Authors: Running Scared
Billi Jean (41 page)
She squared her shoulders and pouted her lips. “I have confidence. Dancing tonight will put me ahead three more tuition payments and maybe I’ll get to see the hunk.”
Jude tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Maybe a high ponytail with lots of curls. That might look extra hot,” she murmured to herself. She turned her head to examine her hair at another angle and frowned. What about a sleek look?
She frowned again. Without the right sexy look, the night would be long and especially rough for a Friday. Rough nights equalled paltry tips and unpaid bills. Jude wouldn’t starve, but the poverty level beckoned. She needed a good night.
“Stop staring at yourself and get dressed,” Renee Walker shouted, startling Jude. “You’re being vain. You go on in half an hour. I want you to surf the crowd once you’re done. You need to circulate more, so I can get my money’s worth out of you. It’s Thursday, so be on the point. You’ll appreciate the tips.”
Jude arched her brow at the self-appointed housemother and former dancer.
Vain? She described it as ‘attempting to be sexier than humanly possible’…definitely not vain. If Renee thought her actions to be vain, then she was sorely mistaken.
Fine. I’ll prove you wrong. I am sexy.
Jude knew full well that Renee wasn’t the gentlest of women. With a flame-red teased wig, dark brown eyebrows, heavily painted-on eyeliner and thin wrinkled lips, she wasn’t in her prime any longer. Her wide hips and perpetual grimace did nothing to improve her approachability. She’d been batted around by life and wasn’t afraid to slap back at anyone who got in her way. Many times she’d kicked at anyone who’d dared just to look at her wrong. It was a means of protection so she’d never get hurt. Her temper was notorious…with Jude as her usual target.
Today was no exception.
“You don’t really bring in the customers like you should.” She swatted Jude’s ass with an echoing crack. “You only have a few assets, so try to work them hard. Use the pasties tonight. Anything has to help your looks—God knows I can’t.”
Jude nodded and turned to the dressing table to apply the heavy stage makeup. She didn’t want to wear the pasties or step in front of that crowd. She’d prefer to wear a turtleneck and jeans, or at least her art smock, and be comfortable. She wanted respect as a true artist, not a working girl who took her clothes off for money.
But that was fodder for another day. Tonight she would shine. She had no other choice. Jude stepped into the tearaway dress and fumbled with the zipper.
Just then, Andie showed up to help. She tugged at the bodice of the gown Jude wore and spat out a string of indiscernible curse words. “Why don’t you go without a bodice for once? I’m having a hell of a time getting you into this one.” Andie spoke close to Jude’s ear. “Don’t drink your bottled water. Tiny slipped you something.”
Jude frowned at her reflection. “I’m fine. I think this outfit will become my speciality. You know, pop out and break out?” She dropped her head. “Thanks.”
Outwardly, Jude reeked of confidence. She had to. Any show of fear and the clientele would know it. If the dancer displayed anything less than full confidence, her tips drastically declined.
Jude couldn’t afford it. The need to keep a roof over her head trumped her self-esteem. She had art supplies to purchase and a degree to finish. Do whatever you need to survive and rise above—that was her motto.
Inwardly, she was a pile of cowardly mush. Unlike many of her fellow dancers, Jude never got a rush or an orgasm from dancing. She tried her best to block out what she did and any sensation she gleaned from it, to be a robot.
Jude sighed and glanced at her helper. At twenty-nine, Andie Martin personified the American girl—long legs, natural blonde hair, and a smile that lit the darkest room. Her green eyes sparkled with a lethal combination of sexuality and mischief. Good thing Jude didn’t have a man—he’d drop her for Andie in a hot minute. At least she and the willowy model-type were friends.
“There… I got you in it. Now go out there and pop out of it,” Andie puffed. “Knock ‘em dead, kiddo.”
Jude peeked down at her squashed breasts and sighed again. The fiery red antebellum outfit with the Velcro tear-away skirt wasn’t her shtick, but it was a crowd-pleaser so she’d caved to Renee’s earlier request.
“Okay, I’ll give it more than my best shot,” she replied and winked at Andie. “Time to dazzle.” What a lie! Dancing merely paid the bills. That’s all she’d let it be—a quick blip on the radar to reaching her dreams. Personal feelings didn’t matter if she could keep the tuition up to date.
She turned her back on the double row of makeup tables, dirty maroon carpet and crusty, faux-wood panelled walls, held her head high and stepped up the ramp to the stage.
Be a machine. Wasn’t that what Jolene said? Then no one gets hurt… Parents won’t pass judgement or set unrealistic standards. Friends won’t run because of less than stellar living conditions. Men won’t know the truth because they can’t get close enough to find out. Strippers were the lowest life form, weren’t they?
Rise above. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.
Jude swallowed hard and summoned her courage. She had to become Judy Blue Eyes.
I am beautiful.
As soon as Jude got into position, butterflies flooded her stomach. The red patent-leather stilettos nearly gave out beneath her. It happened every time she prepared to dance because it was the only time she couldn’t hide her emotions—hide her fear. She could do this.
Jude resorted to her tried and true pep talk while she adjusted her dress.
Think about class. This is one step closer to the studio degree. It’s one step closer to becoming a professional artist. No matter what they say, I am beautiful.
The curtain opened and Jude began her dance. She marched out on to the empty stage where she began to shimmy on the pole as though she liked what she was doing. Her stomach roiled. Her cool expression and tight smile masked her embarrassment.
Tables surrounded the stage in the cavernous but dimly lit room. The DJ stood in a booth to the right of the stage, supplying the music to the dancers and serving as a last-defence bouncer in the event of trouble.
Jude normally chose slow, sexually charged blues songs with a lot of bass because she could better time her movements to the beat. Tonight she was trying a country hit she’d recently heard. The DJ added a thumping techno bass line. The song then became easy to lose herself in and let go. Her hands roamed her body, while her hips shifted to the seductive rhythm. At least her own actions made her feel something.
Jude noticed the men bunch against the stage. They seemed drawn to her movements. The more she touched her breasts and moved her ass in time to the sexy beat, the better her tips became. What would this feel like with a man? Instinct dictated that it would sparkle. When she ripped away the full skirt, the crowd went wild.
“I won’t expect a tomorrow when we have no guaranteed today,” the singer sang. “I’ll love you like there’s no tomorrow and hide within your fire.”
Jude agreed. Her heart still ached—she longed for a tomorrow and a man whose fire was worthy of hiding in. There, she could belong and feel safe—a place to call home and arms open only for her. Did that exist?
She doubted it.
Maybe someday.
About the Author
Billi Jean has been writing since high school when she couldn’t wait for Robert Jordon to write his
Wheel of Time
series faster. She writes from home in a little two hundred year old farm house in Western Massachusetts where she shares her space with her active children, an old dog, and two lazy cats.
Email:
[email protected]
Billi Jean loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.total-e-bound.com
.
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