Big Brother Billionaire (Part Two) Read online

  I gathered my shopping bags briskly, depositing the change in my wallet. “I suppose I’ll just have to wear a black bikini,” I said, turning on my heel and walking out.

  So I had the clothes I wanted in order to embrace this new Parker. However, there was nothing that screamed leather-clad dominatrix, the role that Jake had said he saw me in as a dancer at his club. I didn’t have much money left, so true leather was going to be out of the question. I was going to have to get creative, and that entailed a few trips to places that the new Parker wouldn’t be caught dead in.

  The thrift shop was my first stop, looking for pieces that could be cut up and adapted for a new life in the spotlight. I found a slinky dress with a sheer, shiny finish. A few alterations and that would get the customers at the club on their feet. I picked up a couple of belts that I could put together as a BDSM feast for the eyes. This was off to a good start, but there was still one other place I needed to visit.

  It was lucky for me that the club I’d gotten a job at was outside of the city’s seedier districts. The street blocks were home to strip club after gentleman’s club and interspersed with liquor stores and sex shop. The club I was about to start dancing at was actually not in a bad area of Miami, probably grandfathered into the area with some old zoning rules. However, this part of town was a place I knew about but had never ventured into, not even out of curiosity. I had never had any sort of business being in this neighborhood until now. It was a sex shop I was looking for after all, a store that stocked all sorts of costumes and accessories for every fetish and desire under the sun—and those quirks that most people preferred to keep out of the sun.

  I was glad I’d gone out as the new Parker. As the new Parker, I eyed the assortment of furry handcuffs and whips arranged on the wall coolly, wholly disinterested. Without the persona of this new Parker, my eyes would’ve been bulging out of my head. I probably wouldn’t have even been able to bring myself to cross the threshold.

  I got an appraising look from the tattooed woman restocking the display of condoms.

  “Can I help you find something?” she asked, not stopping from her endless stacking and straightening of all the colorful packets.

  “I’ll let you know,” I said, heading over to the costumes, still toting my purchases from earlier. I was sure I cut an interesting character with the variety of shopping bags in my possession.

  It wasn’t until I chanced upon a rack of clearance items that I found what I’d been hunting for—dominatrix wear. I found a shiny pleather bra and booty short set priced at a steal, and a crazy mask lined with a toothy zipper that looked downright dangerous. I had just enough money to cover it, and then I was flat out broke. I needed to earn back all the money I’d blown on this new persona ASAP or I wouldn’t be able to cover rent this month.

  “You looking to try some new things out in the bedroom?” the tattooed woman asked as she handed me my bagged purchases.

  “Who said they were for the bedroom?” I retorted without so much as a blush or a batted eyelash. My attitude about purchasing this fetish wear shocked me to the core. Without this new Parker mask to wear, I would’ve been a gibbering mess trying to buy these supplies—no matter how essential they were to the job I’d selected.

  I brought my purchases to the club that night, secured in my purse. I joined a flood of other dancers in the dressing room, applying their makeup in the mirrors and squeezing into costumes without an ounce of shame, boobs and butts hanging out everywhere. During my time crashing out on couches and floors in the homes of virtual strangers, I got used to seeing my fair share of nudity. However, this was excessive. There were perhaps twenty girls packed in the dressing room, many of whom were smoking cigarettes. The smoke hung low beneath the ceiling, making it a little difficult to see my own reflection in the mirror. I realized I looked scared and reasserted my Parker mask until my face was expressionless, cold even.

  “Sweetheart, help us out over here.”

  I turned at a voice at my elbow and saw a woman with enormous breasts and a bulging belly being hugged tightly by another dancer. The larger woman was partially ensconced in a purple corset with a zipper hanging open. A third woman, the one who’d spoken, beckoned me over a little impatiently.

  “The corset’s not going to close itself,” she explained.

  I blinked a few times and joined them. “What do I need to do?” I asked. It was a strange feeling, this effortless camaraderie in the dressing room. I didn’t understand how it was going to be. I’d assumed there would be an element of cutthroat competition. Weren’t we all trying to earn money that could go to another dancer instead? But here, in the dressing room, girls were sharing their makeup, braiding each other’s hair, and apparently aiding with the closing of corsets.

  “Babs is going to suck it in for all she’s worth,” the woman who’d spoken said, jerking her thumb at the larger woman. “Mary’s going to help her.” That was the woman hugging Babs tightly from behind. “I’m going to get the zipper up. And you’re going to push Babs’ belly up under the corset as it closes. It’s going to want to squeeze out from the bottom, but you’re going to shove it back under there by the handful, if necessary.”

  I swallowed, a little queasy. “Isn’t it going to hurt?”

  “It’s going to hurt more if I can’t get all my fat underneath this thing,” Babs rasped, grinding out a cigarette in a nearby ashtray before steeling herself. “Here’s some unsolicited advice. Don’t have kids. Your body’s never the same. Nothing springs back to the shape it was before. And men won’t give you a second glance unless you do stupid shit like corsets, pushup bras, girdles, and pantyhose. You hear me?”

  “I…I hear you,” I said, faltering a little bit before setting my shoulders, letting the new Parker take control of the situation. “Let’s do this, if you’re ready.”

