Dirty Aristocrat(53)

'What does she do to get them to give her all that money then?'

'To start with she doesn't act all high and mighty like you do.'

I open my mouth to deny it, but Melanie holds out a warning hand. 'I've  seen you. You will be sitting down with a guy and your body language  will be screaming, I don't want to be here. I mean which man is going to  pay a girl who clearly tells him she finds him unattractive.'         

     



 

'But they are unattractive..'

'True, but,' she licks her spoon, 'why did you become a dancer?'

'To make money.'

'You're not going to make any with your attitude. You know what Jolene  does? She goes and sits next to them and whispers in their ears, "I'm  here to be anything you want me to be. I can be the dirtiest, most  forbidden whore of your fantasies. Tell me what you want me to be? Talk  dirty with me." And guess what? They never get to touch her, she talks  dirty, they empty their wallets, and they come back for more. Now that  is a clever dancer. She'll even invite other girls into the VIP room to  dance for her customer and pay them for it.'

The whole idea puts me off. I feel decidedly glum. 'I don't get why they  just don't all go to a knocking shop and buy a prostitute.'

'Aha!' she cries triumphantly. 'That is why plain Jolene is taking home  ten thousand and super gorgeous you is bringing in three hundred.  Because you don't understand the job. The "no touching" rule means there  is no longer any pressure for the man to sexually perform. It's all  about his fantasies. For a few hundred quid he can be that guy of his  dreams with beautiful girls hanging on his every word, laughing at his  most inane jokes.'

She leans back and takes off her boots. There are more sweaty notes  stuck to her calves. As she peels them off and straightens them out on  the table I see that some of them have phone numbers scribbled on them.

'And here is something else you should understand. Dancing can be  incredibly empowering and a great turn-on. Why do you think all the  girls wear tampons even when it's not their period?'

My eyes widen.

She just nods sagely. 'When your garter starts to bulge with twenties  and fifties you know you're not just hot, you're bloody good at what you  do. I always make them sit with their legs spread wide so I can see  them get a hard-on. This gives me total control of the situation. I will  then roll my body inches away from their faces so they feel the heat  coming off me.'

She puts her feet up on the coffee table and wriggles her toes.

'And I'll purposely let my hair trail their cheeks or let out a long  sigh close to their ears. Usually they will start breathing heavily,  which means I've done a good job, but sometimes they will become so  fixated, so paralyzed they actually forget to take a breath and have to  take a sudden sharp intake, and that is when I know. They are ready for  the VIP room.'

Melanie looks at me as though seducing strange men is the simplest thing in the world to accomplish.

'And if you know a guy is really satisfied with your service you can even ask for a tip.'

Wow! It had not even occurred to me to do such a thing. 'Won't they feel  robbed after they've paid all that money for the dance?'

'Don't ask, don't get.' She grins. 'These men know the game. They know  what I do and where they are and that means if they spend my time it has  to be in exchange for money. Exactly as they would pay their lawyer, by  the hour. I'm not there for fun. I'm there to make money.'

'As a matter of fact,' she adds, 'the more wealthy and powerful the man  the more cheeky and forthright you can be with them. They'll think  you're hilarious and that's another tip there for you. It's a hustle  only if they feel they've been harassed. I take pride in never letting  them feel they've blown away good money.'

I think of her dangling from the top of the pole and doing splits  mid-air to David Guetta's electronic music and a voice screaming, 'Let  me see your fucking hands,' as she starts tumbling down the pole. And  when the male voice asks again, 'A party without me?' the lights come on  and the club fills with lines from the song, 'I Might Be Anyone'. But  she is not anyone. She is as beautiful as Lupita Ny in that iconic  Lancôme advert. After her performances the club always erupts into  applause.

'I know you are very good at what you do,' I tell her sincerely.

'Damn right. I'm not just showing them a pair of tits. I'm giving them a  performance that will blow their heads off. And if a customer treats me  with contempt-some of them come in there just to do that, a stripper  and a black stripper at that, I must be despicable-I'll use his money  the next day to buy me something that will make me feel good, and that  will be my revenge.'

