"What the fuck you doin', Beth?"
The mirror doesn't have any answers for her and she sighs, collapses down onto her chair to drop her sweaty forehead onto her crossed arms. For a long time, she just keeps thinking one thing: what the hell am I doing here?
The door suddenly raps sharply and she sits up, turning her legs to look at her boss when she puts her golden head in. "You ready? The stag party just got in."
"Erm, yeah. Just fixin' my face."
Andrea levels her with a sharp -don't-fuck-with-me- look that makes Beth's forehead break out in a new sweat. "Make it quick. I'm gettin' a lot off these guys an' you can too if you're clever."
Beth nods. "Yeah, no, sure, I'm right there."
Her boss nods and pulls herself back out of the door, closing it with a punctured little click into Beth's internal nightmare. She groans and glances back in the mirror, pulling her makeup bag closer so she can rifle through quickly and retouch her sweaty face. Whilst she works, fixing the smudge in her eyeliner and re-lining her lips, Beth tries to breathe evenly.
It's only her second night in Desires of the heart -which makes her cringe to even think of- and she's not feeling any better than her first. It's possible she even feels worse and everything is screaming at her to just put her clothes on and leave, but she can't because her problems don't just go away when she gets too uncomfortable and gives up.
The worst part is she's such a fucking cliche. A young girl, barely twenty-one who thought she could live big and fell hard instead. All she ever wanted to do was be a singer but she knew it was never going to happen being Beth Greene, working on her daddy's farm. It meant leaving, moving out to LA to work tables and hand off her CD to anyone who would take it. Nearly two years were spent doing that, with nightly mentions from her mama that it 'might be better if you come home, dear' and her pride persistently ensuring her parents that she was fine, that she was getting somewhere.
She was getting somewhere alright, getting herself right into debt, was doing that quite well. Until luck shone down in the form of an agent who claimed to have heard her CD and offered her a job, entertaining. Of course, Beth thought she hit it big and she hauled her naïve little ass back to Atlanta to attend her interview at Desires of the heart. It says something that she didn't guess she was interviewing to be a stripper when she saw the name. True to form, the place is a dingy, seedy little cesspit of back street blow jobs and sly twenty dollars passed between grubby hands for a ride in the private rooms.
It's tucked into one of the tiniest, -you-will-be-stabbed-here- streets Beth has ever seen and despite seeing it in all its glory, she still hasn't left. Of course, at first, when she came to the horrified realisation that she was being asked to strip for money Beth had practically screamed 'no way' and gathered her things to get the hell out of dodge, when Andrea, her boss, mentioned something along the lines of 'at least four hundred dollars anight' and Beth had given pause. What the crafty blonde hadn't mentioned was that you had to do a lot to earn that kind of money, any kind of money.
The girls in here were Feisty, with a capital F and they had their nails hooked into all the regulars. If someone or a group weren't regulars, there was a very silent, very furious game of who would win them. Sometimes girls would pair up to take on a group, but they were catty and only took the best girl out of the pool. For Beth, in the two days that she had been here and the countless times there has been an opportunity to entertain, bar tend or dance for a client or group of clients, she had never been picked.
After expressing concerns with Andrea last night, her boss had told her to give it time. The new girls were always the first to be chosen and she had the look of a 'barely legal teen that drive the men wild' after which she gave a pointed look to Beth's small breasts. Really, she should have known then to run and yet here she is, finishing her lips and readjusting her bra.
"Boss lady says now, B," one of the bouncer's hollers through her door.
"Comin'!" She shouts back, quickly lacing up her thigh high heels.
When she stands it's a little wobbly on the thin heel as she only really wears converse in her day to day, normal life, stretches the boat out to some wedges if she's going somewhere really fancy and she takes a moment to test her weight in her shoes. It wouldn't do to slip on stage when she's already doing so poor in here. Taking a deep breath, she pulls open her door and lets in all the noises and smells, lets them wash over and through her. The pounding music, the flashing lights, the chatter, the sticky sweet tang of sweat and oppression, cigarettes that linger on clothes after clients and workers slip out back to the smoking area.
