A/N: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. I just make the characters do sick, twisted things.

Chapter 2

I stopped when I reached Laurent.

"How is it today?"

He shrugged.

"Pretty quiet, actually. Not too busy, but that's typical for this time. You know how it is." He didn't looking at me, still scanning the lot with his deep brown eyes.

Not exactly. After all, I've only been doing this for about a week now. I'm not entirely certain what 'typical' is.

Something about his eyes made me uncomfortable. "Everything OK?"

He didn't answer. "Something just seems a little off, that's all." He finally looked at me and smiled, an obvious attempt to be reassuring. "I'm sure it's nothing." He backed towards the door and held it open for me.

I walked inside quickly, not sure if the chill I felt was due to the blast of air conditioning or something else.

* * * * *

The Past

I had shown up here less than a month ago, answering an ad in the local paper for a waitress. The bartender directed me to the manager's office, and I shook hands with an attractive, muscular blonde man seated behind the cluttered desk.

"James." He introduced himself.

"Bella" I answered.

He cocked his head to one side and looked at her thoughtfully. "You don't look like a 'Bella.'"

I puzzled. What does a 'Bella' look like?

"Amaryllis will know what you look like." He nodded.

Amaryllis?

James smiled at me, showing a lot of straight, white teeth. "It doesn't matter. It's an act, anyway. Amaryllis has been working here a while. She'll know what you look like, she'll choose your name."

I need a new name to be a waitress? Aloud I asked, "Does this mean you're giving me the job?"

James smiled again. "Have you ever been a waitress anywhere?"

"No, but I used to cook at home all of the time, and I worked for a sporting goods store when I was in high school. And I was a bartender…" I trailed off, not wanting to provide more information than necessary about my more recent past. "For a while back in college."

James looked at me thoughtfully. "Waitresses make five bucks an hour and whatever tips you get. You give the bartender ten bucks a night. Bus your own tables and be on time. No touching patrons."

I looked quizzically at him. "Why would I be touching patrons?"

James was incredulous. "You do realize that this is a strip bar, right?" he asked.

My eyes widened. "A strip bar?" I repeated.

James laughed again. "Yeah. A strip bar. The same rules that apply to the dancers apply to wait staff. No touching patrons either male or female, no touching the other girls, no nudity. The dancers don't take kindly to the wait staff horning in on their tips, if you know what I mean." He looked at me carefully.

I processed this. Then I asked, "When can I start?"

James crossed his arms and sighed. "Well, the thing is… "He drew this out, as if he didn't want to tell me something. "Right now, I don't really need wait staff." He sat back in his chair. "I just hired a girl a few weeks ago. I usually run the ad in the newspaper for a month, since I get a better deal that way. Besides, if they don't work out, I usually know within a week, and I have someone else interested without having to run another ad." He assessed me thoughtfully. "You might work out as a dancer, though."

I nearly choked. "A dancer?" I tried stifling a laugh and failed miserably. "There is no way I could do that." I shook my head for emphasis.

James hitched his shoulders. "It's up to you. You are attractive enough, kind of a 'girl-next-door' thing going for you." He pointed at my chest. "Those are real, aren't they?"

I crossed my arms over my chest reflexively. "I'm sorry?"

James laughed. "I can usually tell, and yours look real. Which is a plus. You seem well-proportioned." He nodded. "Would you be interested in dancing?"

I was taken aback by the suggestion. I'd always been such a wallflower at home in Phoenix. When I'd moved to Forks, several of the boys had quickly taken interest in me, and though I'd been embarrassed, I had also been flattered by the attention. Then there was Mike, who had always told me how pretty I was, and was so protective of me. At least, at first. To have this guy be so straightforward, calling me attractive, it was nice in a weird way.

Attractive enough to be an exotic dancer?

I straightened in my chair and crossed my legs. "I'd like to think about it."

James smiled at me and nodded again. "Why don't you give yourself a week, then come back next Monday and audition? We don't open until two o'clock, so you can get a feel for the place, try out the stage, and there won't be anyone here but me and the daytime bartender."

Would it really hurt to consider it?

"Oh, I almost forgot." James continued. "Dancers usually make between thirty and eighty bucks an hour. On average." He eyed me carefully, but I kept my expression impassive. "Fifteen to the bartender, fifteen to the DJ, each shift. We have several shifts to choose from. You aren't on the books, we don't pay you a dime. You're kind of a 'private contractor.'" He laughed at his own joke.

I remained impassive, but I did the mental math. Thirty bucks per hour cash plus tips was probably more than Charlie had made as Police Chief Swan in the small town of Forks, considering taxes...

I chewed my lip. "I'm not really sure… how. I mean, I've never done anything like this before." As if he hadn't realized this already.

"That's OK. You can always just stop in, sit at the bar and watch. Most of the girls check out a bar that they want to work at. The bar opens at eleven in the morning, although evenings are busiest. Tuesdays are the slowest day of the week."

"OK." I stood and held out my hand. "I'll see you next week, then."

* * * * *

A million thoughts had raced through my head that night as I lay in bed.

Could I really do this? Where would I find stripper clothes? What kind of music is good? How would I learn to dance right? Would the money be good enough? What if I fall down? (Considering my serious lack of grace, this was definitely within the realm of mortifying possibility.) What would Charlie say? What would Renee say? What if someone I know walks into the bar while I'm dancing? How do I find a real job while I'm doing this? Would anybody hire me if they found out?

After hours of tossing and turning, I finally fell asleep.

