Distractions (15 page)

remember I picked it in a hurry because

“Sparkle” or “Tina” sounded too crazy

and too plain. Some girls picked names

of cities or flowers. I was always

curious why someone chose the moniker

they did.

“She says her name is Starla.”

More static came back loudly.

“Holy shit, send her in. I’m at the

bar.” Frankie seemed ecstatic that I was

there.

The girl nodded towards the doors

and another security guard. “I assume

you know where you’re going?”

With a few more smacks of her

gum, she went back to playing on her

phone. Not even bothering to focus

anymore on how badly I wanted to slap

this dumb girl, I turned on my heels and

headed into the cavernous room. Lasers

danced from the rigs hooked above the

catwalk stage. Brilliant lights twisted

and turned in vivid patterns across the

space. Small tables sprinkled the bottom

floor while the mezzanine was lined

with more tables that sat opposite from

VIP booths reserved for special dances.

A long dimly lit bar lined the wall to my

right. There were two flights of steps on

each side of the stage, leading to the

dressing room and DJ booth behind it,

with other flights of curved steps going

up to the top level.

Everything looked the same. Girls

wandered to the patrons in small pieces

of fabric covering their breasts and

bottoms. A few were in the middle of

doing dances. I knew most of the crowd

was here for the contest. There were

unfortunate boys who suckered their

girlfriends into signing up, hoping for a

quick shot at some easy money. Others

were slightly older women with raised

libidos, looking for kicks. Some were

drug addicts hoping to find a sugar

daddy or at least fund their habits. Then

there were those who happened to be too

naive for their own good and girls pretty

enough with low self-esteem and ears

sensitive to the seduction of the demon

whispers.

I walked to the end of the bar

where I could see Frankie unloading a

few bottles of vodka from a cardboard

box onto the illuminated stands against

the wall. The other bartenders were

scrambling to get the servers orders

filled, as the crowd of people grew

larger. I leaned against the bar until he

turned around. He knew I was here so it

was only a moment.

Frankie Pallatzo was probably in

his late fifties now. He still had a thick

head of pepper gray hair and a mustache

with a goatee. He spoke with a thick

New York accent. Gold rings were on

almost all of his fingers, and you never

wanted to piss him off. He must have felt

my eyes burning into the back of his

black and red bowling shirt as he turned

around. With a grin that lit up his whole

face, he shouted to the girl next to him

who was pouring shots.

“Take over – I’ll be back.” With

her nodding in understanding, Frankie

looked back at me and grabbed a bottle

of Hendricks off the top shelf and two

glasses, which he filled with ice.

Ducking under the bar, he motioned

for me to follow him up behind the stage.

With the two-way mirrors, you couldn’t

tell, but his office looked down on the

entire floor. At any given time, he could

see every girl, every patron, and all

activities backstage, too. Frankie ran a

tight ship. With the exception of the girl

at the reception desk, nothing appeared

different. The room was noticeably

quieter once he shut the door. The

windows still shook, but enough

insulation was in the walls that I did not

have to shout. He placed the glasses on

his desk and reached his arms out

widely for a hug.

“Greet all your old girls like this,

Frankie?” I asked with a smirk.

His laugh was deep and genuine.

“No, doll only those who make an

impression.”

With a quick wink, he made me feel

a bit better. Pouring the gin into the

glasses, I couldn’t wait to taste the

smooth liquid as it flowed over my

tongue and down my throat.

“I am surprised you remembered I

liked this.” I grinned and truly was

shocked. He must have had thousands of

girls walk through those doors.

Handing me my glass, he clinked

them together.

“You know I wasn’t twenty-one,

yet, right?”

A knowing expression grew over

his face as he let out a deep laugh “Like

I said, an impression. Here’s to old

friends.”

“Gratzie,” I replied and then closed

my eyes to drink deeply.

He coughed to catch my attention.

“So what do I owe the honor of this

visit?” he asked while sitting on the long

modern leather sofa and tapped the seat

next to him.

“I know you’re not here for a job,

but oh how I would love to see you

dance. And my girls, they would be

walking on eggshells for months

afterwards.”

With a raised eyebrow, I took

another sip. “Get me drunk enough and

you might just get your wish.”

A somber look came over his face.

“What is it, baby doll?”

You would think a man who ran

this kind of business would not have a

compassionate bone in his body, yet the

two months I worked here, I managed to

worm my way into his heart. Perhaps

because I simply showed up, was sober,

and made him a ton of money.

“You know you told me that people

come here because they are paying for

an illusion? I’d like to buy a ticket,

please.”

He sat in contemplation, letting me

have my moment. He understood,

because I understood; there was nothing

to say. He broke the silence with another

chuckle. “So if I get you drunk enough,

you would dance tonight?” The light

returned in his eyes as they shifted over

me.