It's heady and really it works like a cloak, like a face that isn't her own as it settles into a firm mask, ready to transform into smiles for the client flashing the cash. Only a dry swallow as she steps into the main club is a hint of her true self and she gets it over quickly, scanning the contents of the room for where she needs to be.
Andrea has a stag do in but it's pick of the litter out on the floor, Beth can already see. Girls converging together to whisper and eye the fresh meat, other more independent girls putting an extra sway to their hips as they pass the loud, raucous table full of the stag party, a group of men that don't look as if they attend these things too regularly.
As she crosses the floor to the stage, Rosita's piece done with and her song coming to an end, Beth runs through her song in her head again. Due to the stag party's presence, her boss insisted on a 'look what the club has to offer' talent show that she always tells clients is a 'never before' thing but a tactic that she does almost every night, according to her co-worker Stacey. Whatever it is the girls decide to do on stage is fine with Andrea, so long as they incorporate sexy and a 'pick me' vibe that rakes in the cash.
Since every girl is trying to sell their bodies and lap dance skills, pretty much all the girls working tonight have decided to sing and dance or mime and dance, in most cases. Beth didn't want to be the same as the others, but there is literally nothing else she knows how to do other than sing, so it's all she's got. As the club quiets down waiting for the next act, which is her, she climbs up the steps leading to the stage amongst hollers and catcalls.
Since she's new, Andrea joins her to sell her as much as she can, pointing out her 'girl next door looks' and recent joining of the club. Smiling her thanks, Beth takes the mic and stands as tall as she can, turning just enough for the lights to catch her pale skin and wrap it in shadow, which she's seen Michonne do countless times and which does wonders to her dark complex. She's hoping it will do the same for her milk bottle flesh.
"Hey, everyone, how ya'll doin' tonight?" There's an answering murmur from the crowd which isn't too bad but also isn't the answer favourites like Michonne or Rosita get. She forces her smile wider, "gonna sing ya'll a song I hope you like an' enjoy your time at Heart's desire."
It's amazing that she's not blushing to high heaven as the lights die down and her track starts up: Beyoncé – dance for you. With the club now dark, she starts her song, taking the mic from the stand to sit down on a chair. With the first few words strumming into the air, Beth slowly spreads her legs, one hand holding the mic and the other sliding down her smooth skin. There's a scattered rush of voices, of approving whistles as she gets further along into the song and her dance, running her hand over her skin and through her curled hair, tilting her head with a sensual roll of her hips and spreading her legs.
A sweat works up fairly quickly, as does the heat, despite the thin slip of silk gold she's masquerading as a dress. It's almost autopilot, her performance as she's practised it all day, despite her lack of sleep the night before, drilling the routine into her tired brain over and over again, forcing muscle memory to pair up with her. Know which line to spread her legs, which line to turn her back to the crowd, sweeping faux hesitant fingers over the globes of her ass and her hips. She's nearly at the end and she hopes she's selling it to at least one of the guys on the stag table because if she doesn't make money tonight she doesn't plan to come back tomorrow.
When she swings the chair out from under her and turns to the crowd with a sexy dip of her hips, Beth's voice catches mid-word until she covers it with a hum. From the very corner of the room, on the stag table, nestled between the leering men is a man with the bluest eyes she's ever goddamn seen, shining through the thick darkness of the room and searing into her gut. They follow her everywhere, sweep over her flesh like a heavy hand and suddenly there's a fresh sweat upon her, a pulse of heat between her thighs.
God, it's obscene for her to get wet over someone's eye colour for Christ sakes, but it doesn't stop it from happening and she barely has comprehension of the lyrics she's singing as she finishes them. There's a polite applause, a cheer somewhere in the crowd and Beth smiles politely, crossing the stage to descend the steps. Really, she needs a minute to calm the fuck down but she hasn't got a minute. Girls have already tried their luck at the table, some in fours, threesomes, couples and a brave one.
