Chapter 1
The Right Moves
A long audition line of half-naked men stood outside.
Grinning, I parked right in front of my nightclub and placed my sunglasses on my face.
It’s good to be Christine.
Before getting out of my Audi, I risked a few looks at the exotic dancing hopefuls, men that could’ve played a leading role in any of my nightly fantasies.
Like Miami’s population, they represented an eclectic blend of ethnicity—Haitian to Cuban, Caribbean Islander to Russian. None of them wore shirts. Sunlight painted those oiled, sculpted chests. Intricate patterns of ink decorated some of their arms.
Many of the men danced to the music blasting out of their headphones. Some wound succulent hips, slipped huge hands over chiseled abs, and licked their lips right before they dove to the ground and made the sidewalk their freaky little sex toys.
It’s a hard job, but somebody has to do it.
On mornings like these I never needed coffee or to listen to my Hear Me Roar playlist full of carefully chosen songs with female singers who crooned out lyrics that empowered women and made us all happy to have vaginas.
No.
On these days, anticipation bubbled in my chest and tingled across my brown skin. I woke up two hours early, whistled through my four-mile run on the Miami Beach boardwalk, hung out with my magic wand in the shower, ate a slice of cheesecake for breakfast, blew out my natural curls so they lay past my shoulders, put on my favorite black dress, which made me look like I had hips, and texted all of my close friends.
Me: Audition Day, people!! I’m closing the club doors at 9:30 a.m. sharp. If your butts aren’t in the chairs by that time to help judge these sexy men, then you can listen to our cheers from outside.
To which all replied in many colorful ways.
Cora: I wish you would lock me out of that club!
Maria: Wtf? Be there at 9:30? I’ve been sitting in my car waiting since 8:00 a.m. Lots of hot dancers are already here. Hurry, before I steal a few!
Denise: I can’t make it today. Sorry. My boss, Mr. Dick Head had me research a case. It took me all night and morning to finish. I didn’t even leave the office. I’m in the same clothes from yesterday, thriving off of Red Bull mixed with three café Cubanos.
Yikes.
I only responded to Denise since I wouldn’t be seeing her.
Me: I’ll let you off this time, but don’t forget the universal happy person motto, “Work hard, play harder!” When you look back at your twenties do you want to only remember stacks of legal files or would you like to reminisce on naked men?
Denise: We all can’t have hot brothers to help us get rich quick.
At that grumpy comment, I put my phone up and left her alone.
Everyone knew I worked hard. I’d gotten my brothers and myself to success. We no longer rushed off to three or more jobs to keep our male revue nightclub, Sin, afloat.
In fact, last month I finally quit my executive assistant position at the same law office Denise worked at.
Before then, I managed Sin and slaved at the law office. On Monday and Tuesday evenings, I wore uncomfortable heels and blouses that exposed my cleavage for my hostess job with an all-inclusive sushi restaurant, which priced their California rolls at fifty dollars and didn’t allow unfashionably dressed couples through the door. I didn’t get to where I was by hanging onto my brothers’ coat tails.
I’d busted my behind.
Speaking of that stupid hostess job, I can’t wait to tell Chef Hayashi I quit. In fact, that will be a perfect ending to a splendid day.
As soon as I stepped out of my car, the realization that today wouldn’t go as planned hit me hard in my chest. Water seeped out of the bottom of Sin’s silver and red door. It flooded the pavement and some of the parking lot. The liquid even reached where I stood and surrounded my platform sandals. I had to cover my nose. The stink of sewage radiated from the ground.
Awesome, the pipes have finally exploded. I told Dylan and Douglas we needed to call a plumber, but no! They tried to tell me that creaking sound was normal.
Meanwhile, the crowd of hopeful males continued to practice their routines as if the club weren’t leaking. Sin was the only male revue in Miami. Our entertainers took home at least a thousand dollars each night they performed. Where male party goers had several strip clubs to choose from in and out of Miami, women had nowhere to go. It was like the city’s business owners didn’t think ladies loved to watch sexy men.
I capitalized on that stupid stereotype by convincing my twin body builder brothers, Dylan and Douglas, to dance for women at private bridal showers. It took a good three months until they agreed. It was another three months to push them into enrolling in dance classes. A year later, they got to the point where women actually enjoyed their performance enough to pay for it. After two years, I’d hired and managed ten more men. My brothers were able to quit dancing and help me with administrative duties.