Summary: Bill got arrested for racketeering and embezzlement and somehow Arlene is involved. Debbie Pelt is stalking Eric relentlessly. Pam is related to Jimmy Hoffa. Oh yeah, and the saga is set in a strip club.

Chapter 21: Midnight Matador

I didn't get to speak with Claude again before the show and I barely even had a moment with Eric. He breezed in minutes before the show was going to start; in fact, the lights were already dimmed waiting for the first number to begin.

I was already in my waitressing section against the wall waiting for the first act to begin. Pam was also on the floor tonight because we had yet to hire another waitress after the sudden dismissal of Arlene. The crowd was rowdy tonight, several bachelorette parties were in the club and they were impatiently waiting for the curtain to rise. Several crazy older women, one of them looked to be around Gran's age, were waving around inflatable pink penises. Shaking my head I cringed in embarrassment, not because of what that granny was doing, but because with Gran's new fascination with belly dancing and strippers I could totally picture her doing just that.

I knew that Eric would need a few more minutes to get his shit together so I highly doubted that he'd be in the first performance. Scanning the crowd, my eyes fell upon a woman seated towards the back of the room with big curly, Texas hair and wide, circular sunglasses that made her look more like a bug than something out of a Dior catalog.

Her white halter top showed that she was no longer a spring chicken because gravity had already begun to make its mark on her saggy boobs. Her low ride tight capris hugged her hips, showing off a bit of belly fat that she tried hard to conceal by sucking in her gut. Spiked hooker boots completed her outfit reminding me more of a deadly weapon than appropriate clubbing footwear. To top off the street corner look, she wore four inch white hoops that dangled from her ears. They were so big, they reminded me more of hula-hoops rather than a sexy accessory.

Underneath all that fashion faux pas something caught my attention- something about her seemed so familiar but I just couldn't place it. Moving along the back wall I casually walked towards the woman. I was about halfway around the room when she turned her head giving me a side profile, my anger flared because I saw the one face in particular that I never wanted to see again- Debbie Pelt.

She totally failed in her attempt at blending in with the crowd, and had completely overdone herself that she stood out even more, almost like she had a huge blinking banner tattooed to her forehead that read, "Stalker is in the hizzouse!" Like big hair and more clothing could help hid her identity! What sane person trying to blend in would wear sunglasses in a dark room?

I couldn't believe that after everything that she had put Eric through she had the audacity to show her face. She was either over-zealous in her confidence or utterly stupid to show up just after she had threatened Eric. I wished that I could just knock her upside the head and tell God she died. But as Gran would say, 'if wishes were horses, than beggars would ride.' I couldn't fathom what she thought she'd accomplish by showing up tonight. Did she think her presence was some sort of insurance policy? Did she feel that if she haunted Eric that he would succumb to her demands?

I made my way along the back wall to warn Pam; maybe we could use this as an opportune time to find out more information. Maybe Pam could break into her car and see if anything incriminating was tucked between the seats? It seemed like it took me forever to reach her because she was stationed at the opposite end of the club, and when you're trying to maneuver through a horny crowd of women, it wasn't easy getting from point A to point B.

The theme for tonight's entertainment happened to be Summer Lovin' though it was December, go figure. Amelia took a microphone and introduced 'the frisky surfer who will ride you with waves of pleasure all night long.' I tried not to look taken aback about the lame-ass introductions, I deduced that it must have been another one of Claudine's schemes to exploit us even more. Finally, just as the curtain rose I reached Pam. Rasul, who seemed to enjoy his surfer-like comparison immensely, preformed first getting the crowd riled up with his sexy swagger, dashing smile, and olive skin tone. The ladies loved him, giving me just enough of a distraction so no one (like Miss Pelt) in the audience would notice us in the sidelines concocting a plan.

I motioned with my hands for her to come closer, "Pam, see that bimbo with the bug-eyed glasses and the over-hairsprayed Texas hair?" Pam nodded, letting me know that she knew who I was talking about. I continued, "Doesn't she remind you of anyone?" I gave her a knowing stare waiting for her to recognize the self-same Green Elephant that couldn't hide her fat-ass in any room.

