A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry it's taking so long! I'm in the middle of trying to move to a new apartment so the chappies may come slowly for a while. My apologies!—Maumuaka
Miranda-POV
Miranda sat in her study with a steaming cup of coffee and a feeling of complete satisfaction. The Book was complete and no monumental mistakes had happened with the layouts. There was even a spark or two of originality. And she had saved the best part for last.
Located in part of an old factory, designer Dorian Steele's
workshop looks nothing like Wonderland, but the fall down the
rabbit hole begins inside the mind of fashion's newest creative genius.
Steele, who claims that beauty and love are his religion, raised more
than a few eyebrows with his provocative designs featured in the
April issue of Runway.
Her eyes skimmed quickly over the rest of the article. Every so often, the editor's lips would curve into a small smile. How right her instincts had been! She had known that Dorian would respond to Andrea's warmth and gentle demeanor. He had refused a personal for some time, even with the fashion press clamoring for it. And only Andrea would have the patience to coax Dorian down to earth and get him to give her straight answers. She presented his life and vision in a straightforward yet lyrical way and Marc had gotten some wonderful photographs…
Miranda smirked. There were numerous shots of Dorian's studio and a very good one of him standing next to a table, but Miranda's favorite was one that would never see the light of day in Runway: one of a slim young woman with wide dark eyes, wearing a demure (demure for Dorian, anyway) white sheath with openwork running down the sides. The girl was standing next to Dorian as he bent over a group of sketches.
She must remember to give Marc a bonus this year. She hadn't asked for the photograph, but he knew what she liked.
Charlotte had been impressed too, only sentencing the girl to three re-writes before letting the piece go to the Book. A check was on its way to Andrea; Miranda hoped it would be enough to encourage her to quit dancing in that awful club.
Miranda had not been back there, of course. As for Stephen, who knew? He came and went as he pleased, leaving empty Scotch bottles behind. The girls had bluntly asked her if there was going to be another divorce. She gathered them into her arms and sighed, "I don't know, loves. I hope not."
"I don't care if you do get divorced", growled Caroline. "He talks to you like you're stupid."
"And he's always drunk", Cassidy added.
And what could she say to that? It was all true. Miranda had just hugged the girls tightly and reassured them that whatever happened, she would always be there.
The editor stretched, groaning as her back popped. With luck, Andrea's writing would lead to other opportunities. At the very least, writing for Runway meant she was back in Miranda's world, and Miranda intended to see to it that Andrea stayed in that world for a long time. Flipping open her cell, Miranda called Charlotte. "It looks good. Thank you."
There was a startled pause at the other end of the line. Miranda was not known for thanking her employees. "You're welcome, Miranda" Charlotte said at last. "She can write; no doubt about that. And she got it in three days before deadline, which is impressive, given how long our writers usually take."
"Mm, yes. What time did she come in?"
"About 4:30 in the afternoon. She was only in for a minute. She said she had to go to her other job."
Miranda felt her grip tighten on the small phone. She supposed it was too much to expect the girl to quit dancing right away. She thanked Charlotte and hung up, pondering her next move. There was no way Andrea could be allowed to stay at a strip club—Runway was not Cosmopolitan; it would look bad! But as long as she was a free-lancer, there was little Miranda could do. Unless…
Miranda licked her lips as an idea formed in her mind. It was dangerous; if she got caught the press (and Irv) would have a field day. But at least it was a chance to keep an eye on the girl, make sure nothing happened to her in a sleazy dive like that.
She told herself it wasn't so she could see Andrea dance again.
Andy—POV
"ANDEEEE!" squealed a chorus of voices when Andy stepped into the dressing room at the club. Crimson, Mystic, and Delilah all ran up to throw their arms around her. "We saw your article!" "Dorian is so CUTE!" "I can't wait until his new stuff comes out! The minute I see that red dress, it's mine!"
