Peepshow (5 page)

Aurora, Betty and one of the other girls I’d been introduced to were slowly grinding on the podiums.

More dancers had started and worked the floor. They were quick. Soon as the guys sat down girls would come and sit on the arms of their chairs or stand in front of them wiggling suggestively. I wondered what they could possibly be talking about. Current affairs? The state of the economy? The girls gave the punters five minutes and if they didn’t bag a lap dance they moved on.

I drained my glass and asked for another, paying with money from my garter. It was now or never. I had to fit in and I’d end up leaving with less money than I came with if I sat at the bar all night. I slid off my barstool and approached a group of three men in business suits the other girls had given up on.

‘Hi, guys,’ I sat in a chair opposite them. ‘Having a good night?’

‘I hope you’re not going to hassle us for a lap dance.’

The eldest of the three was fat, ruddy and smelled of scotch. ‘It’s fucking mercenary. Every two minutes—do you want a lap dance? Twenty bucks? What do you get for twenty bucks? Can’t even touch.’

I shrugged. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t even know how to lap dance. It’s my first night.’

‘Bullshit’ he spat.

‘It’s true. You’ll see when I get on the podium. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know any pole tricks. I’ll probably fall off the goddamn thing.’

‘You must have stripped before?’ This one looked forty but was probably twenty-seven. He was balding and paunchy. Office jobs seemed to do that to a fellow.

‘No,’ I lied.

‘Are you nervous?’ asked the youngest.

‘I’m shitting bricks.’

Fat guy leaned back and laughed, spilling scotch on his ample thigh. ‘So what made you decide to do this?’

‘I’m studying to be a beauty therapist,’ I said, ‘and the fees are, like, so expensive. I was working part time in Coles but it just wasn’t enough money.’

‘Not putting yourself through medical school then?’ he sneered.

You impotent prick, I thought, smiling sweetly.

‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ The young one was awkward in his cheap suit. ‘What does he think about you working here?’

‘No, no boyfriend.’ I tried to look wistful. ‘I don’t think you can do this sort of work and have a relationship.’

The young guy nodded. ‘I’m Tim.’

‘Vivien’

‘Like that’s your real name.’ Fat guy nudged bald guy.

‘Tim’s in love.’ They laughed and Tim blushed. ‘Hey, Vivien, Tim’s never been to a titty bar before. Why don’t you give him a lap dance?’

‘Yeah,’ laughed bald guy, ‘it’ll be hilarious. Like two virgins trying to have sex.’

Fat guy took out his wallet and angled it so I could see his big wad of cash. He plucked out a twenty and checked it carefully in the low light, making sure it wasn’t a fifty. He held the note out then pulled it back when I reached for it: ‘Uh-uh.’ He pointed to my leg. His fat sweaty fingers fumbled around my garter.

‘OK, Tim, let’s go.’ I stood up.

‘Can’t you do it here?’ bald guy whined. I shook my head and led Tim over to the couches. He sat down with his hands in his lap.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’ve never done this before.’

‘It’s pretty easy. You’ve just got to sit there and try not to touch me.’

A schmaltzy song by some American boy band was playing. Not my preferred stripping music but it would have to do. I looked over at another girl lap dancing and copied her. I swayed in front of Tim, took off my top and shorts, and then my bikini. I put my knees on either side of his legs and pushed my breasts close to his face.

When I put a palm to his chest for support I felt his heart beating like a frightened rabbit. At the end of the second song I bent over in front of him.

‘There you go,’ I said, putting on my clothes.

‘That was great.’ Tim stood up. ‘Do you want to come back over and have a drink with us?’ His companions were laughing and waving. Aurora saved me.

‘She’s due up on the podium, sweetie.’ She took my arm and led me away. ‘I can’t believe you got a dance out of those tight-arses.’

‘Hardest twenty bucks I ever made.’

‘It gets easier. You ever worked in sales?’

‘No.’

‘I used to work at a cosmetics counter, commission work. It’s quite similar.’ Aurora opened the door to the girls’ room. ‘There was this one girl, Samantha, not that great looking, average body, but she came here with a telemarketing background. Direct sales? Made an absolute fortune. Bought a house.’

‘Wow.’ We were at the backstage area, peering through the curtains.

‘You’re on two,’ said Aurora, ‘the middle one.’