"Oh, yes," Pam answered with a glint in her eyes, "I'll be right back." I watched her weave in and out of the throngs of people before making her way to the kitchen, the nearest private place in the building. Curiosity got the best of me and I trailed behind her, not too worried about the audience because they were otherwise distracted by the heavenly hunk on stage. If anyone could charm a group of horny women, it was Rasul with his killer ass shakes, toned washboard abs, and sun-kissed complexion.

I pushed open the kitchen door to see Pam huddled in my 'hidey-hole' talking rapidly on her cell phone. As I waited for her to tell me her latest, and greatest scheme, Lafayette captured my attention.

"Hookah, waz crack-a-lackin'?" he asked shimming his hips back and forth, waving his spatula in the air, and bobbing his head from side to side. I could always count of Lafayette for a good laugh to lighten any dark mood I found myself in. He was totally decked out in bright colors; a ruby red scarf around his head, bright teal pants, a black muscle T-shirt, and lime green sneakers all matching his personality well.

"Hey, Laf. How's it cookin' tonight?" I asked, proud of myself as I tried my hand at a bit of slang.

"Hookah, listen to ya sassin' back. I'z feelin' ya. What's shakin' down out there tonight? Comin' to hide? Your space was straight up jacked by that Bitch," he said nodding his head at Pam ,who didn't miss a beat as she swung around giving him the finger and a deadly glare that made me shake in my boots.

Pam's phone flipped shut and she sauntered over to the two of us. Her hips swayed back and forth as she strutted her stuff in her five inch spiked blood red heels. My feet sympathized with hers as I cringed from the pain of wearing shoes that high and waitressing. Then again, knowing what I now knew about Pam, maybe that was her way of concealing a deadly weapon. All I knew was that I wouldn't want to get in the way of her anger or her spike-like stake at the end of her shoe.

"Hey Bitch," she said greeting Lafayette. To me she added, "Dolly, I need to speak with Claude, be a dear and cover my tables for a few." Without waiting for my reply, she flounced away with a spring in her step that would make any man (and most women) drool. At that moment all I could think about was how envious I was of her tight ass that didn't droop or jiggle, and hoped mine was half that nice.

Eyeing her frightfully as she walked out the door, Lafayette replied, "Lawdy- she needs to put that shit down, we can see plump to the Promise Land in that getup." I may have been thinking the same thing, but that was something I'd never say outright to Pam. Lafayette turned to me shaking his head and repeated, "Dolly?" It took me a moment for my brain to catch up, so much was on my mind that I felt like I was rowing with only one oar on a boat that was about to be capsized by a tidal wave. I just shrugged my shoulders, knowing Pam, she had her reasons for calling me that, and I was pretty sure that I didn't want to know what they were.

I exited the kitchen to check on my tables (and Pam's) while she was off doing her thing. Rasul was still on stage shaking his curvaceously rounded rump to Wipeout by the Beach Boys, his own personal favorite selection. The man even had several changes of brightly colored Speedos that got skimpier and skimpier as the song progressed. Finally, he ended with shaking his thing and rubbing his body in some sand in nothing more than a midnight black, leather G-string that barely covered the crowned jewels. The ladies were in a state of rapture; one even stood on a table making obscene gestures, moving her hips back and forth with her pink inflatable penis wedged between her thighs waving in his direction trying to catch his attention. Shaking my head at their antics, I repositioned myself against the wall waiting for the performance to end so I could wait my tables.

It was only a few minutes later that Pam reentered the lounge and walked over to me. "Everything's set, now all we have to do is watch it unfold," she smirked as she glided past me and headed into her own section.

"Pam, wait," I called after her, but she didn't even bother to turn around. Patience wasn't a phrase in my vocabulary that I particularly liked, especially when it came to relying on other to take care of my business. That's how I felt about Eric; though I appreciated Pam's help, I wanted to be in the know because Eric was mine and someone I deeply cared about. I didn't like leaving his fate (and mine, truth be told) to someone else, even if that someone was Pam.

