A/N: Hello everyone! Unfortunately, "A New Education" has been giving me SERIOUS problems recently, so I went with something a little more inspiring! I hope you all like it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!
'Backstage' at the club was nothing glamorous. It was a room with a bunch of mirrors, lined up against the walls with a counter in front of them and some chairs for all the girls to sit and pretty themselves up. Belle had been working at the club for two months now, two long months.
She perfected the wings of her eyeliner, and the perfect shaping on her lips with the bright red lipstick they made them wear. Her tail was fluffy, her bunny suit pristine, it was all part of doing what she had to do. Tonight, as she ran the waxy stick over her lips, she let out a deep breath, finding it hard to believe that she was really sitting backstage at one of the most exclusive clubs in Chicago and didn't even feel excited about it.
Her father folded under his gambling debt, he owed a lot of people a lot of money. Belle's education was the first thing to go. It killed her to withdraw from Northeastern, especially only a year from graduating, but what else was she going to do?
She had tried waitressing for a while first, but it didn't bring in any money, and then she worked at Macy's for a bit, but that wasn't any better. No, she needed something that was going to pay the bills, take care of the both of them.
Once her mother died and her father picked up the bottle and cards, it started. The rock rolled down the hill even faster when George beat it with the leggy blonde up the street – the one in the sorority, and his parents approved of. Belle had limited options and funds to wait on something better. So, while Belle tried to match a tie to a shirt for some big shot in Macy's and he suggested she check out the club, well, Belle didn't have enough of a reason to say no.
So, she went. She lied to her father, then she lied to her boss, and only after a chain of falsehoods, walked straight into the club: desperate. She was only one of a dozen girls trying for the job, but somehow, something she did – she never asked the dark haired woman with the poison smile what – caught their eyes, and Belle was hired. Bunny Belle became her new name, and another chain of falsehoods followed her out the door of the club as well.
To her father, she picked up the night shift, so she could attempt to study during the day, to her boss at Macy's, her father was sick and needed her help, to everyone else, she was just taking different shifts or found another job, sometimes, it was easier to not talk to anyone at all, trying to keep so many stories straight. The fact that she had no energy left at the end of a day (or night, depending on her shift) really helped in the whole no social life thing.
But, it wasn't a bad gig. Sure, there were times she couldn't stand a patron, or her feet hurt – three inch heels did that to a girl – or the corset was a little too tight, Bunny Mother Regina made damn sure of that, but minor discomforts were nothing compared to pulling in a hundred bucks a night, sometimes more if the right crowd was around, not that a place like this could necessarily have the "right" crowd.
Politicians, socialites, dirty cops, mobsters, anyone and everyone who had a connection was there. Belle knew who some of them were, she served them some nights, and it never failed to amaze her, that at a place like this a girl like her was rubbing elbows with the likes of Senator's son, married son, James Charlton (who was rubbing something else with Bunny Mary Margaret, but Belle didn't gossip… a lot), or senators and the like themselves.
One of the most feared men in Chicago, and not for his physical prowess, was Mr. Gold. A defense attorney who constantly represented the outfit, was always somewhere in the club with someone from the family. Belle didn't like it, she head things about the outfit, the horrible things they did – and worse – got away with because he was paid to help them. It wasn't exactly hidden that he had sway with every judge across the city.
If he was involved, it wasn't good. Belle tiptoed around him, didn't like to even catch his eye, but it seemed like he was always in her section! For two months she was the sole provider of Scotch for him and his parties, filled to the brim with types Belle could only imagine carrying heavy weapons and looking for the next enterprise to take advantage of. They were always the worst, with their intense stares and warning glances: turn off your ears, Girl, and keep your mouth shut, they seemed to say with just a glance.
Belle let out a deep breath, wondering what the crowd was going to be like and pushed herself up out of the chair. She looked at herself in the mirror.