“Frankie, I don’t have anything to

wear. And I’m certainly not showing off

my tits!” I couldn’t help but grin in

return.

“Seriously, you know that isn’t an

issue. I have enough booze to sedate an

army, and a wardrobe full of clothes for

you to pick something out. Please let this

old man die happy.” I breathed out

heavily, still laughing. “Starla, how

about instead of watching the show, be

the show tonight. Just one dance, for old

time’s sake, and give these brats a run

for their money.”

I set my drink on the glass coffee

table and stretched my arms above my

head, looking at him as if he were crazy.

His pupils dilated in anticipation of my

answer. Maybe this is what I needed. I

could forget, just for one night that

everything was falling apart. I wouldn’t

be completely naked. It would be just

like at the beach, except with horny men

screaming and throwing dollar bills at

me. And there it was, the song of the

siren playing in my ears, luring me into

the dark waters.

“Let’s do it!”

The Madame was none too thrilled

with Frankie’s hairball scheme, knowing

she would be dealing with a house full

of angry girls. She couldn’t contest his

orders, so she gave me free reign over

the costumes they sold. I had forgotten

how comfortable a pair of four inch

Lucite heels could be, and how damn

sexy you feel walking in them. Since I

wasn’t competing for the money, I chose

a very simple black and white string

bikini and a tight little sequined tube

dress to cover up in. I had already flat

ironed my long brown hair poker straight

and had on enough makeup. A little gloss

to catch the light and I was good to go.

“You’re forgetting something”, the

madam coughed while handing me a

cheaply made garter belt.

“Oh yes, the badge of whoredom,

how silly of me,” I replied smartly.

Ignoring my remark as if she didn’t

hear me, I slipped the piece of lace up

my leg.

Feeling the ribbon crackle in my

hand, a new thought surfaced in my

mind. This was a modern day scarlet

letter. This was why some women

couldn’t ever move past this; they carry

it as though it were really them and not

just a bad choice. I knew how lucky I

was. Even in this moment, the spark was

still screaming at me.

As I peered out from the stage

entrance, I noticed a girl waiting for the

contest, shaking in her boots. She was

beautiful, but you could tell she was

beyond freaked out. Her long blond hair

was set into soft waves that tumbled

down her back. She must have been

around five foot two. Her eyes paced

frantically around the room as she

chewed on her nails, looking for

direction.

I gave Jimi the DJ a song I wanted

to dance to, and since I was last, I had

some time to kill. I decided to approach

the girl who was now walking to sit up

in the VIP area with a few other girls.

She could not see me come up the stairs

since her back was facing me. I gently

tapped her on the shoulder, which

caused her to jump. I smiled brightly and

reached out my hand.

“Hey, I am Starla. I am doing a

special dance tonight and I was hoping

you could help me with it.”

She looked around nervously while

still holding onto my hand.

“Me?” she whispered.

I nodded approvingly and motioned

for her to follow me. The other girls

stared her down viciously at the special

attention she was receiving.

“What’s your name?” I yelled

while walking down the steps, carefully

holding onto the rail to prevent tumbling

down.

“Kinzey,” she shouted back.

Leaning back slightly with a turned

head, still making my way down, I

yelled over my shoulder. “That’s your

real name or your stage name?”

She

stopped

and

looked

bewildered. “My real name, why?”

I smiled and pulled her up to the DJ

booth. “Jimi, cross Kinzey off the list.”

They both instantly looked at me

strangely.

“What do you want your stage name

to be? Don’t ever use your real name;

you will have a life after this.”

“Um, um, um.” Her eyes danced

around hoping for inspiration to strike

quickly.

“Oh I know, Reese!”

I pursed my lips together at the

boring name then turned back to Jimi.

“Put down Reese, please.”

After he saluted us both, we walked

back to another area of the floor closer

to the ladies room where it was a little

less packed, smiling and flirting with the

boys along the way. I stopped to watch

the girl who was currently on stage. I

understood what Frankie meant now.

There was no performance in how they

moved. It was ass jiggle, strut, strut,

squat for a dollar, shake your tits and the

same routine again. Most of them also

had personalities as dry as the Sahara

desert. True, men were not looking for a

rocket scientist, but if you couldn’t make

them buy into the show, you were just

wasting their money and losing out on

making yours. My focus turned back to

Reese.

“How old are you?”

Her

fidgeting

started

again.

“Eighteen, ma’am”.

Blowing out a deep breath, I

muttered, “Lord, help me!”

“Look, I am going to have you do

something very simple that will win you

this contest. You are far prettier than any

of the others tonight, and they have no

idea what the hell they are doing. I just

want one favor in return.”

She was soaking in all the

information I was giving her, eager to

get her hands on some cash. “Yeah, what

do I need to do?”

“I am going to do my dance and at

the end, I am going to give you a signal

to walk towards the stage. I am going to