Rasul left the stage and with a sigh, I made my rounds to the rowdy bachelorette party, taking orders and bringing them their liquid refreshments, like they needed anymore.

Another hush fell over the crowd as Amelia, our MC for the night, introduced Claude as 'the Midnight Matador with smokin' biceps, rock hard abs, and the crème de la crème of equipment that could make you scream six ways till Sunday.'

My eyes rolled so far back at the intro that I was glad the lights were down low so no one noticed. I briefly wondered who made up the sexy little intros that revved up the audience so well- in Claude's case that included both men and women. He had his personal male fan club whooping and hollering over the flighty fairy's body as he pranced on stage, completely covered in greasy sex wax, licking his surfboard as he stripped to Surfin' Safari by the Beach Boys.

As much as I wanted to be with Eric, I was still a woman. As Claude strutted his stuff, shook his ass and pumped his hips I was just as captivated as everyone else in the audience. In fact, I was in danger of catching flies as Gran would say. Abruptly I shut my mouth and focused my eyes elsewhere because wasn't it Jesus that said that desiring the flesh was just like commitin' adultery? Granted Eric and I weren't married, but I wasn't a cheat, and I would never asked God to turn a blind eye so I could eye-fuck another man.

As my body and my eyes warred within me, Quinn, one of the bouncers, propped a chair up on stage. Then I saw something that I never thought Claude would do in a million years- he stepped down off the platform and paraded himself, bumping and grinding his way into the audience. Quinn followed at a safe distance behind making sure the lady-folk didn't get too frisky as they swarmed like bees to honey, ready to strike around him.

Women- young, middle-aged, and even old southern grandma's- were waving money frantically in the air to lure Claude's flouncing behind in their direction, but he had only one path in mind. He pumped his hips and jiggled his rump right to Miss Debbie Pelt's table for one.

I glanced over at Pam and saw a snarky grin on her face. Her eyes flickered to mine and she nodded her head slightly. Was this her code for 'the shit is about to hit the fan'? Cause I was pretty sure it was.

Claude didn't let up on his advances as he placed his derriere right into her lap and moved her hands onto his hips. Personally I thought he was playing with fire after all that Eric had been through, but something told me to trust in my friends, which was a new idea for me entirely.

Claude flipped himself around and grabbed her shoulders to steady himself as he lowered himself back onto her lap, fluttering the crown jewels into her chest. Her hands, without the probing of Claude, settled on his ass dragging him closer to her. She had this saucy smile on her face, like she thought that because she was 'all that and a bag of chips' God had gifted her with good fortune. Claude tried to extract himself, but her hands refused to release his tight ass. Smirking at her he took her hand, pulling her with him. Swaying to the music, he bumped and grinded her all the way to the stage, his hands getting a workout as they caressed the side of her capris.

My mouth flew opening watching the spectacle as she joined Claude on stage and sat in the chair that had been specifically placed. To my utter amazement, with a push of a button from Claude, the back of the chair extended so that she was laying back with her feet still dangling onto the floor.

Claude climbed onto her lap, hovering over her as he danced his way up and down her body. She placed her hands on his naked chest letting them roam as her eyes filled with a hunger that needed to be satisfied. Claude stroked along her sides and lowered his lips gently to her neck causing her head to lop back in ecstasy as she cooed his name. Even as loud as the music was the evident pleasure and moaning coming from her could be seen all over her face. She closed her eyes to his touch rolling her head from side to side in wanton pleasure over his gentle caresses. The green, bug-eyed elephant was so caught up in his embrace she didn't even notice that as he brushed her cheek with his hands he removed her sunglasses as well. Claude's face remained impassive the entire time giving away absolutely nothing.

Her head lopped from side to side as her chest heaved, and her hips bucked, attempting to create friction with his body that was just inches out of reach as he expertly hovered over her. He gently swept her face with his fingertips and his hand skillfully tangled into her faux, Texas locks. She was so far gone that she didn't even notice the tug to her wig as it joined her sunglasses on the floor.