They had a new design for the body suits, higher on the hips (higher tips, the girls quipped), and they were tighter than when she started, but Belle liked her new one. It was a satin gold, her ears starched and curled just so, nestled in her big, chestnut curls, that hung loose and framed her face. She wobbled momentarily in the three inch heels, sighing softly, curse her clumsiness. It was a wonder she could carry a tray of drinks. Though, the long list of things she never thought she'd be able to do was very steadily dwindling.
She tugged at her cuffs, straightening them out, and then fixed her collar in much the same way, her bow tie sitting pretty up on her neck. If her father could see her now: a thought that certainly had no place backstage, surrounded by a bunch of other girls in French cut corset and heels, getting ready to give the patrons the illusion they paid for. She felt a tug on her backside and all of a sudden a chin was on her shoulder, grinning wide, "C'mon Belle, can't you keep your tail on straight?"
She swatted the side of her leg and Belle jumped. "Ruby!" she squeaked, and then glared at the younger woman in a suit to match her name. Ruby had only turned eighteen years old six months ago, and she had been working at the club for five and a half of them.
"I was just helping you out," she stuck her tongue out and Belle reached to grab it. Maturity was not going very far in this interaction. Ruby bubbled with rancorous laughter.
Belle wrinkled her nose at her. "You could at least give me a warning next time."
"Why? So you won't let me get a handful," she laughed, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly. Belle just rolled her eyes, and Ruby moved on, "But – more important than your tail: are you submitting your pictures? You only have one more day."
Belle shook her head. "No, I'm not putting my pictures in for that."
"What?" Ashley's voice piped in, obviously having been eavesdropping. "What do you mean you're not putting them in? Belle, this is the cover of Playboy."
"She's crazy," Ruby responded immediately, talking around Belle like she wasn't even standing there in her heels. "Regina will kill you," she turned her sights on her, "You know you're one of the favorites, for whatever that's worth," she huffed teasingly, "not that I can see why."
They were usually teasing in the back room, and Belle laughed softly with a shrug. "Me neither."
Ashley threw her hands up, hitting her baby blue bunny ears. She fixed them while she spoke. "Oh please, you're gorgeous and you need to get your pictures in."
"Even if I wanted to," Belle offered lamely, hoping it would get them to stop pressing, "I don't have any pictures to put in."
"I'll take them after work tonight," Ruby squealed, looking so hopeful. Belle hated to squash her enthusiasm, but she couldn't. Her declaration that she couldn't was not met with acceptance. "Why don't we just take the pictures and then after that you can decide?"
From the side, another voice finally broke into the conversation, finally in Belle's corner. "Don't pester her," Mary Margaret said softly, doing her eyeliner. Belle couldn't wrap her mind around what brought a girl like Mary Margaret to the Playboy Club, but it attracted all sorts, and they didn't have to share their stories. Belle didn't, and she didn't force anyone else to either. "I'm not submitting my photos either, Belle."
"You know, it's only a little less clothes than you're wearing right now, Virgin Mary," Ruby prodded, the rueful grin on her face meaning no harm was intended. Mary Margaret, however, looked just a little stricken. "Oh Mar," she started, but was cut off almost immediately.
"Girls!" a sharp voice cut in, and Belle, Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Ashley all turned at the sharp intonation. Regina was a tough woman. She had been a bunny at the start, one of the originals, and everyone respected her. Rumor was she had an affair with one of the mobsters, but he turned up dead. No one implicated Regina, but it did things to her. She didn't work the floor anymore: turned her sights on tearing apart the new girls and 'whipping them into shape,' as she put it. "Stop messing around, get on the floor."
She pulled Mary Margaret, in her creamy ivory suit to the side, harshly whispering something, but Belle couldn't overhear. Ruby looped her arm through Belle's and sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know why she hates M&M so bad," Ruby whispered down toward Belle. Even in her heels, she was woefully small compared to everyone else. It wouldn't have been so bad if she didn't get lost in the shuffle sometimes. Thankfully, she had been told she had the looks to make up for it.
