Josh Stallings - Out There Bad

“Last of the true aristocrats, a Romanoff I’m sure.” Earl’s voice came from far off.

“What?”

“Our Katerina. She escaped the Bolsheviks, crossed the frozen…” I stopped listening when her glittering eyes singled me out of the crowd and locked in like a sniper’s laser. She held the pole, swaying slowly to the half beat of Antony and the Johnsons. Slow and seductive, she was desire incarnate. Those eyes calling me to her. Telling me all this was mine, it always had been, it always would be.

Never breaking our eye contact, I walked past the tables of drunks and dancers toward the stage. I dropped two twenties at her feet. She came to the edge of the stage and leaned down, whispering “thank you” in my ear. She had a thick accent, and the feel of her warm breath sent tingles up my back. Grabbing the pole, she flipped up so she was suspended in the air by her thighs. Arching her back she hung with her arms extended, tilting back her head, she gave me a wicked smile.

The song ended, guys clapped, a few threw money. She was good, she hadn’t even taken her clothes off and I was breaking a sweat. It was as if she had been dancing only for me, I knew it was an act, but it felt real. She was that good.

“Smitten, are we?” Earl said, as I knocked back another scotch.

“No, just appreciate talent when I see it.”

“She’s from Moscow… Oh my god! How do I look?” he almost shouted. He had seen something over my shoulder.

“I don’t swing that way, not that I’m not flattered.”

“Be serious. Is my hair ok, it’s not flipping up? Oh damn. Damn…” He was about to have an aneurysm.

“You look fine, Earl.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“No, really. You look good,” I said, knowing it wouldn’t matter how he looked. He bounced across the room to a cute little thing in a Catholic schoolgirl’s skirt and spikes, who smiled and hugged him. She was half his age. She had high end store bought tits. Leading him to a booth she crawled in beside him laughing at something he said. Before this night was over he’d be down a bill or two and feeling good about himself, because some pretty young thing was attracted to him. If it worked for him, it was cheaper and more effective than a shrink.

The whiskey was taking effect. The room swirled pleasantly. I had reached that wonderful level of tipsy, the place where trouble goes away, judgment is skewed but not gone. I watched Earl and his schoolgirl cuddle, I was happy for him.

“You like young girl better?” I spun around to find Katerina standing next to me.

“No. Watching a friend fall in love.”

“A fool’s game, yes?” She looked over at Earl and smiled. “And that man is a fool. Last week, he brought her roses.”

“He’s alright, he’s just a little too smart to figure out how it works here.”

“And you?” Her voice was deep with a sexy nicotine rasp. Sliding onto the stool next to me she searched my eyes.

“I gave you the only roses that matter.” I rubbed my thumb and fingers together in the universal sign for cash. “And I don’t expect any return, except the fun of watching you strut that stage.”

“Buy me drink?” she said, absentmindedly tracing her finger down the line of her dress, pulling my attention to her breasts. They were mounded by a push-up bra into marvelously lush cleavage.

“Nice move,” I said, my eyes following her finger, “but unnecessary. I already noticed how good you look.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she went wide-eyed and innocent.

“You’re hot, you know it. I know it. I’m way out of my league here, so I’ll buy you a drink, chit some chat while you scope your next victim, but you have to turn down the heat, ok?”

“Spasibo, it was much work, pretending to like a big handsome man like you.” She smiled broadly, showing me that gap in her teeth. “Betty, please, a Remy,” she called to the bartender.

She had expensive taste when someone else was paying. I wondered what she drank when it went on her tab. I ordered myself another McCallans that I probably didn’t need, but sure wanted.

“Na zdororve!” she said, clinking my shot glass with her snifter. I knew she got a cut of any booze the chumps bought her, but I didn’t care. It was worth every penny to sit listening to her accented broken English.

“Scorpio, yes?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What is you birthday?”

“October twentieth. What? Why are you grinning like I just dropped a hundred on the stage?”

“Scorpio. Casanova, Scorpio the lover. Ruled by Mars, a lover and warrior.”

“And you?” Astrology is pure mumbo jumbo, but I would have said anything to keep the conversation going.

“Me, Aries. We are fire and water.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes.” She slew me with a look of deep longing. “My beautiful man, I knew you were for me, first time I saw you,” she said, simply as if it were an obvious fact.

“I thought we agreed you were going to dial it back,” I said, hoping she would turn up the heat.

“Scorpio,” she shook her head, mulling the thought over, “I have to be very careful with you, if I fall for you it would be very bad for business.”

“Why me? Look around, plenty of younger, richer guys here.”

“They are boys dressed like men. You are man.”

“Dressed like a boy.” I smiled looking down at my Pogues concert shirt, faded jeans and Doc Martens.

I spent my nights looking after girls, but here was a woman. My back straightened and my chest puffed slightly. She made me want to be the man she seemed to think I was.

Katy Perry blasted happy pop over the sound system. I noticed Earl and his schoolgirl had disappeared into the VIP room, so I guessed his date was going fine. Over our drinks, Katerina told me she was from Yaroslavl, a small city two hundred miles from Moscow. “When I was fifteen, my mother passed away and left me to take care of my baby sister and my pig of a father.”

“Sounds rough.” I never knew my old man and by the time I was sixteen I was in the Marines being shot at by towel-heads in the Root. To get away from my drunk mother, I had stolen my big brother’s birth certificate and they shipped me off to that jug fuck in Lebanon. I didn’t tell Katerina any of that, I just told her I had grown up poor, too. We had a bond that children forced to grow up too soon share. A bond of pain and longing. A bond of anger and the desire to be loved. Over our words, a separate conversation flowed between our eyes, a conversation of longing and need.

“Come, I’ll dance for you. I want to.”

“Sorry, I don’t do that anymore,” I said, with zero resolve.

“Yes, I know… come.” She took my hand and led me willingly across the room and through the red velvet curtains into the VIP room. Earl must have gone home while we were talking, because we had the room to ourselves. It was a low-ceilinged dimly lit cave of lust. Plush crushed velvet tuck and roll surrounded the room like it was one big low-rider Chevy. There were several tables with chairs and candles. Generally the couch is $35-$40 bucks and the chairs are $20-$25. That’s before tip, but only about half the pricks tip the girl who dances on them. The law states that the man cannot at any time touch the girl, she can touch him, but not in a lewd manner. Trying to legislate morality is like trying to hold back the sea with a chain-link fence.

Katerina pushed me down in the soft padding, over the speakers, Cee Lo Green started singing about wishing he had enough cash to keep the girl. She put her knees between mine and pried them open, moving slowly ever closer. I was used to lap grind, make a guy come and get on with your day dances. But she was seducing me, one move at a time. As she swayed closer, I could feel the heat emanating from her before any skin touched. Her lips brushed across my cheek, I could feel her breath, smell the faint cigarette mixed with brandy. Just when I thought she would kiss me she pulled back. It took all I had not to pull her down on top of me. The song ended and Katerina rose up taking a small step back. Her eyes flicked down to my lap.