Melanie yawns hugely.

'Thanks for the advice,' I say gratefully. She is absolutely right. I'd  better get off my high horse or forget dancing altogether. And since  leaving Eden is not an option I'm going to have to do things very  differently from now on.         

     



 





SEVEN



The club has a carnival air to it. Men throwing money into the air as if  it is confetti, champagne flowing like it is free, gorgeous girls  dressed for showtime, and then the cabaret starts, and ladyboys from  Thailand flutter onto the stage. They are bold, highly talented, and  gregarious.

I stand backstage and hear the DJ announce my name. As I walk up to the  door I remember Ann, my instructor, saying, When you are on stage wave a  wand and become a tigress. Make eye contact with the punters, hold  their gazes for a long time. Make them think you want them. Make them  squirm in their seats. Make them feel your power, so that when you have  finished your routine and are walking toward them they know it's time to  reach for their wallets.

At the doorway of the stage I hold onto the doorframe and strike a pose  while I survey the darkened audience of men. The lights are hot and  bright in my eyes, but I see him immediately. He stands out like a sore  thumb, the only man who does not look like he is looking for a good  time. His pose is relaxed, his knees spread apart, one hand on a thigh,  another loosely curved around a glass of amber liquid, but he stares  directly at me with intense, unsmiling, furious eyes.

What the fuck is he angry about?

I freeze and almost lose my self-confidence. But then a blast of candy  white smoke from the stage bathes me. A blue strobe light cuts me in  half. Then the music comes on and my heart starts to pound with sexual  energy, the kind that Melanie uses in her performances, and I think,  fuck you, Jake Eden. I haven't done anything wrong.

Totally ignoring him I strut onto the stage. There are whistles and  catcalls from a stag party that are seated right at the edge of the  stage. There are about twelve of them and I am glad for them. They  straighten my spine. I will give them the best performance of my life.  I'll take their money. My time has to be paid for.

I concentrate on the music. I let it fill every cell in my body as I  dance around the pole and rub myself sinuously on it. Flicking my hair  back, I grip the pole hard and perfectly execute the flying around the  pole move that landed me on my knees at the audition. The men from the  stag party seem impressed judging from the whistles.

I search for the bridegroom. Early thirties, red hair, pleasant face and  has an L sign pinned to his shirt. I will dance for him. It's hard to  explain, but it's so much easier to dance for someone you don't fancy.  You look into their eyes and you pretend. So I do. And the more I stare  at him the more rowdy and boisterous his mates become. I am clearly a  success.

It is almost time to lose my bikini bra. I climb the pole. Slowly,  seductively. They hoot their encouragement. I focus totally on the  bridegroom-his eyes are on stalks. Gripping the pole with my thighs I  lean right back so I am looking at the crowd while I am upside down.  Hanging in that position I let my breath out in a hard puff. The bra  pops open and flies off. The boys go crazy.

Far in the shadows another man is watching, calling. Helplessly my eyes  flash across the crowded room, the crush of bodies, and clash with his.  All the sounds and smells and chaos recede. He is as still as a statue.  For a moment I am suspended on the pole and caught in his world. In this  world I am in trouble. I have done something very wrong. Somehow I have  betrayed Jake Eden.

Then gravity asserts itself and I pull my body upwards, and slide down  the pole. I bend to pick up my bra from the stage floor and the  bridegroom is standing at the edge of the stage holding a fifty. We look  at each other. There is hunger in his eyes, the kind of hunger that  Melanie talked about. And I feel sorry for his bride. Then I pull my  stocking out and he slips my very first cash tip into it.

I look again at him-we are less than ships that pass in the night, and yet we are more.

'Thanks,' I say, blowing him a kiss as I exit the stage. I go backstage  and get back into the deep red cheongsam with the slit that goes up to  my crotch. I touch the orchid Jake gave me and it is exactly where I  pinned it. With a deep breath I walk out onto the floor. I know exactly  what I will say to Jake.