Belle never thought herself particularly beautiful, but George routinely referred to her as arm candy, and she got good tips, better than some of the other girls, so whatever it was she was doing, it worked. "Mind your business, Ruby," she counseled, though the girl had navigated her way just fine without Belle there, "come on. Grab your cigarette box and we'll get started."
Making her way to the bar to grab her tray, the club was already filling up. Smoke swirled up from the booths and groups were coming in. The polaroids were going off at the entrance and group photos were being taken for whatever publication they wanted to give them to, and Belle put on her best smile as she approached the bar. "Hey Sean," she greeted easily, "got my tray?"
"O'course," he produced it with a flourish and leaned on the bar, looking from side to side. "You talk to Ashley?" he asked, looking like a hopefully puppy. Belle sighed, shaking her head. "Can you just, I don't know, put in a good word?"
Belle leaned on the counter, with her tray, leveling Sean a look. "Maybe, if you bucked up and apologized, she'd think about it. But," she smirked, "You didn't hear it from me." He winked and she rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the bar and turned to the crowd. "Into the fray," she murmured to herself and tried to avoid licking her bottom lip so she wouldn't have to reapply her lipstick.
Ruby was already working the crowd, handing out cigarettes and giving lights. She lingered around someone Belle had never seen before. She wondered who on Earth it could be, and who's key he was in under, but there were thousands of keys around Chicago, and she couldn't know even a fraction of the ones that didn't appear in the paper or on the television.
Her first few tables were easy, "Hi, I'm your Bunny Belle for the evening, and welcome to the Playboy Club. Could I get you a drink?" the standard speech, a smile, answering what they had to say, and clarifying that she only served drinks. It was easy enough, when she removed herself from it and just reminded herself it was work. She was making good money, more money than she had ever seen, really, and couldn't complain, wouldn't complain, for the opportunity this gave her.
So, she went back and forth from the bar, bringing brandy, scotch, and champagne for the ladies at tables, giggling and smiling with no sincerity behind her big, blue eyes.
As she made a pass back toward the bar, Regina's cold hand clasped around her wrist, firm and demanding and Belle blinked, looking up at her, unsure of what to say. "Smile, Bunny Belle," her voice slithered out, menacing with her warning, "really smile."
"Of course, Regina," she nodded, forcing herself to smile as best she could, trying to look sincere with the gesture.
Regina did not look pleased, but she let go of her arm and sighed. "Go on. You have tables," and she smiled that sickly sweet smile that never, ever reached her eyes. "And remember: smile. After all," she added, "you won't make the face with a sour puss like that." Belle couldn't imagine her telling anyone to be authentic… but, she started to stride across the club and to the entry. Belle wrinkled her nose, following her as she walked, noting the real reason she was in such a hurry.
It seemed like everything was about this cover – and Belle couldn't get away from it.
She couldn't see where she disappeared to, but she could only guess it had something to do with the churning rumor mill and Hef being around, it probably had something to do with the contest. Belle wouldn't get picked anyway, and if she did, she'd never do anything else. It would ruin her plans to get back to school and do something with herself.
No, she wasn't going to do it. Walking to the bar, she put in for four scotches and Sean poured them rapidly, like he always did. She dropped them down at the table, asking if they needed anything else, before moving on.
It was about time she got to her last couple of tables, seeing Ruby leaning over the table with her cigarette box. She had no problems doing this job, legs for miles, and so thin. Belle might have been envious if not for the fact this was temporary, and Belle had no intentions of being here after she dug her father out. She'd go back to school and none of this will have ever happened.
With a new resolve, Belle sauntered up, smiling all the while, and Ruby giggled as one of the men with slicked back hair slipped an extra five into her cigarette box. Ruby was something else, really good at this job, and Ruby beamed as Belle approached. "You boys are lucky," Belle caught her saying to the table, "Bunny Belle is getting her pictures taken tonight." She wiggled her eyebrows at Belle who was now standing next to her, and she flushed, possibly all over, deep enough to match Ruby's suit.
