Chapter 2

The Sloan Agency was not easy to find. After a long bus ride downtown, Emily walked past it twice before seeing the doorway with stairs leading to a second floor office off an old storefront. Now she stood uncomfortably in Donald Sloan's office while he carefully looked her up and down. Emily felt as if he had x-ray vision.

"Well, you are pretty enough, but I don't usually hire people who are so inexperienced. I hire models for... ah... special events. It ain't like working in the university library, I can assure you."

Donald continued to stare right through Emily. It was as if he was trying to size her up and couldn't. Emily's first impulse was to run away as quickly as possible, but she was out of places to apply. She had never felt this uncomfortable in anyone's presence.

Her mantra ran through her head, "think of the money, the money, the money."

Acting against her better judgment, Emily steeled her courage and said, "Look, Mr. Sloan. I am a good employee. I am willing to learn. I am very dependable. And, I can assure you that no one will take this job more seriously or work harder at being successful than I will. Plus, I need a job in the worst way." Emily looked Sloan directly in the eye defying him to turn her down.

Donald Sloan stared back at her for a long time.

"Ok, ok. I'll give you a test run. But, it is just a test. One job and one job only. Do well and we'll see where this goes... but, no promises," said Donald. "Actually, after you hear about it, you will probably run out of here as fast as your little college girl ass will carry you."

Emily's determined look didn't change. She did not waiver in her look of resolve although she was trembling inside. Sloan paused, seemed mentally to make his decision, and continued.

"Here's the deal. Some of my best clients are planning a party before the upcoming football game with State. The party is at the Petrol Club in the Maxwell Building downtown. It's an exclusive club with a bunch of old farts for members. Your job is to be part of the decorations. That is, you dress up like a cheerleader and do cheerleader-type shit while the old farts get revved up for the big game. Pay is $400; we furnish the cheerleader outfit. Still interested?"

"That's it?" stammered Emily.

"That's it."

"Do you need two cheerleaders? I have a roommate."

"She as pretty as you?" said Sloan without any emotion.

"Prettier!" said Emily.

"Ok, but now the pay is $600, $300 each," bargained Sloan.

"How long do we have to... ah... cheer?" asked Emily.

"Thirty minutes, but plan on being there an hour. And, be on time!" scowled Sloan.

"That's it?" Emily repeated. She couldn't believe her ears. It would take her weeks to make that much money working in the library.

"You already asked that once," smirked Sloan. "Ok, so it's a dumb gig. But, the old farts like it and are willing to pay for it. Leave your name and address and all that stuff with my secretary, Maxine. She'll take down your sizes too so we can have your costumes delivered."

"That's it?" said Kathy. "That's all there is to it?"

"Exactly what I said," smiled Emily.

"Sounds too good. There must be a catch," questioned Kathy.

"Yeah, I know, but let's give it a try anyway. What's thirty minutes in a cheerleader outfit?" answered Emily. "At least with the six hundred, we can almost pay the rent. That's a start."

The first hint that there was a bit more to the job than they imagined came when the costumes were delivered a couple of days later. The costumes were almost exact copies of those that the varsity cheerleaders wore at the football games, except smaller.

"A bit skimpy, but appropriate for cheerleaders," thought Emily at first. But, both Emily and Kathy looked in shock at the accompanying underwear... matching thongs!

"Now I see what this is all about... a bunch of old men getting their jollies by staring at our bare asses," said Emily indignantly. "Let's send these back and tell Mister Sloan to take his perverted customers and shove them."

"Wait," said Kathy. "What can it hurt? So, we don't do any high kicks and we bend over very carefully. All we have to do is go down there. A bunch of old guys stand around and drink. They look at us a little and maybe sneak a peek up our skirts if we get careless. Thirty minutes and we are out of there with the money. Hey... for that, I am willing to swallow a little pride."

"I can't believe I'm hearing you say this. How degrading!" said Emily muttering mostly to herself.

"Are you interested in getting your car out of the shop before you turn thirty?" reminded Kathy.

After a long pause, Emily condescended. "Ok, I'll do it. Jesus, I can't believe I said that."

The Petrol Club was the stereotypical gentlemen's club filled with overstuffed leather chairs, dark wooden paneling, and years of cigar smoke. Every nook and cranny screamed elegant, old, and expensive. Oil painting of gray-haired men hung from every wall and looked very much like wrathful guardians of gentlemanly propriety.

Emily and Kathy stepped off the elevator, coats over their cheerleader outfits, gawking at the opulence that surrounded them. The outfits had turned out to be even skimpier than they thought-two-piece bare midriff affairs with tiny skirts. And, they were reminded of their thongs by every passing breeze.

Suddenly, a skinny man with oily hair and a very thin mustache materialized before them.

"Hi, I'm Bruce, the club manager, you must be the cheerleaders from Sloan. One of you works on that platform and the other on that platform over there. The party starts in about 20 minutes. You can wait until then in there." He pointed at a door across the room and then disappeared without waiting for a response.

Emily and Kathy looked in shock first at the platforms, then at each other. Each platform was a cube about four feet tall surrounded by tables and chairs. University bunting was draped around the sides of each, along with University pennants here and there.