If only the stage persona was one Jane could carry with her day and night, a person she could be in everyday life. But it was limited, only for use when she was down to her skivvies, shaking her ass for a bunch of horny men and, on occasion, a few women.
She could only pull Petra out for five hours a night, three nights a week, and while she strove to maintain the confidence her alter-ego exuded in other pursuits, she couldn't seem to manifest it as Plain Jane Dennis.
She stared at the face in the mirror, the layers of makeup that brought out the blue of her eyes and made her lips look fuller and more seductive. The fake lashes itched, and the auburn hair she liked to pull back in a ponytail drove her insane, with sweaty strands hanging in her face, no matter how many times she tucked the mass behind her ears.
She needed the break right now, after being on stage for almost an hour and being called out for four lap dances. It had been a busy night, and she was ready to go home, but the club didn't close for another hour, and she could still make a few bucks if she could get another lap dance or two.
Now, though, she donned a silky robe and stepped outside for a smoke. She didn't bother tying the thing – she'd be amongst potential clients, and a view of her tanned skin and small perky breasts might entice a couple of them to tip her, even without her working so hard. Besides, she was burning up and wanted the cool night breeze to help her out.
As she sparked the cig, she inhaled deeply, enjoying the feeling of smoke in her lungs. It wasn't healthy, but it felt good right now. She looked around and found there weren't many people out right now. Of course, there were a couple of favorites on the main stage, so it made sense.
"Jane!"
The sound of her real name made her blood run cold, and she froze, not sure she wanted to look behind her. She'd chosen a club far from her hometown, in hopes she wouldn't run into anyone she knew. And worst, the voice sounded familiar.
Slowly, she looked back over her shoulder, and the sight before her shocked her to the core. Turning to face her visitor fully, she gaped. "Brandon Wiles?"
He smiled at her, clearly excited to see her but also nervous and a little awkward. "Jane Dennis. How long has it been?"
She shrugged. "Since graduation, right? About five years."
His smile grew. "You look fabulous. I mean..." He trailed off, seemingly embarrassed.
Jane understood his problem. Here she was, in a state of general undress, and he was commenting on her looks. It was a very male thing to do, one not exactly flattering coming from most, and Brandon had never been the type of guy to lust after anyone's body without something more between them. Which made her wonder...
"What are you doing here?"
He seemed even more ashamed. "It wasn't my decision. A friend from work is having a bachelor party, and they had said no strip clubs. Well, that was to pacify the fiancé apparently, and so we drove way the hell out here where he figured he could get away with it. This isn't so much my scene." Again, he cut himself short, worried he'd insulted her by speaking negatively of the place she obviously worked.
She nodded. "It's a good enough job. I need the money to finish school. But no, I didn't figure it was your scene." She looked him over. "You look good, too, Brandon." And he did. He'd lost weight, toned up, and with his face thinner, the angles and plains shadowed with a day's worth of stubble were incredibly attractive. His haircut suited him, a short, spiky fade, and his dark eyes sparkled in his face. "Really good, actually."
He smiled shyly. "Thanks." He swallowed and looked uncomfortable, shifting his feet and kicking at the ground as he lit a cigarette. "Listen, Jane, can I say something?"
She shrugged. "You can say whatever you want. You wouldn't believe the things I've heard around here. Nothing can shock me. Just do me a favor and call me Petra."
