The Lights of Tenth Street (6 page)

“When did you stop waitressing?”

Tiffany’s voice was light. “About four weeks ago.”

“So that’s why you aren’t going to be doing my training tonight.”

“That’s why.”

Ronnie was silent as the car turned into Tiffany’s apartment complex. She saw the security gates, the well-tended landscaping, and the elegant lighting in a whole new light. Her mind flickered to the plush furniture in Tiffany’s apartment, the marble countertops, the brass doorknobs … the new convertible.

“And how long have you had this car?”

Tiffany pulled into a private garage and brought the car to a slow stop. “Just two weeks.” She smiled at Ronnie’s expression. “In just the last month, I’ve made twelve thousand dollars.”

R
onnie stepped into the neon darkness and followed Tiffany around the perimeter of the main room. A curving chest-high wall separated the walkway from the tables and the three stages beyond. She felt herself drawn by the colored lights, the pulsing music, the mysterious dusky atmosphere just beyond the wall.

The tables were half empty, but the stages weren’t. Ronnie took her eyes off the lights and focused them on the Staff Only door.

Once through it, Tiffany led her to a staff break room. Maris was slouching on a well-worn sofa, her feet up on a coffee table, smoking a cigarette and absently fiddling with a Palm Pilot. Her gaze was fastened on a small television set mounted high in a corner of the room.

“
Our Tel Aviv correspondent has more on the latest attack …
”

She turned her head slightly as the two girls came in, then turned her attention back to the news. She jabbed her cigarette into an ashtray beside her on the couch.

“Hey, Mar, what’s up?” Tiffany walked over to a water cooler and glanced back at Ronnie as she filled a paper cup. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.” Ronnie looked up at the newscast and then back at Maris’s face. “Uh … are you okay?”

Maris took a shaking drag on her cigarette. When she blew out the smoke, her voice was so soft Ronnie could hardly hear her. “Another terrorist bombing.”

Tiffany swung around, her eyes wide. “Here?”

“In Tel Aviv. Hamas retaliating for Mossad’s raid last week.”

“Oh.” Ronnie had no idea what she was talking about.

“The president just announced that we’re sending more troops overseas,
and
calling up more troops for domestic response. Thousands of them. What do you want to bet we’ll have people in fatigues on every street corner before this is over.”

Tiffany sipped her water and motioned for Ronnie to join her at the cooler. They turned their backs to the room and Tiffany slowly filled a cup of water, talking in low tones.

“Her brother was killed back when the World Trade Center collapsed. One of the hero police officers. Her sister is a customs agent or something here in Atlanta.
They follow this terrorist stuff pretty closely.”

“You should, too, you know.” The weary voice made Ronnie turn. Maris was rising from the couch and stretching. She stuffed the Palm Pilot back into her apron. “It’s not going away any time soon.”

Tiffany made a face. “I don’t want to think about it. Too depressing. If they get you, they get you.” She grinned and tossed her hair back out of her face. “And our job is to take their mind off their troubles, right?”

“No,
your
job is to take their mind off their troubles.” Maris gestured to herself and Ronnie. “
Our
job is to get them plastered so they spend as much money as possible. So, shoo. Your shift is on. Go get yourself all dolled up. I’ll show Ronnie the ropes from here.”

“Yeah, okay.” Tiffany winked at Ronnie. “Can’t be late for the money train.”

Ronnie rolled her eyes, but laughed slightly. “Get out of here, you idiot.”

As soon as Tiffany was gone, Maris put her hands on her hips and looked Ronnie up and down, her eyes intent. Ronnie stepped back, uncomfortable.

“What—”

“Size six.”

“What—yes, that’s right. How’d you know that?”

“That’s my job, dear. Come on.”

Maris hustled out of the room and down a hallway, saying a short hello to several people as she passed the kitchen. Ronnie hurried to keep up.

Maris made an abrupt turn into a large walk-in closet and ran her finger over a chest-high shelf stacked with uniforms.

“Six … six … SIX. Here you are.”

She pulled out a plastic-wrapped packet and handed it to Ronnie with one hand while pointing toward a rest room door with the other. “You can change in there.”

Ronnie poked her head inside the rest room, and looked back at Maris. “Is this where the others change?”

“The dancers? Nope. Their changing room is their own territory, not the waitresses’. And never the two shall meet.”

“Why?”

Maris gently pushed Ronnie into the ladies’ rest room and followed her inside. Ronnie glanced around, then headed toward the handicapped stall to change. She could hear Maris chuckling.

“That won’t last long.”

“What won’t?”

“Modesty.”

Ronnie shook her head. “Try me.”

“Oh, they will. Trust me.”

Ronnie ripped open the plastic packet and took out a little black sleeveless dress and a body-hugging silver cocktail apron, just like the one Maris wore.

“Well, answer me this, Maris. Why haven’t
you
become a stripper then?” She paused, then continued when Maris didn’t answer. “If the money’s so good and it’s so
normal
like everyone says, why aren’t you up there? And why’s a girl from a police family working in a strip club anyway?”

The silence lengthened as Ronnie finished changing and zipped up her dress.

“Maris?”

“You don’t know this business yet, Ronnie.” The other woman’s voice was flat. “I’m not pretty enough to make it up there.”

Ronnie winced and slowly pushed open the stall door. Maris was standing in the middle of the room, frowning at her reflection in a mirror.

Ronnie cleared her throat. “What do you mean, you—”

“And secondly, I’m the black sheep of my family. And since they really don’t give a rip where I work, I might as well make as much money as I can, even if I can’t make the big money onstage. Are you ready to get started?” Maris headed for the door.

“I’m sorry—” The door closed on Ronnie’s apology. She sighed, then slowly followed in her trainer’s wake.

