Bare Necessities. Marie Donovan
quirked an eyebrow. “Sounds cool. Draw a sketch, and I’ll take a look.”
“Great.” Bridget passed them both a business card and Sugar paid her the balance for the silver bra and the new ivory set. So it looked as if her electricity was good to go, and maybe she’d even splurge on some hamburger for her Hamburger Helper. Vegetarian Helper just didn’t have much protein.
“Girls, you’re up. Now!” a raspy voice bellowed across the room. A fierce old broad waved her clipboard.
“Marge is the house manager,” Sugar explained. “She’s been in the business for about ninety years and runs the show.” She trotted away, her heels clicking.
The dressing room emptied. Bridget looked around. Was she supposed to leave or stay? She grabbed a disinfectant wipe and swabbed the Naugahyde couch. Maybe she could work up designs for Electra and Jinx now and leave with some more arranged commissions. Taking Sugar’s advice, she’d get the cash up front. Money straight from the club customers to her, via the dancers’ garters.
“HELL OF A DAY, huh, Hale?” Tom, one of his coworkers, leaned against the cracked vinyl upholstery of the cab they were sharing.
“The markets really took a beating.” Several foreign countries had skipped their usual purchases of corn and wheat, raising supply and driving prices down. Fortunately, Adam had ducked the worst of it, but once he dropped Tom off, he’d go home and crash. Just like the markets.
“Thank God it’s Friday. Sure I can’t convince you to get a drink with me and some of the guys? We’re meeting at Frisky’s.”
“Frisky’s? I haven’t been there in years.” Strip clubs weren’t his style anymore. He worked too hard for his money to blow it on overpriced drinks and overpriced dancers.
Tom laughed. “Hale, you sound like an old man, and you’re fifteen years younger than me!” His laugh turned into a hacking cough. Adam decided not to point out that considering his coworker’s bad habits, he’d be lucky to make it to old age.
They pulled to a stop in front of Frisky’s, the pink kitten glowing in the dusk. A short line had formed. Adam hopped out of the cab to let Tom pass and saw a woman standing in line. He did a double take. Was that Bridget? Arguing with the bouncer at a strip club?
“Thanks for the ride, Hale. See you Monday.” Tom pushed past him.
Adam gaped at the entrance. The woman disappeared into the club with a bouncer, but not before the pink neon clearly illuminated her profile. If that wasn’t Bridget, it was her clone. He tossed some money at the cabbie. “Wait, I changed my mind.”
“Sure, the more the merrier.” Tom gaped as Adam rushed to the door.
Ignoring the protests of those already in line, he pushed to the front. “I need to get in there!”
“Don’t we all, pal,” the guy behind him said. “No line jumping.”
The second bouncer pointed to the end of the line. “Sorry, sir, you’ll have to wait your turn.” He winked. “Don’t worry, the girls are getting prettier as we speak.”
That’s what Adam was afraid of. “What about that girl who was just here?”
The guy behind him shrugged. “She said something about a new dancer named Sugar.”
“Who’s supposed to be superstacked,” added his friend. “Now if you don’t mind, it’s our turn.”
Adam’s coworker dragged him to the back of the line. “Man, for a guy who didn’t want to come to Frisky’s, you sure are getting into it.”
Adam smiled weakly, his mind churning. Was Bridget actually dancing at the club using the name Sugar? He knew she had to be on a tight budget, but this wasn’t her style at all. She always seemed embarrassed about her great body, hiding it in baggy sweaters and her brothers’ old flannel shirts.
Her brothers. Oh, shit. If she were stripping and Colin and Dane found out, they’d lead-foot it to Chicago and drag her back to Wisconsin faster than a cheap lap dance. And then they’d tie his body in knots around the stripper pole for not keeping her safe.
Finally, it was their turn. Adam paid his cover charge and followed Tom into the club. He scanned the smoky darkness for any sign of Bridget. When he didn’t see her in the crowd of men and a few women, he forced himself to check the stages.
A quick scan found nothing but strange faces. He relaxed slightly, but still was apprehensive. Tom caught his elbow and steered him to the bar. “I’ll have a Glenlivet Scotch, neat. What’ll you have, Hale?”
Adam definitely needed to keep his wits about him. “I’ll have a club soda.”
Tom grimaced. “Club soda? Come on, you’re allowed to live it up a bit at a strip club on a Friday night.”
“All right, make it a Guinness.” He hadn’t had the dark Irish brew in a while. Tom rolled his eyes and paid an exorbitant amount for the probably watered-down Scotch, while Adam dug out money for his Guinness and some information.
He pushed a twenty toward the muscled bartender. “I’m looking for a girl.”
The bartender nodded at the nude bodies behind them. “You’re at the right place.”
“No, not one of those girls.” Adam checked the dancers again just to be sure Bridget hadn’t appeared. “I’m looking for a specific girl—medium-tall, long, wavy brown hair with light-blond streaks, dark blue eyes and freckles. And a killer body,” he forced himself to add, despite his embarrassment about speaking about Bridget like some jerk.
Tom set down his Scotch, his eyebrows raised. “Holy crap, Hale, you’re never finding a girl here with all that going on—except for the killer body.” He and the bartender traded grins. “I thought you were crazy when you dumped that swimsuit model you were dating last fall—what was her name?”
“Daria.” Adam picked up his bottle and took a long drink of the dark beer. Unfortunately, the rich barley flavor didn’t wash the bitter taste from his mouth.
“Yeah, Daria. She didn’t look a thing like what you’re asking for now. Didn’t she have dark hair and eyes?”
Adam nodded. Daria had been dark to the core. Luckily he’d learned that before it was too late. “Are any of the girls named Bridget?”
The bartender shook his head. “These girls don’t use real names. But feel free to keep looking.” He turned to another customer and ended the conversation.
Tom nudged him. “We’re not gonna find any girls if we sit on our asses at the bar. Let’s go mingle.”
Adam followed him into the middle of the club. A redhead with a stuffed sheep skipped off stage, replaced by an S-and-M-looking black-haired chick dressed in leathers and carrying a whip. No way that was Bridget, even with a wig. The Goth girl had much smaller breasts. Adam winced. Pierced nipples, too. Some guys must get into that scene, but definitely not him. He was more of a natural beauty connoisseur.
He’d lost Tom already. The other broker had sprawled onto a couch, a curvy Hispanic girl swaying on top of him. Judging from the glazed expression on his face, he’d be busy for a while.
Adam shook his head. Sure, he’d been young and dumb during his first couple of years at the Merc, going to his share of strip clubs with the guys. He’d enjoyed the attention from the dancers until he realized they were as good at trading as he was. Possibly better.
After all, they both sold possibilities. His were grains, livestock, something tangible. The dancers sold possibilities of themselves as girlfriends or lovers, a much more remote possibility. The corn crop always came in, but guys almost never hooked up with strippers. Those who did paid through the nose for the privilege.
The DJ changed the music to a sultry soul tune. “Let’s all give a warm welcome to Sugar, our newest Frisky’s