Married to a stripper (BlackBook 1)

This book isn't edited. 

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“Where the hell is Liza?” Loud stomps and a rageous voice echoed through the hallway into the dressing room, where the strippers prepared for their show as they giggled and babbled their day's event.

“She isn't around yet, Dean."  One of them—Zoe—answered as the door revealed a crimson face with thin knitted brows above furious green eyes.

That was the third time he came checking up on her.

“What?” he unbelievably blurted as he glanced at his watch, “Is she aware it's almost twelve?”

The room went dead. 

Dean fisted his hair in devastating frustration. “Tell her to report to my office upon arrival.” his words seeping through clenched teeth was the last thing heard before the door brutally shut.

Dean was a tall muscular fair-skinned man dancing in his mid thirties. He owned one of the town's famous private club; Spyce nightclub, worth thousands to millions per night.

A single father of a ten-year-old for as long as five years after losing his wife to the cold hands of death. Perfection, time, and money was his adage.

“Oh-oh. Someone's gotten into deep deep trouble tonight. Will cost a job this time.” Stacy said, adjusting her pink cat-eared hairband on the enormous vanity mirror.

The barbie stripper was what she was called by both the money stinking rich customers and other strippers due to her incessant touch of pink on everything she put on. Not just that, her resemblance to a barbie doll was almost flawless.

“We all know he can never do that, she plays a big role in his source of income,” Zoe barked, arms crossed above her chest as she glared at the bamboo who seemed to find pleasure in annoying others.

Zoe was very much devoted to her source of daily bread. She had shoulder length coal-black hair, a pair of emerald green eyes, a narrow nose, and plumped lips that made up her exquisite facial features.

Liza finally arrived, though a good ten minutes late, when a furious Dean had already ordered Stacy and three other dancers to the stage out of no choice. To keep his hungry customers busy. But the crowd didn't seem to appreciate their efforts. That, she could tell from the almost quiet room. From her own imagery of the scene, the human stained room preferred ravishing their glasses of expensive whiskey and intoxicating tobacco than spare them a glance.

With a lilac knee-length leather overcoat, a pair of black flats, and her mini valise which contained her necessities, liza rushed into the dressing room which revealed to her a lifted brow above an emerald green eye. Her mouth twisted as turquoise eyes met Zoe's. 

Zoe needed not tell her what to do, she'd been late for work twice that week, momentarily exclusive and what awaited her was a 'principal' in his office--a bloodshot 'principal'.

The last time she was late, her job was at risk but she of all people knew the self-centered sapien too well, he won't try that unless he wanted his fortune to fly away like dust before an electric fan.

“Hey, Zoe,” Liza greeted in between gritted teeth.

“What's happening to you lately?” Zoe asked, concerned.

Zoe and Liza met at a friend's birthday party six months after her dad's death. Cool and carefree were simple adjectives she used to describe the young lady who did not only teach her how to accept life as it came for there was a reason for everything happening in one's life, but also got her and taught her the job she was extrememely good at presently. From then on, they miraculously became best of friends. Zoe was the only one who really knew her well besides her mum and kid sisters— Lorna and Lola and just like a sister from different mothers, she cried when liza cried, rejoiced when Liza rejoiced.

Stripping was the last thing on her mind. She didn't like it much as it wasn't a decent job but it was the only one in which she was pretty much well paid. 

Before it, she had passed through being a bartender, a waitress, movie ticket seller, server at McDonald's just to name a few but her wages weren't up to half of what she earned there daily.

She sighed, “Nothing Zoe...nothing really.”

“If you say so...but if at all there's anything let me know ok?” Zoe tapped her shoulder before exiting.

Liza nodded and dropped her mini valise on the dressing table then rushed to Dean's office with a throbbing heart and an excessive adrenaline emitting body.

