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Lauren was getting agitated. It had been over an hour since she’d made her deal with Juliet and Mr. Lopez, and the bachelor party was still ordering more drinks and having a grand old time. Sure, she thought, they get to have the time of their lives at the price of my humiliation.
As she was peeking out, a naked Amy was yielding the stage to Tracy in a fishnet stocking suit that left little to the imagination. The rowdy bachelor party cheered and greeted Amy with some enthusiastic slaps on the ass as she walked up to replace Juliet. “What a bunch of animals,” she muttered.
And now she only had one dancer until she, too, would have to dance for them. Twenty minutes or so. To top it off, she thought as she resisted the urge to pick at it, this damn plastic thong was the most uncomfortable thing she’d ever worn; it was almost bad enough to make her want to take it off now.
This seemed so unfair. The deal with Juliet had cost her $120—the girl had, predictably, picked two of the most expensive outfits—and the one with Mr. Lopez meant she was going to have to appear—for free!—in an ad on the internet. And despite that, it looked like she was still going to have to dance naked in front of the men from her office.
And what of it, she thought. She remembered something Don had told her about her job before, that if his requirements didn’t mesh well with her job, then maybe her job wasn’t appropriate for her. Maybe I shouldn’t be working in an office like that. She had to admit that it was difficult to do her job while being properly respectful—and obedient—to men. For one thing, her position was above that of several men, and it was difficult to phrase things properly and have them realize that there was a deadline on their tasks; and that was her fault, not theirs. Should I even be in a position to give men tasks?
But she liked her job, and she liked working with the people there. I wonder if there’s any way for me to stay there in a different role, some way for me to keep doing my work but not have to be in charge of men.
Of course, it probably would no longer be an issue if the men from her office were still there when she went back on stage. There was no way she could return to work if they saw her. She was down to one song. She peeked out again and saw Tracy, predictably, crawling around naked on the stage . . . and the men from her office giving cash to Amy to pay their bill! Lauren was thrilled; if Amy hurried, all the men should be out of the bar before she had to go out there!
Lauren kept watching and saw Amy waiting way too long to get change at the register. A couple of the men from her office got up to use the bathroom and still got back before Amy did with their change. “C’mon, c’mon,” she found herself muttering. She was so close . . . but Tracy’s last song was winding down.
Finally, the last song ended just as Amy got back to the table with the cash. As the men were standing up and leaving their tips, the DJ sounded off with, “Next up . . . Lauren!”
Lauren cringed. She just needed a few seconds, just needed them to get up and leave. The DJ started up a new song, and the men were putting on their coats . . . a few more seconds, she thought. Please!
They were walking toward the door . . . a few more seconds. “Let’s try that again,” the DJ had stopped the music. “Next up . . . Lauren!”
A hand grabbed her roughly by the upper arm. “What the hell are you doing?” Mr. Lopez hissed in her ear. “Get your ass out there!”
Lauren started to protest that she only needed a few more seconds, but then the first of the men from her office reached the door, and they all had their backs to the stage, so she decided to risk it. She strutted out on stage to the tune of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” . . . and a guy from her office walked out of the bathroom. She thought his name was Andy; he made eye contact with her and had a look of confused recognition on his face before turning and stumbling toward the door. Her dancing came to a complete halt before the booing brought her back to the present.
She said a silent prayer that Andy would be too drunk to remember her, dropped to her knees, turned her ass toward the nearest man, and bent forward, flipping her skirt up flirtatiously. With her back to the audience, they couldn’t see her tears. Dear God, please just let this night end.
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