David was starting to wonder what they'd gotten themselves into when they got off the elevator. As if they were following his lead, the guys followed him cooly. But they'd grown quiet, the bubbles from the champagne wearing off. David looked over his shoulder and saw Jack bringing up the rear, his hands in his pockets, his face serious.
David turned back to the scene before him: they'd taken the elevator in the ritzy lobby all the way to the top floor; the building was higher than they realized, and the club was by word of mouth only.
They stepped out of the glass and mirror elevator and faced a pair of double doors, matte black, with a doorman the size of The Rock standing in front of it. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of black Ray Bans.
David walked forward, remembering the eight hundred dollar suit on his back, and the word Kat had given him; she had only worked one day-a Thursday no less-and made six hundred and seventy dollars.
"Wormwood," he said evenly, looking into the man's sunglasses.
The doorman stood still for a beat longer than David had anticipated. When he finally stepped to the side and pulled the right door open to the Newsies, they heard the music.
Race clapped David on the shoulder, "Nicely done, sir," as they entered a small hallway with marble floors and mirrored ceiling. There were velvet curtains at the end, and the floor vibrated gently from the bass that was blasting from the other side.
"How many entrances this place got?" Snoddy said irritably as he pulled at his tie.
"Don't start sweatin' yet," Mush squeezed Snoddy's shoulders to try and relax him. "We haven't even gone inside."
David took a breath before parting the heavy red velvet that hung before them.
The scene on the other side made them pause.
The room was the entire floor. There were two bars, both black marble, one to the right of the entrance and the other on the far back wall. There was a staircase that led up to a balcony, a VIP section, above the first bar. The place was dark, save for the low lighting scattered throughout, and the stages.
There was a main catwalk along the wall to the guys' left, which was all glass. They had the most spectacular view of Manhattan, lights glittering everywhere. The catwalk changed colors by the lights along it, casting shadows on the dancing girls above.
There were smaller lighted stages scattered throughout the room. Some tables had poles mounted in the middle with men sitting in velvet chairs around them, talking to the dancers and passing them drinks, and other tables had blackjack dealers, which caught Race's eye. "Don' even think about it," Specs said as he pushed Racetrack along.
The guys looked around for a long time to take it all in, slightly hesitant on what to do. David cleared his throat.
"I'll uh...You guys find a table," he said as he turned to them, his eyes finding Jack who looked cool as a cat. "Race and I will go get drinks."
"Now ya talkin'," Race clapped David on the shoulder and they went to the bar.
Mush looked at Jack for a moment before taking the lead to a table next to the main catwalk. The guys played the part well enough, but Jack could see they were unsure, almost uncomfortable. It was one thing to talk about women, but this was a different game than what they were used to, for this century or any other.
Spot beelined to the bar in the back.
Jack kept his hands in his pockets, his eyes darting around. He already knew she wasn't here yet, but he wasn't looking for her. He was looking at the men.
They were clouded by their own cigar smoke, laughing and drinking Grand Marnier and Highland Scotch at their tables. Anything less than a designer suit would stand out like a sore thumb. Gleaming rolex watches, shiny Armani shoes, silk ties, white gold cufflinks, Gucci socks to match the handkerchiefs in their pockets.
They all discussed politics-politicians present as well-stocks and bonds, the things Jack had heard them discuss a century ago. Their greedy hands reached out to the dancers as they walked by, their eyes raking over them.
The women looked like centerfolds: the finest lingerie, latex and silk, thigh highs stockings and boots, cleavage and thongs. Long tightly toned legs, flat stomachs, long flowing hair, big eye lashes and wet lips. They oozed sex appeal and clearly took care of themselves. Or someone else did.
This place wasn't like most strip joints; the rule "no touching" was beneath this kind of money.
Jack was too tense to sit. Mush stood next to him while Bumlets, Snoddy, Specs and Boots sat down at the table, glancing around. Jack had to laugh when he saw their eyes pop wide at the two dancers who passed their table, dressed in purple lingerie. The women winked at them.
Spot reappeared with cigars and cigarettes.
"Thank fuckin' god," Race said as he appeared with Kat at his elbow. "And look who we found to serve us, gentlemen."
Kat, with her chic bob, wore a black bustier with a clever design of a tie around her neck, black shorts that really couldn't be called shorts, black fishnet thigh highs, and black patent leather heels. Her eyes were done up, and they could tell she hated wearing makeup.
The guys stood up at once to greet Kat but she shot them a cautionary glance. They reached for their drinks instead, scotches on the rocks.