A grin spread across her face immediately she left Dean's office. Thankfully she wasn't fired. It was just a matter of her doing some talking and him doing the listening and understanding for everything to be back to normal. Reaching the dressing room, she changed into a six-inch crimson toe- free heels and hung a rabbit-eared hairband on her pastel pink hair, a little more eyeliner, blush, and bright red lipstick to crown the cake.

“You're still around,” Stacy stated with a frown at the sight of Liza in the dressing room.

She had just finished her show and it was Liza's turn. Stacy walked into the room with her crew and stood in front of her arms crossed.

Stacy didn't like her from day one. She smelled it. It got worse when she became Dean's choice and he made her the head of the crew automatically putting her in charge of the themes, worst when she performed most of the show since she became the people's choice.

She walked past her without uttering a word which gave her more room to say what almost got Liza insane. 

“Number your days little Liza. Once a queen always a queen.”

Little Liza, so she was called since she was the youngest. Going through her CV, Dean realized she was just seventeen, he stopped going through it and faced her. She knew just what was going through his psyche and it was confirmed when he told her she was too young to work at the club. However, after a pleading struggle, he let her in.

Liza clenched her fists, closed her eyes, and sighed, fighting the urge of pulling every single strand of her fake blonde hair and bursting her fake boobs with the heels of her shoe. Something she had failed to do during the first fight.

She unclenched her hands and relaxed after realizing the twig wasn't worth her time but for some reason, she felt like Stacy was planning something against her from the way her eyes lit up.

Her loud laughter pursued liza as she walked through the hallway to the stage.

The curtains opened with her left hand on her waist and the other holding a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs. She grinned at the cheering crowd, her presence wasn't one to go unnoticed, they liked her—for sure.  That simply made her their choice.

She began unbuttoning her lilac overcoat to the rhythm of “Partition” by Béyonce Knowles.  Finally, in just a fishnet black bra and pants, she clipped the handcuff to her pant to freely grab the pole. The crowd cheered more. 

She winked at a wealthy old man, probably in his fifty's, graciously smoking his tobacco, he raised his glass of scotch at her winking in return.

She began with the Jade, which was opening her legs widely at the middle of the pole then, she switched to the rainbow, with the left leg stretched and the right leg grabbing the pole forming the figure 4, her abdomen swung downward while her left hand joined the left leg for support. She switched to the cocoon, arms only climb straddle, and finalized with the spatchcock making sure every move she made was enticing.

Descending the stage, she made her way into the crowd of cheering drunkards, adulterous bastards, and sex itchy idiots. One thing they loved about her; she didn't limit herself to the pole. Liza graciously cat walked, towards the men who were pleading on her with their eyes, her hands brushed past a young man's strong jaw with honey brown hair. She winked at him while swiftly caressing his chin.

Not tonight Mr. Lawson.

She then stood before a middle-aged man, probably forty-four or so, opening her legs above his and putting both his hands on her hips, she swirled to the song with his hands just there—where she placed it. Liza's lips directed to his ear where she whispered,

“Good to see you Mr. Wilburg.”  with that she smiled and got off him but not without noticing his hard-on.

Oh yeah, basically, she knew three-quarters of the population in there, most of which were men not younger than twenty-five. Dean always warned her to focus on the aged for they were wealthier and paid well perhaps extra if treated accordingly.

Still on seductive moves, she paused before a young man around her age, from his looks, she could tell he wasn't a regular. He quivered at each step she took towards him until her heels got comfortable on the little chair space between his legs while her index finger traveled all the way down his lips from his forehead. 

She almost exploded a chuckle just watching his facial expressions.

With her face two inches from his, she seductively swiped her tongue on her upper lip causing him to swallow hard.

Reaching behind his chair, she halted her left hand to his chest with the other running all the way down his silver skull imprinted belt.

Hmm, Hulk's metamorphosed.

She removed her pink puffy handcuff to clip his left hand. 

Something she usually performed to get her clients just where she needed them out of no choice.

“Get the keys in room 95,” she muttered yet again in his ear in a slurry tone.