Her eyes root through the crowd and find Michonne getting a drink at the bar, so she hurries over. "Hey, you wanna tackle that stag group?"
Michonne turns to her with a firm pout, not her usual scowl but not a smile either and looks at the group Beth indicates before she looks back at her with a shake of the head. "Nuh-uh, they don't look like they got a twenty between 'em."
Beth frowns and looks closer, taking in the ragged cut sleeves and the wrinkled shirts. There looks to be about four men in total, although she could swear there was more with all the noise they were making. "They're not that bad, s'not like we're a high flyin' place anyhow."
Michonne peels her lips slightly, giving them another once over. "Fine, but the dark haired one's mine."
Disappointment curls in her gut as she looks at the man with long dark hair and blue eyes that held her captive on stage. "The one with the long hair?"
Michonne looks again and shakes her head. "Hillbilly ain't my type an' that old guy looks like his overbearin' brother who's gonna want some threesome shit that frankly, I ain't down for. No, the one in the middle, the groom."
Beth snorts, peering closer and finding the one in the middle has a big, star-shaped badge that could be real if not for the Groom printed on it. "You're brave, the guys gettin' married, he probably got dragged here an' can't wait to high tail his damn self back to his wife."
Michonne shrugs. "Ain't no one else on that table I want, so agree or don't, I ain't got all night."
Beth nods easily. "Have him, I'm lookin' at someone else."
Her co-worker doesn't ask who her eyes have been caught by and simply joins Beth as she makes her way over, trying to keep her balance as she squeezes through tightly packed tables and chairs being abruptly pulled out. As she gets closer, she sees there are five men. The groom, a dark haired friend to his left with a short hair style, the man she had her eye on and the older, possibly oldest guy next to him. When she manages to get to the table, Michonne is right behind her and Beth's eyes immediately connect with the guy she's after for the night before she looks at the groom.
"Hi fellas, want some company?"
The groom looks at her, blue eyes kind and brown hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, and smiles politely, which Beth knows is the tell-tale 'thanks but no thanks' dismissal clients use until he looks at Michonne. "Er, hey, ladies. What're you offerin'?"
"Whatever you want," her co-worker answers briskly.
Beth tries to hold her smile but it's pained. The hell is Michonne playing at? She's always got a scowl or frown on, but Beth thought she would at least pretend for clients. How on Earth does she ever get any work? But then she sees the way the groom eyes Michonne's tight mouth and fierce stance, watches the light sparkle in his eye and she knows. Michonne is feisty, and it seems that she targets Alpha males in here because their natural reaction is to tame a rebellious woman and get delicious hell for it.
Beth can't help thinking Michonne is smart as fuck and whether she should adopt the same attitude when the older man of the group speaks up in a slur. "Hi, darlin'."
She glances to her right where the man leans over the guy she's aiming for, holding a bottle in his palm. "Name's Merle, what's yours princess?"
She smiles politely. "B."
"Huh?" He frowns, leaning closer to hear over the music. "Said, what's ya name?"
"B!" Beth hollers a little louder as Michonne talks with the groom to her left and the friend he has on either side of him.
"Huh!?"
"Said her fuckin' names 'B' Merle, fuck."
Beth glances at the guy next to Merle who had spoken, shoving the older man back into his seat. It's the guy she's got her hopes set on and she puts an extra bounce to her cheeks. "Hey."
He dips his head but Merle speaks over him, "fuck off, Darylina, she's too young for ya! Or you into that barely legal shit?"
"Fuck off, Merle," the man cusses. "She's too damn young for you, old man."
"I'm right here," Beth cuts in, her cheeks flaming.
How degrading that in a strip club she's being called young. The man's cheeks go a little red like she scolded him and his friend, possibly his brother from the shape of their mouths, stands from the table and knocks into her as he sets eyes on a stripper behind her.
Beth huffs a little and straightens on her heels, a hand suddenly gripping her wrist to steady her. "Sorry, Merle's a dick when he's had a drink."
"It's fine," she says a little harshly before she softens her voice. "Thanks."
