"I'm fuckin' dyin' out here Corey! You can't play nothin' better?! No Cardi? No Nicki?!"
"You know the rules, Lola. New management, new music."
Lola rolled her eyes and turned away from the elevated booth where the DJ continued to play some non-descript slow jam. Corey Graves was usually a decent DJ, but he's been less-than-spectacular since the handover of the club.
Despite the darkness of the club, she was able to see clearly that there was only a handful of men present. Men with their guts brazenly hanging over their beltline, glistening bald spots at the crowns of their heads, eyes that were filled with sadness and desperation: The Regulars. From the club's opening to close, these men watched intently from their posts at the various round tables scattered about the stage
The money they had was not limitless, and so they held onto their bills tightly, watching hungrily as their favorite women gyrated against silver poles or writhed on the black floors in faux ecstasy. Beautiful bodies snaked around the notes of the songs, their curves pulsing so sensually, so enticingly that finally one of the regulars would tuck a sweat-soaked bill into the garter of a dancer. It would be a long game, but most of the girls were okay with it, always repeating the mantra: "At least it wasn't a free show."
Lola Jeanine Blanc was one of the few women who did not repeat that mantra. She actually had another mantra she repeated in the locker room "Less than 50 is a free show."
"How about a dance, Lola?" She looked down from her perch beside the Corey's booth. Her sparkling platform heels were eye-level with an old balding man. The reflective sparkles shone and scattered across the man's balding spot. His weary eyes were hopeful, looking up at the statuesque woman with a bill in one hand, and the other hand conspicuously adjusting his dad-jeans.
She flinched at the sight of the decrepit man, and snarled down at him. From his view though, he couldn't see her disgusted expression. The patron was too focused on her long, smooth, terra-cotta stilts that were her legs, leading up to her sparkling costume.
That night she donned her favorite 1920's Hollywood starlet get-up. A silver sparkling bodysuit that left little to the imagination, paired with her favorite platinum blonde short bob wig and a thick diamond choker. The lightness of her costume contrasted with the deep, reddish-brown of her skin. Red lips and a painted-on beauty mark completed her ensemble.
"A dance? From who?" A bit of the dancer's southern drawl crept out.
"You, silly girl!" His papercut-thin lips stretched back into a smile that made Lola want to shower. His pale skin was tinted a bright pink under the lights, and he reminded Lola of a goblin, only one kick away from death.
"And is that a twenty in your hand?" She raised her dark brows, fighting not to laugh.
He looked at the bill in his hand and back up at the woman, not understanding why Lola looked so bemused. Corey shook his head behind her, a knowing grin on his lips as he ran a hand through his perfected pompadour.
"Yeah, it's a twenty. The sign over there says twenty for a lap dance, it's always been that way."
"Okay sweetie." She squatted down, sinking closer to the man's level. "Let me break it down for you: I don't hop off this stage for anything less than a fifty. But considering how dead it is tonight, I'm not getting down for less than a Benjamin. So, you can keep walking or pony up."
"B-But the sign-" The man began to point to the white board beside the entrance.
"Honey, do it say anything about Lola B. on that sign? No. That's cause a dance from Lola B. ain't worth a twenty."
"Let the guy be, Lol, he just wants a dance. If you don't want him, give him to Sasha or someone." Corey called from the booth.
"Sasha?" The old man mused for a moment, scanning the dark club. His bushy brows raised in excitement when his eyes caught the pin-straight purple locks of a slender woman across the stage. "Oh! That's the other mulatto girl, right?"
"Mulatto?" Lola's features morphed into a terrifying scowl. Her dark eyes narrowed as her jaw twitched from the pressure of clenching it. The man took one instinctive step back. "Did this pasty-ass George Costanza lookin' motherfucker just call me fuckin mulatto?"
The dancer kicked off her platform pumps and hopped down from the stage in one swift motion. "I might not hop off the stage for a twenty, but I'll hop off to kick someone's ass!" She charged for the man, who had turned to walk away. Her manicured claws dug into the collar of his button up shirt and with one forceful yank she sent him propelling backwards. He fell to the ground in a satisfying thud.
"Oh shit." Corey muttered under his breath as he ripped off his headphones and hopped over his booth. He rushed to Lola and immediately fastened her arms behind her. She began to kick at the man, but Corey took a large stride back, pulling the hysterical woman with him.
"You lucky he holdin' me back! You lucky he holdin' me back!"
"Alright, let's cool down. Come on." Corey cooed in her ear as he positioned himself between her and the man. He nudged Lola away from the customer on the ground. He then stretched his heavily inked arms wide to block any attempts for another lunge from the fiery woman.
