a business for money! Everyone does something for money, Mom. It’s not your job to look down on others just because someone chooses one way of doing it over another!”
My mom is fuming, yet she knows that she just got a dose of her own medicine. I sit up in my seat, I’m as proud as she is silent. She stares at me as if trying to figure out her next move. Luckily, the waitress comes and takes our order and the attention off of me. We make small talk, mostly my mother speaking about her gardening club until the food comes and we eat in silence.
Once we’ve both finished our meals, my mom speaks again.
“So, your new job. Tell me about it.”
“I help run the business side, the administrative aspects of the entertainment industry.”
“And you work with your boyfriend?”
“I do. He’s not the behind-a-desk type, so he manages all the non-office elements.”
“So what does he do? Dance?” she asks, choosing her words carefully.
“No. He has stopped dancing. He now manages and choreographs.”
“So it’s a strip club?” she asks, her voice void of emotion.
“No, it’s a coed revue.”
“And you do not dance there?”
“No, Mom. I do everything that I would do at a standard business, plus more. I have a lot of creative freedom and obviously the ear of one of the partners.”
“What’s your title?”
“I haven’t created an official title.”
“If there’s as much freedom as you say there is, ‘office manager’ is too small of a title for you.”
“I’m stuck between Manager of Operations and something in Development.”
“You’re allowed to choose your own title?”
“I have free creative license over a lot of matters involving the business. I even got Deena some business as our graphic designer and desktop publisher.”
“What’s a desktop publisher?” She seems actually interested.
“It’s for print design. She converts the stuff for flyers and such into electronic versions as well for the website and anything intra-net and internet based,” I explain.
“So it’s become a bit of a family business?”
“You can say that.”
“And this Malcolm, is he the sole owner?”
“No, he has a partner and he has me.”
“You put money into this?” she asks.
“No, but Malcolm has made it clear that I’m his partner in this.”
“And what if you two break up?”
“Then if that ever happens, we cross that bridge.”
“Is he the one?”
“I do not want to jinx anything, but I’d like him to be.”
“How long have you been dating him?”
“Since a few weeks before Deena’s wedding.”
“So, roughly four months. Does he love you?”
“Yes.”
“Then just be careful. Relationships don’t always last forever,” my mom warns, then wipes her mouth and signals for the check.
***
We are officially fully-staffed now; we have male and female dancers and a full office staff. After that lunch with my mom, I spend the rest of my week elbow deep in paperwork. I can’t make heads or tails of the invoices that land on my desk and I’m feeling stressed because all the women we have hired have been putting their moves on Mal. He’s been letting them down easy when they make their advances, but I can’t help my insecurities from getting the best of me. I know it’s something I need to work on, but Mal is an extremely handsome man, then he opens his mouth and shows off that accent.
Instant pantry drencher.
We haven’t formally announced to any of the new employees of the club that we are together, but with each passing day I want him to get it tattooed on his forehead. I’m coming face to face with all my insecurities and I’m not liking it. The women we’ve hired are gorgeous and graceful and everything that I’m not. This is just a job hazard that I wasn’t expecting. Meanwhile, Malcolm and I haven’t slowed down in our relationship; we are together more often than we are apart and he’s extremely attentive to me. I just watch these beautiful women flock to him now and it’s different than when he was on stage dancing. Those women knew he was unattainable as a performer. However, now he’s the boss and everyone wants to fuck their hot as sin boss. Except they don’t know that I already am.
Malcolm
“So, this is the stage?” Beck asks, as she walks up the steps and stands front and center. Her hands are on her hips as she surveys the area. “It’s bigger up here than it looks from the floor.”
“I suppose.” I nod, watching her move around the space. I use the control panel on my cell to turn up the lights, illuminating her from the back of the stage and some random spotlights. “How’s it look with the lights?” I ask her.
“Hard to make out your face on the floor but I know you’re there,” she says, walking to the edge of the stage.
“You look good up there.” I smile, imagining her naked. She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out her phone, fumbles around with the screen and then I hear Beyoncé’s “Naughty Girl” playing. I stand and walk closer to the stage, to one of the chairs in the very front just next to the stairs.