Oh, great! Why in the hell didn't I use a pen name? Andy tried to smile as she returned the hugs. She hadn't thought anyone from Satin even read Runway, much less that they would notice her name attached to any of the articles!A strip club, she had discovered, was sort of like high school on steroids. At the top were the girls who earned the most money. They tended to be blonde and they usually spoke only to each other. Then there was Everyone Else: the brunettes, the redheads, and any ethnicity other than white. While cross-friendships between the two groups were not unknown, the Blondes tended to devote most of their time to crushing anyone they thought was competition.
"Watch your hair and makeup stuff" Delilah muttered in her ear.
"I will" Andy whispered back. She groaned inwardly as Crimson begged her to sign her copy of Runway. "Yer gonna be famous, I just know it!" she crowed in her broad Texas accent. "I wanna be able to tell people I knew you when!"
"Does Runway even know you work here?" inquired one of the Blondes. Her tone was neutral, but Andy had no trouble sensing the hostility underneath. "I didn't tell them. I'm just freelancing, so it shouldn't make any difference if they find out." Andy shrugged, keeping her face carefully blank. "After all, it's not like I'm a celebrity or something."
The other girl continued to gaze at her as she slowly brushed out her yellow, extended mane. "I'm doing 1,2,3 tonight. I need a third girl. Want to?"
Andy thought for a moment. The Blondes liked to keep their friends close and their enemies closer. Being unfriendly wouldn't be wise. On the other hand, she would have to be very careful what she said. "Okay", she said. "Who else?"
"Jade."
Jade was the only exception to the Blonde rule that Andy had noted so far. She was a limber, double-jointed Asian girl who could curl herself into fantastic shapes. The men loved it and she always banked. The Blondes hated her, but whenever they needed an extra girl for a song like 1,2,3 Jade was always asked first.
"Okay" Andy said again. The Blonde turned back to her makeup mirror. Crimson, Mystic, and Delilah had already drifted off and were in the process of changing into their stage wear. Delilah caught Andy's eye and mouthed, Be careful. Andy nodded.
Miranda—POV
1, 2, 3 Babe, pick a night
Not only you and me
Got one eighty degrees
And I'm caught in betweenMiranda made a face as she sipped her drink. She really didn't like hard liquor, but she hated beer and she didn't expect a place like this to have good wine. She watched from behind her drugstore dark glasses as three girls tumbled onto the stage at once: a busty, haughty-looking blonde, an Asian beauty, and Andrea.
To come out and play
If it's alright
What do you say?
Merrier the more
Triple fun that way
Twister on the floor
What do you say?She'd say she was crazy, that's what. It was her third week running, coming to this place disguised in black and sunglasses, a new black bobbed wig on her head. She looked like a dominatrix and ironically, that was what made her fit in. Nobody looked at her; the doorman took her money without a glance. A few of the dancers circulating around the floor had and giggled and offered their services, but that was all.
The girls onstage were all over each other. The blonde one appeared to be the leader. She pulled Andrea against her super-inflated chest while the Asian embraced her from behind, her sinuous pelvic movements leaving no doubt about what she was miming. Andrea tilted her head back, closing her eyes, her lips parted in fake ecstasy as the blonde dancer kissed a trail down her exposed throat. In that moment, Miranda could have cheerfully committed murder, especially when the blonde's hands drifted down to Andrea's sinfully gorgeous bottom
Are you in?
Living in sin is the new thing, yeah.
Are you in?
I am counting
1, 2, 3
Not only you and me
Got one eighty degrees
And I'm caught in between
The reason for the charade became obvious when one looked at the crowd of men around the stage. Green bills were flying through the air like snowflakes. When the song faded out, the three women scrambled to scoop up the money. Andrea threw a flirty wink over her shoulder and was rewarded with more cash.
Andrea usually did two or three stage sets, and hustled for lap dances between whiles. Miranda watched, wrenched by a horrible mixture of envy and desire. She was ninety percent certain that Andrea didn't particularly enjoy sitting on the laps of all these men, but she certainly knew how to fake it. And Miranda knew how the men felt, how it felt to have a gorgeous woman touch you, caress you and be unable to touch back.
"Hey stranger."
Miranda jumped, startled. There was Andrea looking down at her with an eyebrow raised, a smirk curling her full red lips. She had apparently shot up through the floor when Miranda wasn't looking. "Good to see you again."