"And what the fuck is going on here?!" A man's voice came from behind Lola. Without turning, she knew who was behind her. She could picture the man with his leather jacket and wide eyes taking in the scene. She turned around and was proven right. Dean Ambrose stood there exactly as she pictured him, his messy dirty blonde hair curled haphazardly across his forehead, his lips pulled into a lop-sided smile, he was the image of smugness. "You know, Lola it's a strip club, not a beat-the-shit out of our customers club."
"Clever, Dean. Real clever." She adjusted the top half of her body suit, hoping not to give any on-lookers a show they didn't pay for.
"Alright, you naughty girl, time to see the principal." Dean grabbed her forearm and nodded to Corey, signaling for him to console the customer on the ground. He pushed her in front of him and herded her into the even darker hallway in the back. The red lamps overhead made the space seem even smaller than it was. Despite this, Lola knew her way to the office.
She stood before the large black door and crossed her arms over her chest. A cheap brass plate that read "MANAGEMENT" sat at her eye-level. She glanced behind her shoulder and raised a perfectly waxed brow expectantly.
"You gonna open the door for a lady?" She taunted.
She practically heard Dean roll his eyes behind her as he reached forward and pushed the black door open. The sudden exposure to the bright fluorescent room hurt the woman's eyes. She covered her face with her hands instinctively before squinting through them and slowly adjusting to the brightness. The eye pain was one of the reasons Lola preferred working night shifts. When she was done, it would usually still be dark outside instead of the searing pain of daylight in morning shifts.
After a few moments, she was finally able to see the room. She was surprised the small windowless office was in a clean state. Usually the drawers were open, papers and folders haphazardly peeking from within. That would be coupled with paper balls littered the ground, and a plate or two of food left on a chair or the small couch next to the desk. Dean wasn't at the desk that week, so someone must have cleaned up.
Upon entry, Lola was pleasantly surprised that she was able to get a clear view of the centerpiece of the room. She enjoyed the sight, his inky black hair slicked back into a high bun, brown eyes trained on the papers scattered before him on the cheap metal desk, amber-toned, muscular arms shuffling through the papers. He didn't glance up from his work when Lola and Dean entered the surprisingly immaculate office.
"Whoever it is, and whatever it is, I'm very busy. Can't deal with it right now." Roman muttered as he flipped open a folder on the desk.
"You might want to deal with her man, cause no one else is going to be able to talk sense into her." Dean said, reaching into his pocket for a stick of gum. He kicked his habit of smoking not too long ago, and Lola always saw the man gnawing on gum since then. She preferred it when Dean smoked, it was less loud.
"And I'll knock the sense outta you if you don't stop talkin' about me like I ain't here!" She snapped, giving Dean a vexing look.
Roman sighed heavily and dropped the folder in his large hands when he recognized the sharp tone. His body slumped, as if he were exhausted. He lifted his head for the first time since his visitors entered. His gaze met Lola's and he suddenly felt as if someone were kicking him when he was down.
"What? What did you do?"
"I caught her getting carried off by Graves. She knocked a customer to the ground and was about to kick his ass." Dean chimed in quickly before Lola had a chance to open her mouth.
"Really? Caroline, this is like the second time this month!" The large man threw his hands in the air, he was completely at a loss.
"You really wanna use my government? Cause I can use yours too Leati." Lola crossed her arms and cast a challenging glare across the desk.
"Sorry, Lola." He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Regardless, you can't be beating on our clientele. There are regulars who keep this place afloat. We don't need the drama."
"Keep this place afloat? Are you kidding me? This place has been falling apart since it went from being 'Evolution' to 'The Shield'." She plopped down onto the worn brown leather couch beside the desk and stretched her long legs along the cushions. "Stupid ass name for a strip club, by the way. That's probably why people stopped coming."
"It's not a stupid name!" Dean exclaimed, striding over to the couch. He swiped her feet off of the couch to make room for himself. "It makes sense in a larger context. There's the Bullet Club, and then there's us, The Shield."
Lola shook her head slowly, not entirely following his logic.
"Shield against bullets… They're our rivals. So, we block them…" Dean's sentence trailed away with his interest in convincing the uninspired Lola. He shrugged and looked away.
"Anyway… The regulars are stingy, racist bastards that sit around for free shows. Their money isn't keeping this place afloat. This place is sinking, and fast."
"Racist? The regulars aren't racists, they're harmless. And they always pay for at least one dance before they all leave." Roman snorted.
"Tell that to that George Costanza lookin goblin out there. He out here calling me and Sasha 'Mulattos'. Fuck outta here." She sucked her teeth.
"Is this true?" Roman asked Dean.
Dean shrugged.
