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it took a lot to impress him. She strolled over to the pole slowly, reached out and encircled it with her arm, and then leaned over to lick it like an all-day sucker. The manager was watching her pointy pink tongue just the way she knew he would. This was her shot at getting to the next level and she was ready. More than ready. She hooked her leg around the pole and began her routine. By the time she finished, the manager’s eyes were glazed. She grinned at him and he grinned back.
    “Close enough, baby,” he said, unzipping his fly. “Now come on over here and finish me off.”
    After that, Brandi became a regular in the VIP room. Sometimes she had sex with the guys, sometimes she just danced for them, but she was making plenty of money either way. As required, she kicked back to the manager, and after that first time, he never requested sex from her again. He had a serious lady friend who popped in frequently, unannounced, and she did not play. The rumor was that once she found her man having sex with a dancer who should have known better. Miss Girl pulled a razor, cut the girl’s butt up so bad she couldn’t work anymore, and told her the next time she’d get her face.
    The girl left town, and after that, the manager couldn’t even pay any of the other women to have sex with him. They were more scared of his girlfriend than they were of being broke or fired. Disappointed, but undaunted, he contented himself with the new girls who hadn’t heard the story yet. Brandi didn’t care. She had traded what she had for what she wanted, and from where she stood, this job was well worth a onetime afternoon quickie with the boss. She’d have given up more, but she was glad she didn’t have to. Her future looked nothing but bright.
    After two years at the club, she had started working with the manager selling a little coke to her regulars. She knew he was involved with some shady characters, but all she ever did was sell what he gave her. Who he got it from was none of her business, until he double-crossed a hard-eyed man with no sense of humor who tortured him for two days before putting a bullet in his brain and coming to look for Brandi. She gave him what she was holding and told him everything she knew, which wasn’t much. The hard-eyed man took pity on her, decided on rape instead of murder, and told her to get her fine ass out of what was now his club.
    Terrified, she hid out with her cousin Madonna for a couple of weeks to regroup. The problem was, her cousin lived in West End, and once you crossed that boundary, you were subject to the absolute rule of Blue Hamilton. That was fine for some people, but if she wanted somebody to tell her what to do, she’d get married. It wasn’t that Brandi didn’t understand the whole godfather thing. She respected Mr. Blue, she really did. It was just that she preferred to take her chances on the outside, where things were a little looser when it came to how you made your money.
    She had to lay low long enough to let that hard-eyed guy forget about her. She knew it wouldn’t be forever, but for now, the high-end clubs were off-limits. That was a
real
problem. All she knew how to do for money was dance. She couldn’t mooch off Madonna much longer and she sure didn’t want to become a full-time prostitute. She was down to her last ten bucks when she saw a “Dancers Wanted” sign in the window at Montre’s, four whole blocks over the West End line. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she needed the job and they said she could start that night. So she did.
    Eight months later, she was still there. She was counting the days until a year had passed and Hard Eye would have moved on to mess with some other unfortunate soul. She still swabbed down the pole with an antibacterial wipe before she got on it, even though the other dancers bitched about her thinking “her pussy must be made of gold or somethin’.” Most of all, she still couldn’t believe how cheap the patrons of this