The Ninety Days of Genevieve (24 page)

She dressed with a sense of apprehension. Black underwear, black dress, high-heeled shoes - and the leather face mask. She clipped the diamond choker round her neck and pulled on the long black gloves. She wanted to trust Sinclair. She
did
trust him. And yet a little voice at the back of her mind suggested that maybe he was now going to try and find assignments that she would not like. And eventually one that she would refuse. That would be his victory. And his excuse to transfer his interest totally to Jade Chalfont.

The taxi driver arrived promptly and gave a brief toot of his horn. She wrapped herself in the fur coat and went downstairs, once again feeling grateful that she lived in an apartment block where she very rarely met any of her neighbours on her way to the street.

The driver looked unsurprised at her appearance. Clearly he was used to picking up fares in strange clothing.

'Club Bacchus, isn't it? You performing, or watching?'

Genevieve felt nerves flutter in her stomach. 'Performing,' she said.

'You want the stage door, then,' he said, pulling away from the kerb.

Obviously he knew something about the Club that the receptionist had not admitted over the telephone. Genevieve wondered whether to question him, but her pride would not let her.

The taxi finally turned into a side street. Genevieve had a brief glimpse of the front of the Club, with its discreet illuminated sign, before the taxi stopped in a darkened alleyway.

'Have a good time,' he said.

He did not seem to expect any payment, but waited until she knocked on the
anonymous
-looking door
and
it opened, sending a shaft of light out to the pavement Obviously satisfied that he had delivered her safely he

accelerated away again. Genevieve saw a tubby man with a shock of black hair that looked like a toupee, gazing at her critically, but without surprise.

'Right,' he said. 'Which act are you?'

His voice was curiously high pitched. 'Striptease/ she said.

'You haven't brought a costume. Collecting it here, are you?'

'I'm wearing it,' Genevieve said. She opened the fur coat but he hardly bothered to glance at her.

'Right/ he said. 'You'll have to share a dressing-room. Don't mind that, do you?'

'No/ Genevieve began.

He turned and walked away. 'Right. Follow me.'

'Wait.' Genevieve was determined to make some sense of her predicament.

The tubby man stopped and turned.

'What exactly happens here?' she asked.

He stared at her. 'You do your striptease/ he said. "That's what you want, isn't it?'

'I was told this was a club for wine connoisseurs,' she persisted. 'Obviously that's not true.

He seemed to be trying to decide if she was serious. 'It's your first time, right? You've done a strip before?'

'Of course I have,' she said quickly. 'But not in a wine club.'

"They'll be drinking something stronger than wine tonight,' he said. 'Tonight the Club Bacchus becomes the Club Bacchanalia. Right? Tonight Mr Roccanski entertains his friends. Or rather, you do. You and the others. The other performers. Right?'

'Who's Mr Roccanski?'

'The owner. Most of the time this is a legitimate club. Members only. The best wine in London. But every so often Mr Roccanski likes to arrange something special for selected guests. Invitation only. Strictly private.' He smiled for the first time and winked. 'And uncensored. Right?'

Right! Genevieve thought. She was beginning to understand.

'And the entertainers?' she asked. 'Are they professionals?'

'Some are,' he said. 'Some are amateurs, like you. The main thing is, everyone enjoys themselves. Right?'

'Right,' she agreed. She followed him down the passage. Now she could hear the muted sound of a dance band.

The tubby man stopped by a door. 'In here,' he said. 'What about your music? You want the band to play?'

'I've got a tape,' she said.

He held out his hand. 'Give it to me. I'll make sure it's ready for you. You'll be called in good time. You want a drink - ring the bell. Right?'

She looked at the various doors along the passage. It reminded her of being backstage in a theatre.

'Is this really a wine club?' she asked.

'It is now,' he said. 'But it used to a night club. Cabaret and all. Mr Roccanski didn't alter much. You'll have all the trimmings for your act.'

He pushed open the door. There were two naked men in the room. Genevieve stared at them in startled amazement. One was well muscled and shaven headed and, Genevieve had to admit after giving him a quick look, very well endowed. The other was reed thin, with a thick mop of curls. The rest of his body was devoid of hair, making him look delicate and vulnerable.

'Don't worry about Carl and JoJo,' the tubby man said. 'They wouldn't know how to do it with a woman, even if you fancied them.' He grinned at the two men. 'Right?'

'Wrong,' the curly-headed man said. 'Knowing and doing are two different things. And I wouldn't do it with you either, ducky.'

The tubby man blew a mock kiss and closed the door.

'I'm Carl,' the shaven-headed man said to Genevieve. 'The pretty one over there is JoJo.'

'I'm Marlene,' Genevieve used the first name that came into her head.

'What's your act?' JoJo asked.

'Striptease,' Genevieve said. 'What do you do?'

'We fuck,' JoJo said. 'To music.'

Carl slipped unselfconsciously into a black posing pouch, pulling it tight so that it gave him an impressive bulge, and then began to buckle on a pair of chrome-studded leather chaps held up by a wide belt.

'It's very artistic. A class act.' He picked up a white satin pouch and tossed it over to JoJo. 'Here, get dressed. We'll be on soon.'

'Is this how you earn your living?' Genevieve asked.

Carl laughed. 'It's how we pay our bills. I'm an actor. JoJo's supposed to be an artist.'

'Don't be bitchy,' JoJo said. 'I've sold two pictures this year.'

'To friends,' Carl said. 'That doesn't count.' He pulled on a pair of biker's boots and picked up a leather cap ornamented with chains. 'It's one way of earning some money. We fuck each other anyway, so we figured we might as well get paid for it.'

'Unlike you rich amateurs who do it for fun,' JoJo added.