A statuesque redhead was hanging upside down on the pole, spinning around.

‘What the fuck,’ I said.

‘That’s Flame. She’s a pole-dancing champion, won the state finals last year and came runner-up in the nationals.’

Chloe had mentioned that Flame was kind of like Frank’s girlfriend. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘You don’t have to. Just go and be sexy. You’ll be fine.’ Flame had spotted us in the wings and looked over.

‘Go while she’s there, that way the podiums are never empty.’

I walked along the catwalk thinking, don’t fall over.

Three champagnes and no dinner had made me light-headed.

‘Hi,’ I said as Flame prepared to walk backstage.

‘How’s it been?’

‘Fucking dead.’ She stalked off. Lovely. Still, I had to remember she’d just lost her ‘sort-of ’ boyfriend.

I gripped the pole with one hand and walked around it. You got a good view of things from up there.

I checked out the other dancers. One of the girls sat on the edge of the podium with her ankles on a guy’s shoulders so none of the other men could see between her legs. An old man wearing a cardigan sat down and I smiled at him and crawled up to the edge of the table like I’d seen the others do.

‘Are you new here?’ His false teeth clicked as he spoke.

‘Sure am.’

‘You’re very pretty.’

‘Thanks.’ I waited for him to give me money but he just sat there with his hand in his pocket. I got up and danced around the pole. This was getting embarrassing.

I was glad I’d taken Anais’s advice and stuck some money in my garter so I didn’t look like a complete loser. Tim came up and I thought he should be good for a twenty.

I got down on my knees in front of him, all sexy-like.

‘Hi, Tim.’

‘Hi.’ He opened his wallet, took out a business card and handed it to me. ‘I really like you,’ he slurred. ‘I think you’re a really nice person for a stripper. So, if you ever want to go out for coffee . . .’

Coffee? I thought. Coffee?

Tim looked back at his workmates. They were getting up to leave.

‘I’ve got to go, beautiful. Cal me.’ He walked off banging his leg into a chair. This was going from bad to worse. The old man sat there, moving his false teeth around with his tongue. Final y he withdrew a crumpled ten-dollar note from his pocket and held it up. I put it in my garter and noticed it was slightly damp. I unzipped my latex number and took off my bra. Everyone else in the place looked over, copping a free perve. Anais stalked down the catwalk trailing a whip. Thank god. I put my top back on and gave the old man a tight smile: ‘Gotta go.’

As I stood at the bar working on champagne number four I realised I’d made thirty dollars but spent twenty; hadn’t learned a single thing about Frank and my feet were beginning to ache from the boots. Great result.

Two men walked into the club and sat at a table not far from me. Five girls homed in on them but stopped when I got there first. The champagne was making me proactive.

‘Mind if I sit down, gentlemen?’ I plonked myself in a spare chair without waiting for a reply. ‘My name’s Vivien.’

‘Alex,’ said the older and more suave of the two, ‘and this is my colleague, Grant.’

Grant had a buzz cut and a sunburned face. He was also extremely pissed and gaped at the dancers, eyes glazed and mouth hanging open.

‘He’s originally from Queensland,’ Alex explained.

‘Ah,’ I said.

Emma came past and Alex ordered a double scotch for himself, beer for his friend and another champagne for me. Grant was mesmerised by Emma’s tits and slowly reached out a hand like he was about to go the grope.

‘Boobies,’ he said.

‘Grant!’ Alex smacked his hand down and Grant giggled. Alex and I exchanged a look. He had dark, sexy eyes.

‘What have you boys been up to tonight?’

‘Nothing much, been to the casino and now here.

I like your boots.’

‘Puss in boots,’ slurred Grant. ‘Pussy in boots.’ He laughed at his play on words.

‘Not only devilishly handsome but a rapier-like wit,’

I said.

Alex studied my face. ‘This your only job?’ he asked.

‘I’m studying to be a beautician.’ I tilted my head to the side and he looked dubious. Emma came back with the drinks. Alex paid and told her to keep the change while Grant stared at Emma’s boobs like a starving infant.

‘And what do you do, Alex?’ I examined him over the rim of my glass. Dark hair, expensive haircut, maroon shirt, fabulous shoes.

‘Guess.’

‘Dolphin trainer?’

‘No,’ he laughed.

‘Bikini waxer to the stars?’

‘I wish.’

