2

Ella

I still couldn’t believe I’d snagged this job. The Rose Club was the classiest lounge in town, and the club’s owner only took on the most talented individuals. I enjoyed it because it was more cabaret than stripper: the nudity was always implied and there weren’t any rooms where men could take us back afterwards and pay us for anything. Many clubs around the city were just like that, but not here.

Here, I could flourish in my craft without having to worry about being taken advantage of.

I smoothed my long brown hair back from my face and tied it into a low ponytail before I began applying my makeup. With the harsh lighting a stage afforded, sometimes it was necessary to contour and put a little heavier makeup on. This was my debut number, so all lights would be on me, and that meant I really had to make sure my eyes popped. My eyes were the number one thing men complimented me on. They were these light baby blues that would make any men look ice cold.

But on me, with my red lips and my rosy cheeks, they added a sense of mystery.

Especially when I teased my hair out.

I applied my makeup bases and let them sit while I curled my hair in my hot rollers. People were coming up and introducing themselves, giving me their luck and wishing me well. The thing about this club was that you got one shot: they didn’t hire you unless you could drive the crowd wild with your particular flair. There was a men’s duo dancing and singing team that lead women’s night and there were a couple of drag queens that owned the weekends, but they were lacking in a true, sensual woman to really command the stage.

Not to make the men whoop and holler, but to make them speechless and drool.

That was my job: to fulfill that need for this club. If I could, I could quit my day job waitressing. I loved where I was, don’t get me wrong. But, it didn’t pay me the money I needed to live the life I wanted. The only kind of apartment I could afford was one with roommates in the shady part of town. I didn’t feel safe walking around, which meant I had to restrict myself to the day shifts-- which usually didn’t pay much.

I couldn’t decorate the way I wanted, I couldn’t sing in the shower like I wanted. I couldn’t even own some of the things I wanted, like a queen-sized bed or a little labradoodle. All my life, I’d wanted two things: my own place and my own puppy.

Working exclusively for The Rose Club would afford me that lifestyle. I could be happy doing just this. Doing what I love and living the way I wanted to live. I didn’t want a family, I didn’t want kids, and I didn’t want anything to tie me down. I wanted my stage, I wanted my puppy, and I wanted my home.

I let the hot rollers heat up my hair while I began putting on the rest of my makeup. I was a lounge singer all over town, which was why the club owner decided to give me a shot. My resume was massive, and I had a few recordings I could bring him when I came in for the interview. The only reason he called me up after I placed my application was because the last place I sung at was the Brandy Library.

Apparently, that was his favorite place to frequent when he wasn’t here.

I took the hot rollers out of my hair and teased it out before I started getting into my outfit. I pulled on black stockings that contrasted with my milky white skin and attached them to the hooks on my tight leather shorts. They stopped just underneath my buttcheeks-- enough to tease the men but still stay appropriate-- and the crimson red corset I hooked myself into matched the crimson red lipstick I was going to swipe onto my lips just before I walked on stage.

And the moment I hit the stage, the men began to whistle.

I stood there at the top of the steps, fog covering the stage. I was only afforded one paid number unless the crowd chanted to have me back, so I had to make sure it was a good one. I decided to go with a slow, sensual ballad since I was trying to stun the men speechless.

So, when my personal lounge arrangement of ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ began to play, I slowly began sashaying down the steps as my fingertips ran down the side railing.

All I did was slowly walk around stage and sing. The song was slow, the key was low, and every time I went down for a really low note I’d dip down and flick my finger underneath the chin of a man whose jaw was dropped to the floor. A couple of times I did a little twist when a sultry little trumpet would pop up and make a sound, and by the time the song was over I was sitting on a stool in the middle of the room with my legs spread wide and my eyebrow cocked in the air.

For the briefest of moments, the room was silent. The song had stopped, I was holding my breath so my body wouldn’t falter, and then I heard it.

It was one voice in the back, and then it trickled into three. The entire back balcony got in on the chant just before it rumbled down to the main floor.

And I stood to my feet while the chanted my name.

“Ella! Ella! Ella! Ella! Ella!”

I slowly inched off the stool and blew a kiss to the crowd before I slowly turned on my heels and swayed my ass off stage. I nailed the number, I knew I did, and while I was never one to toot my own horn, the owner would be an idiot not to hire me.

Wait until I got to tell him that was my own arrangement.

I slid my robe on in the back just as the club owner came bursting through. He had a massive smile on his face and he drew me in for a hug, singing my praises and asking me if I had another number prepared.

He hired me right on the spot, and I was ecstatic.

I decided to go celebrate with a drink after I walked up to the music booth. I handed him the track for the next number I would do later on in the evening, then I headed to the bar for a martini. I was one of the few women in town who actually enjoyed my martinis dry, and the bartenders were always sweethearts when I asked for extra olives. I was sitting there, waiting for my martini as I watched the next act go on, but there was a movement that caught the corner of my eye.

A handsome man sitting at the end who had swiveled his stool to look at me.

He was tall and his shoulders were broad. His rippling muscles were threatening to bulge from the very expensive suit he had on, and his sandy blonde hair contrasted wonderfully with his tan skin. His deep brown eyes stayed hooked on me, his thick fingers wrapped around a glass of amber liquid, and I delicately grabbed my martini glass.

My eyes couldn’t stop scanning him. He had a striking jawline that tapered into high cheekbones. The smirk on his face told me he was looking at exactly what he wanted to see for the evening, and he raised his glass to me in a toast. I raised my martini glass to him, blushing underneath his gaze. But, his eyes never left mine, even as we wrapped our lips around the edges of our glasses.

Oh, how his lips seemed to glide across the crystal glasses. I bet they would glide across my skin just as effortlessly, stained with the amber liquid he was drinking while he devoured me whole. I imagined that strong body covering me from the world, shrouding me from the reality of the apartment I’d have to eventually go back to.

But not for long.

Not if I could nail this next song.

I slowly peeled my eyes away from him and threw them back to the stage. I couldn't get distracted now, I couldn't lose this chance. This job could change everything for me. And trust me, it wasn’t easy to change your situation being a lounge singer with no education in New York City.

I couldn't think about how wonderful those bulging arms would feel around me, though I knew I would think about it when I fell asleep tonight.

Right now, I had another song to nail. That’s where my attention needed to be.