Garcia as she so bluntly said when we first met, was a sex worker in the gentleman's club I work at because calling her a prostitute is rude, she is a thirty five years old and has a body to die for. She is an immigrant from Mexico and when she couldn't get a job because she didn't go to school, she settled for the job that had made her leave her birth country. I admire her strength.
Though she says the American men are better than the Mexicans, they treated the women like trash and she knew she would end up in a trash can somewhere had she stayed because of cartel wars, so her punishment is also her escape.
She has told me more than once that she hated selling her body but now she was used to it, that there was a small part of her that actually enjoyed it. She'd joked saying it was probably in her blood, her mother had been a prostitute and she didn't know who her father was.
I shake my head and look up at her with pleading eyes.
"Gar please, I really need to do this before it's Showtime, I know I'll be tired before I get home." She let out a sigh and I immediately know that I've won.
She switched on the flashlight of her new iPhone, courtesy of one of her numerous lovers. I thought she was searching for something but she kept it near me before waking out. I shout a thanks as she walked out but I'm not sure she heard, it doesn't matter because she knows I'm grateful.
The club had everything alright but they never really cared to put good lighting in the changing room.
I at least get through one page, not that I understood or could recall anything expect one fact, carbon is a hoe and needs four men to be satisfied. Greedy bitch.
My out of date phone vibrates in my jeans pocket, reminding me to get dressed. I look between my books and the outfit waiting for me on the hanger, I recline more to my books before I heard a bang and I jump up, frightened.
"Why the fuck are you not dressed?" As far as stereotypes go, my life definitely doesn't follow that path and that's why I have the nastiest boss.
You know how in most books the girl has two jobs, the female lead has the best boss at her hoe job and he helps her, yeah, it's not the same with me and that is why my boss, Damon son of a bitch Clark is staring down his nose at me like I'm some annoying kid he has to babysit.
Well I've got sass that's for sure and I hope he'll fire me so I can smirk smugly at my stupid stepmother but that doesn't seem to be happening.
"You waste my time, I'll increase your hours, now do yourself a favour and get your little ass in that outfit and get the fuck out before I lose my temper." He bangs the door on his way out and I let out a huff. This sucks.
I don't know why there's never a 'I will fire you' in his threats book, maybe because he knows I hate this job, or my stepmother must have told him I would do almost anything to get out of thos job. He also knows I can't afford to get more hours, my life is already hard as it is with school and all.
I quickly take off the jeans and T-shirt I went to school with and wear the oh so amazing outfit he had picked out today, note the sarcasm. I pull the strings over my arms and tie them behind, I do have to admit the bikini top does great job for my boobs, making them look bigger than they actually are. I'm not self conscious but my bra size is quite pathetic, 32B, Emerald had said on more than occasions that it's pretty normal to have that bra size, easy for her to say, hers is 34D, real nice.
I put the image of Emerald in bikinis at the back of my mind, if I did women I would most certainly do her, too bad, I like some man acti–
"If you're not out of this door in five seconds I am dragging you out myself and I won't care if you're naked." Damon's rude voice interrupted my thoughts.
Yeah, he would be real happy to do that, perv. I hiss under my breath before quickly wearing the thigh high boots and zipping it up. I'm wearing shorts, like really short shorts but that's okay, since I'm not wearing G-strings like he'd suggested the first time I was supposed to start working.
So, stripper by night and failing chemistry student by day is what I am, I wouldn't pat myself in the back but I know I'm doing great. I knock on another dressing room door, that has good lighting by the way. The makeup artist, Tanya smiles at me. She's nice too but I wouldn't say we're friends, she's a great makeup artist and can change my features in thirty minutes, but also a very good gossip, and since she does almost everyone's makeup, she knows everybody's business. I make it a point to be very quiet around her.
She did her job done in less than thirty minutes and I curl my hair around the ends myself. I wave her goodbye and saunter out, feeling quite sexy. Don't get me wrong, I hate the job but I have to admit, I feel very confident in these clothes like yes I'm hot and I know it and I am not scared to flaunt it. Though I love myself in ripped jeans and oversized shirts way more.
I spot Damon across the room and he gives me the stink eyes, I roll my eyes but don't stop by him. I reach my position behind the curtains and I take the ropes in my hand, patiently waiting for the music to start.