Sonya discreetly looked around the club, moving only her eyes so as not to attract the jerk's attention. There were three stripper poles set on stages, each circled by small tables and a ring of chairs.
She had always assumed Sultan’s was a nudie bar. That’s what her friends said, though none of them had actually been there.
It was just one of those mythical and mysterious places kids in high school and even college joked about. Everyone had driven by many times, because of its prominent location on the causeway, and they’d all imagined what happened inside.
Now Sonya could see the rumors seemed to be true.
Yet when she met Halim at the gym and found out he was the owner, he assured her there was no nudity at his club. Just go-go dancers, he said.
Sexy, yeah, but not naked. He was a Muslim, after all. That’s what he claimed.
Do go-go dancers use stripper poles? Hmm, I guess so… Sonya thought.
She realized she didn’t know what a go-go dancer was. It sounded sort of innocent, like something out of a Las Vegas show or a disco club in the 70’s. This seedy place was not what she had in mind. Vegas was thousands of miles away, and the 70s were long gone.
Sonya glanced back at the door, which was shut, then around the club again, avoiding eye contact with that mean man. She was relieved that he seemed to have forgotten about her.
The heavy scent of cheap perfume filled her lungs. She looked around again, noticing more details of the club. The stages were circled by mirrors, and the other walls were lined with paintings featuring the black silhouettes of naked girls in seductive poses.
Wham!
Without even looking up from his feast, the large man slammed both his fists down on the table, knocking over a bottle, which foamed and drizzled beer onto the floor. He leaped up from his seat, kicked the bottle, and stomped toward Sonya with murderous rage in his eyes.
Her heart pounded as she walked backward. She didn’t know where she was going, but wanted to get away from this guy. Quickly.
Her heel snagged the carpeted floor, twisting her ankle and causing her to stumble. As she fell, two strong hands caught her arms from behind and lifted her back up.
“Get out of here, you pig!” the man holding Sonya yelled.
The burly man cursed in Arabic as he stomped into the back room.
Sonya recognized the voice, but she looked over her shoulder to make sure.
“Thank you,” she said, seeing the handsome young man she often spoke to while jogging on a treadmill or doing crunches.
Halim was still holding her. He slid his smooth hands down the soft skin of her slender arms as he turned her around and helped her regain her balance.
“Forgive my friend. He is… I think the word in English is ‘gruff’. But he has a good heart. And he doesn't know yet that you are a... special girl.”
Halim often acted as though he barely knew English, yet Sonya could hardly detect an accent, and his vocabulary was better than most college students.
He had gone to a boarding school in New York, then an Ivy League university. She was never sure which country he was from, someplace far away, that’s all she knew, and that he had lived everywhere. Paris, Boston, LA, even Australia.
Halim clearly came from a rich family, and Sonya did not. Normally, she would have been intimidated by someone like him, because he was a few years older than her, wealthy, highly educated, and oozing with confidence. But he was so nice he made her feel comfortable.
“Who is he?” she asked.
“Gilad? Oh, he’s the manager of my club. He’s also my cousin.”
“Wow, you don’t look related at all,” her eyes inadvertently looking up and down his fit body.
Halim laughed his haughty laugh and said, “I know, but that’s why I’m in the gym every day, to keep it that way. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure he treats you with respect from now on. If you have any problems with him, or anybody else here, come to me, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay.”
“Are you ready to work?” Halim said in his smooth voice.
“Yeah, but not that, right?” Sonya replied, pointing toward the nearest stripper pole without even daring to look at it.
For a second, she wondered what she would do if suave Halim said she would have to strip. She didn’t want to, but he was the kind of guy it was hard to say no to, and she needed the money.
He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he turned his attention to a man in black and two buxom girls as they walked in from the back room, chatting and laughing.
The girls were dressed like belly dancers, only their outfits were smaller than the belly dancers Sonya had seen on TV and in movies. Much smaller.
Sonya’s green eyes widened, and she looked away awkwardly. She felt like this wasn’t something she was supposed to see.
Halim chuckled at her shyness.
“Is the club not like you expected?” he asked in a patronizing tone.
“I don’t know. You said it was just a normal club. But it seems…”
“Normal? No, I didn’t say that. I would never do anything normal. That’s boring. My club is not boring.”
“Of course not. I just meant…”
“I told you it’s not a - what did you say - oh, a ‘tittie bar.’ It’s a gentlemen’s club. A place for businessmen to relax and have a bit of diversion after work. It’s not one of those dirty places like they have out on Highway 60, filled with skank strippers and lowlife customers. You’ll see. We open soon.”
Sonya nodded her head.
The man in black walked behind the bar. The two girls took a seat on a pair of barstools in front of him.
“Kelly, show Sonya where to change and give her something to wear.”
Change? Into what, one of those scandalous little belly dancing outfits, so I can strip too? Sonya thought, remembering that Halim had not answered her question about what she’d be doing that night.
One of the girls who’d just sat down at the bar, a tall blonde, slid her long legs down from the barstool. She seemed reluctant to stand up after just sitting down, but she did as she was told. Her stilettos clicked against the floor as she looked at Sonya and motioned her to follow.
Sonya took two hesitant steps after Kelly, then stopped and turned back toward Halim.
“But I don’t have other clothes with me. I’m working the door, right?” she said while trying to hide the lump in her throat.
“Yes, of course,” he said, laughing again. “You don’t have to dance. In fact, I wouldn’t let you. But I told you to dress sexy, not like you are attending a high school dance.”
She looked down at her clothes. She was wearing a lacy blue dress.
Isn’t this sexy? she thought, once again confused.
Hmm. I guess it does look sort of like a prom dress. But you can see some cleavage, and it comes up above the middle of my thighs.
Mom sure didn’t let me wear something this scandalous to prom.
Usually, Sonya went out in tight jeans and a cute t-shirt, sometimes a halter top. But she didn’t think that was what Halim wanted either.
He put his hand on the small of her back.
“Kelly will take care of you.”