2019-09-07 - Little Lost Lamb

The strip club boss is lounging in this micro-sized office, his feet kicked up on the mahogany desk. Antonio's eyes wander toward the CCTV display, keeping an eye on the club floor and the building's perimeter. There's a portion of whiskey sitting in a tumbler on the desk, from which the boss occasionally sips.

The cameras reveal a familiar figure from amateur night approaching the club, then entering, speaking to someone on the floor, and heading for his office. It's the mysterious "Echo" whose waiver read "Roxanne Kivela" on it. The dark-haired, blue-eyed woman is dressed in a retro looking black dress with white polka dots on it, and a turquoise cardigan over it. It's like she walked out of a 1950s film. She raps lightly on the office door.

"Yeah?! Come on in." The club owner's words are punctuated with a bit of a chuckle as his eyes gravitate toward the door. "Good to see you again, sweetie. So I suppose I'll be seeing you up on the stage more regularly, huh?" He arches his eyebrows at that and raises his glass in a mock toast, drinking afterwards.

Roxy gives Antonio a slight smile and dips her head in a nod. "Yes, if you were serious about hiring me. I just think we need to discuss a few things beforehand." She gestures to one of the folding chairs for permission to sit. "I do not wish to waste your time, Mister Williams." She has a foreign accent, Scandinavian sounding, like a damned Viking perhaps.

"Yeah, of course I'm interested. You put on a damn good show. Arrangement here is that you keep all of your tips and half of your private dance fees." The boss keeps his feet kicked up on the desk, inclining his head to the folding chair and inviting the woman to sit. "And you gotta have discretion. Someone starts poking their nose in and asking all sorts of questions, you just refer them to me. You OK with that?" Antonio arches his eyebrows.

"That is not a problem. I would prefer to only do VIP private dances, rather than lap dances on the main floor. The air of mystery, of exclusiveness, is what my act is perpetuated on," Roxy says quietly. "Would that be a deal breaker?"

"Not a problem at all. That's actually better, as you'll bring in more money so long as you can sell. You'll need to charge at least forty bucks per song. Don't care if you charge more, but don't charge less." The boss winks, swirling his whiskey in the tumbler and taking another sip.

"Excellent," Roxy says quietly with another small smile, but it fades quickly. "I may have another issue. I, have some ID, but it is not very good." That is code for someone living here illegally. A quiet feeling out if the man has resources or connections that can connect her with someone who can forge papers for her.

"Oh yeah? That's interesting." The boss kicks his feet off of the desk and opens one of the drawers, revealing a clean tumbler and sliding it across the desktop toward her. He then refills both his tumbler and hers, the smile remaining on his face. "So you might need a good artist to help you with that, huh? I might know a few people, sweetie."

She nods her head. "I do not wish you to think this is for criminal reasons or purposes. I had an..." glimmer-fueled breakdown "...accident some years ago, and was hospitalized for a long while. Those I was here with, didn't know what happened to me, and they went home. With all my things. I was released two years ago and have been working towards saving money for proper paperwork." Roxy takes the glass and has a tiny sip. Being out of commission for a long while could explain her figure. Most ballerinas don't have anything remotely close to curves, like lifelong gymnasts, because of strict diet and constant strenuous exercise delaying puberty. Once they stop moving and eating that way, puberty tends to find them, regardless of age.

"Of course, of course. No need to worry -- we can get you sorted out. I would prefer to pay you in cash in any event. Easier for both of us. That's fine with you, eh?" The boss grins, tipping back the whiskey and drinking again. "You're welcome to half-price drinks while you're working, and if you need a little bit of something extra, you can always see me back here in the office."

"That is most agreeable, Mister Williams," Roxy says, with the odd word arrangement and precise pronunciations of a non-native English speaker. The offer of something extra has her tilting her head, bright eyes narrowing slightly. "Something extra?" she asks, curiously. She has to know there are likely drugs around. She's been stripping around PNW for two years. They go hand in hand.

"If you wanna smoke some herb, or have a little powder to give yourself a boost. Other stuff too. Whatever you need." The boss's smile stretches nearly from ear to ear. "Everyone needs to take the edge off sometime, don't you think?"

"Most do, but I try not to indulge past a drink or two. What I do, it requires focus, concentration. I try to perform, really perform. I miss ballet, but it is lost to me now. I grew up while in the hospital, and without proper papers, no company would have me anyway," Roxy explains with a sadness in her voice. "But I do not begrudge others their vices. Vices are what pay my bills."

"Good, good. Gotta have energy for the stage show and VIP dances. I think you'll enjoy yourself here, Roxane. If you ever need anything or someone gets a little too handsy, just let me know and we'll throw 'em out face-first onto the pavement." The boss smirks.

"Thank you, Mister Williams. I believe it will be a sincere pleasure to work here." Roxy rises and offers him her hand to shake, her nails perfectly in a french manicure, no scary talon nails. "And you will let me know about who to see about papers?"

"Yeah, give me a few days to figure it out. You wanna be on the public website? Don't have to show your face, of course. But I'll pay you a couple hundred if you're interested." That grin of his widens.

"We can perhaps put...part of me on the website. A tease without showing my face?" Because her face without showing my face?" Because her face was all over missing posters four years ago in Seattle and it might not be safe. Roxy arches a brow, with one corner of her mouth quirking up in a smirk.

"Yeah, of course. Maybe a nice shot of our fully-stocked bar with you bending over? Unless you got any better ideas, sugar." The boss laughs heartily, finishing his whiskey and pouring himself another.

"I have a portfolio of some photographs, some taken from behind, almost letting things be seen, but not quite. With my face not visible other than a sliver of it, would that suffice?" Roxy asks. "If so I can have an image sent over." Definitely not an amateur.

"Oh, that's a good idea too. Real good." The boss salutes her with his whiskey, drinking again. "You have good business sense. I think you'll be very successful here."

She had to have a certain sense of self-promotion to make it as a ballerina. Especially one in an international touring company. Amazing how well it pays off as a stripper. "Excellent, when would you like me to start?" she asks, rising from the seat.

"As soon as you'd like, sweetie. The girls here can work as little or as much as they want. Make more money, of course, and I'll give you more perks. And I know you like perks." The boss winks, drinking again.

"Thank you. I'll prepare my other routines and costumes and begin soon." Roxy finishes off the liquor in her glass and sets it back down. "I'll see you soon, Mister Williams." Then she turns on a mary-jane clad heel and is off.