Paying The Rent Ch. 04

Thinking about it Rachel was coming round to the idea of those 'deep leather armchairs'. However, that was almost as alarming. At least in a strip venue you would know the rules and where you stood. She began to wonder if she'd be cut out for a job at an exclusive club - after all she was just a rural New England girl. But then she remembered that they had maybe a month and a half till the last of the money ran out and then the clock would be ticking until the rent came due. Relying on casual work to bridge the gaps could only dodge that bullet for so long. She would just have to adapt and adapt quickly or they would be in real trouble. Then her heart truely did sink a little, she'd been thinking as if she'd already got the damned job. That was far from certain - there had been the flyers and since then she'd seen the advert on more than one website and social media account. In the current climate there would be lots of applicants.

Given the venue she decided to play safe. She put on her smartest interview outfit. The man at the main desk was an African-American, tall and with short greying hair.

"Here for the interviews?" he asked with a small smile.

"That obvious?"

"I've done this job a long time - they are gathering in the main function area. The best of luck." He gestured towards a sign.

"Thanks," she said and smiled at him, even though she knew he'd probably said that to everyone who'd turned up today. It didn't hurt to be polite.

Rachel found herself in a spacious room along with a large group of women who were obviously waiting. The competition! She scrutinised them carefully. In some ways the group was diverse. Some were dressed like herself - others rather more casually. There was a range of accents - some local, some not so local and some that sounded foreign. She noticed some, but not all, wore wedding rings.

In other ways the group was not diverse. First they were all female and if any were over thirty-five then they were looking very good on it. However, she had sort of expected that given the advert. What was more immediately noticeable was the fact that all the women were white - no African-Americans, no Latinas and no Asians.

'Sexists and racists' she thought to herself. An image of the club had been forming in her mind - some sort of country club catering to the 'elite', men of influence and power. This was just the sort of selection of women that men like that would want catering to their needs. She shook away her distaste at the idea. This wasn't a vocation for her and even sexist and racist money would pay the rent. She would only have to stick it until something else came along.

A man in a suit arrived and greeted them all. He fitted the bill too. The poster boy for middle-management, the sort of lackey that people like that always had in tow. He was decent enough to apologise for having to call them all at the same time and also for the fact that they were running late. Even better he asked them to make sure to have calculated their expenses and then moved them into the hotel lounge where apparently the Club owners had arranged a tab so they could have anything they wanted to eat or drink while they waited. That did surprise Rachel. Her experience had been that those with money tended to hold fast to it. If this new Club and its patrons had a rather freer hand then that was certainly welcome news.

They waited as one by one the women were taken out of the lounge and towards the elevators. A few of the girls went outside for a smoke. She got talking to one or two of the other women. They seemed to fit into a couple of categories. Some had years under their belt as servers. Others had stories depressingly similar to hers. Qualifications but no way to monetize them in the current climate.

She ordered herself a sparkling water and a club sandwich. It was good. She saw a few of the others hitting the bar - something told her THAT wasn't a smart move. These interviews always started the moment you stepped in through the door.

Rachel talked to some of the other women there. Marcy was a woman in her thirties with a strong New York accent and ten years experience as a server. She was fine in her current job but also looking for a change. Rachel instinctively liked her even as she recognised her as strong competition. So it came as a big surprise when after Marcy was called she was back within fifteen minutes.

"No dice," she said ruefully and then almost added something else. Finally she shook her head and said, "I'm not saying no more but it's definitely not for me. You'll have to make your own mind up about them. See what you think - at least they weren't lying about the expenses." Then she'd been gone. Leaving behind those two groups of applicants. Those with a job and looking for a change and those pretty much desperate for any job. It was no comfort for Rachel to know how solidly she was in the latter group.

