The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(43)

“I’ll be right back, honey.” Without waiting for an answer, Wilma approached the main stage. Darla was walking down the steps, covered in a towel.

“Smokey is smokin’ tonight,” Darla said, hugging Wilma. “How was the show?”

“Great as always,” Wilma replied. “Listen, this guy back there–” and Wilma positioned herself so Darla could see “–is asking about a VIP room? Do we have one of those?”

“You’re shitting me?” Darla answered, walking to the bar while Wilma tagged close behind. “Seven and Seven, Saint Peter,” she bellowed, and the bartender – a bearded man named Peter – slid the already made drink over to Darla. “Aren’t you a sweetie,” she said, winking at him and downing half her drink in one swallow. Then she turned and looked at Wilma.

“Listen, honey, if he’ll pay a hundred dollars, then go through that door past the benches. There is a stairwell that will take you upstairs to a hallway with two rooms. You can use either one. The first has an old beat-up leather chair and the other one has a couch.”

“What do you do up there? I mean, I guess you’re supposed to...” She stopped because she didn’t have a clue what she was supposed to do.

“Anything and everything. There are no cameras up there. No rules like there are on the floor. If you like him and he’s nice, show him a good time. If not, then don’t.”

“How long should I stay up there?”

“As long as he’s paying and you’re comfortable.”

Wilma had another question, but she wasn’t sure how to ask it. She looked back at James and then Darla.

“Have you ever...? I mean... up there have you ever let the guy...?”

“Yes, honey. I have.” She put her hands on Darla’s shoulders. “But only because I’ve wanted to. I’ve gotten hot, just like the guy. The guy’s hard, he’s throwing money at you, it’s, you know... you’re still a woman. But I don’t do it because he’s paying for it – I do it because I want to. There’s a difference.” Darla drained the rest of her drink and put her glass on the bar.

“One more thing,” Darla said. “Me and Tammie are the only girls in this joint to ever get a VIP dance. It’s a status symbol around here. Larry will notice it and you may get a raise. But – and, honey, this is a big but – you don’t need to take a guy up those stairs if you think he might try to force you to do something you don’t want to do. That’s a big buck over there. Just be careful and have fun.” She slapped Wilma on the ass and walked away.

Wilma looked at Peter and was about to order another drink when she felt two firm hands on her shoulders.

“Well, what’ll it be? How about that private dance?” James asked. Wilma tried to get back in Smokey mode, turning her back to him and leaning over the bar.

“Saint Peter, James here wants to buy me another drink. Right, James?” She looked back at him with what Dewey always called “the bedroom eyes”.

“Yes, ma’am. How about making it two?” he said to the bartender, and then to Wilma he whispered again, “How about that private dance?”

“You got a hundred dollars?” she asked, trying to sound as sexy as possible.

“I got a thousand dollars. And I want to spend every dime of it on you.”

Wilma was stunned beyond words. After a few seconds, she leaned over the bar and motioned Peter over and whispered something in his ear.

“Will do,” Peter said, looking over his shoulder at James and back at her.

“Right this way,” Wilma said, taking his hand and walking towards the door. Without allowing herself to think, Wilma led him up the stairs and into the first room she saw. There was the leather chair – brown with several patches – positioned right in the center of the room. There was a coffee table to the left of the chair and an old jam box on the floor against the wall on the right. Wilma put her drink on the coffee table and turned quickly to James.

“Sit down and I’ll be right back.” She walked back down the stairs in time to see Peter placing the fifth of Jack Daniels on the floor behind the railing

She picked up the bottle and looked at the stairs. What in God’s name am I doing? She put the bottle down and folded her arms. It wasn’t too late. She could go into the dressing room, put on her clothes and be at Ms Yost’s house in thirty-five minutes. There were other ways to make a living. Then she saw the faces of her girls. Laurie Ann couldn’t be a cheerleader if she couldn’t afford the uniform. And that wouldn’t be the last thing. Wilma wanted more for her girls. College. Opportunities. A real chance. Everything she never had.

She picked up the bottle and unscrewed the top. She cocked it back and took a long swig. “There’s a difference,” she whispered out loud, repeating what Darla had said, trying to believe it, as she ascended the stairs. She took another swig of whiskey outside the door and brushed her hair back with her hand.

Then, steeling herself as best she could, she opened the door.

But when Wilma saw who was now sitting in the leather chair, she almost dropped the bottle of whiskey.



“Hello, Wilma.”

“Hi.” It was all she could get out. Jack Willistone? Behind her, the door closed and Wilma wheeled to see James.