“There’s just one other thing.”
“Yes?”
“This place is owned by the Evil Dead MC. If you’ve got a problem with bikers, this might not be the club for you.”
My heart stops, and all I can think about is Cody, Jared’s army buddy. “How do they treat the dancers?”
“They won’t mess with you. They come in and pick up the club’s earnings. They come around if there’s trouble. Occasionally, they stop in for a drink and some entertainment. What they won’t do is take more than what they pay for your stage time. The DJ gets a cut of your tips, so does the house, but if you’re good, you’ll make a killing.”
“Then I won’t have an issue with them.”
He studies me.
“I just need a chance. Please.”
“Come back at 4pm. I’ll let you open happy hour with one dance. If you’re good, I’ve got a Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday slot. Prove yourself, and I might move you to the big money nights.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“Ronnie. None of that sir shit here.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry. Ronnie.”
He grins. “I like your southern accent, though. Customers will, too. You got any costumes, or did you leave all that behind when you fled?”
“I had to leave everything.”
“Marnie might be able to find you something. Come on.” He walks me out and down to another office. A woman is working on a computer and barely looks up when we walk in. Everything about her is over the top. She reminds me of Dolly Parton.
“Ronnie, I’ve got no one for Thursday night. Bev is sick with the flu, and Carly is, too.”
“Then Heather here might be the answer,” Ronnie says.
Marnie swivels and looks me over. “Well, aren’t you a looker? You hire her, Ronnie?”
“Not yet. She’s gonna come back at 4pm and do a spot. Then I’ll decide. But she has no costumes.”
“Why not?” She frowns, and her gaze shifts from him to me.
“I had to leave Alabama in a hurry,” I reply, then stick my hand out. “Heather.”
She stares at it, then shakes it. “Don’t usually get manners like that around here.” She stands and moves toward the door. “Come on, honey. Let’s find you something to wear on stage.”
I follow in her wake of perfume.
We cross the hall to the dressing room with its long, lighted mirror against the left wall. She crosses to a set of lockers and opens one, then flips through some garments. She pulls one out and holds it up. “Will this do?”
It’s a sexy schoolgirl outfit. Well, pieces of one.
She shoves it at me and pushes me onto a bench. “Try it on. I’ll leave you to it, honey. I’ve got paperwork to do. Stop back at my office before you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me Marnie. Ma’am just makes me feel old.”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean Marnie.”
She chuckles and walks out. I look at the garment. There’s an itsy bitsy pleated gray skirt that I’m sure won’t cover my ass, a stiff collar with an attached tie, and a vest that isn’t big enough to come together in the front. My tits will be on display from the moment I take the stage. Not that I’m shy. I lost that a long time ago.
