Chapter 9CANDI

Chapter 9

CANDI

The club is packed for the Pitiful Princess's Halloween Party.

The 31 st is next Thursday, but Saturday is our busiest night, so that means the big bash is tonight.

But we've been playing up the costumes and spooky vibes for the last week and that will continue through next weekend. Never say club management doesn't know how to exploit a holiday.

Our spotlights have orange filters over them and the floor is lit with blacklights that make all the white elements of everyone's costumes glow. Most of the dancers and waitstaff are wearing white pasties, thongs or makeup that draws attention to their butts and boobs.

Fake cobwebs and glittery vampire bats festoon the purple velvet curtains that separate the backstage from the front. The Halloween decorations make a discordant note with the Persian palace vibe of the club, but what are you going to do?

It's Halloween, Pitiful Princess style. Which means there are more dancers working tonight than any other night of the year except New Years Eve.

A lot of us wear costumes all year long, so I'm not sure what it is about the big Halloween party that makes it such a popular night, but there's a line waiting to get in that's twice as long as normal.

Maybe the customers like being able to dress up themselves. A surprising number show up in Halloween costumes, from something as simple as a baseball cap and carrying a ball glove, to really elaborate ensembles. Two themes prevail for dancer and customer alike.

Sex and sin.

All the nurses are naughty and a lot of the men have something stuffed in the front to make a noticeable bulge. No way are that many average guys sporting a fat ten inches in the skin tight bottoms of their batman costumes.

"That costume is banging," Piper says from beside me.

We're both doing our last makeup touches before going out on stage.

I smile at her in the mirror. "Thanks."

I'm wearing a white angel costume with gold trim tonight. It will look golden-orange under the lights on the stage and glow bright with a blue tint when I'm working the floor, highlighting my assets, and leaving the rest of me in shadow.

The skirt of the two-shoulder toga barely covers my ass, but I only wear the tiny toga dress for the first part of my set. Once it comes off, I'll be left in a thong and a bra made of satin and fine white mesh. Wider than usual, the straps are artfully designed folds of white satin. Crisscrossing right above my boobs, they keep the illusion of the toga I'll strip off at the end.

They also outline each globe like a neon sign, making the girls look even bigger than they really are. The nearly transparent white mesh covering them will glow for the punters without hiding the glittery white pasties on my nipples. Those will glow even brighter because of their opacity, giving the customers the sense they are getting a peek at my nipples.

The small white wings will stand out in the crowd but won't get in my way when I walk between tables working the room later. That's always good for extra tips and I need them just like the next girl. Tonight should bring in more tips than all the other nights this week combined.

"You've got a thing for dressing like an angel," Piper teases. "Anything to do with your stalker being named Angelo?"

Stalker. As if.

I shrug.

"The customers like an angel with big tatas," one of the other dancer's says. "Makes them feel naughty for lusting after her."

"I'm surprised that gold angel costume doesn't bring back bad memories," Piper opines. "I burned my biker chick outfit after that backroom group lap dance that went wrong a couple years back."

By went wrong Piper means the attack left her hollow eyed and too banged up to dance for two weeks. Just another example of people believing that workers in the sex industry give up their rights to safety, much less to say the word no .

Humanity sucks sometimes.

Bianca doesn't though. She's fighting for all of us to be protected in ways a lot of strip clubs wouldn't even consider. Doesn't matter to her if the dancers provide extra curriculars, or not, either.

They all get health insurance and paid sick leave now. When they're out sick more than one shift, with a doctor's note to back it up, they don't have to pay the nightly fee for using the backrooms either. They used to have to pay it whether they were here, or not.

The bouncers are now trained to put the safety of the dancers and waitstaff ahead of a positive customer experience.

Grateful for the changes in the club since my bestie took over talent management, I answer Piper's question about wearing my gold angel outfit. "When I wear it, I remember a man I'd barely met rushing across a crowded club to help me."

Just thinking about Angelo's speed and intensity now makes me wet like dancing for the punters with all their lust-filled gazes stuck on me never does.

And yeah, I do wear the angel costumes because they make me think of him. But that, I'm not saying out loud.

Piper tsks but she doesn't say anything in reply.

I take one last look in the mirror before turning away. "That wasn't the first time I was assaulted on the floor, but it was the first time someone besides another employee stepped in."

Piper gives two high kicks to test the adhesion of the body tape holding her six-inch heels on. "You couldn't rely on the bouncers under Gino's watch, that's for sure."

"Amen to that, sister," the other dancer says as she joins us at the curtain.

The music volume goes up a few decibels and Jessie Ware's What's Your Pleasure starts to play. That's my cue and I strut out onto the stage, playing to the customers along the way to my pole.

