2019-09-17 - The New Girl

It's just about closing time at the local strip club, but several stragglers line the seats near the stage. A lone, buxom blonde woman gyrates to a hip-hop beat, topless and clad only in a sheer pair of white lace panties. At the bar, a few customers nurse their drinks, while a rough-looking barman slings refills without much fanfare.

One of those apparent customers is Antonio, although he's overdressed for the occasion. The club boss sits with his laptop open on the bar, studying what appear to be financial figures that present themselves on an Excel spreadsheet. There's a mostly-full martini glass set next to him, from which he sips as his eyes casually roam the whole of the place.

You know what dignity doesn't do? It doesn't pay the rent, the utilities, buy food, gas, or server space for one's wackadoo conspiracy nutjob website and social media presence. That's what it doesn't do. So fuck dignity, work where the tips are.

Cameron Cambridge has taken the age-old advice of dressing for the job you want, not the one you have. Towards that end the slender, dark-haired young woman enters the establishment after a bit of haggling with the bouncer about how she's here for a job, not to pay a cover charge and see titties. A black leather mini-skirt covers only part of her thighs, the rest in nylon, semi-transparent leggings and heels that make the already-tall woman an even six foot. Her top is long-sleeved, but exposes much of the chest and part of the back, both lifting and enhancing what little chest can muster.

It takes her a few tries, glancing at the stage, and searching around for employees to be directed to what should have probably been obvious in the first place: The Boss. Who else comes here, back to the stage, laptop open? Taiwanese businessmen?

Heels click across the floor, but are drowned out in the thumping music. "Hi." She says, speaking up loudly enough to be heard, fingertips lightly grazing the man's shoulder to get his attention as she does her best to flash a twenty-dollar smile. "Mister Williams? I'm Cameron." Her hand is extended, cordial and polite. "I left a message about interviewing for the waitressing position?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Welcome to the Cabaret, sweetie. Antonio Williams, at your service -- can I get you a drink?" The boss takes the extended hand and offers the newcomer a light shake, a thin smirk playing across his lips as his eyes roam her outfit in a way that might not be entirely appropriate in any other establishment.

"What's a nice young lady like you drink, anyway? Vodka soda? Maybe a margarita?" He raises his own glass as he considers, taking a sip with a wink to follow.

Cameron, to her credit (for landing this job, not for being a feminist), doesn't balk when the man's gaze begins to roam. Maybe it's a test, to see her reaction to the customers. There's also probably a strict 'no uggos' and 'no fatties' policy in place. She's not exactly applying to Denny's.

Instead, she works to keep her smile, thin, toothless, and amiable as it is. She glances towards the shelves of liquor at the offer, and the followup question as she sets her purse down on the bar. "Um... usually cider or Mike's. But it's been a Hell of a week, what can I say? A margarita sounds pretty fantastic."

"Can I?" She motions towards one of the bar seat next to him, sliding in as she reaches into the bag, pulling out a slim, plain manila folder. "Um, I brought references and a resume? I wasn't sure, so... I thought better safe than sorry."

The continuous blare of booty hip-hop continue, as the blonde dancer on stage leans down to collect a generous tip from one of the patrons, sliding her chest directly up to his face. He seems well-pleased, and splashes a fair amount of cash onto the stage.

At the bar, Antonio's smirk widens. "A patron margarita, eh? That sounds good to me, too. Let's get two of those." The owner flags down the barman and places the order, who gets to work without hesitation. Antonio's eyes roam to the folder as it's revealed, and he allows himself a bit of a chuckle. "We don't really do resumes here, sweetie. Now, I've got a couple positions for cocktail waitress, but the pay isn't great. You sure that's all you want? What I told you that you could walk out of here with about a thousand bucks every night, if you play your cards right?" He arches his eyebrows as he teases the proposal, sipping from his martini glass.

Soon enough, the bartender sets two light-green martinis on the bartop, each adorned with a lime and salt rim.

If she has it, shake what her momma gave her. College tuition won't pay for itself. Cameron glances towards the stage at the performance, before almost immediately returning her eyes to the Man In Charge. Showing she can pay attention to the job, not the distractions.

"Oh." The folder is shut as the brunette comes to realize that the Corporate Professional shtick probably isn't going to be what lands her this gig. She reaches to pull the lip of the purse up with one hand, sliding it back away with the other. There might be a little relief on her face. Her resume was mostly a typed letter about why she really, truly, desperately wanted this job. "Okay, right, you probably want to know more about my interpersonal skills. How I will integrate into the service industry."

