It was 15 minutes before ten pm and the spacious, yet cozy, Moroccan restaurant and bar was packed. Friday and Saturday nights were always the busiest nights at the restaurant but tonight it was a haven. Given the gentle rain outside and the drop in spring temperature, the restaurant provided warmth, comfort and distraction.
The wall of the establishment was exposed brick, the floors were made of stained bamboo, and there were tasteful touches of morocco. The light fixtures were stained glass lanterns that cast a warm ethereal glow depending upon the colors. Every booth and chair was well cushioned and covered in fabric weaved with elaborate colors.
Most importantly it reminded Aziz of home. He'd wanted to create something relaxing and cozy where guest wouldn't feel the need to sit upright and eat then dash out the door. Aziz received exactly what he wanted due to careful planning and anal overseeing. To say that Aziz was anal was an understatement. Most of his staff, in fact, thought he had OCD. All candles had to be perfectly centered on the tables. The cutlery must be spotless, the napkins folded a certain way, and he must check the staff's uniforms before the night began.
His personal assistant, a short stocky Sudanese girl named Bethany, normally did the once over before he got there but sometimes she missed things. Bethany was like his left hand to his right. She handled the iceberg of his business while he was able to handle the rest. Regardless, Aziz was a thorough man who double-checked and triple checked things.
Tonight, Aziz took a drag of his hookah and spoke casually with his colleagues. He'd made sure to sit them in a cozy booth under the window so that at any moment Aziz chose to drown out the sound and music of the restaurant he could substitute it with rain. They spoke of the usual business, of mistresses and wives, of children, of mail order brides, and lastly of money.
The arguments were never anything new. It was always about who made more, whether their business practices were ethical or unethical. On average, Aziz was the quieter of the bunch. He was always much of a listener but tonight, after a few beers; he joined in a little bit more. It was to his distraction of course.
She
was dancing tonight. When
she
was dancing, it captivated everyone's attention.
That scared Aziz and he wasn't a man to fear much. He'd been shot twice, nicked in a knife fight once nearly losing his eye, and been in his share of brawls. At 32 he'd made sure to leave that behind years ago but the one thing he did fear was the power a woman had over a man. Aziz knew all too well what the love of a woman could do to a man and he'd vowed that wouldn't be him. He would rather be shot again, before that. Normally, he didn't have anything against women. Aziz found himself to be a handsome man. He had olive skin a bit on the darker side, a buff body that wasn't anything like those body builders. His hair fell in long raven waves to his shoulders, a strong jaw line with a well-trimmed beard and moustache a little longer than stubble.
Women came to him all the time and he bedded a few but never stayed with any of them. Now,
she
on the other hand garnered far too much of his attention. As if on cue, the music began and she sauntered out, hips rolling from side to side, two sabers balanced on her head. Sasha Montano stepped onto the circular platform erected in the middle of the restaurant. As always the music was live and filled the space, drowning out the stream of conversations.
Aziz tried to continue to engage his fellow businessmen but all he received was half assed answers. He knew it was pointless because when Sasha begins to dance all previous thoughts dissolve faster than Alka-Seltzer in water. The first time he experienced it, Aziz was dumbstruck. He'd seen many dancers before but none left him staring, mouth agape, and a raging hard on.
Sasha was beautiful; every man knew it and so did she. Her height was average, about 5'5 but that was the only average thing about her. Tonight she wore an ivory and gold costume with aquamarine accents. The colors offset her burnt sienna skin perfectly that the audience had no choice but to look at her. As Sasha's hips dropped and swiveled, Aziz's eyes followed the movement ignoring the catcalls and sounds of encouragement thrown Sasha's way. Lowering one of the sabers, Sasha brought it broadside to her crotch and wriggled suggestively. Then flipped if over her hand, grabbed the hilt, and swiveled it behind her back in one motion to hover it over her ass as she worked that area turning slowly for all to see.
Aziz tapped his foot under the table, trying to think about anything
but
what his eyes were focused on. She had the perfect ass. Two nicely sized semi-globes that moved in time with wide hips. What would his cock feel like plunging into all that cushion, he wondered from time to time. In fact, once she did this burlesque belly dance fusion while she stripped. Seeing that ass in various stages of undress had him nutting for days. That ass and the c-cup rack Sasha was currently balancing the edge of the saber on. She leaned back halfway, rolled her stomach muscles, with one leg lifted, all the while continuing to balance each saber on her rack and her foot.
With a mischievous spark in her brown eyes, Sasha flicked her foot up, caught the saber, snatched the second off her breasts, and began to dance in time to the quickening music while wielding each saber like a seasoned professional. Jiggle, shake, roll, swivel, spin, Aziz's eyes kept up until the room came to complete silence. Sasha smirked knowingly when the audience erupted in applause.
Sasha turned in Aziz's direction and bowed to him. She always did that whenever he was in the room. Aziz clapped grudgingly, keeping his face stoic. Of course she was good, one of the best he'd seen. He had given Bethany the task of finding new talent. When Bethany came to him with Sasha, Aziz had to admit he was skeptical. When he first met Sasha, she was a Diva in every sense of the word. She was arrogant, temperamental, stubborn, but very intelligent. She was still that way. Every time he brought himself to the brink of firing her, he always ended up booking her for an extra day. Their original agreement a year ago was she would dance once a month. Yet, if one of his bands canceled, she would be the first he dialed. Then he found himself dialing for her to fill in even when there wasn't anything booked.
Now, he just had Bethany deal with her. The two seemed to get along quite nicely. Every time he complained to Bethany about Sasha, Bethany would always keep this annoying-knowing smirk on her face. What the hell did she know that Aziz didn't? Not a single person could frazzle Aziz the way Sasha did. Sasha knew it too because then
she
would get that annoying-knowing smirk on her face. It was as if he was being double-teamed, triple-teamed if you counted Irena his bartender.
Sasha left the stage to change and the live music continued. She had two more performances to do before the night was done but the live music gave her a brief respite in between each performance. As she sashayed her way to the back locker rooms, Sasha's eyes locked with Aziz's and she nodded in greeting. If it was one thing, she always showed him respect regardless of their differences. Sasha gave Aziz that smirk he hated so much then disappeared into the back.
For Sasha, tormenting the uptight Aziz was a favorite past time. He was always so quiet and reserved. Never a button out of place, no stains on his shirt, shoes always shined, and sometimes he'd taken to picking up things with his handkerchief. There was even a bottle of hand sanitizer in his blazer pocket. He rarely wore sneakers or jeans, and if he did, they all looked like it came right off the rack or out the box. She used to frequent the restaurant months before she ever started dancing for him. Whether she was by herself or with her friends, Sasha always noticed Aziz hovering in the shadows. He was very invested in his business.
More like a lot of control issues
. Sasha smiled as she shimmied out of her skirt and fumbled with her top. A pair of cool hands rested on her gently.
"Let me help you with that, girl." It was Irena. The olive skinned bartender was about 5'9 in height, built like a model. Actually, Irena did do some modeling on the side.
