Chapter 2

March 28, 2013

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

"Hallelujah," Haven Edwards exclaimed as she danced in the elevator, her well-practiced movements smooth and masterful despite the confined space. "It's been five long years, Elleane. I am ready for it all to be over." The elevator dinged its arrival on the ground floor of the law office of Pearce & Associates.

"I can totally understand that." Elleane's voice was sympathetic.

"The divorce shouldn't have taken this long, and if I hadn't met that loser Elgin, I never would have been burdened with his soul sucking gambling debts."

"Yeah, but if you hadn't met that douche and gone broke supporting his bad habits you never would have met me."

"That's true. Whether it's a good thing is debatable." She infused her voice with a smile.

"Bitch." Elleane's tone reminded her of the mewl of a de-clawed octogenarian house cat rather than the growling of an attacking cougar. "Besides, Delicious wouldn't be the same without your splendid assets shaking on stage five nights a week."

"Well, you're damn right about that." She laughed. "These assets have certainly made things easier. Sure as hell wouldn't have been able to pay off Elgin's debts without them. Speaking of which, I just got the official divorce documentation-I am a free woman! Can you believe it?"

"Haven, honey, you deserve freedom. You've been drowning under Elgin and his shit for five years. Take a break. See the sights. Get laid. Hell, you're twenty-five, gorgeous, smart, and sexy. You're free! Live a little."

She smiled at her friend's rant.

"Elleane, you are preaching to the choir here. Anyway, I need to get going so I can get my workout in before tonight's festivities. Wait, have you figured out where you're taking me?" She needed and deserved a night of celebration after years of sacrifice and Elgin's fallout.

"Not quite yet."

"Well, you'd better get to it," Haven commanded with a grin.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n." They both laughed before she terminated the call.

Reaching her Nissan in the parking lot, she climbed in, and her phone rang again. She recognized the ring tone: Titties and Beer by Frank Zappa.

"Yes, Georgie? How is my sweet pervert doing this fine day?" She had a love-hate relationship with her boss, so she was comfortable telling him he was a degenerate.

"Haven, my love, I know you're busy wrapping up your divorce stuff, but I need you to come in tonight."

She groaned.

"Marina called in sick. Something about her shady boyfriend getting arrested," Georgie grumbled. She rolled her eyes.

From eight to two, five nights a week, she used her beauty to make money. She provided men, and some women, with the excitement they craved, the visions of flesh they begged for, and the promise of seduction they paid for. She was a femme fatale, a body musician, an exotic dancer. She was paid to remove her clothes, move her bare ass to lush, addictive beats, and make her audience drool so much no amount of BYOB would satiate their thirst. She wasn't ashamed of what she did because it was a means to make money until she could finalize her divorce and start her life over again. Dancing for an appreciative audience gave her the opportunity to earn quick cash, which went immediately into the slimy hands of Elgin's bookies and her divorce lawyer.

"Why can't you get Lila to come in? She's been asking for extra hours."

"Yeah, I already called her. She ain't answering her phone. That leaves you, baby. But you know what?"

She didn't want to know, but she liked the guy, so she'd humor him. "What, Georgie?"

"I would rather have you on stage anyway. You're the only one in the history of this place who can get guys to empty their bank accounts." As the club's main attraction, men came up from Virginia and out from Vegas to see her dance. She made each performance into a masterpiece using her body as the brush, the music as the paint, and the stage as a canvas. After five years of hard work, she'd succeeded in weaving the sensuality and sexuality of the exotic with the erotic beats and treats of modern music. As a professional, she entertained to tease, entice, and inflame. Damn right she was the best. It came naturally.

Haven looked at the clock on the dashboard and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Georgie. You know the girls and I have a celebration planned. I would if I could, but I can't."

"Aw, come on Haven, I'll pay you another grand on top of your regular pay and tips. I've got a high roller coming in and I want him to have the most delicious of Delicious. Do I have to remind you who gave you your job in the first place?" he hissed into the phone.

She cursed under her breath. "No."

He liked reminding her she was the only girl at the club who could choose the music, the audience, and the dance. Unlike other women in her profession, her act always headlined. Her name in lights, and her pockets lined with cash. Georgie would often hold "Delicious Lip-Licking Ladies" nights as a way to boost club numbers. Fliers and word of mouth would bring the customers. He'd charge admittance for the "special showing", and she would dance.

Her body. Her choice. No compromises.

Unfortunately, Georgie didn't care about her personal feelings, he only cared about the bottom line-and the bottoms of the ladies who brought in the money. She was his biggest moneymaker, but he knew once she had enough to go back to nursing school, she'd get a nursing job, and she'd be out of there for good.

She blew out a heavy breath. "No. Final answer. I have been working my ass off for five years. I deserve one night out on the town to blow off some steam." She wanted to feel bad for the guy, but couldn't do it.

The muffled swear on the other end of the line signaled his concession. "Fine, fine. I'll let you have your evening out."

"How gracious of you."