‘I give up,’ I said. ‘You may as well tell me.’

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. ‘I’m a cop.’

My brain started buzzing. Cops have access to all sorts of information. And what was he doing here, so soon after the murder?

‘You don’t look like a cop,’ I said. He seemed pleased.

‘My job doesn’t freak you out?’

‘No. Cops are tops. Just like the sticker says. What sort of cop are you?’

‘I’m a detective with the CIB. Criminal Investigation Bureau.’

A skinny stripper perched on the edge of Grant’s chair and whispered to him. Her blond hairpiece didn’t quite match the colour of her hair. She took his hand and led him over to the couches.

Alex rolled his eyes. ‘I apologise for Grant.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ I plucked the strawberry from my glass and nibbled at it. ‘Hey, do CIB guys mix with cops from Homicide?’

‘Sometimes.’ He was cagey.

‘Do they have any suspects in the Parisi murder?’

He raised one eyebrow and almost smiled. ‘I’m not at liberty to comment.’

‘Have any theories of your own?’ I asked.

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘He was a wonderful guy and a terrific boss. I just want to see the killer brought to justice.’

‘Come off it. He was a sleaze. You girls told the taskforce yourselves. If he hadn’t been murdered it was only a matter of time before he was charged with sexual assault.’

‘My,’ I said, ‘don’t we know a lot about a case we’re not even working on? Why’d you come here? Why not some other club?’

‘Professional interest. You ask too many questions.

You’re not an undercover cop but I don’t think you’re a stripper.’

I smiled. ‘Why don’t you get a lap dance and find out?’

‘Nah.’ He shook his head

‘Why not?’

‘I always swore I’d never pay for a lap dance.’

‘Because you’re too cheap? Can’t afford it?’

‘No.’

I sat back and crossed my arms. ‘Would you feel like you were exploiting me?’

‘Well . . .’

‘Or that I’m exploiting you? Poor delicate flower.’

‘I’m just not that desperate,’ he smirked.

‘Well, it was nice talking to you, Detective.’ I got up to leave. ‘But if you’re not having a private dance I’m going to have to go and mingle.’ I tipped the last of the champagne down my throat and turned to saunter off.

Alex grabbed my wrist. ‘All right, how much?’

‘Fifty dollars for a fantasy dance in one of the private rooms.’

He took a leather wallet from his inside jacket pocket and slid out a green hundred.

‘Keep the change.’

‘Follow me.’

He grabbed his drink and I led him by the hand through the club. In the time we’d sat talking the place had really filled up. Blondes in fluorescent bikinis flirted convincingly with men in neat casual. There were suits, country guys, and the occasional tragic pisspot who’d been left behind by his friends. I even saw a minor soap star and the son of an ex-premier. Music pounded and the podiums were full. Frank’s murder had given the club the sort of publicity money couldn’t buy. It was notorious and when people came to the Red they felt like they were real y taking a walk on the wild side, if only for a few hours. I gave the money to Emma, selected a tape, then took Alex to the private room at the end of the corridor. Two other rooms were busy and music melded together like an out-of-tune radio. He sat in the armchair and put his drink down. ‘I like the Zebra rug, classy.’

‘Here at the Red Room the eighties never ended,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘It’s a fantasy dance. I have to get changed into my fantasy outfit.’

‘You mean that’s not it?’

Backstage I found the box I was looking for, cop, and changed into navy hot pants, a light blue shirt and police hat. A utility belt with handcuffs and a toy gun fitted snugly around my waist. I swaggered into the room pointing the gun at Alex. ‘You’re nicked, sunshine.’

He groaned. ‘You have got to be joking.’

I put the tape in, pressed play and the theme song from
Cops
, ‘Bad Boys’, blasted out. Alex shook his head.

I swayed my hips and looked him straight in the eye.

It’s the most important part of striptease, the look, more important even than removal of the undies. The bold female sexual gaze, if you want to get academic about it.

I swung my hair and ran my hands from my breasts to my hips. Alex swallowed. If he’d been wearing a tie he would have loosened it.

I remembered how much I loved stripping, not the hustle but the dancing, the rush of power and control.

You could be sexual and shameless yet completely insular, intimate without giving any of yourself away.

The tease, the ice princess. You want me but you can’t have me. It was an affair with no sex, the endorphin rush when you fell in love.