I heard a few gasps in the audience, but apparently Miss Pelt was completely clueless because she continued to lay there totally enthralled by the Midnight Matador who was claiming her heated flesh. I snuck a glance at Pam only to see her covering her mouth in an attempt to conceal her laughter. Then it all came together- behind Pam stood someone I recognized from several weeks ago. Pam's words from that day came into my mind, 'I don't get many good blackmail opportunities anymore, I've got to take them when I can', and then I finally understood, Pam had her own God damn cameraman.

This cameraman was Eric's ticket to freedom; he had just filmed some very incriminating shit regarding an elementary school teacher. With every calculated move Claude made, he ensured that only the best pictures were taken- pictures that left no room for identifiable error or deniability. He stripped her of her costume as only her raw, vile self remained.

I couldn't help the smile that broke out on my face as the song ended and Claude speedily erected himself into a standing position to take a bow. He grabbed the Green Elephant's hand forcing her to stand next to him and face the audience. It was only then that she managed to look down, horrified to see that her blonde wig and sunglasses graced the floor. She looked out, obviously shell-shocked, at the audience as the cameraman next to Pam zoomed in for a close-up.

'Never mess with the Hoffa's,' I thought to myself as I watched the cameraman turn and hand the tape over to Pam. She on the other hand, shook his hand with a wad of cash that he covertly placed in his pocket before he walked out the door. Pam slipped the tape safely inside her bra knowing that no one would even gander a try to retrieve it from there.

Debbie Pelt stormed off the stage grabbing her wig and sunglasses and almost fell headlong off of it. Amelia, the MC, stated with a laugh 'don't trip on your way out; we know how hard it must be to not lose your hair over our charming Midnight Matador'. The audience erupted in laughter as our strip club suddenly turned into a comedy club.

Miss Pelt stomped out of the lounge throwing a tantrum like a spoiled child. It was exhilarating to see her go in a huff as she threw the wig, very messily and off center, back onto her head. I couldn't help the laughter that bubbled forth as I doubled over clutching my belly.

I sobered up a bit as I realized my tables needed tending. With an extra bounce in my step I happily took drink and appetizer orders.

Several other acts performed and I wondered where the hell Eric was. I was hoping that he got to witness the public humiliation of his soon-to-be ex-stalker. It shouldn't have taken him that long to get ready for the show. Just as I was about to abandon my tables and go on a hunt for Eric, the lights dimmed.

Amelia picked up the microphone and said, 'here is the event you've all been waiting for, I introduce to you the explosive tornado, the whirlwind of orgasmic love, the one who will sweep you off your feet in an eruption of all consuming passion. His massive biceps don't hold a candle to his girth which will volcanically peak your pleasure all night long.'

As much as the semantics (Word of the Day that I've been trying to use for the past week) were enticing, I couldn't help but think that that was the fantasy. I had the reality. Granted, Eric's stamina was like a brewing storm in that he could keep it going for hours, all the while making my body hit heights of pleasure that I never knew were possible. But the violent pleasure only appeared when he wanted to claim me, letting both of us know that I wasn't going anywhere. Most of the time Eric was tender and even sweet as his attention only focused on the pleasure he could give, not what he could take.

Only a place like Hooligans could make the songs by the Beach Boys into something so mouthwateringly arousing. Eric rode out on his motorcycle, clad in head-to-toe black leather, and revved his engine.

It happened on the strip where the road is wide,

Two cool shorts standin' side by side.

Yeah, my fuel injection Stingray and a four-thirteen,

Revvin' up the engines and it sounds real mean.

Tach it up, Tach it up,

Buddy gonna shut you down.