"Yes! I don't pop off for no reason, Ro, you know that!" She shrieked.
Roman's expression tightened, he pressed his lips into a thin line and subtly clenched his fists. "Dean, you mind finding the guy and making sure he's kicked out? Get his name and picture, we'll make sure he's not allowed back."
Dean nodded and pressed himself off of the couch to leave the room. He closed the door behind him as he left, something Roman was hoping wouldn't happen. There was only so much he could take of Lola.
"It's taken care of. You happy now?" Roman gestured to the door Dean just left through. "Now can you promise stop fighting and get back to work?" He sounded like an exhausted father talking to his rebellious child. But Roman had been through similar conversations with her plenty of times before. He wanted the scantily-clad woman to leave the office hastily. Not only did he have to get back to the finances, but he hated being alone with his ex. Especially at work.
"Ro, it's a Saturday night, I've made less than 200."
"Well we all have bad nights, Lola, you really can't expect Joe-Schmo to make it rain every weekend."
"Joe-Schmo used to pay my rent. He ain't here no more. Whoever out there can't even pay for my nails. You need to change it up, baby. Get some wings, change the music, something."
"Do you know how much it would cost to get a kitchen in here?!" He boomed, before quickly retracting his temper. He cleared his throat and continued "The music is fine, we can't keep buying songs on iTunes every time a new one comes out. It racks up over time. I know you think money's no object, but someone's gotta budget around here."
"iTunes? This fool did not just say iTunes." She muttered under her breath. "You got Corey out there on iTunes, payin' a dollar per song? Boy, have you heard of Spotify? I don't even know why— You know what? "
She paused and took a deep breath, a trick that she seldom used, but Roman had taught her a while ago when she felt herself losing her temper. "I'm going home. No one is out there, and unless Joe Schmo is rollin' up in the next two minutes, I've got better ways to spend my time."
With that, the woman stood and quickly went for the door.
"Hold up. Lola, you are not walking out on me like this." Roman stood from his chair, ready to stop her from leaving. "You've still got 5 hours on the clock, it's not even midnight yet."
"Ro, I'm taking the night off. Its best for everybody, Customers don't get hurt, I don't have to waste my time, and you get to run the club without me in it." Her voice softened only slightly. "And we both know you'd rather me be far away from you anyways. So, I'll see you next Friday. Goodnight Ro."
Roman could hear the hurt in her voice, and for a brief moment felt like reaching out to her. His hand slowly lowered when he realized she had already made her hasty exit. With a quick shake of his head he remembered why he left the woman and sat down again in the desk. He owed her nothing, and sympathy was the last thing he was willing to give her.
He returned his focus back to the pile of papers on his desk. Row after row of numbers and computations riddled the sheets. To anyone else, it may have been dizzying, but the large man had a penchant for math when he was in school. He preferred pen and paper, and knew little about using computers for his calculations, unlike most of his peers. It had taken him years to finally get a smartphone and even then, he hated using it. He loved being able to apply his skills to the real world through finance. His parents of course anticipated he become a consultant or broker once he graduated from Georgia Tech. They were solemnly disappointed when they found out that their son had become one-third owner of a strip club in Los Angeles.
His thick brows furrowed when he saw finally completed a long string of addition from the last 5 months. Apparently, someone had taken over 280 thousand out in total from the club's main account since it had been handed down from Hunter and the rest of Evolution. He checked the withdrawal points and noticed they were all from the same bank in Redondo Beach.
Then it Clicked.
Seth.
"Where are you going babe?" Alexa Bliss's tinny voice called from behind Lola as she tied her laces on the bench in the dingy locker room.
"I am taking the night off. This place is killing me, I need real money. Like it used to be."
Lola turned to see the smaller blonde woman sliding into her tiny black leather shorts. Her pixie face piqued with curiosity when she heard Lola's response. "Real money, huh?" She let out a short chuckle "Well, I had a friend who joined an escorting agency in Vegas. She was making six figures last time I saw her. She'd only been working a year."
Lola stuffed her blonde wig into her duffel bag and ruffled her hand through her thick dark coils. Her hair bounced into place, just grazing her shoulders. "You mean, your friend was trappin'."
"No! Totally different. They gotta take you on dates and stuff, not sketchy at all. Her agency has got the girls all covered. They screen every guy they're set up with." Alexa picked at the hot pink ends of her hair for a moment while she checked herself out in the mirror. "Anyway, just thought I'd throw it out there. Might be worth checking out." She waved goodbye before practically skipping out of the locker room.
Lola grabbed her phone and duffel from the bench and made her way to the back exit. She entertained Alexa's suggestion, and opened a tab on Google and made her preliminary search:
Escort agencies in L.A.