She knew that interviews started when you stepped through the door, knew that she had to watch her tongue as she talked and to remember that she was always under observation. That didn't phase her and besides she was doing her fair share of observing too. Maybe half the women were like Marcy - in and out in few minutes. However, as the day had gone on that had happened less and less. Which was why the wait had been so long. She also hadn't been counting them all out and counting them all back but she knew that five or so women had gone and not returned the same way.

Slowly the number of women waiting dwindled. Ten ... eight ... five ... two ... finally, after carefully nursing another diet coke, Rachel was left waiting alone. Only then, after waiting most of the day, was Rachel called. It was her turn.

The man apologised for her long wait and then ushered her into the elevator. Later Rachel couldn't remember the elevator too precisely of course but she did remember that it had whisked her up to the top floor. On leaving it the man had shown her a window from which you could see across the whole city. The sun was setting out there by down-town and the lights were coming on. It was a wonderful view.

Then he knocked on a door and left her to answer the summons from within. She walked into a large room almost bare save for a desk and a man in a suit seated behind it.

He consulted a sheet of paper on the desk in front of him. "Ms Goose - an unusual name."

She gave him a little smile. No need to go into details about how three generations back they'd got tired of hardly anyone being able to say their name right and absolutely nobody being able to spell it right. That all had a bit too much of the Ellis Island about it and with types like this guy you never knew how they would take that.

He had noted her little smile but didn't trade it for one of his own. "I suppose it was originally Guzcznik or something similar." Only now did he gave a little self-satisfied smile of his own. "My own ancestors came over to Virginia in colonial times. Not quite on the Mayflower but at around the same time. We know a good thing when we see it." His eyes travelled unashamedly up and down her body. The tip of his tongue appeared between his lips.

"I am so delighted that your photograph was not misleading. You really would not believe some of the tricks you girls try to play. Photographs from ten years or more ago. Photographs of someone else entirely." He gave a short laugh. "However, in your case the camera, or I suppose the phone, has most definitely not lied. So we can proceed. Do take a seat."

"Ms Goose - I apologise for your long wait. It may be some consolation that we tend to leave our best, er, prospects until last. Our club has extremely high standards and we are required to match up to them at all times. You may have realised that the wait was indeed an essential part of the procedure. Women who drink alcohol before a job interview are unlikely to measure up. Women who smoke are not a problem - women who need to smoke while at work or over a relatively small period of time are. Women who can present themselves well in dress and in person are a basic requirement. It is also useful to identify which women want the job enough to stand a little inconvenience."

He paused and then smiled again. "It almost shames me to say it but women who are physically attractive create a better ambience for our members. So sometimes the better prospects have the longer wait - a little temptation you might deduce. You, I am glad to say, have passed the test. So we need to find out a little about you."

Rachel wasn't impressed. He might claim to be Virginian aristocracy but he was a real corporate lizard type. Pasty faced and with a sheen of sweat on his face. He was about fifty and balding with a paunch which his expensive suit tried manfully to hide. She wondered how much that suit had cost, at least a month's rent maybe three or four. She had to remember that she was on a mission. She needed the money and needed it bad.

She smiled at him - even though she noticed that his eyes were fixed on her legs. She crossed them - being ogled by types like this was probably another 'essential part of the procedure.' The man's eyes finally dragged themselves back to the page in front of him.

He questioned her on her background and her family. She was married - did she have children? He noted her relatively thin waitress experience but didn't seem bothered about that at all. What church did she attend - she hadn't got round to finding one since moving to her current city, well that wasn't an issue. Any health problems - medication, etc? Any siblings? He'd seemed very interested by her time at college. That was OK but it inevitably raised the questions of why her qualifications hadn't produced a good living and about her actual family circumstances.

Rachel felt relieved but surprised when he didn't seem to feel the need to follow those lines of enquiry up. Instead he asked about her husband. She told him that he was an artist and a games designer. Had he seen any of her husband's work? What galleries had he shown at? Had he heard of any of the games her husband had worked on? Or perhaps a campaign that had featured his designs? She'd covered up the sad truth as well as she could but she doubted he had been fooled.