"If they think you're with me, they'll kick all of us out," Kat said loud enough for them to hear her. "I saw a girl fired yesterday when she brought her brother in. This place is serious, guys."
"You look great," Snoddy said, his ears reddening slightly.
Kat fought to hide her smile. "Medda helped me...she said it's all about confidence in outfits like this...I feel naked."
"Nothin's gonna happen to ya while we're here," Boots said firmly. "Bet your money on that."
"Have you seen her?" Jack asked evenly as he took a sip of his drink.
Kat turned to Jack next to her, meeting his dark hungry eyes. She hadn't seen him-or the others-in a suit before, and she paused for a moment, smirking.
"Well, hello, Mr. Kelly," she nudged him with her elbow and winked. The guys snickered. "And yes, she dances almost every night. She'll be performing in about twenty minutes...she's who they all come to see, really."
Jack bristled under his coat and Kat's face softened and she stepped closer to him.
"She sticks to her guns, as you Americans say...she's the only one without a price. She won't budge for anyone."
"Price?" Spot asked heatedly. The others exchanged confused glances.
"A price for sex," Kat answered with a clever grin as she turned to walk away. "She won't budge for anyone." She looked Jack over again, "Well, not yet anyway. Good luck, cowboy."
The guys crooned at Jack as Kat walked away smiling. Maybe this won't be as terrible as they thought.
Racetrack and Spot fired up two cigars and the others puffed on cigarettes. They began to relax a little, their shoulders dropping from their tense stances. They hadn't noticed David's absence until he stood next to Jack.
"What'd you find out, Davey?" Race asked over his scotch. "Davey went on a recon mission."
"Not much," he admitted with a sigh of defeat. "'s not really a place for a lot of questions. Or eavesdropping"
"People pay a lot of money for privacy," Spot observed as he scanned the room. "I'll tell you guys one thing for sure...their wives are either out spending all of their money, with their secret lovers, or all the above. I know I would be…"
"In touch with your feminine side there, Spotty?"
Spot lifted his eyebrows and hands in surrender. "I'm jus' sayin', I know scum when I sees this is New York's finest. Ya got politicians ova at that table, a couple athletes at that one...think that one plays for tha Giants...and ya got a couple celebrities ova there..."
Just then, the amount of men around them doubled: they had moved away from the bars to the main catwalk, taking chairs around tables or standing in groups, talking to each other in low voices. The music shifted to a dark, slow sensual number, and the catwalk glowed neon purple.
Jack saw velvet curtains on the wall to the far right of the stage, and someone was behind them. He felt the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rise. The guys looked at his serious expression before looking back to the stage.
"Hold fast, cowboy," Mush said to him.
The curtain moved, and a shapely leg poked out, and then an arm, the hand stroking the velvet slowly. The men crooned in approval.
Her face, breasts, and flat stomach appeared, and the men cheered louder. She moved slowly to the music, like the cigar smoke around them, and she had every pair of eyes on her, completely hypnotized.
And Jack couldn't blame them, for they didn't stand a chance. He was hypnotized too, just as he was the first time he ever saw her swimming in the river on a hot summer day at the docks, in 1900.
Except now he saw all of her...her skin untouched, no burn marks to be seen on her tight, shapely body. He didn't feel the anger he had anticipated, didn't feel raging jealousy as the eyes around him coveted her. He just watched her, the most beautiful human being he'd ever seen.
Her long dark hair fell to the small of her back-she liked to hide her face behind it-and her striking eyes were hooded by her long dark eyelashes, her long dark eyebrows. Her high cheekbones, straight nose, and narrow jaw gave her expressions a fierceness, but her full rosy lips softened her face.
She wore a sparkly purple brazier, and they could see the matching purple garter belt and dancer's thong through the sheer material of her floor length mesh skirt, which didn't stay on for very long. She moved like a true dancer, sliding along the floor and striking moves and poses that took the room by storm.
She made her way down the catwalk, meeting gazes only for a moment, her eyes glazed over. She paid more attention to her number, as if her audience wasn't there at all. Which made them want her even more.
She was almost in front of the Newsies, slowly crawling across the stage, the lights brilliant on her icy blue eyes. The guys would've felt awkward and guilty for looking at her, but just like seeing a ghost, they couldn't look away nor remove the slight sadness in their eyes.
Beautiful Ira.
Those icy blue eyes scanned over the faces and landed on Jack for the very first time.
He expected her to overlook him, to move away and finish her dance, but she froze. On hands and knees, no more than five feet away, she stopped and stared at him.