Cameron gestures as she talks, her skinny arms going about their routine before he slides what sounds like a sales pitch her way. Her eyes dart away and then back again, the sign of someone who isn't quite sure what happened, as if how the topic got away from her is a mystery. "Um."

"That... would sound..." She turns her head a little bit, raising her eyebrows, but maintaing eye contact. "...too good to be true?" The glasses are set down near them, her eyes flick towards it, but she doesn't reach for one of them until he does. What IS the etiquette for drinking during a job interview, anyway?

The blonde on stage slides over to the next patron on her hands and knees, collecting a few more dollar bills before retreating back behind the stage to the dressing room. The music continues, eventually switching over to a 70s rock ballad. Something for the more mature crowd.

Antonio finishes off his martini and reaches for the margarita, raising it in a mock salute to the interviewee before taking his first sip. "Patron is always good quality stuff, no? I drank that rail shit when I was a young man -- suppose I would still like to think of myself as a young man, eh? But now I prefer the good stuff, if y'know what I mean." The club boss grins, setting the glass down and trailing his fingers along the rim.

"I came here to run the best little club in town, you know? The only club, too. But a place like Gray Harbor isn't exactly swimming in pre-existing talent, right? So, I gotta recruit where I can. We already know you like dressing up," Antonio inclines his head to indicate her outfit with a broad grin, leaning a bit closer. "You ever think about showing off?"

Once Antonio has reached for his drink, Cam takes it as tacit permission for her to do so as well. A slim arm angles over, taking the short-stemmed glass into her slender fingers, cupping the bowl of the container from underneath. She raises it in the mock toast, and brings it to her lips. Almost immediately a look of surprise comes over her face. Not a woman used to very much quality in her booze.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah." She looks at the glass a moment, holding it up as if checking she's picked up the right one. "Surprisingly good. Sure, yeah. When you're not twenty-one and willing to just get drunk on anything available, you kind of just want something that tastes good."

The brunette works to affect good posture, to not let her shoulders slump. One leg is crossed over the other, piling her knees atop one another, and her crossed fingers atop them once she's set her drink down. She nods along with the story for a moment, before looking down at herself when indicated.

"I figured any job here would have a certainnnnn... dress code? And 'showing off.'" Cameron kind of bobs her head in the way a valley girl would when kind of agreeing with something and kind of trying to think, while also looking away. "Yeah, I've had a bit of experience. I recently started doing a little camgirl thing? But it's slow to pick up, there's so much competition. And, you know." A head tilt to the side and a grimace. "Rent's due on the first."

"Camgirl, huh? Guess you're not -too- shy then." Antonio chuckles heartily at his own observation, seeming to amuse himself. He swirls the margarita and drinks again, looking the woman over as he considers. "You're welcome to the job as a waitress, of course. About ten bucks per hour and you keep all your tips, but I think you deserve better."

The boss pivots on the barstool, turning to face the stage as he gestures with his drink. "The stage itself is for tips, of course. You'd keep all of those, and it gets pretty busy on weekends during primetime, and with special events. Then we got table dances and private VIP dances -- we start table dances at twenty bucks per song, and VIP dances and forty bucks per song. You can charge more if you like, but I wouldn't want you charging less. You keep half those dance fees. Then we got champagne room fees, where the price is just about infinite." The boss laughs again, casting a glance to the woman as he drinks.

"Sounds interesting? Of course, you'd be taking your clothes off for live customers, not anonymous strangers hundreds of miles away on the Internet." He winks again. "More, uh, personal."

"I don't think shy would work too well in this job?" Cameron has a way of speaking with an upward inflection that makes some of what should be declarative statements sound remarkably like questions. Maybe she spent too much time in California. As Antonio turns towards the stage, so too does the Wiccan's gaze follow.

They stay for a long, long moment, watching the stage with a faraway look. It's obvious that the idea of earning more than the cost of her rent in a single night holds appeal for the young woman. She stares at that stage like it's a siren and she's Odysseus, being lured to jump overboard.

"Right, no, um." With effort, she manages to pull those brown eyes away from the idea of money. She was already taking her clothes off at home. For sweaty, horny strangers she'd be rubbing on, did seem like quite a step up. Even so, it's obvious the brunette is not at all discounting the possibility.

"How much, exactly, is taken off? I noticed she kept her underwear, um, her bottoms on?" Cam points down to her waistline, sliding her hands around as if indicating the hem of such underwear. "Is that like a legal thing? No full nudity when serving alcohol? I heard it's like that in some places."

