Chapter 2 DRUNK

Iridescent rays danced across my partially nude body as I wrapped my long, bare legs around the cold stainless steel that was my fortress at the moment. Imbibing a half bottle of Coffee Patrón within a two-hour span was proving to be a really, really bad idea.

My mind was a vortex, my vision turbid, and my bones liquefied. I opened my eyes and regarded my onlookers who all bore lascivious smiles, waving their green bills aloft.

All were wealthy and powerful businessmen with wives either forty pounds heavier than when they'd first tied the knot to do justice to any sexy lingerie, or simply, the thrill was gone.

As I slithered to the center of the stage, I noticed through my blurry vision Mr. Mysterious in Black was present. Ensconced in his rented booth and alone as usual, he regarded me intently.

The word I'd use to describe him was...'odd'. He never danced with anyone; merely sat in his booth all night and stared at me, watching my every move.

Sometimes I got the insane thought he was some sort of serial killer who preyed on vulnerable women. If such was the case, it would be a complete waste. I'd never seen him up close because I consciously kept my distance from him, and club lights do have the tendency to make anyone look good.

But if my distant inspections didn't lie, I'd say he was one wickedly hot man. All dark-haired, square-jawed and high levels of intensity. Viewing him up close was necessary to be certain, though. Not like that's ever going to happen.

With alcohol-fueled bravery, I winked at him, flashing a coquettish smile. His response was a disapproving scowl and the haughty averting of his eyes.

Ouch. Was only trying to be nice tonight, for once, because I was drunk. And his ass should've been glad for it, considering the innumerable times I refused his requests for private dances with me, persistent as he was.

No way was I going within a foot of him. He was too...intimidating, if that were the better word. And strange. He only dressed in black and no one seemed to have any info on him-well, at least they said they didn't. It was as if they feared him or something.

Thus, I nicknamed him Mr. Mysterious in Black. I snaked tortuously up my stainless steel fortress, closing my eyes and allowing myself to float away on the waves of Michael Jackson's Dirty Diana, feeling like a Dirty Daniella myself. But the alcohol wasn't enough to keep the reality away.

The reality of why I'd gotten this drunk in the first place. Why I'd subjected myself to this 'job', and was now so disoriented. Feeling like breaking Eric's arbitrary rule given only to me , I awkwardly tried to take off my bra.

At the undoing of the first hook, I lost my grip and went spiraling to the floor. Sprawled in a heap on the stage, I was too soused to even attempt lifting a finger, so I just laid there, listening to Michael Jackson scream like a bitch in my ears, telling me how dirty I was.

For seconds, minutes, or hours, maybe, I remained sprawled on the stage, until I felt hands holding my arms and legs, and my body being rescued off the stage. Soon I felt something soft and plush beneath me-the couch in the dressing room, I assumed.

I flicked open my eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to focus on my surroundings. Catching a familiar form, my eyes tentatively traveled up to the glowering gaze of my pissed-off boss.

His wavy blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his black muscle-shirt stretched helplessly over his fully matured brawns. Eric was a big man. A really big man.

"What the hell's wrong with you tonight , huh?" he growled.

Unable to form a coherent sentence, I groaned. My eyes darted around the cluttered room. Bright round bulbs lined above rows of make-up mirrors; each had a fully or half-naked girl seated in front of it painting prettier faces over their original ones.

Feathers and fluffs and bras and various dance costumes were strewn about, as dancers milled in and out. Pleased to find no one was paying attention to Eric and me, I relaxed.

Failing to meet his angry glare again, I said, "I just fell on my ass straight from a pole, Eric. Have some pity on me, will you?"

"You fell because you were trying to defy me. I told you: do not remove your bra!!"

"It's an enigma why this rule applies only to me," I said in indignation. "How the hell am I supposed to make money? I'm not allowed to dance with anyone and I'm not allowed to go topless. So what's the point of me being here?"

Eric looked frustrated. "You don't need the money. Why do you think you need to be here?"

I stared blankly up at him as if he'd spoken a distinct language.

Uh, let's see: because I lost my job merely a week after dumping my good-for-nothing-but-trouble drug dealer of a boyfriend. Had difficulties getting another job. Student loans-debt.

My mother's ailment-debt. Three months' worth of rent owed to Carmela, in which I'll be out on my ass if I don't have her rent by the time she's back from her excursion-more debt.

I closed my eyes and swung an arm across my face. "I won't even attempt to answer that, Eric."

Eric sighed. "It's only 'cause I gotta keep my mouth shut, Ella ," he gently removed my hand from my face and looked down at me with an I-know-something-that-you-don't-know expression.

"But trust me, you don't need to be here. This job's not for you."

"No, it's definitely not for me. I'm with you on that. But I do need the money."

Eric grunted in frustration just as a cocktail waitress strolled in with a glass of ice and a bottle of Club Soda. Taking the tray from her, he poured the Club Soda into the glass and sat next to me on the couch, bringing the glass to my lips.

"Drink."

Without hesitation I drank, because frankly, I hated being drunk. I needed nothing more than to head home and fall into a deep sleep. "Thanks."

Eric smiled his signature panty-dropping smile "My pleasure, Ella."

He leaned over to whisper, "Just don't forget me." He revealed that I-know-something-that-you-don't-know expression again, got up and left with a backward glance.

What the heck was that supposed to mean? As my thoughts tried weaving through my intoxicated brain about Eric's inexplicable behavior, familiar arms wrapped around me, and I relaxed into it.

"Thanks, Tina. I needed that."

"Ella, I know you got some awful news tonight, but I can assure you, Patrón is nobody's friend," Tina said, her brown eyes sincere, her caramel skin glowing.

"Plus drinking and working don't mesh well. You'll start out doing things that's just not you, then end up regretting it in the morning."

I merely gave a "hmm" in response. Far too inebriated to take a lecture.

"Let me help you get dressed and take you home. You seem a little out of it. Sleep is the only thing that can help right now."

No argument from me.