Chapter Text
It’s a regular Friday night- some Usher song from 2007 thrumming over the speakers, filling the building with undulating bass and mixing with the warm din of heavy breathing and low murmurs. And, as always, Nat’s spinning- round and round, transitioning from crossing her legs in the air to pushing them flat open, forming a letter “T” with her body. She slides down the pole slowly -so slowly- and sinks onto the plexiglass floor, her pale complexion reflecting off the shining tiles. She gives herself a toothy grin, and spreads her arms through the sea of dollar bills around her, hugging the paper to her chest.
This is her favorite part- when she gets to gaze out at the crowd, making heady eye contact with the men (and women) who are staring back at her- slack-jawed and utterly captivated by the one and only Natalie . She spots a few regulars in the crowd, and crawls menacingly towards the edge of the stage to allow her admirers to slip a few larger bills into her g-string- black and sparkly, like a halloween costume. She spots a handful of blue hundreds fluttering onto the stage and whips her head back, flipping her shaggy blonde extensions towards her lucky sponsor.
Unlike the typical middle-aged, Wall Street type, Nat makes fleeting eye contact with a woman. Young, like her, no more than twenty-one, the legal requirement to get into Yellowjackets, Natalie’s club. The benefactor herself is almost doe-like, tall and willowy with long brunette tresses, sun kissed skin and big brown eyes that are zoned in on every inch of Natalie’s snow-white skin, following her movements with a dreamy, knowing sparkle. Natalie can’t tell whether it’s this girl’s first or hundredth time in a strip club, but something inside her stirs at the taller girl’s gaze. On a whim, Nat risks a playful wink at the girl, squeezing the ample curve of her breasts together before leaping back into the pole and finishing strong with a classic butterfly pose on the pole, sliding down into a split. She gives the audience a slow grin, making sure to drag her eyes through the crowd and hold as much eye contact as possible. On her second sweep, she catches the tall girl folding a couple more blue bills onto the front of the stage, before turning and making her way back to the Elite room.
Natalie blinks, grin dropping from the shock of seeing the gold curtains falling closed behind the brunette. She’s eventually brought out of her stupor by Travis, the DJ, helping her scoop her bills into the red duffel bag she keeps her stage money in.
“Travis, tell Misty I’m taking over the Elite Lounge dances. Jackie can work the main floor, she needs more training out here anyway.” Nat takes the bag out of his hands, doing a final once-over of her stage, now clean as a whistle of her dirty money.
“You got it, Nat.” Travis nods, turning to go do as he’s told. Nat heads to the ready room, the bright vanity lights burning a ring in her vision after her long stretch out in the red LEDs of the floor.
“Hey Natty, how’s the crowd out there? Warm ‘em up for me?” Taissa grins, her lithe body shining with oil and shimmer spray underneath her gold bodysuit. She looks ethereal, almost wholesome, with her bouncing brown curls and matching heels. Nat contrasts her in nearly every way- pale skin almost iridescent under her black fishnetted outfit, studded with rhinestones in white and black. Where Taissa resembled the sun, Nat resembled a star, melting and crushing like black obsidian, catching the light with every twist, turn, and spin that she did on that stage. She lays her eyeliner and mascara on thick, the applicator wand growing gummier by the day due to overuse. But the fallout of her dark eyeshadow doesn’t deter the paying customers. They came for her youthful age- barely twenty-one- sure, but also her skill on the pole, her strength that came from years on the varsity soccer team in high school, and now in college. She knew moves and maneuvers that no other girl could replicate, and her sets always garner the most money on the floor. Of course, the other girls aren’t jealous. Natalie’s good, she knows the game, and she knows that to have the order and influence around the club that she does, she needs to share the wealth. While Misty, a somewhat eccentric but fiercely loyal woman just a few years older than Nat herself, is the club “Mother,” Nat provides her with the funds to allow the girls perks. Perks such as donuts on the weekends, higher thread count bath towels for the showers, and as antiquated as it seems- tampon machines for the bathroom. Nat plays her role well, and the other girls follow as they should.
“Yeah, Tai. They’re hot, give them something hotter.” Nat settles in beside her, grabbing her beat-up makeup pouch.
“Good to know,” and then, “You looked good out there, Nat.” Taissa is sweet. She’s a good dancer, better after Natalie gave her a few lessons, and her body is crazy. She’s a high earning girl as well, a big reason why customers keep coming back. But she doesn’t flaunt it, doesn’t ask for it, doesn’t sometimes allow for an extra peek and a squeeze if she’s got a college payment coming. Taissa just comes in at five, gives a few dances, and leaves around midnight. She doesn’t care for the extra nonsense that goes on after one in the morning, and besides, she’s got someone to go home to.