"Before she tells you any different," Ruby added, leaning one hand on the table, like she was telling them all the biggest secret imaginable, "she's trying for the cover. Can you believe it? First Chicago Bunny to be considered, and it could be our very own Bunny Belle."
Belle shook her head, taking her spot right next to Ruby, making a big show of rolling her eyes – trying to look cute and funny as she did, feeling only foolish. The eyes were glued on her, and Ruby might have thought she was helping, but that was not going to do anything for her. "Bunny Ruby is trying too," she informed them, "and if anyone is going to get it – it's her, not me." Redirect the attention, and smile. She could do it.
"Don't listen to her," Ruby giggled, "so modest, and so pretty," she winked before strutting off, leaving Belle to fend for herself under the hungry stares of half the table, now probably fantasizing about the playmate spread that was never going to happen.
It was time to act though, and she started by popping out her hip as she stood in front of the table, "Hello this evening, gentlemen." She smiled wide, and the table was staring. Mr. Gold's stare, in particular, was intense, but Belle did not falter, "as you've already heard, I'm Bunny Belle, and I'll be taking good care of you all this evening," a bubbly giggle thrown in for affect. Mr. Gold's nostrils flared. Alright, he was displeased. She'd tone it down. Sometimes he did that, when she got too much like Ruby. Maybe that annoyed him. "What can I get you boys to drink?" she shifted her tray so she could lean to write.
"A round of scotch, Belle," he ordered for them, foreign burr rolling dangerously. Belle scratched down scotch and lifted her head to count how many of them there actually were sitting there.
"Sweetheart," one of the young men at the table addressed her, thick Bronx accent distracting Belle from counting, "Whatcha gonna wear in them pictures?" he asked, grinning like he thought he was smooth.
Belle did not appreciate the question, but she smiled anyway, "Well, sir," he was not old enough to be a sir, but he sat taller, felt more important, and maybe Belle could count on him throwing a few extra dollars down at the end of the night, "I don't quite know yet. Why don't you think on it and I'll be back to ask your opinion?" She started counting again.
Interrupted for the second time, the young man grinned, "Well, Sweetheart, I could give you a suggestion now, but I'd uh – rather you show me my options." This was blatant, and definitely not smooth, but Belle just brushed it off with a polite smile.
Part of training, Belle remembered, was to stem it off where it started, and she sighed. "My apologies," a sweet, innocent smile, "but it's against the rules to take key holders backstage." She scribbled down the figure 9 – 9 men at the table, and ignored the hungry look of the young man to look at the rest. "Anything else, gentlemen?"
There was a brief silence, the parties at the table looking at one another before Gold sighed, audibly. "That will be all, Belle." He never used the term Bunny, no matter what. She had corrected it a couple of times, but he refused, and he was the one paying, so Belle nodded with a cheery grin and strolled away, swaying her hips as she went, still getting used to the French cut of these new body suits – feeling particularly exposed under the scrutinizing gaze of twenty year olds who visited with daddy.
Personally, Belle preferred Daddy to their baby boys. Daddy knew not to touch. Get an eyeful, sure, but it was always the young ones pulling tricks. She sighed, sliding the drink order across the bar, glad that things were picking up and the rhythm felt familiar. The band was starting too, and Belle couldn't help but sway a little to the swinging beat. It was better to work to music, and as she lifted the tray to bring it over, she hummed along: "A Hard Day's Night" was one of her favorites.
With the heavy tray balanced on her shoulder and hand, Belle slowly made her way, stopping as Ashley passed with her camera. "Might want to stop by the bar, Ash," Belle smiled, to which Ashley gave a very deep frown, mouthing a very distinct 'no' at her. Belle shook her head, she tried, at the least, and Sean could get it from there.