"S'alright," he answers as he lets go of her wrist and settles back in the booth. "Name's Daryl, Merle just thinks he's fuckin' hilarious."
She opens her mouth to say something when the groom leans over the table and interrupts. "Hey, your friends gonna stay, you wanna join?"
Beth looks at the groom and Michonne who flares her eyes a little in a -hurry-up-idiot- kind of way that makes Beth blush. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll stay. You guys wanna drink?"
The groom nods and indicates for her to lean closer. "Got a tab at the bar. Rick Grimes. Four beers and whatever you an' your friend is havin'!" He yells over a track that's particularly loud.
"Thanks!"
She turns and Michonne sits, squeezing in between the groom, who she assumes is Rick and the friend Rick has on his left with the short, dark hair. As she's about to turn forward she catches eyes with that friend who smirks at her and slips out of the booth, making it clear that he wants her to hold up. Beth slows down and waits for him to join her side where he wraps his arm around her waist.
Heat curls her spine and she pulls away with a flush. "No touchin'! Against the rules!"
The man leans in with a smile and hovers his hand very close to her ass. "Don't you wanna break some?"
She does something with her face that might be another smile as she keeps walking to the bar. She had her eye on Daryl, but he doesn't seem interested in asking for a dance. This guy isn't too bad, even if he is a little cocky and it's clear he's willing to spend money on her. There's no way she can be picky if she wants tonight to be worth it. They reach the bar and she stretches on her tiptoes over the counter to shout her order and whose tab it will go on. When she looks back, the man who joined her is leisurely looking at her ass and thighs, trailing over every lace on her thigh highs.
When he sees her looking, he leans into her ear. "You look gorgeous."
Beth smiles, replies into his ear, "thank you, you don't look too bad yourself."
It's true, he doesn't. Dark hair and eyes, a square jaw and nice lips, looks muscular under his shirt and he's tall, which is something she has a thing for. He's not quite rough and ready the way Daryl is, but he's in that area and Beth supposes she could have done worse. Merle, for instance. She's just a little bitter that the one guy she wanted wasn't interested, the one guy who, in her opinion, is the most attractive of all of them, though she has to admit the friend that's trailed her to the bar would be ranked second.
He leans in again now, his lips almost touching her ear. "You wanna dance for me, beautiful?"
The waitress appears with a tray and Beth takes it, passing the guy his beer. "Tell me your name an' I'll consider it."
He grins. "I like 'em cheeky. Shane. You?"
"B," she answers.
"Mysterious," Shane laughs, tipping the beer back into his mouth.
Beth smirks. "I try."
They walk back to the table where Beth puts the tray down and starts passing out drinks, sliding the last one to Daryl with a flirty smile. He jerks his head in thanks, but doesn't talk and she has to stop herself from groaning as Shane pulls her down on his lap. Looks like she really is stuck with this guy, so she best do what she can to keep his interest and his money.
Turning her head, she lets her lips get a little closer than she knows is strictly allowed, her fingers drifting over his forearm around her waist. "You want your dance now?"
He nods, smiling against her cheek as he mouths his words there. "You gotta back room?"
"Yeah, c'mon."
Beth stands and takes his hand, indicating the back room with a tilt of her head. With Shane indicating one minute with his one hand to talk to Rick, holding hers with his other, she turns and bumps into a broad chest. "Sorry!"
Glancing up, it's Daryl who looks down at her with bright blue eyes until he leans down to her height to whisper in her ear, "you free for a dance?"
Her mouth dries up quicker than anything she's ever experienced in her life, her pulse thrumming under her skin as she tilts into his ear. "Your friend already asked. Rules of the house."
"Wait there," Daryl replies.
He passes her to Shane where they hunch close to talk to each other. Shane releases her hand and a couple of times looks past Daryl at her with a scowl, like she's done something wrong but then she notices, with a flutter in her stomach, that Daryl seems to have won the fight. He stands with a straight face, making no indication to his sudden change of heart before he nods at her to lead the way.