"Miss, there's a guest who needs your assistance," said Jerry, one of the security officers. I suppose most strip club patrons call him a bouncer, but I try to keep the atmosphere at the Nymph's Grove very professional. It was Valentine's Day, and I knew it was going to be a long night. Hopefully, a very profitable one, with guys looking for beautiful women for company if they weren't having luck on the dating scene or preferred to pay for the certainty of at least making it to second or third base for their money rather than spend a couple of hundred on gifts and a fancy meal, only to be told she was too tired or stressed. Sometimes, a couple looked to spice things up a bit - especially on Saturday. I had hoped we'd have considerable business with Valentine's Day falling on a Saturday. Still, in this case, it was neither a lonely guy nor a horny couple.
It was Val, a neighbor from down the street, and she was furious--at least she was until she saw me, and then she was shocked. "Missy, you work here?! "
"Well, I'm the manager, so most folks say I don't do any real work; I just take the money," I said in a very soft but joking tone. She was a volcano of rage, and I really wanted to defuse the situation, whatever it was. "But that doesn't matter now; I can tell you're really upset - how can I help?"
"The mother fucking bastard told me he's working late. He can't make our date tonight. It's urgent business, and he's not sure how long he's going to be gone, and the fucking bastard is here with some woman. His fucking car is in the fucking parking lot."
Since she was channeling her inner Samuel L. Jackson, I decided it was best not to mention that Duane, her errant partner, had thoroughly and delightfully fucked me senseless a week ago - her husband was blessed with the most magnificent schlong. She seemed the possessive type, and I had no desire to pour gasoline on her inferno. I was on dangerous ground and needed to tread lightly.
"Working? On a Saturday night? Missing a Valentine's Day date with his wife?" I asked, feigning surprise.
"I know, right? He fed me some bullshit about a big project, a new client. I didn't think anything of it until I found out he was here. With a woman."
Normally the protocol for a jealous wife or girlfriend was simple - get them the hell out, being polite if possible, using security if necessary, but making damn sure they didn't get in the club to cause any mischief. But I knew Val, and when business and personal lives collide in my world, it's never simple.
Anyway, I had no clue that he was here or who he was with. I did, however, have a number of concealed security cameras that offered a pretty thorough view of the place. I also had an old-fashioned mini-bar, just like in the olden days when offering someone a drink at work was socially correct rather than an unthinkable abomination. Val looked like she could use a drink, and I needed to buy some time to think.
"Val, we'll sort this out. If he's cheating on you here, we'll make him pay. But let's catch our breath and figure out exactly where he is and what he's doing. Would you like vodka, tequila, or scotch?" I'm a white wine girl myself, but she needed something stronger. When she didn't respond, I mixed her a strong Cosmo with Belvedere and a weaker one for myself, then assessed the situation via video from my desk.
He was here. Sal, his boss, as well, and they each had a date brought from the outside (not one of my dancers). They were in one of the premium corners, somewhat hidden from sight but with a decent view of the main and side stages. Their dates were snuggled in pretty close; Sal had her hand up his shirt, and her blouse was unbuttoned and braless. Why the hell did they pull this on Valentine's Day and not a regular weekday when they'd never be missed?
Val had drained her drink and was trying to look at what my monitors were showing - luckily, my monitors are nearly impossible to see unless you're seated directly in front. I quickly flicked it to a different scene, refilled her drink, and started thinking about how to handle this. I noticed we had a lot of Mardi Gras decorations up - it was at the end of the month, and we had a big event planned. In particular, the masks gave me an idea.
"Well, what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. Val, you've got a damn fine body. Why don't we make him jealous, make him realize you've got a hell of a lot more to offer in the bedroom than that bitch does? But we'll keep you in disguise," I said, handing her a mask. "I suspect your man will unconsciously recognize your naked form, but how could you be dancing in a strip club when you're waiting at home for him?" I asked rhetorically.
We needed to work her into the rotation. It's not like we didn't have a bit of a revolving door for dancers. Sure, we focused on our regulars - both dancers and customers, but there were always dancers from out of town who'd work a weekend or special event. Luckily, her hair, makeup, and perfume were already done since she had prepared for her date with Duane, and she already had on 5-inch heels - very appropriate for Duane, who was a tall man. We'd need to make her "stripperific", but we were working with sound fundamentals. I had a spare scarf tie thong that would fit her and emphasize her sexiest curves. I walked her over to Rhea, our house mom, and explained my plan. Rhea looked at me like I was crazy but went along with it nonetheless. I was the boss, at least when it came to signing paychecks.
As Val went to the dressing room to get her makeup and hair touched up, I stopped by the DJ booth to tell him to mention the Mardi Gras promotion and our new dancer, "Valkyrie." Then, back to the office to catch up on real work, like the botched liquor delivery from earlier. I surfed through the video monitors, checking if anything had changed with Duane (it hadn't), and nearly jumped out of my chair when I saw my wife, Leslie, with our next-door neighbors, Stan and Jeannie, and our friend Jewel. What the hell--was it a block party night at the strip club?
But it made sense, kind of. Duane and Stan were buddies, and I'd occasionally see them as customers at the club - they both came here occasionally. Since I tended to stay in the back, managing things, I don't think they knew I owned things, but given the gossip in the community, it probably wasn't a secret. But I suspected everyone being here tonight was more of a coincidence than a plot. I knew Jewel and Jeannie had some hanky-panky planned for Stan this Valentine's Day, and Leslie always liked to get in on the action - maybe this was part of that? If Stan had known Duane was planning a rendezvous with a strange woman here, he wouldn't have brought his gals here to risk "worlds colliding." Unless Leslie was up to something? She always had her schemes. I made a note to ask her about it later. I turned my attention back to Val, who was looking drop-dead gorgeous. Rhea was explaining the rules of the club to her, and we both prayed she wouldn't break them too badly.
Then the DJ announced that a new dancer was on stage tonight and for folks to welcome "Valkyrie." As the stage lights dimmed and the music began to pulse, a stunning 30-year-old black woman stepped onto the strip club's main stage. Her body was honed by a daily routine of jogging and yoga, her lean muscles defined but not bulky, and any ounce of fat was in her feminine curves. Her ebony skin glowed under the spotlights, an athletic yet hourglass figure with long legs, generous breasts, gently flared hips, and a firm, round ass. Her hair was a mass of tight, dark curls cascading down her back. Her brown eyes were framed by long, dark lashes, and her smile was dangerous yet inviting. The rest of her face was hidden behind a mask. I wouldn't have recognized her as my neighbor and friend (well,
I
would have, but that's from years of seeing the transformation a woman goes through for the stripper pole).
Even during her first song, Val attracted a flock of tippers. Richard, one of our regulars and a connoisseur of dancers, was particularly smitten. Leslie, Jeannie, and Stan were all slipping singles into her garter and not showing any signs of recognition. As the song ended, Val untied the scarf-thong at the neck, slowly revealing her breasts--firm and full, with large, dark areolas and thick nipples, leaving her in only the skimpiest of g-strings and high heels. She seemed to be thriving on the attention.