'What makes you think I'm an amateur?' Genevieve asked.

'The mask,' JoJo explained. 'You don't want to risk being recognised, do you? Your husband might even be out there in the audience.'

'I'm not married,' she said.

'Boyfriend then,' JoJo shrugged. 'Or are you a dyke?'

'Ignore him,' Carl said. 'He's just jealous of your fur coat.'

'I know a man who'll buy me a fur any day,' JoJo pouted. 'And if you're going to be nasty to me, lovey, I'll pack my bags and go straight to him.'

They began to bicker and swop insults in a familiar way. JoJo tucked his cock and balls into the posing pouch, pulling on the side laces so that the pouch bulged like a padded codpiece.

'Don't tie knots/ Carl warned, watching him. 'You know I can't undo them when we're performing.'

'Rip them, macho-man,' JoJo said. 'You spend enough time in the gym. What are those muscles supposed to be for?'

Genevieve suddenly remembered Lisa's complaint about the kind of men she saw in the weights-room. Carl would have met her requirements, at least visually. She stifled a giggle. Poor Lisa, her charms would be wasted on Carl.

Carl rubbed his hand between his legs. 'I'll show you what
this
muscle's for when we get out there, pretty boy.'

'Oooh, promises!' JoJo mocked.

A bang on the door interrupted them. 'Two minutes/ a voice called.

'The bright lights are calling/ JoJo said. He turned to Genevieve. 'I bet you're on after us. Something for the gays, and then a treat for the boring old straights. That's the way they usually work it.'

They left the dressing-room together. Genevieve heard the music stop. There was a brief silence and then she heard a new, harder beat. She guessed this was Carl and JoJo's music. Suddenly she was curious. She had never seen two men making love.

She left the dressing-room and walked down the corridor towards the music. Once through a double door, she was standing by the side of a small, round stage, but hidden from the audience by heavy curtains. A man stood checking a printed list. He glanced at her briefly.

'What
⁷
s your act?' he asked.

'Striptease/ she said.

He consulted his list. 'You're next. When the lads have finished.'

A spotlight swept the stage, catching and holding Carl and JoJo in its circle of light. They began to dance, both of them moving with professional grace and confidence. Carl strutted and posed, while JoJo was sinuous and yielding.

The act involved Carl pretending to force JoJo into sexual obedience. As Genevieve watched, Carl tugged the younger man's satin posing pouch and ripped it off. He twisted JoJo round, displaying him. JoJo now had a sizable erection. Genevieve heard a murmur of approval from the darkness. Then JoJo reached backwards, and when the two them broke away from each other, Carl's black posing pouch had also been removed. The sight of Carl with a massive erection between his leather clad legs brought more sounds of delight, and some applause, from the audience.

The action became more erotic. JoJo was forced to his knees in front of Carl. He used his mouth and his hands on his partner until Carl, apparently out of control, swung him round and brought the affair to its conclusion. Grasping JoJo round the waist and bending him forward, his dark leathers a stark contrast to JoJo's white skin, Carl entered his partner, and as both men shuddered to a noisy climax the lights went out.

The performance had not really aroused Genevieve, although she admired the men's dancing skill, but it was obvious from the audience reaction that they had thoroughly enjoyed the display. The prolonged clapping and cheering gave her a twinge of nerves. Would her striptease seem rather tame after such an explicit sex scene? The stage was still dark when the man with the list came up behind her.

'Give it a couple of minutes,' he said. 'Let the gays out there re-arrange themselves, then you're on. We'll put a spot on you and then start your music. OK?'

'Well, yes,' Genevieve said.

'Not nervous are you?' He sounded sympathetic.

'Will anyone be interested in a striptease, after what they've just seen?'

'You bet they will,' he laughed. 'Not everyone gets turned on by two blokes making out. I don't, for a start. I'd much rather watch you.'

With that to boost her confidence, Genevieve stepped on to the darkened stage. It was an eerie experience.

As she stood for a few moments waiting for her music to begin she could hear the sounds of the audience as they shifted in their seats; she heard the clink of glasses, and the low murmur of conversation. It was obvious that no announcements were being made. Each new act was a surprise.

When the spotlight picked her out with abrupt clarity, Genevieve was reminded of the last performance she had given for Sinclair. Was he watching? She assumed so, but there was no way of telling. She had a brief glimpse of the faces that surrounded her, like pale blobs in the darkness, then the first bars of her music beat out of the speakers, and before she even thought about it she began to dance.

Once again she blessed the day she decided to go to Thea for advice. Thea had given her the confidence she needed. Her body moved seductively as she strutted and turned. The audience were silent, but she sensed their tension as they watched each garment revealing more of her body.

It was a strange sensation, performing in front of a group of total strangers. She knew that stripping was usually considered to be degrading, but it made her feel powerful. The idea of all those unknown eyes watching her was exciting. They were captives, and she was their jailer. She was controlling them, controlling their reactions, controlling exactly what they would see, and when.

For the first time she really understood the teasing aspect of the strip. She understood what Thea meant when she said some women stripped for themselves and not for their audience. Genevieve was very aware of the audience, and what she was doing to them. She wished she could have prolonged her dance but she was limited by her music. When it stopped, she felt a brief stab of disappointment. She stood naked on the stage for a moment, wearing only her shoes, the leather hood and the diamond choker, and then the lights blacked out.

She felt someone touch her arm and guide her off the stage. Two people swished by in the darkness carrying something bulky. Genevieve thought it looked like an old-fashioned vaulting horse. A man and a woman followed, the man in an evening suit, the woman dressed as a maid. Curious, Genevieve lingered near the stage. The man guiding her tried to hurry her along.

'Wait/ she said. She noted that the woman was masked. 'What are they going to do?'