I have to step down off the center stage and walk six feet to the private stage with a single pole that I'm on tonight. I'm tense with awareness crossing those six feet of space on the main floor, but I hide my tension with a slinky glide up the steps to my platform.

As the whir of the retracting stairway sounds, removing easy access to the stage for customers, I let out a breath. During the other dancer's music, I go through a placeholder routine I choreographed a long time ago and use at least once a week.

It's a little tease and a lot of jiggle, but I don't do the moves that garner the most attention because this is not my spotlight.

My muscles relax, making every move easier and more fluid. For a second, I think it's the familiarity of the music that has the tension draining from my body.

But then I realize the truth. He's here.

I can't see him, but I feel his eyes on me.

Angelo Caruso .

I know who he is now. What he is.

They call him the Angel of Death and he's the top enforcer and assassin for the new Cosa Nostra godfather. Not that any of us are supposed to know that, but Piper told me.

She told me to keep my trap shut about it too because knowing too much about the mafia can get you killed. Only she said I should know who he is so I can make an informed decision.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to decide about though.

Angelo's only ever spoken a handful of words to me.

It's not like we're dating, or something. Not even if I memorized every single one of those words.

You alright, dolcezza?

Get dressed and go home .

I'll square it with Ugo .

Angelo's position in the mafia doesn't make any difference to me. He'd have to come out of the shadows and talk to me for there to be even a hope of that.

According to Piper, when he saved me from Ronnie, Angelo was still the top enforcer for the Don of the Genovese. The same one of New York's Five Families my sperm donor serves.

That and a fiver will get me a cup of coffee at the corner diner.

I guess Angelo got a promotion of sorts when his boss became the new Godfather of the Cosa Nostra in America and Angelo kept his position as top enforcer for Don Severu De Luca. Now, he's the godfather's top enforcer, not just a don's.

Discovering he's the deadliest assassin in New York doesn't change how safe I feel when Angelo is in the club. If anything, it makes me feel more secure.

Because to me, he's not the Angel of Death but my guardian angel. The scariest guy in the New York underworld is the only man that makes me feel protected.

He always sits in the darkest corner reserved for what passes for VIPs at Pitiful Princess. In all the time since that night when Ronnie tried to molest me, I haven't once laid eyes on Angelo. Even though he's at the club most nights I work.

Even if Piper and the other girls weren't so quick to tell me, I would know he's there.

My body reacts with atavistic instincts when he's around, relaxing, knowing on a visceral level I can't explain that no one will touch me. That I'm safe.

My lizard brain, always on high alert when I'm at work, or anywhere besides home alone with my mom and sister, settles down when Angelo is nearby. That's how I know he's here now. Because when he's not, I spend my time on the stage tense and wary.

I learned to hide the fear in my first foster home when I figured out that some kids and even some adults in the system thrive on the distress of others. The skill is a handy one to have in my profession. Strippers are pros at coming off brash, confident and sexy.

But I'm not the only one who has to pretend when stepping out on the stage. If you look really hard, you can see it in the eyes.

The punters aren't looking into my eyes though, are they?

When my best friend, Bianca, used to dance here, it was better. We had each other's backs. But then she hooked up with Salvatore De Luca and got put in charge of talent management.

Although she has more power to protect me and the other dancers from an employer's position now, she only comes into the club a couple of times a week. Usually early, before things get really busy and I can't always leave mom and Cookie then.

So, I see a lot less of my bestie than I used to.

Piper's a casual friend, like a lot of the other dancers, but no one has my back like Bianca did.

Except, now Angelo does.

Does he know that the moment he arrives, I stop thinking about any of the other patrons? Probably not.

I don't know what this thing is between him and me. I'm pretty sure he's not into me like I'm into him, even if he's here almost every night I dance. Maybe I remind him of his sister, or his mom, or something.

But he's quickly become the only patron that matters to me. The only man I want looking at my nearly naked body.

My job means anyone who pays the cover charge gets to see that, but it's not the same as wanting it.

Even if he never comes out of the shadows to interact with me, Angelo haunts my thoughts everyday while I crush on him like I never did the boys in school as a teenager.

The idea of letting them touch me scared me. Even before that last foster home before I came to live with mom and Cookie.

Maybe that's why I can crush on Angelo. The distance he keeps makes my infatuation safe.

Angelo is the sexiest man I've ever seen and the only one I have ever wanted to touch me intimately.

At least in my dreams, I do.

I'm not sure that would translate into real life.

Because he's over the top protective of me without making any sort of moves on me. I'm grateful. I really am. And I know it's greedy to want more.

I remind myself of that even when I touch myself in bed thinking about him.