“Our clientele is up 10 percent again this year.” Marco’s eyes gleamed as he swung his chair around to look out at the club floor. His one-way window had a prime view of the action. The place was getting packed. “That’s
new
clients, gentlemen. Very promising for the future.”

A slow drawl answered him. “And revenues?”

Marco hesitated, then turned back to the two men sitting in front of his desk, their backs to a regular window that overlooked the staff hallway.

“Flat, unfortunately. Patrons are holding more tightly to their wallets these days.”

“So revenue per patron has dropped off. Well, that has to change.” One of his guests steepled his fingers, his menacing tone at odds with his good looks. “Once the next phase begins, we’ll need to funnel a lot of cash and we’ll need a good cover. A failing club won’t cut it.”

Marco narrowed his eyes. “Who said anything about
failing
, Tyson?”

“And furthermore, Proxy was in here just a few weeks ago. He said we need to recruit a lot more candidates.”

“Proxy was here?”

“Yes. He was highly complimentary of the dancers, but said there just weren’t
enough that will work. We need more; more than the usual bimbos. We need more of the right
kind
of
girl
.”

“You know that we’ve been steadily recruiting, Tyson.”

“I know and he knows. But you know what we’re looking for, and so far you don’t have it.”

“I disagree. We have two new girls that started just last month who are prime candidates. They’re bright, well-spoken, tall, and have all the right assets.” Marco motioned out the one-way window to the stages, where the activity was beginning to heat up. “One of the girls is out sick tonight, but Tiffany—excuse me, her stage name is Sasha—is on. We have, of course, held you a table where you can evaluate her potential for yourselves.”

A small smile appeared on Tyson’s face, and he leaned back in his chair. “Excellent. You know I won’t pass that up.”

“I thought not.”

“But …” Tyson steepled his fingers again. “It’s not enough. We need more. We have to have them active as soon as possible, and there’s no way we’ll make our schedule if this element lags behind.”

Marco stood up. “I’m well aware of the plan and our needs. You stick to worrying about your side of things, and I’ll worry about mine. I know how my industry works. There’ll be no problem delivering on schedule.”

A passing movement in the staff window caught his eye, and his lips pressed together in a flat smile.

“Why don’t you let me show you to your table, gentlemen?”

He ushered them out the door, took two steps along the hallway, then raised his voice slightly. “Excuse me, Maris.”

Maris and her trainee turned from the door of the kitchen, surprised looks on their faces. Maris stepped forward. “Hey, Marco. What’s up?”

“I’m just showing these patrons around the back and wanted to introduce them to some staff members.”

“Gee, why am I not surprised?”

Marco gave her a quelling look and made the introductions. “Maris and Ronnie, I’d like you to meet …”

He watched Tyson’s eyes as the man shook hands with the new girl, watched the flicker of a smile that came and went as they made small talk. With satisfaction, he noted the expression on Tyson’s face as the waitresses turned away and continued with their duties. Marco waited a few moments, until the two visitors dragged their eyes back to him.

Marco smirked and leaned forward slightly. “Told you so.”

Maris gestured Ronnie forward to meet the kitchen staff. She showed her the electronic system used to place the orders and take payment, and described how to serve the customers and clear their tables.

“Keep in sight as much as possible, and ask regularly if they want more drinks. Be sweet and pushy and keep ’em spending. That’s how you’ll make your money. It’s all about your take. The sassier you are, the more they like you.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Yeah, good, just like that.” She was through the swinging kitchen doors and halfway down the hallway before Ronnie caught up.

Maris pushed open the door to the main room and strode around the back. Ronnie forced herself to look at the stage as they passed.

A young woman in a bright pink dress and high heels strutted on the main stage, accompanied by a pulsing beat and cheers and applause from the audience. Ronnie started, and looked closer. It was Tiffany!

She slowed her step, staring at her friend. She looked beautiful! Ronnie stopped and watched, transfixed. By the time Tiffany was done, she had collected a garter full of bills and pranced offstage with a cocky grin on her face. The crowd yelled for more, but soon another girl came on and the audience turned its attention to her.

Ronnie leaned against the wall that separated the walkway from all the tables, her intended task all but forgotten. Tiffany really did look like she was having fun. How was that possible?

She felt a touch on her arm and gave a start. Maris was standing next to her, a sad smile on her face. She started to say something, then held up her hands. “I won’t say anything. Come on, we’re running behind.”

She led Ronnie to a sunken bar area on the other side of the walkway, and introduced her to a middle-aged man with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. “This is Nick, our bartender. One of them anyway.”

Nick winked at Ronnie. “The best one, babe.”

“Ronnie’s new and I’m showing her the ropes. Will you give her a crash course in the different drinks when I’m done?”

“Will do.” Nick winked and his voice grew silky. “We can even arrange a private tutorial later if you’d like. I can show you everything I know.”

Ronnie snorted. “Great, that shouldn’t take long.”

Nick laughed and went back to shaking a silver tumbler. “You’ll do. Come back whenever you like.”

Maris pulled Ronnie along the back of the room and said under her breath,
“Always get in good with the bartender. You’ve got to pony up part of your tips to them, and how fast they serve
you
is how fast you serve the customer. And that equates to your overall—”

“My take, I know.” Ronnie paused as they neared a glass door set in the wall. “What’s this?”

“The gift shop.”

“The what?”

“The gift shop. You know—porno movies, that kind of thing.”

“Gross.”

Maris laughed and gestured her onward. “You
are
a sweet young thing, aren’t you?”

They circled to the opposite side of the main room, passing behind one of the stages and into a circular foyer lined with doors. “This area houses our V.I.P. rooms. These are smaller rooms used for private parties, that kind of thing.”

Ronnie walked across a plush carpet to a door that was standing slightly ajar. She pushed it open. The room housed a few low tables and a private bar.