"And I mean, I'm not..." She holds her hands, cupped, about a foot away from her breasts, as if imitating a well-endowed woman. "...smart. Or..." Then runs her hands in an hourglass figure to indicate curves. "...quick on my feet." If you know what she means. "Can skinny girls even get tips when next to someone that-" A point at the blonde, and then once again holding her hands out in front of her breasts. "-'smart'?"

"Oh, you don't gotta worry about that. I hire all body types, because different customers like different types. Big tits, small tits, huge ass, tight little ass." The strip club boss doesn't use any euphemisms as he discusses the topic, laughing heartily and taking another swig of his margarita. "The club is fully nude, but how far you go is up to each girl. As a general rule you'll probably make more tips and sell more dances if you're comfortable with nudity, but you can make it work in a nice lingerie ensemble, too." Antonio winks at that, cocking his head over toward the DJ booth, and then toward the door. "We play a good variety of music, and I've hired some good security. Anyone messes with you, we toss 'em right out so that they break their teeth on the pavement. It's important to take care of the talent, you know what I mean?" He eyes her with arched eyebrows.

Cameron listens as the man explains, not particularly bothered by the harsh language. She's heard much worse in the comments sections of her YouTube videos on witchcraft. If one can survive teenagers on the internet, one should be able to survive just about anything! Linguisticly-speaking, of course.

She looks at the stage again, biting her lower lip as if trying to talk herself out of something. All the hallmarks are there. The upturned eyebrows, the slight grimace as she gnaws on her lip. The way she kind of rocks back and forth, as if the warring pros and cons inside of her head were causing her to physically move, however minutely.

Finally she looks back with a single nod and a tight smile. She extends her hand like they just closed an arrangement hiring her as a secretary.

"Okay. You have a deal, Mister Williams. Do I need training, or...? Is here a list of the music I need to see in advance? Some... health test or application form to fill out?"

"Yeah, sweetie, we're gonna give you a full physical and cavity exam." The boss lets the words linger for a few moments before he bursts out with a laugh, gulping his margarita and taking her hand for a light shake. "No forms, and I pay in cash. No benefits or anything stupid like that, of course. Just cash." Because that sounds entirely legitimate. "Main thing to be aware of is to notify me if anyone starts trouble, or any idiot undercover comes in here trying to sniff out something. I don't run the best little club in town just to have it fucked up by vice cops, you know what I mean?"

Swirling his drink, the boss's smirk widens as he considers the new hire. "I'll introduce you to a couple more experienced girls who can show you the ropes, sure. As for music, you can eiter go with the DJ's choice or pick your own, as long as it's not anything too crazy." Antonio chuckles under his breath.

"How are you for outfits? I can advance you some pay if ya need, to get set up. We also have some shared stuff in the dressing room. Gotta schedule you for a paid audition, too, whenever you're comfortable -- tonight or another time."

For a moment, Cameron is left wondering exactly what sort of euphemism a physical and cavity exam might be. Thankfully, her imagination isn't left to run too wild for long, before the form of payment and such is agreed upon. No benefits, no paper trail, just cash. "That suits me just fine. I really prefer not to have to deal with pay stubs anyway."

"I fully understand you." The brunette gives a firm nod to show that yes, she does understand. "Assholes and asshole cops not welcome."

"That would be great." The Wiccan says with an appreciative smile parting her lips at the mention of being introduced to the more experienced exployees of the Best Little Club In Town. "I think... I will just leave the music up to the professionals. They sound like they'd do a far better job than I will."

Cameron raises a hand to forstall the notion of needing an advance. "I'm good. I have- I have options. A lot of options. A lot of clothes. That's part of why I'm so broke." The mention of an audition has her eyes widening a little, eyebrows moving towards her hair. Another glance at the stage. "Well, I..." she points down at her shoes. "I didn't bring stilletos, and all I have is..." She tugs at the showy blouse she has on. "Is that enough for an audition?"

A beat. She lifts a hand, index finger extended, and lets it flop over limp-wristedly. "If you don't like it... can I still have the waitress job?"

"Nah, if I don't like it, we're just gonna take you out back and stuff you in the dumpster. But yeah, I think that outfit of yours will do just fine." The boss sips from his margarita, and casts his gaze toward the stage. Almost all of the customers have cleared out by now, save one or two drunkards who don't look as though they have anywhere else to be in the world. The music has returned to a thumping bass, booty hip-hop track, suitable enough for this place.