  “Carpe diem,” Mary laughed, squeezing Babs’ middle.

  “All right,” the third woman said. “On the count of three. One…two…Babs, take your last deep breath of the night…three…suck it in, girl! Suck it!”

  She started wrestling the zipper up the corset, each centimeter a battle, and Babs groaned as I pushed her soft belly up under the stiff purple fabric.

  “Sorry, is it hurting?” I asked, concerned, backing off a little at the way Babs’ face was starting to match the corset.

  “Get back here!” the third woman screeched, the zipper working itself back down. “We’re losing ground, here! Keep pushing!”

  I did as she asked, urging the zipper upward with my eyes. This couldn’t have been comfortable for Babs, who looked like she was doing the most work out of all of us.

  “Almost there,” Mary coached through gritted teeth. “Practically at the home stretch, Babs.”

  I couldn’t imagine doing anything so painful for beauty, no matter how big my belly was. This couldn’t really be worth it, could it? The woman who was wrangling the zipper was biting her lower lip, her fingers red from gripping the stubborn metal, coaxing the teeth together as we all worked to restrain Babs’ flesh.

  But finally, finally, the zipper was secure. Mary let go and Babs coughed, pawing at her cleavage until everything but her nipples bulged above the corset. We all stepped back from her, out of breath, and watched as she looked at herself in the mirror.

  “Not bad, new girl,” she said, eyeing me. Her voice sounded like it hurt to speak. “But you missed a spot.” She pointed at a strange bulge of gut protruding from below the corset.

  “Sorry,” I said. “It was just—that was really hard. How can you stand it?”

  “I stand it because I have to,” she said, shrugging, as Mary basically punched the errant bulge back up under the corset. “My body’s my meal ticket—my kids’ meal ticket, too. I have to look good, or we don’t eat. If you think about that, people depending on you, then nothing hurts that bad.”

  “I haven’t seen you around before,” the third woman said. “What’s your name, kid?”

  I wa
sn’t a kid. There were some girls here who I seriously doubted were eighteen. I had been certain that I was getting into this career a little late. But I was still younger than this group of women.

  “It’s Parker,” I said, raising my chin, trying as hard as I could to exude as much “new Parker” as possible. “This is my first night.”

  “Well, welcome aboard,” she said, grinning and clapping me on the shoulder. “You’ve already met Babs and Mary. I’m Sally.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, and it really was. I hadn’t anticipated making any friends here. I’d only maintained working acquaintances with people at my former places of employment. In fact, I hadn’t had any close friends since winding up in Miami.

  The group of women took me under their wings, eager to induct me into the secrets of dancing at clubs for a living,

  Babs had been doing it the longest. “The secret is to always leave them wanting something,” she would advise me, puffing on a cigarette, zipped up into her corset, or snapped into a girdle several sizes too tight. “Never show them everything you got—ever. No matter how much they give you. Once they’ve seen it all, they won’t think they have to pay you anymore. You’re no longer a mystery.”

  Mary was something of a surprise. She was working to get herself through college and was as smart and sharp as a firecracker. She was the first to admit that she wouldn’t be here forever, circling the pole like a restless shark.

  “And you shouldn’t be here forever either,” Mary would say, a book open on her fishnet-encased knee, studying for a test the next morning, somehow able to concentrate over the boom of the music out in the club. “That’s the thing about this place, Parker. It’s easy money. It’s so easy to make a ton of money, but that doesn’t mean that this place doesn’t take something out of you. If you stay here too long, you’ll end up earning every single penny and then some. Do you understand? Only stay here as long as you have to. Don’t overstay your welcome. It’s easy money. That’s why it’s hard to leave.”

  Sally was the queen bee of the trio, somehow. She hadn’t been working at the club for as long as Babs, and she didn’t have the schooling that Mary enjoyed, but something in her personality commanded respect. I often found myself hanging on her every word, abandoning my cool as a cucumber Parker façade in favor of gleaning wisdom from her.

  “Jake’s a good guy, sure,” she would say, telling me about the man who owned the club, the man who had hired me to dance here. “But he has a coke problem. You can’t trust him when he’s high, you hear? You just nod and smile—or, you never smile, I know—nod and scowl. But don’t believe him. And don’t stick around, either. He’s no good when he’s on the coke.”

  It seemed like there were a lot of rules I needed to learn in order to achieve the level of success my new friends wanted me to, but I did just fine embracing the collected Parker, ice queen of the pole, all slick latex, hard leather, and sharp corners.

  I showed customers my ass, showed them my breasts, danced and whirled and twirled—and swam in cash. That first night I danced on the pole for real—for money, officially—I earned back everything I’d spent on my look and then some. I was flushed with my own success and cheered on by Jake, Sally, Mary, and Babs.

  However, I’d already decided what the one thing I’d never show the customers would be.

  “You’d be so much prettier if you just smiled, honey,” a customer complained, already pretty well soused by the time he’d requested me to give him a private dance.

  “And you’d be much prettier if you didn’t talk,” I told him, wagging a glove-clad finger in his face.

