Mary quickly jumped back into her car, ready to speed away once again. But when she inserted the keys into the ignition, a queasy feeling prevented her from turning them. Perhaps the feeling stemmed from the thought that, were she to start the engine and race away again, she would just be repeating the behavior pattern that had gotten her where she was now: unemployed and alone.
It was a behavior pattern she wanted to change. That was why she had made the promise to herself: the next place she saw, she would apply for a job, and she would get hired. She wondered though, in this case shouldn't she break the vow? After all, a job at this place might involve taking her clothes off in front of people. Wasn't her dignity worth more than another silly broken promise?
Or was it? She had already broken so many promises in her life that her word was barely worth listening to. Never came through on that promise to pay back the money she had borrowed from the twins. Promised Wilson's son Billy that she would stay in his life, yet she hadn't talked to the boy in almost a year. Was it worth salvaging her dignity to break another vow, even if it had only been a silent pledge to herself?
"No," she decided. "Enough with the broken promises and the aimlessness." With stronger resolve, Mary stepped out of the car and entered the Foxxy Laydee.
The entryway was a simple cubical space, about twenty feet in each dimension, with deep purple walls. The window glass on the front doors was painted black on the inside, preventing most of the day's abundant sunlight from streaming in. Even though it was only about 10:30 in the morning, Mary could hear laughing voices, clinking glasses, and bass pounding from speakers inside the club. She glanced across the entryway and saw that an attractive young blond woman dressed in a sheer white blouse stood behind a counter on the far end.
"May I help you?" the woman apathetically asked Mary while leafing through a glamour magazine.
"Um, yes, ma'am. I was wondering if you were, maybe…I mean, I was thinking about possibly, um…you know, working here?" Mary finally found the words within herself.
"You were wondering if we were hiring?" the woman decoded from Mary's babbling.
Mary nodded.
"Let me go get the manager," the woman replied, disappearing into the club.
After the woman had left, Mary peeked through the opening into the club area. Approximately a dozen men sat scattered throughout the establishment drinking beers or cocktails, all of them with decent vantage points to the main stage. The men watched as three girls danced in varying amounts of clothing.
One thin, shy-looking girl in a Catholic schoolgirl skirt, high white socks, black heels, and a tight white blouse, buttoned very low to expose her medium-sized braless cleavage, danced on the left side of the stage. A more confident-looking dark-skinned beauty danced center stage in nothing more than a lime green thong bikini bottom and high heels. Her breasts bounced bodaciously as she bobbed around a pole to the beat of the music. At least half of the dozen or so men in the club were seated close enough to stuff bills of varying increments into her garter, should she be so kind as to grace them by dancing into their proximity. Finally, on the right side of the stage danced the girl Mary thought was the most beautiful of the three. She had creamy skin, full, red, pouty lips, and long, silky brown hair streaming from beneath a cowboy hat. She wore a skimpy red leather vest, heeled red cowboy boots, a red-white-and-blue g-string bikini, and a holster containing two toy pistols she pulled out to "fire" at random patrons every now and then. The wad of bills in her garter was substantial, but not as large as that of the girl in the center.
"Wow, this place is really cheesy," Mary thought. "It's bad enough that I'm about to apply for a job here, but if they make me wear outfits like the schoolgirl or the cowgirl? I'd rather go near-nude like the girl in the middle."
Mary was so entranced by the cowgirl's dancing that she hardly noticed when the woman from the front counter had returned with the manager. As he stepped into her view, she observed that he was probably in his mid-thirties, in shape, somewhat handsome, and dressed in a sharp dark blue business-casual shirt and grey tie. His hair had greyed a bit on the sides to match the tie, though it was not thinning at all. He had slicked it back, which gave him the appearance of being a touch on the sleazy side.
"So you're looking for a job here?" he asked Mary curtly.
"Um, I think so…" Mary answered uncertainly, mentally cursing herself for her lack of enthusiasm.
"Well, we don't need any more waitresses or bartenders, but we are a couple dancers short at the present time. Can you dance?"
Mary swallowed her pride and put on a brave face, eagerly answering, "Can I ever."
He hastily looked Mary up and down, then turned to the woman from the front counter and apathetically said, "Yeah, she'll do. Have her fill out an application." He then abruptly exited to the mysterious nether region of the club from which he had come.
"Here," the woman from the front counter impolitely beckoned Mary back into the entryway. "Fill this out," she said, handing Mary an application form.
Mary grabbed a pen from the counter, moved back into the club area, and sat down at a table in the back to complete the application. She filled it out in a leisurely fashion while she looked around the club, letting her surroundings soak in.
She noticed that the walls were the same deep purple as those in the entryway. The floor was a slick black tile surface, and it appeared to have been cleaned recently. "Points for cleanliness," Mary thought. The faint smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, hinting that the place might become much smokier during brisk business hours. "I miss California's no-smoking laws," she thought wistfully. Soft ceiling lights, augmented here and there by neon beer signs, dimly lit the room. There were at least thirty tables with four seats apiece, as well as additional seats in front of the bars and the stages. Four bars were strategically spaced at different spots around the establishment, each one conveniently near to a stage. The main stage covered an entire wall and was large enough to hold about six girls. In addition, there were three side stages not in use at the moment, which looked large enough for three girls apiece.
The schoolgirl, cowgirl, and thong girl all danced on the main stage. Mary studied each of them carefully, watching their moves as the men occasionally stuffed dollar bills in their garters. She knew she could do better than any of them. She could dance sexier and make more money; she just knew it.
Mary finished the application and turned it in to the girl at the counter. Then the girl began a speech, delivering it blandly, as if for the hundredth time. "We'll call you back if we're interested. Please be aware that exotic dancing is a very competitive business and we may not be able to offer you a position. Thank you very much for your interest and have a nice day." Finished, she immediately lowered her eyes back to the glamour magazine, which she found much more interesting than Mary.
Mary turned to leave. As she ambled through the black-painted doors back toward her car, the sunlight hit her once again and she wondered aloud to herself, "My God. What have I just gotten myself into?"