This story may seem a little conventional, but a friend related it to me about someone we both knew. So yes, sometimes these things do happen in real life.
***
Rachael Grammar wondered what she wanted to happen. Rachael worked at Hedda's, a suburban strip club, at the door. She greeted Misty, a tall brunette with obvious breasts as Misty rushed past her inside for her shift.
"Hi," she called at Misty who was too rushed to respond.
Rachael had never been to a strip club when she took the job and she was always too busy working the door to go in to find out what happened inside Hedda's. But she had applied her imagination over the months and reckoned she had a reasonable idea of what went on there, as she quickly adopted an offhand distaste for the men who slunk in off the street into Hedda's. Nothing overtly offensive, just enough to maintain the space between her and the punters. She nodded to the girls who worked there as they raced in at the start of their shifts and as they marched out to their taxis at the end of the nights when she had been too busy to leave early. She accepted that the girls inside didn't need to spend any time around the place if they didn't have to. Why should they waste any time getting to know the distant door girl.
Rachael was attractive in a universal way and she knew it. The job gave her few intrinsic pleasures but she enjoyed how most of the men avoided the judgement of her hard, blue-eyed stare as they ducked her eye contact while handing over their cash. She had a special look of distaste for those who tried to haggle for a discount. She was hard and cold, at least that's what she thought. In truth she needed the money from her three nights' work each week there, a second job, to support herself and her child. After her marriage ended, her husband had conveniently disappeared shortly after she won custody and maintenance payments, so she never saw any of that. She was pretty much done with men, that's also what she thought. And Hedda's reinforced her views regarding that half of the human species.
Bob Rizla had hired her because she had appeared at the right time and looked right for the job. He believed that he had a sense for such things. And sure, he had desires. Rachael kept him at arms' length, suspecting that his interest in her was about the chase rather than any appreciation of who or what she was. She dressed the part for the job with low cut or open blouses and short black skirts, understanding that her appearance would help entice any men who were wavering at the door.
Bob did not seem to mind her rebuff of his vague attempts at advances early on. Bob Rizla was a rational man. Since Rachael attracted the punters without taking her clothes off, he chose not to spoil that. She knew how to dress for the door, and he noted that the girls working inside seemed to appreciate her even if she kept them all at a distance. Rachael didn't judge them and didn't say much to them as they raced in and out past her. She didn't smoke and she was reliable and efficient. She didn't take much time off and didn't seem to need to be away from the door much during the night. And she appeared to be honest to Bob. He was sure that she wasn't putting her hand in the till.
Of course that had to change.
One slow weeknight the club closed early when the last punter slunk out over an hour before the advertised close. Since there was no chance of any more customers, the girls decided to get Rachael to come inside. Sensing early on how the night was going, Bob had left hours before.
Misty led the campaign by appearing near her as she was locking up the till. "Come and have a drink or two with us," she simpered, taking Rachael by surprise.
"I don't know, she automatically replied." Knowing the place was about to close, she was looking forward to getting a longer night's sleep if she could get home.
But Misty's piercing eyes could pierce even Rachael's. "What if I said it was my birthday. And if I added that the girls want to get to know the mystery woman on the door a bit better?"
What could she say to that? Misty got her at a vulnerable time. She had had too much time alone that slow night to contemplate the regularity of her life and her lack of a social life what with her time divided between her day job, her youngster and the front door of Hedda's at night. Rachael shrugged and succumbed to the desire to chill out and have a few drinks, to relax with a few other adult humans. Her mother was looking after baby Jonah until the morning, so she was not needed back home. There was no excuse, if she ruled out the sleep idea.
With Bob gone for the night the girls were in charge, and that meant that they had the run of the room. Four of them were there when Rachael came in, three sitting around a table with four chairs in the centre of the room, close the edge of the stage. The redheaded barmaid Brandy kept control of the bar and served up a round of drinks not taking no for an answer from Rachael and not giving her a chance to ask what she had mixed for her.
Misty introduced her to the other two at the table, Rizty and Alexis, both of whom apologised that they were always running too late for work to stop and introduce themselves to Rachael. Finding she liked their company, especially after a second round, Rachael asked the table the obvious "so what do you actually do in here?"
After they had started to all answer together, Misty held up her hand for some order. "What do you think we do?" she asked.
"Since it's a strip club, I'm guessing you take your clothes off. Is that right?"
"And?" Misty teased.
"I don't know," she faltered. "All of them?"
Ritzy laughed heartily. "That is the general idea of a strip club," she elucidated.
Rachael looked shocked. "You take off all your clothes?" she asked, wild eyed.
"What did you think we do?" Ritzy demanded, but carefully.
"Discuss nineteenth century Norwegian literature," she said, with a straight face.
"What?" Misty asked almost spitting out her drink.