Nat glances at Tai behind her, and gives her a swat before she leaves. “Too nice, ugh!” Tai scurries out to avoid Nat’s hands, giggling and wobbling on her platforms.
She’s still chuckling when she touches up her eyeliner and pouty lipstick, fluffing her hair and lifting her boobs back into place. An old Starbucks cup is sitting at her mirror, the dregs of a vanilla oat milk latte melting into the ice. She sips the last bit of watered down espresso through her straw, and on her way out, she passes Jackie, who’s on her way in.
“You want the gold room tonight, huh?” Jackie cracks a grin, giving Nat a quick once-over. “Fine, any way to get me away from those freaky creeps for a night.”
She’s not wrong, Nat knows. She’s not naive to the fact that, yes, while the elite members have the money to shell out twenty-five hundred on her personally, they also have the same money to shell out on keeping things quiet. But Nat’s smart- careful, cunning, and knows the perfect amount to give them, without allowing them to take a thing.
“Yeah, I want to get on the meal plan at school. Costs a fuck ton.” Nat replies. It’s not exactly a lie, the meal plan is expensive as hell, but she’s more interested in the tall brunette with the inquisitive eyes, and more importantly, the blue hundreds. Jackie’s eyes soften, and she nods, flopping down in her plush armchair.
Nat zips a tight, shiny latex dress over her lingerie, the ridiculous material squeaking as she shimmies into it, and Jackie slaps her ass on the way out.
“Go get that money!” Oh, she plans to.
The curtains of the Elite lounge flutter closed behind her. Of course, this isn’t the only barrier to the exclusive room, she has to open a heavy door that protects the premier customers. The men look excited to see her walk in, their thick eyebrows raised onto their wrinkled foreheads. She glances through the room until she sees her. At the bar with her back turned, ordering some fruity drink, it looks like. She grins to herself- the first woman customer in the gold room isn’t even some Wall Street corporate pervert, she’s a rich little daddy’s girl, ordering raspberry cosmos and casually tipping hundreds to a cute girl. Natalie chuckles at the thought that she might be here on a family membership.
A few men try to get her attention on her way over to the bar, but Nat pretends not to see them. She’s curious about this girl, this nameless woman she’s creating a story for.
“Hey,” Natalie murmurs, crossing her arms over the bar. “Those any good?” She motions towards the drink, once the brunette looks at her with wide eyes.
“Uh- these?” She fumbles with the glass, pushing it halfway towards Nat. “You want to try it?” God, this girl. She looks and acts like a dorky college kid, probably just turned twenty-one over the summer and wants to try out her new I.D.
“Sure.” Nat grins at her, wrapping her lips against the curved rim of the glass. It’s good, tart and sweet, and Natalie licks her upper lip approvingly when she sets the glass back down, smiling more when she sees the brunette following its movement with her eyes. “Yum.”
She leans in a bit closer, over the bar, and she’s lucky her platforms are so high that she can reach the tall woman’s ear.
“I saw you before. During my set.” The woman’s breath is hitching nervously. “Can I give you a dance? To say thank you, for your generosity?” Nat leans impossibly closer, her breath ghosting over the shell of this woman’s ear.
“Um, sure,” The woman breathes, “I mean- yes! Yes, you can, thank you.” She gives Nat a nervous, hesitant smile.
“Okay honey,” Nat slips the DJ a couple twenties, and takes the woman’s arm lightly. “Come with me.”
The DJ understood his assignment, putting on one of Nat’s favorites, something soft, slow, and dirty. She leads the brunette down a dim hallway, into a smaller room lit with red LEDs. She loves this room, it’s her favorite for when she needs absolute privacy, and honestly? Sometimes a good nap. The couches are a cushy leather, and she gently pushes the woman down onto one. Nat stands in front of her, grinning down at the flustered woman.
“You okay, honey?” The brunette nods. “What’s your name, baby?”
“Uh, Lottie. Char-” She stutters. “My friends call me Lottie.” Natalie grins, beginning to sway a bit with the music, running her hands in swirls over the tight material of her dress, hugging her curves.
“I think we’re close enough, Lottie. ” She steps forward, between Lottie’s knees. “Or do you think we could get closer?” She toys with the zipper, the metal star hanging perfectly between her breasts. This is the part that usually has the men reaching for their wallets, understanding the transaction that Natalie’s asking for. Stripping equals money. But Lottie just stares at her wide-eyed.
“Unless I don’t deserve it?” She hints, pulling the zipper down one tooth at a time, until it’s halfway down her stomach. Lottie’s eyes widen in recognition, seemingly understanding, because she hastily pulls a bill out of the pocket of her furry jacket pocket.
