Chapter Text
Friday night.
Courtney rushes into the dressing room, throws her bag down, peels off her jacket.
Alice looks over from her station, raises a blue eyebrow at her. "You are so fuckin' late," she says casually, touching up her bright pink lipstick.
"Did they call me onstage yet?" Courtney says, breathless, pulling off her street clothes.
"No."
She shoves on her black faux leather push-up bra and schoolgirl mini skirt in record time. "Then technically I'm not late."
"Technically, if you show up late one more time, Mandy said she's gonna cut your weekend spot."
Courtney pulls the long black wig out of her bag. It's a little tangled, but she doesn't have time to brush it out. Pigtails it is. She shoves it over her short purple hair, wig cap be damned.
"She loves me, she won't do shit," Courtney snaps.
Fuck, she forgot to put make-up on this morning. She'll have to go bare bones, whatever she can get on before the next song ends. She swipes her thick black eyeliner pencil across the upper and lower lids, smudges it with her finger. Very high school goth, but chances are some guy out there will be into it.
Alice mutters something under her breath that sounds like, "Perks of fuckin' the boss."
Courtney whips her head around, furious. "What the fuck, Alice."
Alice rolls her eyes. "Girl, I'm playing with you. Relax. You two are kinda cute."
Courtney doesn't have time for this. Mal's still onstage, and by Courtney's estimation the metal track she's dancing to (Burnin' Up, Judas Priest) has about two minutes left. Courtney's up next, and she has to pull off the fastest full beat in the history of this strip club.
But she can't help biting back. "Mandy dumped me like a month ago, for your information." She slaps glue on strip lashes, blows on them to dry.
Alice whistles sympathetically. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It's fine." Courtney throws the lashes on, pinching them to let the glue adhere. Blink blink. The left one is only a little crooked. It'll have to do.
"You late coming from class?" Alice is finished touching up her makeup, sipping casually from a water bottle. Her attention is fully turned to Courtney now.
"What is this, an interrogation?" Courtney drawls. She pulls the biggest brush from her makeup bag. It's a race against time: Contour. Blush. Highlighter. A muddled mess in the mirror of her vanity, but she's not worried- the lights in the club are dark for a reason.
The last chorus is playing out. Shit. She's out of time.
"What, I can't be curious?" Alice asks.
Courtney starts haphazardly tying up her black pleaser boots. "I plead the fifth." Why the fuck did I pick an aesthetic with a billion laces?
"What a good little lawyer you are already," Alice coos.
Courtney's hands fumble with the bow. Shit. There's another update she hasn't shared with anyone.
"How's it look out there?" she asks, distracting from the mess that is her personal life.
Alice shrugs. "Decent crowd."
"Any regulars?"
"Just Vic. He brought a friend. Some beef jerky-lookin' white boy."
"Let's give a hand for Lucy! Pull out the green if you're ready for a dance with our red devil," Mandy's voice echoes from the club, along with cheers and applause from the men gathered around the stage.
Courtney ties her laces with a snap, and rushes to the curtain.
"Our last dancer on stage this round is from right here in Los Angeles. Hold on to your broomsticks, boys, because she's gonna get witch or die trying. Let's give it up for Visi!"
Courtney schools her face into a brain-dead sexy pout before stepping on stage to first notes of acoustic guitar:
♫ Honey why you calling me so late? ♫
♫ It's kinda hard to talk right now ♫
It's not her song. Again. Mandy's swapping out Visi's pre-approved stage music for tracks that sound like they're from a playlist called my bitch ex who cheated on me. She has to fight hard to keep her face impassive, to not roll her eyes.
At least it's a sexy enough song, not too far off her aesthetic. She can make this work. Better than last week, where she got Don't Cha, Cry Me a River, and Before He Cheats in one shift.
♫ Honey, why you crying, is everything okay? ♫
♫ I gotta whisper 'cause I can't be too loud ♫
Courtney grabs the pole, swings around a few times to get the lay of the land.
It's a little more than half full- mostly older guys on their own, a few younger groups, and a couple nervously sitting right up at the tip bar. It's not the busiest Friday night she's ever seen, but it can be worth it if she picks the right customer.