"That's good, too, that you already have lots of outfits. Just be sure to come to me if you need anything, y'know? Some of my girls like a little bit of something to take the edge off during a shift, after a shift. I got you hooked up, you know what I mean?" He cocks his head to the nondescript, thin door just near the bar, that's marked only 'Office.'

"Oh. Ha!" Cameron laughs a little, her eyes brightening up as she's told she'll be thrown in a dumpster, raising a finger, half-pointed at Antonio, half upwards. "I got that one." She'll catch onto his sense of humor eventually. The young woman stands up, unfolding her long, slender legs and reaching for the margarita glass to drink from it. It's a bit of a long one. A gulp, actually. Liquid courage, help your favorite witch not blow this!

She smooths out the edges of her blouse around her waist, glancing around. Place is mostly empty. But there's more, about needing things. Her eyes are drawn to the door. There's talk of a hookup. It takes a minute, but the lightbulb goes off. "Oh." Her expression changes to one of mild surprise. "Oh!" Then one of surprise mixed with a hint of eagerness.

She looks back at the club owner. "That's really fucking awesome. Yeah. I'll, um, definitely come your way if I need... That. I probably will." She flicks her eyes towards the door and back again. "What is it you give the other girls... Is it..." Another glance around, and mouths the last word. 'Pills?'

Shifting her weight onto one hip, Cam gestures towards the stage. "Should I just go... do the thing?"

Another chuckle escapes from the boss's lips as he watches the new hire, his eyes brightening up as she enthusiastically responds to his offer. "Good, real good. Got a bunch of stuff, actually. Just depends what you like, or how you're feelin'. Something to help calm your nerves, or a little kick toward the end of your shift. I'm sure you'll find out soon." He winks again, similarly gulping his margarita as he cocks his head toward the stage.

"Sure, sweetie. You ain't gotta do anything -elaborate-, of course. But you'd be surprised how many eager college girls I hire, who run away as soon as they realize they'll have to take their shirt off. Sounds silly, huh?" He winks, rising from his barstool with his glass in hand.

Cameron is already nodding her head, a bit fast, at what the totally legitimate business man says is behind Door No. 1. The way she keeps looking at it, it's obvious where her mind has already gone. Maybe she's another broken girl with Daddy issues. Maybe she's an addict. Maybe something else. Either way she wets her lips with tongue and fashions on a smile at the mention of finding out soon.

But first, the last hurdle: The audition. Can't be a stripper if you can't inspire boners.

"Well, that's good, because I don't know anything too elaborate. Yet!" She's sure to correct herself quickly, before she winds up talking her way OUT of a job. "Don't have to worry about that. Lucky for me, I didn't go to school." A beat. "Probably not the thing I should say during an interview. So I'm going to go over there and do the thing now."

Tucking her chin down, Cam abandons her purse on the bar and opens her hands as she walks, waggling her fingers a little and inhaling, like she's psyching herself up for something. "Just don't look stupid, don't look stupid..." The brunette mutters to herself as she mounts the stage, trying to feel the beat of the standard club fair. It's not Rock, but it'll do.

Once she's up there, all those multi-colored lights on her, there's a bit of a squint as she saunters towards a pole, doing her best Generic Hot Girl saucy walk. Her hand comes up, finding the sliver of steel that extends from floor to ceiling, looking at herself in the mirror. She extends her arm, letting herself hang from it at full length as she turns a slow circuit. By the time she facing the now-nonexistent crowd again, she's wearing a smile. It's a small one, not quite a smirk, but not too far from it. Tight-lipped, as if she has a secret. It touches her eyes.

Both hands go up overhead, winding sinuously as she tries to catch the rhythm of the beat. She's a little out synch with her hips for a few moments, before she remembers all her time spent dancing in more typical clubs, gripping the pole above her head and sliding down. Her knees spread wide, far apart, flashing a pair of dark, opaque panties from under her skirt before she winds her way back up, reaching for the hem of her shirt and beginning to pull it upwards, baring a large swatch of flat stomach and slender, subtle hips.

The boss makes his way toward the stage, sliding into a nearby rail seat with a broad smile on his face. "See? Like I said, I think you're gonna do real well here." Did he actually say that? No matter. The boss reveals a black leather wallet from his trousers, sipping from his martini as he peel sit open.

As the newest dancer begins to work the pole, the boss tosses a $10 tip onto the stage -- not bad. "You got what it takes, sweetie."