I've never had much of a sex drive. But since that first night I saw him skewer a guy's hand for trying to touch me, I get horny a lot more. And it's always from thinking about Angelo.

As soon as Cookie leaves for school and mom is busy elsewhere in the apartment, my hand slides between my thighs while I fantasize about Angelo Caruso until I have to bite my pillow to muffle the scream from my climax.

Angelo might be here every night doing business for the mafia and him being in the VIP area when I dance is just a coincidence. That's more likely than him crushing on me like I'm fixated on him.

Because he doesn't come anywhere near me. Not for a dance, not even to talk. He sends tips through the bartenders though. So, even if he's not here for me, he pays attention to me.

One of the bartenders tried to shortchange me my tips and she was gone the next day. Like completely ghosted. She didn't show up for work that night, didn't answer her cell phone when the manager called, trying to track her down, and never came in for her final paycheck.

We heard from one of the dancers who used to hang out with her that she left New York. The state, not just the city.

No one has tried to skim my tips since.

When everything was going down with Gino trying to force me and Bianca to do extracurriculars, a secret part of me hoped Angelo would hear about it and set Gino straight like he did that guy whose hand he skewered.

I didn't want to have to find a new club to dance in, but Gino really tried to mess me over and things were getting desperate. Turns out, Bianca told her new boyfriend what was happening, and he fired Gino before I had to quit my job.

I'm pretty sure that Angelo did something to my old boss anyway and that same secret part of me is glad. People whisper about how the smarmy assistant manager disappeared, and they don't mean that he up and left the city.

It's on brand for the Angel of Death.

He goes all in when it comes to making a point about my personal space.

No matter why he's protecting me, I have a serious lady boner for Death.

He's not even a decade older than me, so it's not daddy issues. No matter what the psychologists might think, I got over having a sperm donor rather than a father a long time ago.

It's the issue of feeling safe and I've spent most of my life not feeling that way. Even after coming to live with mom in the tiny apartment filled with love if not a bunch of material things.

So, now, I dance for the only man in the room I want to think about, my body flowing through the special routine I created just for him. I pretended I was choreographing a routine to do for my boyfriend, Angelo's handsome face and deadly stare my secret inspiration.

No other man could star in my fantasies like my warrior angel. Fantasies are all I will ever have of Angelo. His distance has made that abundantly obvious.

But I'll take fantasies of my warrior angel over dates with anyone else.

No one can compare to him and the safety I feel in his presence. Lately that feeling of safety has even been expanded to when I am home. His presence is that powerful in my mind.

It's almost as if he is watching me. Sometimes, I feel like he's in the room with me.

Piper's music fades and then the sensual thrum of Closer by Nine Inch Nails starts to play. An orange spotlight bathes me in its glow, and I move into a spin that takes me up the pole.

Perfect for my new routine, the beat reverberates through my body practically leading me into my spins and pole splits. If the lyrics get me hot pretending they are about me and a certain mafioso, no one else has to know.

Doing the splits against the pole, I spin around with my hair flying behind me. Tonight, it is not up in a ponytail, but loose. Instead of straightening it, I left it to fall in soft waves around my face. My dark hair and sexy outfit might make most people have less than angelic thoughts, but dancing is like being in heaven for me.

And I stay there through my whole spotlight set.

I remove my outer toga after a lot of teasing midway through the last song. The orange spotlight goes off and the customers shout their disappointment. But then I'm bathed in a blacklight spot, making all the bits that are meant to glow.

Is it my imagination, or are Angelo's eyes burning into me?

Holding myself on the pole with my thighs, I face his shadowed corner and cup my breasts in offering.

Money showers onto the stage around the bottom of the pole, but I barely notice it as I try to see Angelo's form through the gloom.

I can't of course. It's always shadowed in the VIP area, but tonight, with the blacklights the only illumination on the floor, it's stygian.

I finish my set to raucous applause and raunchy shouts, money falling like confetti on the stage around me. Picking it up, I'm riding the high of a perfect performance.

The Pitiful Princess may not be a musical on Broadway, but getting the choreography right for every bar of music feels awesome all the same.

Coming down off the stage, goosebumps form on my arms.

The sensation of Angelo watching me is even heavier than normal. Did he enjoy my new routine? Did he like when I stripped down to a sheer bra, pasties, my thong and glittery white wings?

Or is my body nothing more than the vessel of whatever person he is pretending to protect? Are his fantasies as active as mine, but with someone else playing the central role?

Even if he pretends I'm someone else, I wish he would request a lap dance. But he never does.

So, I'm not sure why my stiletto clad feet are moving me toward the darkness I always stay away from.