Finally the Lizard nodded and shuffled his papers. "That seems most satisfactory Ms Goose. Now we might move onto the more practical part of the interview. If you go into the room next door then you will find a club uniform appropriate to the sizes which you have provided. If you'd like to change and then come back then that would be marvellous." His piggy little eyes glittered and an extra sheen of sweat seemed to appear on his forehead.

The Real Thing

Rachel went out through the door and found herself in a much smaller room. There was a full-length mirror, a dressing table and, laid out for her, there was an outfit. Rachel took one look at it and gave a resigned nod. Now she had a confirmation of what she was getting into. Not a strip joint and not a stuffy country club. Well at least she was getting expenses on the interview. Was this what had put Marcy and the others off? This uniform - or the leering piggy face of the interviewer - or a combination of the two?

That scenario didn't fill Rachel with good thoughts. Being in this uniform with the Lizard staring at her. She gave a little shudder and then tried to get herself together. It was OK for Marcy - she had a job and a roof over her head. Rachel had to provide for herself - and for Preston. There was no US Cavalry coming over the hill. It was up to Rachel to get the job done and, well, if she went to the beach there were plenty of men staring at her and they weren't all Brad Pitt, Jamie Fox or Lavon Crawston. Even with her thoughts in a maelstrom Rachel had to suppress a little smile at the thought of her old landlord. He'd love being put in that company!

Not for the first time Rachel thought about Lavon. He had told her to get in touch if she was ever in trouble and she knew that he had money, properties. He could perhaps help her and Preston out. Not for the first time Rachel went through the motions of considering the idea. Lavon could loan her rent or a roof but how could they ever pay him back? With Lavon, of course, there had always been an alternative. Then. Now she was a married woman and if she hadn't taken him up on the offer when she was a young fancy-free student it would be ridiculous to do it now. Still...

As always reality was like a bucket of iced water dumped over her head. Lavon wasn't around anymore. He was down in the Islands. This was down to her, Rachel Goose. If she had to show a little skin to a bunch of elitist old farts then there were worse things. If it kept a roof over their heads and food on the table. She took a deep breath, then stripped down to her underclothes and placed her interview outfit on the hangers provided.

First up was the top. It was a sort of a crop top, white with a black trim but otherwise plain. The material was spandex or something similar and she knew that it would be skin-tight. She frowned a little. This had to have been a man's idea. She pulled the top over her head and into place.

Oh it was skin-tight alright. Short sleeves, a plunging neckline and stopping a good inch above her belly-button. Skin would most certainly be on show but that wasn't what drew her immediate attention when she checked herself out in the mirror. The white skin-tight material made her bra and its straps very obvious. It looked terrible. She shook her head a little in annoyance. If they had told her in advance then she could have worn a white one. Maybe that wouldn't have looked so bad. The top had a spandex band but there were also two bands of cloth. She took them and tied them into a knot. That was more like it. It hid the band and made it look like just a gentle tug might have her whole top falling off. It wasn't quite true but she guessed that the image was more important than the reality.

Once on her the top was comfortable enough - but those bra straps were so obvious. They really did look terrible. She hesitated a moment and then steeled herself to what she had to do. A few moments later and she was checking herself in the mirror again. That did look a whole lot better but the kiss of the material on her nipples had its effect and in that top the effect was very obvious.

On to the skirt. The waist-band was made up to look like a thick belt, a very showy belt covered in rhinestones. Attached to one side of it was a sort of leatherette pouch. Presumably for a pad and pens, though quite large just for that. As she had picked up the skirt she had noted that compared to the belt there really was not that much material. It was a red and black plaid and there really, quite seriously, was not much of it.

Once she had fastened the belt she saw that the skirt just barely covered her butt. In normal circumstances she just would not wear something like this. She'd be scared to move in it! She experimented with a little wiggle of her hips and then moved her body from side to side. The material was solid enough to largely stay in place. In a wind it might be a different matter but otherwise the skirt wasn't about to fly up out of position. It just looked like it might at any minute. Which, Rachel again reasoned, was almost certainly the point. Men could be such pigs. The chance of an illicit peak at her butt would excite them far more than actually seeing it might!