* * * * *

I killed some time the next day by walking to a local park, then found my way to the grocery store around the corner from my apartment. It was strange living someplace so unfamiliar. My move to Forks hadn't been such a big deal, since I'd visited the town every summer for so many years. This was the first time I'd ever been out on my own, and I was surprised to find how much I enjoyed the solitude. A part of me was pleased that what I had told Renee – that I needed to be out on my own for a while – was turning out to be true. I'd been fortunate that the landlord had been willing to give me a month-to-month lease and hadn't required either a credit check or references. The building seemed to be half-empty, and I assumed the housing market had tanked here just as much as it had in Port Angeles.

I put the groceries away and spread out the classifieds section of the paper I'd bought. The New Journey Ledger had their want ads online, but the town didn't seem to have a decent coffee shop, let alone a wireless hotspot, so I had no way of accessing their Web site. I made a mental note to check around town the next time I went out.

I browsed the ads, looking for something that was not telemarketing or sales. Everyone appeared to be looking either for nurses or CNC machinists.

Then I saw the ad again.

"Wait staff needed for upscale bar. No experience necessary. Platinum, 3380 Blount St. No calls, inquire in person 10AM weekdays."

I sighed and tossed the paper aside. There was no harm in checking the place out; after all, it wasn't like I'd signed a contract, or even agreed to audition. I didn't even have to show up next week; it wasn't like he had my address or phone number, or even knew more than my first name, for that matter.

* * * * *

I showered and washed my hair, taking the time to dry and straighten it. I put on makeup, which felt strange; I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually worn anything more than lipstick and mascara. I spent a long time trying to find something to wear from my horribly underprivileged wardrobe; I finally settled on a pair of tight jeans and a fitted t-shirt. The only high-heeled shoes I owned were in my bedroom closet in Forks; tossed there after my high school graduation and not touched since. I settled for a pair of sandals with a slight heel.

At six o'clock I left my apartment, climbed into my truck and drove the ten minutes to the club. The parking lot was about half full, and I parked near the sidewalk, cutting the engine quickly. I waited until a group of businessmen passed by and entered the front doors. Locking the truck, I strode to the sidewalk and walked the few feet before ducking into the doorway.

The club looked so different, for a split second I thought I was in the wrong place. When I had showed up to interview with James, the bartender had been the only other person here. It had the same look that all bars do in the light of day; grimy and silent. I hadn't noticed the square stage with two poles and a narrow walkway that ran from the far side of the room into the center. Now the music played and a blonde girl with high-heeled Lucite shoes gyrated around one of the poles on the main stage.

I moved out of the doorway and towards the back of the club, watching her as she moved, undulating with her eyes half-closed. She wrapped her hands around the pole and slid down, all the way to the floor, bending herself nearly in half with the effort of her flexibility. She reached her left hand through her legs towards a man sitting right behind her at the edge of the stage, then grabbed the pole with her right hand and dropped her ass towards his face. He gasped in appreciation and held out a twenty while his friends hooted and clapped.

The girl spun around and landed on all fours in front of him and leaned backwards, throwing her head back, spreading her knees and offering her garter. He carefully pulled the lacy material away from her leg and inserted the bill slowly. She smiled at him and winked appreciatively, thrust herself towards him once before pulling her knees back together and standing as the song ended. There was applause throughout the room.

I let out a breath that I hadn't even known I'd been holding.

"Can I get you something, sweetie?" said a chipper voice in my ear. I turned to see a baby faced girl teetering on a pair of four inch heels balancing a tray in her left hand.

"Oh. Um. Well, I guess I'll have… uh… rum and coke?" It came out like a question.

Baby Face winked at me. "Comin' right up!" She teetered away.

I saw a single table near the mirrored back wall, and made my way to it, sitting down hastily. A minute later, Baby Face was on her way over with my drink. She set it down and I handed her some cash.

She smiled again and asked, "Enjoying the show?"

How do I answer that without sounding like a total freak?

"Um, yeah. That girl seemed very talented." There. That was appropriate, right?

Baby Face laughed. "You could say that. Rainn is extremely talented as separating men from their money."

I watched the girl named Rainn as she made her way gracefully through the maze of tables and chairs. The DJ introduced another girl and she took the stage as another song began.

"Can I get you anything else? Would you like me to send one of the girls over for some company?"

I blinked. "Um, no thanks." Then her question really sank in. "Oh! No! No no no… I'm not looking for that." I smiled in what I hoped was a convincing manner. Baby Face returned the smile.

"See, I talked to James earlier today? And I came to check out the club? 'Cause I'm thinking about working here?" Dammit, why was everything I said coming out in question form?

"Oh, OK. Well, just let me know if you need anything. My name is Kara, by the way." She smiled again before walking towards the bar.

I sat back in my chair and relaxed slightly. I hadn't realized that I'd tensed up until just then. While I'd been talking to Kara, another girl had come over to a group of three guys sitting about ten feet away. She talked with them, and when the next song started she began dancing for one of the men. He watched her for a moment, then turned to talk to his companions. The girl moved sinuously, placing her hand on the back of his chair with his knee between her spread legs, moving her hips back and forth. The man continued to talk to the other men at his table, and from the few words I heard over the beat of the music, it was obvious that he was discussing business. The song ended, he handed a twenty to the dancer, barely glancing up, and she walked away towards another group of men clustered near the bar.

How can she do that? Dance like that for a man that isn't even paying her the slightest bit of attention?

"Hi!" said a breathless voice next to me. I started at the sound, and turned to stare at the girl standing next to me. She was almost too beautiful for description, with waiflike features and a pixie haircut that made her look almost too young to be in a bar. She reached out her perfectly manicured fingers and grasped my hand. "I'm Amaryllis. I manage the talent here. Kara says that you might be interested in working here?" I just nodded in response, then remembered to smile.

"Why don't you come with me? Let's find a quieter place to talk." She turned and walked towards the bar. Her grace and litheness was so perfect, the pang of doubtful self-loathing I felt almost caused me to turn and run out the door. But I obediently got up and followed her deeper into the room.

* * * * *