♫ Well, my girl's in the next room ♫
♫ Sometimes I wish she was you ♫
♫ I guess we never really moved on ♫
She jumps onto the pole, drapes herself back. Looks for her target.
There- the back. Next to Vic in his too-expensive suit. It would be easy to just go for Vic, he'll always pay for at least one song in the VIP room, but something about his friend strikes her as better money.
Early thirties probably, bomber jacket over sloppy business casual that doesn't manage to hide lean musculature. He's trying too hard to not pay attention to the dancers, like he's a little embarrassed to be here, or thinks he's above it.
Perfect.
♫ It's really good to hear your voice saying my name ♫
♫ It sounds so sweet ♫
♫ Coming from the lips of an angel ♫
♫ Hearing those words, it makes me weak ♫
Courtney pulls off all her trickiest moves, Jasmine into Black Widow into a back-bending Gemini, keeps the dispassionate look on her face the entire time as she makes eye contact with everyone in the audience, one by one- except for Vic's friend.
It's all a part of the strategy- she knows this type. He'll act like he's too good to be here, and he won't want a girl throwing herself all over him. He thinks he's above it? Fine. She'll give him what he wants. The more she ignores him, the bitchier she is, the more he'll want her.
And if she can play this just right, he'll pay her rent in 30 minutes in the VIP room.
♫ And I never wanna say goodbye ♫
♫ But, girl, you make it hard to be faithful ♫
♫ With the lips of an angel ♫
Courtney steps off the pole, makes her way to the tip rail. She crawls over to the woman in the couple, gives her a small smile before bending over, beckoning her with a finger. She looks nervous, excited as she comes in.
Courtney shakes her ass in her face, puts her legs on the woman's shoulders. Her husband is practically drooling as he tosses a pile of ones in front of her. They look like first timers trying to spice up their marriage, a good backup plan if Vic's aloof friend doesn't work out.
Courtney picks up the money, blows the couple a kiss before making her way along the stage.
After that, she's on autopilot, moves back to the pole and finishes the song.
"Alright, lady and gentlemen that's it for the stage for now, if you want to spend some time with one of these lovely ladies, the ATM is by the front door," Mandy says as she transitions to clubbier music. The other girls- stage names Prism, Lucy, Coupe and more all take to the floor, flirting with potential customers.
Courtney makes a beeline for the couple up front. Step one- ignore the real target for as long as you can. She keeps Vic and his friend in her periphery while she teases the wife.
"Who do I have to thank for keeping the front row so good-looking?" she says. It helps that she means it- the wife at least, is gorgeous, someone Courtney would go for outside of this place, even if she's probably 15 years older than her.
She can't say the same for the husband. Why do the most stunning women date the biggest fucking trolls?
"Lauren," she says, eyes flicking up and down Courtney. "You were really great up there. I would kill for that core strength."
"You're sweet," Courtney says, keeping her voice low as she can in the noise of the club.
She flirts with her for a little more, trying to ignore the overeager look on the husband's face. Fuckin' relax, buddy. Courtney can tell from Lauren's nerves- that couples dance her husband is hoping for isn't going to happen tonight. But she keeps chatting anyway. She wants Lauren to feel comfortable enough to come back.
She has to move on if she's going to make any money this round; the other girls have snatched up most of the guaranteed spenders. "I'm Visi, if you're interested in spending some more time later on."
Courtney looks to the back of the room, scanning for anyone who looks like they want company. Mal is chatting with Vic, in animated conversation with her friend instead of actually making money.
Courtney's eyes drift, and she accidentally makes eye contact with the man next to them.
His gaze shoots something sharp in her gut, burning hot on impact. In the instant before he looks away, all her calculations and weighing options, putting dollar signs over every head- it melts away to one small thought:
He's cute.
She can't approach while Mal's still talking to Vic. It'll just make her look desperate. Which she's about to be.
There- one last lonely middle-aged guy by himself at the bar. He doesn't look ready to spend, but maybe he's just a sloppy professor type. It's a risk.
Fuck it, sad sack Jeff Goldblum it is.