Only Eric could make touching a motorcycle a highly erotic experience. As his hands revved the engine I could almost feel the gentle pulling on my nipples as they pebbled under his touch. The way he leaned forward, thrusting his hips sent shivers down my spine as I imagined him pumping his hard length in my mouth. I even felt the tingle upon my swollen lips as I imagined massaging his cock with my tongue. As his leather jacket came off I shuddered as my eyes became hooded with wanton desire. I wanted to lick and suck every chiseled crevice of his solid chest. Goosebumps formed upon my flesh as his hand traveled down his abdomen, reaching for his button on his jeans to relieve himself of the constricting leather fabric. Heat burned on my flesh as my desire for him pooled between my legs. I leaned against the back wall as I tried to slow my arousal and quickened pants. Crossing my legs I tried to will away in tinge of unsatisfied pain between my thighs.

Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I stilled my movements trying to subdue my carnal appetite; wanting nothing more than to march on stage and have my wicked way with him, audience be damned. Gaining a semblance of control over my facilities I opened my eyes and watched the rest of his performance.

His beauty and grace truly took my breath away, but something disturbing caught my attention. I had been so caught up with his grandiose display that I had totally missed the obvious. Eric looked like he did my first night working at the club; cold, arrogant, and every move was performed with the boredom of knowing that every woman wanted him and he wanted not one of them.

Since the two of us had been seeing each other he would steal glances my way and even grace the audience with a few knowing smirks, showing a more candid, playful side. In fact, he had been drawing much larger crowds lately, all because women were willing to stand in line just waiting for a sexy smile from him to fall in their direction. Tonight, he exhibited none of that playfulness.

Guilt seeped into my conscience, all because a few seconds ago I was like every other woman in the room who practically orgasmed at the sight of him. I hadn't even given myself a chance to study him before I eye-fucked him, and had only thought about the pleasure he could give me. In actuality, he looked miserable, but probably only Pam and I would ever notice something like that. The rest of the audience thought that his expression, his arrogant demeanor, was all part of the show.

I watched him throughout the performance and he did not once glance my way. I just hoped that whatever had happened today he and I could make it through, because I knew that I wasn't going to allow a bitch like Debbie Pelt fuck with either of us anymore.

After the show ended I washed down my tables and prepped for the following night. Tomorrow night was Saturday and I was a bit apprehensive because it was my night to dance, but tomorrow also brought on a whole other set of problems. Tomorrow was the day I was to confront Debbie Pelt.

As I was heading to Claude's office I ran into Eric on his way out. "Hey," I said as I stepped up to him and threw my arms around his neck. I knew what a difficult time he was having and I didn't want to put any additional pressure on him by questioning his actions, but I wanted him to know that I was there for him. He encircled his arms around my waist and held me flush up against his body; it felt so right. "I missed you today," I breathed into his neck, not looking for an explanation, but simply stating a fact.

"I missed you too," he whispered sadly into my hair. "Are we on for tomorrow?" Usually when it was my night he helped me perfect my routines during the day.

"Sure. I won't be here as early tomorrow. I have some errands to run."

"So it's a date, then?" he confirmed.

"Yes," I answered.

He kissed me goodbye heatedly and I couldn't help but think that it felt more like a final goodbye kiss rather than a kiss goodnight. I knew that if Eric and I were going to salvage what we had I needed to act quickly and resolve his stalker issues.

After Eric departed for the night I knocked on Claude's office door wondering if he and Claudine had turned CNN back on for the latest Bill Compton update.

"Enter," Claude called from the other side of the door.

I opened the door slowly and saw that it was just him, Claudine was nowhere to be found. "Good evening Claude, I forgot to ask you earlier. I was wondering if I can have a copy of the security tapes that you've been going through from the night almost a month ago that went oh, so wrong." I didn't have the courage to actually speak the words, so I merely alluded to the night I was speaking of. It was definitely a night that I wanted to file away and never revisit. So many unmentionable things happened that night; I kissed my best friend, Arlene slipped a 'Mickey' into my drink, I found a naked woman in Eric's dressing room, assumed the worst, and spend the night on the side of the road in tears. Definitely not a night that I wanted to remember.

