(Author's note: I had a sudden inspiration for this little story one afternoon while watching some TV. It pretty much wrote itself in one sitting. It's really just a short "stroke" piece, but I hope you'll appreciate the story for what it is.)
* * * *
I guess a job's a job
, Candace thought.
She stood before the doors of
Jack's Cabaret
on a chilly Tuesday morning. The place was not yet open for business, but the phone call from the previous day told her to arrive at nine for an initial interview. Thankfully, she had learned the bus route system quickly and arrived a good fifteen minutes early.
Early is on time, on time is late, and late is not acceptable
, her military father always told her. Whatever his failings as a parent, Candace had to admit he raised her to be a very punctual young lady.
Whatever it takes
, Candace told herself.
You've been in town a week and you've got less than a hundred bucks left. So do whatever it takes to land a job . . . even if you gotta give a friggin' handjob or something. The last thing you wanna do is go back home after what a big deal you made about not being too naΓ―ve for the city.
Straightening her skirt and adjusting her glasses, the slender brunette stepped to the door. It came open silently, revealing a broad foyer with a receptionist's booth. The walls were black and covered with various black and white stills of scantily-clad young women. A red curtain at the rear hung open, showing a hallway.
"Hello?"
Candace's voice fluttered through the silence. She frowned when there was no response.
Stepping gingerly to the curtain, she peered down the hall. Left would lead her to the restrooms; to the right, the hall opened into a cavernous room dominated by a long oval stage and an equally long bar. The stage was easily as high as Candace's chest and sported a pair of polished brass poles. Padded booths lined the walls, and tables with soft, cushy chairs lay scattered around the floor. Along distant walls were other, smaller stages, each with their own glossy poles.
So this is what a strip club looks like
, Candace thought.
It's a lot bigger than it looks from outside.
She made her way cautiously toward the bar, looking around for signs of life. Bright stage lighting reflected in the polished bar top, and glinted off the hundreds of bottles of alcohol stacked on glass shelves behind.
". . . hello-oh . . . ."
A man suddenly appeared from beneath the level of the bar. "Can I help you?"
Candace jumped back with a gasp, then covered her mouth and heart. She glared at the muscular, good-looking guy who now smiled upon her. "You scared the shit outta me!"
The man grinned with a small chuckle. His eyes roamed over the comely brunette. Her skirt and sweater weren't very flattering, but the legs were nice, and she had a very pretty face, he decided. "Sorry. I was just doing some work back here. Didn't hear you come in."
Calming herself, Candace regained her composure. "I'm, uh, here to see Jack," she said. "For an interview."
The man's smile changed slightly, becoming sly. "Well, you're talking to the right guy," he said, then extended a hand across the bar. "I'm Jack."
Candace smiled professionally and shook the man's hand. "Candace," she replied.
"'Candace,'" Jack repeated. "Is that your stage name?"
The brunette's eyes widened. "Stage name?"
"Yeah, most girls use a stage name," Jack informed. He narrowed his eyes. "You, uh, you're a dancer, right?"
The girl reared back as if struck. "What? No! No, I'm here for the waitressing job! You called me back last night after I called about the Craigslist ad."
Jack smacked his forehead. "That's right. Candace. Okay, yeah, I remember. Sorry. Last night was kind'a hectic." His eyes roamed over the young woman once more. "But, uh, you might want to seriously consider being a dancer. Not that I can see much, but you've got some killer legs and that naughty librarian look is pretty hot."
Candace's face colored a deep shade of rouge. She touched the rim of her glasses self-consciously, suddenly unable to meet Jack's eyes. She had always considered herself rather mousy in appearance. Not even her former boyfriend referred to her as being "hot."
"I, uh, never really thought about it," she said awkwardly.
"Well, let me come around and get a look at you," said Jack as he moved to the end of the bar. He flipped up the panel at the end and stepped out, approaching Candace with an assessing gaze. Candace fidgeted, as if she had been slapped on a slide and placed under a microscope.
Jack stopped several feet away, crossing his arms and cupping his chin. "Hmm," he muttered. "Hike up the skirt a little."
Candace stared. "Seriously?"
The man chuckled. "Even if you just want to serve drinks, you're gonna be wearing a miniskirt. We're pretty minimalist here."
Candace considered the man's words.
Okay, that makes sense
, she decided.
This is a strip club, after all
. With only some hesitation, she reached for the fabric of her skirt and inched it up. Her eyes studied Jack's face, reading his reactions.
The man cocked his head, watching as the girl's thighs were revealed.
Nice and lean
, he thought.
No blemishes
. He gestured. "Turn around."
Candace complied, turning her back to him.
"Hike it up a little more."
The girl blushed again.
I'm already showing pretty much everything