“There we go, honey.” She unzips the dress to the bottom, falling just under the middle of her thigh. “Want to help me out a bit?” Nat climbs atop Lottie softly, bringing one of the girl's hands to the shoulders of her dress. The brunette, low lidded and finally playing her role, lifts her other hand and pushes the dress away, black latex crumpling to the floor. Underneath, Nat’s in a simple black lace thong, and a black lace bra that is so sheer, the dusty pink hue of her nipples strain harshly against the fabric. The club has a “zero touching policy,” but Natalie often forgives minor rule breaks if it makes her a few extra hundreds. But Lotties hands fall back to her sides, pulling two more hundreds out of her pockets, and Natalie gets to work.
She moves like water, gliding and grinding over Lottie’s lap, making heady eye contact with the woman, who grips the leather of the couch beside her, but meets her gaze with unabashed lust and appreciation. Every new move has her pulling out a few more bills, and Natalie keeps giving her more for her money. They’re nearing the end of the song, and they both know it, and Natalie is about to begin her final moves when Lottie pulls five hundred out of her pocket and lays it on the seat beside her. Nat stutters a little, but she understands what this means. Typically, when a guy pulls a stack of bills out of his pocket, crisp and blue, Natalie knows she has to give her all to get them. It’s a lot of money, but they both know Natalie has to earn it. She typically stays in- at the very least- her underwear during dances, but no. When a guy pulls a move like that, she’s getting naked, and she knows that. And she’s okay with that, typically, but it perplexes her now. Was the innocent, naive persona the girl had just an act? Did Lottie play her? Either way, money is money, and she begins to reach behind her back to unclasp her bra. Lottie’s eyes widen, and she rushes to catch Natalie’s arms.
“Wait, wait.” Lottie is trying valiantly to maintain eye contact with Natalie, given the girl’s chest is about an inch away from her face. The blonde pauses, arms drifting away from the clasp of her bra to rest on the back of the couch.
“You didn’t- you weren’t…” Nat tilts her head in confusion, gesturing towards the bills laying beside Lottie’s thigh on the couch.
“Those weren’t meant for that, oh my god!” Lottie slaps a palm over her face in embarrassment. “They were meant to say good job… or thank you!” She grins sheepishly down at the smaller girl, who is resting casually over her lap. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t… expect that of you.”
“That’s a lot of money to say thank you, Lottie.” She grins, “Not that I’m complaining. It’d buy you more, just saying.” She shrugs and leans back, relaxing atop Lottie’s knees.
“As tempting as that is- seriously,” Lottie glances down the front of Nat’s body appreciatively, and Nat preens under the attention. “I have to get back home. But maybe next time, if the offer still stands?” The song has since changed, and their heady stupor had broken, something preppy and bouncy leaking in through the doorway from Taissa’s set. Natalie slides off of Lottie’s lap, lounging on the couch beside her. She watches Lottie get up, and the taller girl offers a hand to Nat.
“Sure, Lot. I’d say you earned enough brownie points tonight to ask for a few favors next time.” She leans upwards, coming close to the girl’s ear again, relishing how she shivers under her breath. “Just say the words.” Nat pulls away from her gently, and the taller girl nods slowly, a wide smile spreading across her face. Nat giggles, taking Lottie by the bicep and leading her out of the room. When they get to the main bar, Natalie lets go of her arm, but stays close.
“Come back soon, Lottie.” Without waiting for a response, she turns and makes her way back to the ready room, adding a subtle little swing to her hips. When she glances over her shoulder to check that Lottie’s still watching, she’s not disappointed.
The rest of Nat’s shift goes well, per usual. Business is steady, and she even has a little fun toying with the men (and their wallets.) Not nearly as much fun as she had with Lottie, though. Nat finds herself thinking more and more about the tall brunette throughout the night. How her long, nimble fingers gripped the leather of the sofa between clean, trimmed nails. Like she was itching to grab Nat’s hips, to take control. The subtle way her mouth opened when Nat let their chests brush together, how Natalie could feel her short, soft breathing on her collarbone. She shivered to think about it now. The pureness of Lottie’s want, unlike the dirty, demeaning old men that claimed ownership of her body for the length of one song, as long as they kept dropping bills into her lap.
She ends her night at the club relaxing in the ready room, smoking a cigarette. She makes a point not to smoke during the week, the nicotine making her leg shake annoyingly during her classes. But on the weekends, when business is heavy and nights are long, she indulges herself.
“You know they don’t like you smoking in here.” Natalie spies the owner of the offending voice in the mirror.