Courtney makes her way toward him, ready with a Jurassic Park quip. Just as she's opening her mouth, Janelle appears out of nowhere and pulls him toward a private room.
Sorry, she mouths at her.
Everyone is paired up, and Courtney's left standing, stupid, like the last kid picked for kickball. Time for the old standby- sit by the bar and wait for someone who wants to save her from this place.
Chad, the bartender, slides up to her after he finishes serving the last customer. "Who punched you in the face?" he asks. "I want to send them an edible arrangement. The good kind, chocolate strawberries or some shit."
Courtney scowls. "It's called make-up, asshole."
"What's that style, raccoon chic? Super classy."
"It's not that bad, is it?"
Chad pulls a mirrored bottle of vodka from the shelf, places it in front of her. "See for yourself."
In the warped reflective surface, she can see the eyeliner has already migrated from her lash line to the bags under her eye.
"Fuck me," she mutters, grabs a cocktail napkin to wipe it off.
"Is that a request?"
Vic appears behind her, grinning broadly. There's a little white powder in his prematurely gray stubble.
Courtney can't help but smile back. As obnoxious as he is, he's a consistent customer, and though unconscionably horny, respects the dancers boundaries more than any of the other regulars. The inexplicable friendship with Mal probably has something to do with that.
"With you? When hell freezes over," Courtney deadpans.
Vic's friend sits on his other side, and Courtney's traitorous heart does a weird little somersault.
What is wrong with you? You've suddenly never seen a good-looking customer before? Get a fucking grip.
"This is Robert. He's contracted with us for some rush coding jobs. Robert, this is Visi, the best dancer at Sex Dance Nite."
"I heard that, mate!" Mal says from another man's lap twenty feet away.
"How did she- okay, fine, second best dancer," Vic corrects.
"Hi," Courtney says shortly, with the most perfunctory little glance at Robert, looks away as quickly as she can back to Vic. "How's business?"
"Fucking amazing. We're celebrating, actually. Made an acquisition on a semiconductor company. Huge deal."
"But you didn't hear that," Robert says, nudging Vic warningly.
Of course he has a hot voice. Up close, she can see he's missing a chunk of his right ear, like someone took a bite out of the shell. An intrusive thought- would her little finger fit in the space?
Vic shrugs. "Visi's cool. Right?"
She leans in fondly to Vic, "Yeah, of course. What company did you guys buy? Purely out of academic interest, of course."
"Vic, don't," Robert says at the same time Vic blurts the full company name. Courtney makes a mental note to deposit whatever she makes tonight into her E-trade and buy as many shares as she can.
"Well, looks like someone needs to redo his insider trading e-learning module," Courtney intones. Robert fully snorts, forcing Courtney to look at him again. She gives him her most unimpressed look, and his genuine smile slowly fades.
She only feels a little bad- he's probably done much worse negging to girls. She'll feel even less bad if this works, and he empties his wallet around her g-string.
"See? Told you she's cool," Vic says to Robert. "Hey, man I'm buying, what do you want?"
"No, I got it," Robert says, a little resigned.
"Visi?"
"Whatever you're getting."
Robert relays the order to Chad, whose gaze lingers a little too long on him before confirming the order with Courtney.
"You too?" Chad asks her.
"Yeah." She nods at him as she says it. It's the code he has with all the dancers- adding an exaggerated nod means please actually give me the drink so I can get through this interaction, while any other response with no nod means just give me the drink token, gin and tonic, hold the gin.
Vic keeps up a steady stream of drug-fueled conversation with her as they drink, watching the other dancers work. Robert has completely checked out to the point where Visi fears her aloof strategy might have actually put him off. He's looking around the place, but not like he's ogling dancers- it's like he's scanning for something. Or someone. It should make her uneasy, but her curiosity is piqued.
She unfortunately must figure him out.
"Oh, shit, that's Cherry!" Vic exclaims, head snapping to the redhead appearing from behind the VIP room with another customer. "I didn't know she was back from Missouri. Hey! Cherry!"
He's gone in a second, leaving Courtney alone with Robert at the bar. She takes a sip of whiskey to cover the pounding in her throat.