The guys were holding their breath, their eyes darting between the dancer and their friend. The men around them craned their heads to see who had stopped their show, but Jack was lost in a fog; nothing else existed around him, except her.
He didn't know what made her stare, and certainly didn't know what she was thinking; her eyes were bright and focused. But in that moment, surrounded by watching eyes and scantily clothed, he was just relieve she saw him.
All of this happened within twenty seconds.
Whether she remember her job or wanted to dance just for him, he didn't know: she slipped effortlessly back into her sultry number, her shoulders rolling like a cat's. But her eyes stayed on Jack. She stayed on the catwalk space in front of him, sliding and moving her legs around, arching her back. Jack tried to keep his breathing steady, but his heart felt like it was going to explode, among other things.
"Jesus," Race muttered as she finally went back to the center of the catwalk.
She turned her back to them, the men cheering at the view-which wasn't the city. She smoothly undid the clasp of her brazier, held it to her as she turned back around, and dropped it.
Jack almost sighed with relief when he saw sparkly purple pasties covering her. But the men cheered wildly.
And just like that, she strutted off stage and pulled back the velvet curtain. She looked back over her shoulder, her dark hair partially covering her face, and everyone cheered. Her eyes fell on Jack once more before she disappeared.
"Holy fuck," Spot muttered.
"Does this mean-?!" Mush started excitedly as the men around them dispersed. He looked at Jack, his eyes wide, "What did that mean?! Did she recognize you?"
"Meant somethin'," Racetrack said meaningfully. "Ya see tha way she looked at ya? Jesus she must've been taken by ya, Cowboy."
"Well, look at 'im," Boots said with a scoff. "I would be too."
"Watch out for these guys, Jack," Bumlets said in a low voice as he peered around. "They might put a hit on ya…"
Bumlets was right; more eyes were on Jack and his friends now than when they had entered.
Jack let out a long breath and the guys clapped him on the back. Race went to get shots.
"Oh, shit," Snoddy said suddenly. The guys followed his gaze up to the VIP section. "It's Kid."
Kid Blink-or whoever he was-was coming down the stairs from the balcony with one of the dancers. The guys watched him as he crossed the room to the other bar, whispering things to the blonde on his arm.
"I'll go," Racetrack said darkly. He met Spots' eyes, "Sees what I can hear from tha weasel..."
Spot nodded after Race and looked to Jack, "'ey, take a load off and relax a minute, cowboy. Mush, let's go get shots."
"Hell yeah," Mush exclaimed.
But Jack stayed standing; he turned to look out the window to the city below, taking deep breaths as the scene that had just played out kept repeating in his mind. He didn't want to think about Kid...didn't want to lose the good feeling he had now.
He saw David's reflection appear in the glass, standing next to him.
"So...wow," David said after a moment. "How ya feeling?"
"Enough," Jack answered honestly. He glanced sideways at David, "Suit must 'ave supapowas or somethin'."
David laughed and Jack cracked a grin.
Racetrack returned the same time Mush and Spot came back with Kat. She was carrying a tray of shot glasses.
"Please tell me that's not tequila," Specs said uneasily, eyeing the tray.
Kat giggled, "It's Irish Whisky, put your glasses back on."
The guys laughed and Specs unwillingly took his glasses out of his jacket pocket.
"C'mon, they make ya look distinguished," Bumlets said as he put his arm around Specs' shoulders.
"Yeah, four-eyes," Snoddy said over his glass, smiling.
"She's not comin' back out," Kat said as she passed out the whisky. "Tell 'em why, Race."
"Has a headache," Race said triumphantly."
The guys looked at them with furrowed brows.
"Ok...," Boots said slowly. "But she gets those all the time, so...what?"
Kat leaned in to Jack to whisper in his ear. "Because she's over my left shoulder, still behind the curtain."
Jack looked up from Kat's face, his eyes scanning the stage and the curtain along the wall where she had emerged before…
"'Cause she's too busy watchin' you, cowboy," Racetrack said with a wide grin, lifting his glass. "Play it cool, you got her."
The guys fought hard not to look around, grinning like mad men at Jack.
But Jack saw a pair of eyes catch the lights of the club, and he risked a small grin before he saw them disappear. He knew she wouldn't come back, even though he would have waited all night for her.
"C'mon," he said huskily. "Let's find a real bar."
They threw back their shots, discreetly said goodbye to Kat, whom they'd meet up with later after her shift, and quickly left the nightclub.