She runs her hand up the length of her side to her neck until her fingers disappear into her hair. She pulls her hair out of its messy bun and shakes it out. She walks closer to the edge, one foot in front of the other in an exaggerated strut with her thumbs in her belt loops. She rolls her hips counter clockwise, then the other way around. Her hands rise to her sides and slowly move up her body. She lightly squeezes her breasts and then grabs the collar of her shirt and tries to pull it apart, to no avail. She gives up the battle of the threads and then with a smirk and a small shrug she crosses her arms across her chest, grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. She tosses the shirt in my direction and slowly gets to her knees and makes a motion like she’s rocking her hips over my cock.
“Wait, Jacks isn’t here is he?” she asks, suddenly stopping all her movements.
“Even if he was, love, he would stay gone. Keep going, this is a wet dream,” I say, shaking my head and leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.
She finds her groove again and continues the rocking of her hips, using her knees to move up and down. My cock is straining against my zipper, likely creating an indent of the chain along my shaft. Apparently, I chose the wrong day to go commando as I watch her reach behind her back and try to undo her bra.
“You know, love, there will be no real nudity like this, so yours are the only tits that will be seen in this establishment. And you know what, they belong to me,” I growl, standing up and putting my hands on the top of the stage.
“We won’t have any nudity,” she repeats.
“Correct.” I nod, licking my lips.
“And this will be the only time that there’s nudity in the club?” she inquires
“Aside from anytime I want to bend you over a desk.” I rearrange my cock within the confines of my jeans.
“Promises, promises,” she says, while trying to not laugh as she unsnaps her bra, finally.
“Don’t stop, Peach, I’m enjoying the show.” She throws her bra at my face.
“Hey, guys! I’m sorr—” Jacks stops mid-stride, frozen in place, his eyes wide and his jaw practically on the ground the moment he sees what’s happening on the stage.
Beck falls flat to the stage as I move up the stairs and sit in front of her, blocking Jacks’s view while handing her the discarded clothing behind me.
“You said he wouldn’t come in,” she seethes from behind me.
“He wasn’t here before, but yeah, sorry about that.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know this was a one man show tonight. But um, nice rack, Beck.” Jacks smirks.
“You didn’t see her rack, dicksickle,” I threaten.
“I ain’t gonna lie to you, man, I saw.”
“Let’s just pretend you didn’t though, you know, for the sake of our friendship,” I say, my voice dripping with venom. Jack’s hands go up in surrender and his cocky smile is gone.
“Sorry to barge in. I figured you guys would be here, so I took a chance. I got the stuff for promotions and marketing. The boxes were delivered to my flat this morning. Our mixologist will be here tomorrow morning to teach the bartenders and our street team will be here in the afternoon for a meeting on how we want them to proceed.” Jacks gets down to business as if he didn’t just walk in on my own private strip tease.
“So, we’re like… there?” Beck says, finally emerging from behind me fully dressed.
“Seems that way. We can officially tell Exposed that we’re venturing off,” I say with a smile on my face.
“One month. We open in one month!” Jacks says proudly.
“I can’t believe it’s so soon,” she says, smiling.
“My last weekend with Exposed is this weekend,” I announce as Jacks’s head swivels toward me in shock. “I spoke with Mick a few weeks ago and told him I was going off on my own. I said nothing about your intentions, Jacks, but Mick made mention that you’d likely be the next to go.”
“Is he pissed?” Jacks asks.
“Not at all. We’ve put in our time here, we’ve earned this,” I assure him.
“So why so soon?” Jacks asks.
“Well, I want time to focus on last minute craziness before we open. I also wanted to surprise this one” — I gesture to Beck — “with a trip somewhere before we opened, so surprise!” I wave my hand like a magician.
“A trip?”
“That… will still remain a surprise.”
“If you can help me grab the boxes out of the car, we can take a gander at the marketing materials,” Jacks says, getting back to business.
I am pleased that the promos we receive are tasteful and not as explicit as the flyers you see littering the sidewalks of the Las Vegas Strip. The faces of some of the dancers who will be working here adorn a few of the flyers. The cocktail menus and the signage for the tables look perfect and suddenly, now that this last bit of the project is finished, I feel like we’re ready to open. We have several interviews with local news outlets, magazines, blogs and newspapers about our opening lined up over the next three weeks, so I know we still have a lot of ground to cover.
I watch Beck peruse some of the materials with a sparkle in her eyes and I feel a rush.
God! I love her.
I look to Jacks and realize I couldn’t be happier to be starting this new journey with my best mate and my best girl.
These are my people.