"So what's your deal?" she asks Robert bluntly as soon as Vic's gone.
"Hmm?" Robert's distracted. She follows his gaze- Mandy coming out of the back office.
Courtney's face burns. Of course, this guy wants unattainable- can't do better than the hot strip club manager. She's not sure if she's more jealous of her or of him.
Insecurity and empty-stomached alcohol are a bad combination. She lashes out-
"Like, what are you doing here, just sitting and drinking? Never been to a strip club before?"
Mandy disappears out the front door, and Robert finally tears his eyes back to Courtney.
That low voice is full of venom now. "No, actually. I haven't. What's your deal? I thought you guys were supposed to be nice to customers. Or is someone actually paying you to be an asshole?"
Courtney is speechless. His lips turn up at her stunned face, and he takes a victorious sip of his drink.
She recovers. "Actually I get paid to figure out what men want, even when they don't know it themselves."
"Are you any good at it?"
"Very."
"Really?" He turns his whole body toward her. She has his full attention now. "Okay, Visi. What do I want?"
She lets her eyes wander all the way down him, from auburn hair to scuffed oxfords then back up, deciding. Does she pull back? Or give him the full brunt of it?
He crosses his arms, putting up his shield, and Courtney decides he can take it.
She goes in for the kill.
"You're looking for something. And you think you're alone in that- you tell yourself what you want is different than what every other guy here wants." She waves a hand casually at the entirety of the club. His mouth opens a fraction, ever so slightly slack. "And not just here- every day when you wake up, every room you walk into, you tell yourself this story: your desires are special."
She marches on, "It might be true, might not be true, I don't really know. But whatever it is you want, you're not going to find it here. You're worried you're wasting your time. Not just tonight, but all the time. Because you're afraid you might never find that thing you want. So. Bad."
Robert blinks. He downs his half-full whiskey before responding. "That's a lot of words to say 'pussy'."
"That, too."
"Nice of you to give out free therapy."
"Nothing is free, asshole," she savors the last word.
Robert clears his throat. And there it is- he's hooked. He finally looks down- for the first time since the conversation started- at her tits bursting out of the black pleather push-up.
God, I'm good. It's so satisfying, to push someone's buttons just so until they want her. She can't help but smirk.
"Can I get another-" he glances at the price list next to the VIP booths, "-five songs of you telling me what I want?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
She finishes her drink, takes him to the VIP area. Bruno catches her eye- he's standing guard outside the row of booths, pulls back the curtain of an empty one and collects Robert's payment.
Courtney pushes him gently onto the seat, stands back. "You know how this works, or have you actually never been in a strip club before?"
"I know how it works," he says. "You touch me, I don't touch you."
"That's what the California Regulations for Sexually Oriented Businesses say, yeah," she says, walks leisurely toward him. "Lucky for you I take requests."
"Do you?"
"Uh huh." She straddles him, barely touching. Start off slow. "You can ask me anything you want, and I decide if I want to answer it or not."
It's a consistent strategy when she's playing Visi- make him think it's his idea, that he's getting away with something. He'll think he's getting his money's worth, when she's decided what she'll allow well before they ever stepped in the booth. (Touching her ass over the clothes, maximum.)
"Okay" he watches her gyrate. "What's your whole vibe supposed to be?"
This was not what she was expecting- her hips stutters in surprise before she finds the beat again. "What?"
"I mean," he gestures at her outfit, careful not to actually make contact. "What's the aesthetic? That song you danced to says trailer park affair, but the outfit's giving sexually liberated Wednesday Addams."
She has to turn, show him her ass so he can't see her smiling. "So you paid attention to me on stage?"
"That's what you got out of that?"
"Okay," Courtney says, turning back and bracing herself with a hand to his chest. His heart beats a furious hammer against her palm. "New rule."
"Oh?"
"Yes. After that disrespect-" she loved it, actually, "-I've decided you only get five questions."
"Why five?"
"You ever watch any courtroom shows?"
"A little."