“Misty.” She greets, holding the cigarette above the back of her chair. She watches through the mirror as Misty walks forward and takes a deep inhale from it.
“How was your night? Friday night. It was busy.” She exhales the smoke.
“I noticed. But I made some good money. The leeches here took about a quarter of it, though. Speaking of leeches,” She reaches down into her boot, where she keeps the stacks of hundreds. She pulls out a crisp blue bill, folded in half. “Here’s your cut.”
Misty chuckles, taking the folded bill. “Thanks, Nat. The girls still treating you well? Bouncers, DJ?” She holds eager eye contact with Nat. “Because you know, if they’re getting jealous or catty, I can give them something else to whine about. You don’t need to feel obligated to share with them. Or me, for that matter.”
Nat really likes Misty. Her baby face combined with her big round Harry-Potter glasses, cat sweaters, and poofy blonde hair almost make her look like someone’s real mom. That, and the way she worries over the dancers, fetching waters, safety pins, and kicking out men who get a bit too grabby. That’s the thing about Misty. She might look like a sweet midwestern mother, but she’s really fucking crazy. When she needs to be.
“Thanks, Misty. Everyone’s great though. We’re all sharing the wealth. I’m not going to pretend I don’t ask shit of them, too, you included. I appreciate the offer though, I’ll let you know if I need it.” Misty smiles happily, like she’s honest-to-god relieved. Sometimes Natalie thinks she enjoys kicking ass.
“You got it, boss. Don’t stay too late, okay? And don’t bother locking up, Mr. Scott’s in the back doing paperwork. See you tomorrow, okay?”
“See you Misty.” She finishes her cigarette, packing up her night's earnings, as well as her discarded outfit from the night. Nat used to use the showers here, until she moved in with Tai and her girlfriend, Van. They split the rent in an Upper West Side apartment, a few blocks from the club itself. Their new place had unlimited hot water, and actually decent water pressure. The shower also had sliding glass doors that made Nat feel like the pinnacle of wealth. So she likes showering at home better now, likes to stay in for an hour and fill the bathroom with steam, step out onto her cushy bath mat, and engulf herself in a fluffy white towel. A home towel. Because she can now.
Nat walks home alone that evening, the “city that never sleeps” surprisingly quiet for this time of night. She craves her shower, itching to get the icky feeling of the club off of her skin. She likes her job fine, sure, but the thick sensation of hands on her skin leaves her feeling particularly germy after her shifts.
Finally home, she pushes through the heavy glass doors of her apartment building, and takes the elevator to the fifteenth floor. Nat is quiet unlocking the door and pushing her way in, so as to not wake her sleeping roommates.
The shower feels heavenly, after she strips down for the last time that night, and the slightly too-hot water soothes the ache of her lower back, from arching and grinding it one too many times, the twinge in her hips, and the cramps forming in her legs. The weekends are her main hours, while she’s able to pick up a few shifts during the week, she tries not to, reserving those nights for studying, writing papers, or going to bed early. She’s not much of a party person, selecting mostly to stay bundled up indoors in her pajamas or sweats, save for the times she goes to class, or out to coffee with her friends. Van and Tai, more specifically.
Nat steps out of the shower, wiping a hand over the mirror to melt some of the foggy steam. Her hairless skin is pink and happy, a little raw from the water but squeaky clean. She started getting waxed around when she started working at Yellowjackets, and she still isn’t used to the feeling of her skin without the soft prickles of hair that used to cover it. These kinds of showers always make Nat feel younger, especially after she takes her makeup off and looks at herself, laid bare in front of her reflection.
She brushes her teeth, does her short skincare routine, and wraps herself in the fluffy white robe she keeps in the bathroom for the short walk to her bedroom. Once she’s bundled in bed, in her fuzzy pajama pants and oversized sweater, she scrolls on her phone, answering her snapchats and watching Instagram stories. She wishes she could be like the girls in her classes, or on the team- going out for drinks, dinners with their partners, or even the shitty college parties that Jackie likes, with cheap vodka and seltzers, corny party playlists bumping from little speakers, the stale smell of weed and B.O. lingering in the air. She supposes she’s spoiled, used to the fancy cocktails and flavored shots the bartenders comp for her sometimes, and her own personal DJ that plays whatever set she likes with just a word from her. But she chose Columbia for the academics, not the social scene. And she was lucky to get a job at Yellowjackets. It’s the closest thing to friends she has, outside of Van and Tai.
She falls asleep to this consolation with her phone in her hand around three in the morning, the sound of some nonsensical Instagram live playing through the speaker, alarm set for three PM the next day.