Rolling her eyes, she kept going, knowing it wasn't good to keep the patrons waiting. Belle stopped, seeing the young man from the booth walking up. He had on a pinstripe suit, a little bit big for him, with a dark red tie and he was grinning. "Bunny Belle was it?" he straightened his tie, dragging his pinkie along his eyebrow after he did.
"So sorry if I wasn't speedy enough, Sir," she smiled, shifting her hand on the bottom of the tray, "But these are your drinks now."
His grin spread. He didn't look like he was just being friendly anymore. Belle tried to move to get around him. He was built like a house. "No rush, Bunny Belle," he moved toward the tray, "Don't you want to hear my suggestion?" his voice was low, and he raised his thick eyebrows at her.
Belle pressed her lips together, the habit she developed instead of lip licking and twisted, just a little bit, with the tray, to ward him off. "You couldn't have gotten all your ideas in fifteen seconds," she smiled. That sounded nice, at least, and she smiled again, making a move to step forward.
He blocked her, and Belle took a deep breath through her nose. If she needed to call the security guys, she'd get them over, but she didn't like messing with Mr. Gold's clients. He could create a lot of problems for her, and so could his associates. The look of this guy was all about the outfit, probably low level, lieutenant type, but he was definitely connected. "You said not backstage but," he looked her up and down, "how about you take a break and we get out of here? I'll even take the pictures for ya."
That was not what Belle wanted to hear. She was a clever girl though, and clever girls could get themselves out of trouble. "Oh, so sorry, sir, but club rules: no fraternizing with the clients outside of the club," she wrinkled her nose at him. "You'll just have to wait for the magazine if you want any pictures," she laughed, trying to be lighthearted and cheeky, stepping to the left.
He followed and Belle frowned fully, for the first time. When he opened his mouth to speak, Belle was surprised that his slick, oily voice wasn't the first she heard. "Is there a problem here?"
When the young man turned, and Belle was finally able to see, Mr. Gold was standing very close, and looking at the boy with the harshest gaze she had ever seen. "No problem, Gold," he laughed, "Just having a little chit-chat with Bunny Belle here. Talkin' about takin' some pictures."
Belle smiled, though it was completely forced, and shrugged, "I was just bringing your drinks, Mr. Gold." The faster she could ease this over, the better.
"Of course, Belle." He turned his eyes on the youth, "You, Marco, get your arse back to the table. You're here on your father's key. Don't get it taken away messing about silly little girls." He spoke to this Marco like he was a child, and strangely, he listened. He pulled at his cuffs and scoffed, but Marco marched back toward the table, trying to retain his dignity as Gold drummed his fingers on the top of his cane. She never really noticed it, at least until now, when he seemed to be threatening, silently, with it.
Belle remained stock still, however, that awkward smile still on her face. "Thank you, Mr. Gold," finally a sincere sentence, out of the entire night on the floor, it was the most genuine.
"No matter," he looked at her critically, "just bring the scotch." And he turned, almost too gracefully before limping toward the table. For a man with a disability, he moved rather quickly, and Belle trailed behind, feeling embarrassed and certain she was not getting a good tip from this table.
When Mr. Gold sat, Belle approached the table and put on her shiny, happy face. Marco looked positively livid and she pressed her lips again, before it bloomed back to the grin. "Sorry for the delay, gentlemen," she began placing glasses down on the table, "bit of a wait at the bar, I'm afraid," she laughed, and lied. Marco looked pleased. Mr. Gold's jaw mulled. The others didn't seem to think anything of it. "Is there anything else I can do for you while I'm here, food?"
She received a variety of declines on her offer and Belle nodded to the group. "I'll be back in a bit to check on you for another round." Belle nodded to the table, and tucked her tray under her arm, smiling with a wrinkled nose before walking away as fast as her little legs could carry her.
It wasn't hard to get backstage again for a minute and Belle put her hands on the counter, dipping her head and breathing as deep as the tight corset would allow her. She picked up her tube of lipstick and touched up the deep red, rubbing her lips together and composing herself. She needed to finish the night.