"Five question rule. In cross-examination of a witness, you cover your main objectives within the first five questions. The jury only really pays attention at the beginning, so you need to tell your story right up front," She puts her hands on his thighs. "And you used your first question, by the way. Four left."
"Guess I better make them count," he breathes. She dips low, so close to his face she smells the whiskey on his tongue.
In the moody light of the club it's hard to see anything for sure- there's something rough peeking under his collar, a gnarled old scar. (She wonders what it would taste like, rolling the knotted skin under her teeth). She doesn't need much light to read his face- he's transformed from the man she met at the bar. Radiant. He's genuinely enjoying this.
"Do you let anyone touch you?"
She keeps dancing, looks at his lap while she thinks about how to answer. "Sometimes."
"How do they get that privilege?"
"Time. Trust. A lot more money than you put up. That's three."
It's growing- the hungry look in his eyes. The more they talk, the more she dances, and especially the more she mocks him.
"Is there anywhere you want me to touch you?" he asks, desperate around the edges.
Courtney considers him, puts a hand on his collarbone. Half wanting, half warning.
"Hips. Just hips."
The second the words are out of her mouth, his hands twitch up to cup bare skin on her hip bones. He's been waiting for permission. They're warm, a little rough. She shivers at thumbs swiping the expanse of her stomach.
"Only one question left," she says softly. And because she can't take another moment of the reverence on his face, she speaks into his ear: "Make it count."
Even over the pounding music, she hears his thick swallow.
"Do you do extras?"
Oh.
Her heart sinks through the floor, straight through where she's grinding between his legs.
She pulls back, meets his eyes. There's something anxious in there she hopes she's wrong about. No one asks that outright on the first dance unless they're trying to get kicked out. Or worse. She waits- keeps the silence long, praying for him to take it back.
He doesn't take it back.
What a fucking disappointment.
Courtney does her best not to let any of it reach her face, smiles blandly at him.
"Just a sec," she says, coy as she can pretend, steps off him and out the VIP booth curtain.
Bruno's standing outside, enormous and bored.
She holds out a hand; he forks over her cash.
"You good?" he asks.
"Yeah. That guy's a cop though."
"Oh shit. Entrapment?"
"Yep."
"I'll take care of him."
"Thanks."
Courtney books it to the bar as fast as the six-inch heels will carry her. In her wake, she hears Bruno swipe the curtain open.
"Come on, buddy, let's go."
"What? What the fuck did I do?"
She hides at the edge of the bar to watch the scuffle. Bruno is shoving Robert out the door, one huge hand enveloping his entire shoulder.
"You're done. Out."
"Okay, okay, just let me find my friend-"
With near-perfect comedic timing, Cherry bursts from the men's bathroom, Colm muscling Vic out close behind.
"For the last time, you can't do that shit here," Colm growls, pushing him. "You're dead lucky it's me that found you. Mandy'd have you fuckin' arrested."
"It's a bit! I'm doing it for the bit. Her name is Cherry! You guys never heard of Cherry Coke?"
Both men are escorted out as every patron and dancer stops to watch the commotion as Vic yells "Does no one appreciate visual puns anymore?".
When the door shuts behind them the only sound is some four-on-the-floor track thumping through the speakers.
At the bar, Chad drops another whiskey in front of her.
"Thanks," she says. "You really don't have to."
A man grumbles loudly from the end of the bar, "Hey, can I get a drink here? I've been waiting longer than her-"
"Go cry about it to someone who gives a fuck," Chad snaps at him, before turning back to Courtney. "That asshole fighter guy left his tab open. Figured he owed you one."
"Cheers," Courtney says. "Wait, fighter guy?"
"The one Bruno just kicked out."
"You know him?"
"I thought I recognized him, googled the name on his card as you walked away. It's him. Almost didn't believe it- you see how bony that motherfucker is?"
"Shit," Courtney swears into her whiskey. Not a cop. "I fucked up."
Chad points at her. "You get paid?"
"…Yeah."
He snaps his fingers. "Then you got nothing to apologize for."
Mandy appears out of nowhere. Throws her hands up, a gorgeous jump scare.
"Hey, sorry, but is anyone actually doing any work around here?"