"Yes, I actually made a copy for Pam. What are you planning on doing with the footage?" he asked me seemingly interested.

"I'm not exactly sure yet, but between what we got tonight and this, I hope it will be enough to convince that chick to back the fuck off. Pam's working on something else just in case all this ammo isn't enough though. Oh, great performance by the way, you really nailed that bitch's ass to the wall."

"I do aim to please. If there is anything else I can do to help, let me know. I can't have one of my best dancers distracted with his head so far up his ass he'd need a crane to get it out." That Claude, he would do anything for the betterment of his club even if it meant pulling said head out of Eric's ass with his bare hands.

"Thanks Claude. I appreciate it, he hasn't been himself and I plan to see what I can do about that."

Claude surprised me by asking, "You love him?"

"More than anything and I can't stand by and watch that bitch ruin him," I answered honestly, not caring if it meant that I didn't have a job anymore. I was done with hiding my feelings for Eric.

He nodded, "I gathered as much, especially after viewing some of the tapes." Oh no, I think my heart skipped a beat. I had never thought of that before; that everything Eric and I did inside the club was caught on tape. My throat became instantly dry and I couldn't even form a response, thinking that this might finally be it for me. I wouldn't have to worry about quitting because Claude was about to fire me. "Sookie, I understand. As long as your relationship doesn't hinder your jobs or how you act around the customers, then I don't really care. We only have a 'no dating policy' as a club rule because we don't want lovers storming the stage when their partner is fondling an audience member. As long as you can do your job without visible jealousy, then I have no issue."

I thanked him again, not only for the tapes that I planned to review, but also for his acceptance of mine and Eric's relationship. Changing the subject to a lighter note I asked, "Any more news on that Bill Compton?"

"Yeah actually, it seems that he's been cooking the company books for quite a few years. Apparently he's a computer nerd and an MIT dropout. I guess he wasn't happy with his relatively low salary after working for that company for five years, so much so that he decided to infect their mainframe computer with a virus that overcharged each billable dollar by one penny. With their multi-billion dollar assets he was able to skim more than several million dollars from them in a three year period. The story broke because, being the ass that he is, he propositioned his secretary in the same fashion he did you. He had become complacent, sloppy, and arrogant overtime and left incriminating documents in plain view, all of which his secretary discovered. She's the one that turned the information over to the police. Plus, there's a whole lot of other shit going on that I'm sure will be uncovered over the next few weeks," he said nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders. It was clear that since it didn't directly affect him or his club, he simply didn't give a damn.

"Wow," was all I was able to say. What an ass! I thanked Claude again for everything and bounced out of the office with the security footage in hand.

Tonight, all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and go to sleep. 'Tomorrow is another day,' I reminded myself as a line from my favorite movie came to mind. Tomorrow, I would watch the security tapes, track down Pam, and blackmail a stalker, all before lunch. Then, I was set to perform in next to nothing on stage with a brand new routine. Yeah, tomorrow was definitely another day.

A/N: Thank you randomfan17 for your secretary idea and MammaMinion40 for your idea of the decimal point scam. Thank you everyone who gave me ideas. Some of them may show up in the next chapter where the Debbie Pelt saga continues.

Thanks tremendously to Sassyvampmama for her bodacious editing skills. I certainly wouldn't want to Beta me. LoL

I just wanted to let you know that I have cooked up a new story and BathshebaRocks has been working with me on it. All those months without a computer and nothing to do but write in Composition Books blossomed into this new story. I have the story completed and I am just working on editing it. I taught Shakespeare for two weeks last summer and it inspired this new idea.

It is called, Oh Captain, My Captain. It takes place in the 1500's where Eric is a vampire pirate captain who meets a fair maiden after plundering her ship. It is written in Elizabethan English. If anyone has a background in Olde English or Shakespeare and would like to be a reader please let me know. I hope to begin posting on the new story within the next month.

And I just have to confess that I practically orgasmed on the spot when Steven Tyler sang Dream On, on the American Idol finale. *Wonders what a mouth like that is capable of*