Rachel nearly jumped out of her skin as there was a gentle tap on the door.

"You ready hon?"

That was another surprise - a female voice. Most definitely not the lizard who had ushered her into the room.

"One moment," called Rachel. She really only had to pull on her shoes and she was ready. She took a deep breath and then opened the door.

The woman was waiting for her. She was perhaps thirty, a few years older than Rachel anyway. Dark brown hair, a porcelain complexion, deep brown eyes. Those were not the first things you noticed. The woman was shorter than Rachel, about 5'4", and had a trim physique - except for her breasts. They were very large and very obviously not natural. They sort of drew your attention especially when their owner was wearing a top that displayed a formidably deep cleavage.

The woman laughed. "You like what you see hon - well I can put you in touch with Dr Nikola if you like. The best in the business and quite reasonable if a girl is referred to him by us. It surely pays to advertise." She giggled again and Rachel saw that the woman's eyes were filled with mischief and humour. They reminded her of her old friend Britney's. The same teasing, amused, look.

"You are Rachel and I am Louise," said the woman. "I must say that you just look good enough to eat! Just give me a slow twirl so I can see all the angles."

Rachel obeyed - still powered a little by her relief that it hadn't been the lizard waiting to ogle her. She knew what she looked like - her outfit was simultaneously showy and cheap looking.

"Oh yes," said Louise in a pleased voice. "You are just what our customers like. You can do very well at the BMW - but a little more on that later. You've done some work as a server I saw."

Rachel confirmed that. She naturally found herself liking this woman. Perhaps not entirely trusting the situation yet - but Louise herself seemed OK.

"A couple of practical points," continued Louise, "you'll know this business can be murder on the feet. Your shoes there are nothing foolish but most of the girls wear kicks, sneakers yeah. The guys like boots, of course they do, but kicks and tennis socks are just fine. Nothing sexy about a girl who can't walk because of her blisters.

Rachel couldn't help noticing that Louise was wearing boots. The subtlest of heel below close-fitting suede up to just below her knees. They looked good and no doubt came at a price to match. For Rachel it would be sneakers and tennis socks.

"The second point is our clientele. Our club is extremely exclusive and by invitation only. We are only interested in employing staff who are comfortable in that environment. We do not expect any of our girls to do anything they are not happy with but we also expect them to understand our rules and to agree to follow them, within legal bounds of course."

Rachel tried to process that but meanwhile Louise walked to the main door of the room and opened it. "We have a couple of committee members to check over your application."

Louise took a seat on the right of the desk while two men took the other two places there. Rachel realised that she knew them both. On the right of the desk was the man who had been at reception earlier. The tall African-American with short greying hair. He gave her a friendly smile as he saw that she had remembered him.

Seated front and center of the desk, so that Rachel was positioned in front of him, was another African-American man. He had noted the unspoken interaction "Remember me too?" He was very handsome and younger than his colleague, only a few years older than Louise.

Rachel remembered him alright. She had seen him twice before, each time in front of that big old townhouse that she remembered so fondly. When her world had been full of friends and possibilities. "Of course - you are Theo, Lavon Crawston's friend."

Now Theo smiled too. "Thass cool. No need for formalities. Take a seat there. I'm the co-Chair of the BMW Committee. On my right is Louise, sort of 'house momma' for the Club and the finest piece of white ass this side of most anywhere."

Rachel knew that all three were watching her - gauging her reaction. She, of course, gave none. She'd lived in a house with Lavon so she was hardly going to get an attack of the vapours or something!

Theo's smile spread to his deep brown eyes. "On my left is Joshua - here to sort of represent for the members. Make sure our new employees are up to Club standards." He gave a slight gesture with his hand - allowing Joshua to take over.