  You had to give up some things if you were going to be dancing in front of an audience, I was finding out. You had to be hard on the outside, impervious to whistles, gawks, shouts, and the rare attempt at groping. The bouncer would put a stop to that last behavior as soon as he could muscles the offending party out of the way and march him outside, but you couldn’t let it affect you.

  You couldn’t let anyone see it affect you.

  And so it made sense that Babs had advised me to always keep one thing out of sight. It was going to be my smile, and with that, the true Parker, the Parker I was deep down. That Parker had let the world nearly defeat her, so the world wasn’t going to see the person I used to be anymore. It was the era of the new Parker, the Parker who made everyone turn their heads, no matter if she was swinging around the pole at the club or walking down the aisles of a grocery store.

  Of course, the new Parker did nothing to protect me from my own success, and she did nothing to protect me from Ron.

  Chapter 3

  Parker,

  How could you write that to me? There isn’t any kind of “moving on” that I could ever do from you. It’s just not possible for me. I hate even the thought of it.

  No, there was never anyone else for me, not at the academy and not here at college. I only love you, and I’ll always wait for you. We were meant to be together. I could tell that from the moment I laid eyes on you, and I know you could, too.

  Everything I’ve done has been for you. I hope you understand that. If I do well at school and get a good job, you’ll want for nothing. I can provide everything for you, and you’ll never have to work again—unless you want to.

  If you’re lonely—physically lonely—then do what you have to do, Parker. I won’t judge you for it. But I could never betray the feelings I have for you just for some momentary release. It would never be worth it, and it would never be enough.

  Some people who spend enough time apart grow apart, but that’s not the case for us. Ours is the real deal. No one can take this away from us, no matter how hard they try. Don’t you remember the lengths the parents went through to keep us from being together?

  We’ll be together soon. Time is nothing.

  I love you.

  By the time I met Ron, I’d settled into the relative groove of professional dancing. I was enjoying earning more money than I’d ever seen in my life, thriving in the spotlight, and the Parker persona I’d worked to cultivate kept the glare from blinding me. I didn’t expect anything out of the world around me, and in return, I was never disappointed. I grew accustomed to netting lots of cash when I worked a shift at the club, but I never expected it. The weight and girth of my wallet each night, straining to remain shut in my purse, was its own delight, each and every close to my shift.

  I enjoyed working, embracing the totality of the Parker who existed at the club. I listened to and observed the mentors I’d chosen for myself closely, analyzing what they did and didn’t do, and modified the successful behaviors to suit my own act. I was always learning.

  Babs, for example, made sure that everything appeared effortless. I knew how much her girdles and corsets pained her, squeezing all of her organs together, just for a trimmer waistline. I saw the livid marks they made along her skin when we finally helped her out of the torture devices at the end of the night. However, that was part of the show, really, not letting the customers see all the pulleys and levers behind the magic tricks happening before their eyes. With her girdles and corsets, she looked svelte and voluptuous at the same time, the best of both worlds. She floated when she walked down the stage, twirling around the pole and popping out on both sides of it as coquettishly, as if it could hide her ample form.

  There was nothing about my routine or persona that could qualify as coquettish, but I made sure to more or less float down the catwalk, belying the skill it took to remain upright in the boots, stilettos, and platforms I favored, the ones that Jake said make me look like I had legs a mile long. If the customers suspected that I was having a hard time getting around when I was unnaturally propelled six inches taller than my God-given height, it would diminish some of the illusion I was working hard to maintain for them—that I, Parker, was unlike any woman they had ever seen, and they could only see me if they kept coming back.

  Ron was one of those men who kept coming back.

  He’d always sit a
t the same table, always facing the stage, his back to the wall, always watching. A trick I’d learned from Mary was to make eye contact with customers—all of whom were potential contributors to the night’s paycheck—in order to make them feel special. I preferred to be the special one, to remain aloof and unattainable. I found it made the dollars pile up faster, as most men wanted to feel like they could tame or own a woman like me for just a little while. However, I did flick my gaze from one customer to the next, always assessing, not demurring, and making them at least believe they could have a chance with me, if only for a little while.

  That’s how I noticed Ron, who first came once a week, then twice, then three times, until he was sitting at that same table each and every night, his pale blue eyes serious, intense, and unwavering from my own. It was disconcerting, at first, then somewhat empowering to realize I commanded that much attention from a single person. I found my gaze flickering toward his more and more, curious what about me captivated him so completely.

  Besides his eyes, there wasn’t much else in the way of physical features that made Ron stand out from any other customer. If it wasn’t for that stare, I probably wouldn’t have even realized that he’d been coming to the club for a solid fourteen days in a row. He had shaggy brown hair that he sometimes pulled back and secured at the nape of his neck—not enough for a ponytail, but just a bump of wispy tendrils. I’d never seen anything like it before, a man wearing his hair like that, but it didn’t push me away. I was intrigued.

  “That one over there has eyes only for you,” Sally informed me, as I was waiting in the wings near the dressing room, next up to dance.

  “Who?” I asked coolly, even though I knew exactly whom she was talking about. My own eyes were boring holes into the back of his head, into that bit of hair gathered at the nape of his neck.