Chapter 9

“AND NOW, GENTLEMEN, BACK FROM HER VACATION AND READY TO SET THE STAGE ON FIRE ONCE AGAIN—YOUR FAVORITE AND OURS, LOLA BELLE!”

The DJ’s voice boomed through the speakers, igniting a wave of cheers from the crowd as the stage lights pulsed and flashed in rhythm.

Darlene felt the familiar rush surge through her veins. God, she had missed this. The lights, the energy, the intoxicating thrill of every eye in the room locked onto her. Her pulse quickened as she stepped onto the stage, draped in a skin-tight purple dress that hugged her curves. A daring slit ran up her thigh, teasing the audience with a glimpse of what lay beneath.

She strutted forward, owning the stage with every deliberate step, her confidence soaring. The music wrapped around her like a lover’s touch, guiding her movements as she let the rhythm take control, her body swaying in perfect harmony with the beat—to the absolute delight of the eager crowd.

The boa slid effortlessly from one hand to the other, draping over her shoulders as she sauntered toward the pole at center stage. With a practiced grace, she let the boa slip from her fingers, gripping the pole instead. In one smooth motion, she swung around, lifting her feet from the floor, her body spinning effortlessly through the air. Her legs remained pressed together, teasing rather than revealing—building the anticipation, making them wait for it.

She spun once, twice, then let herself drop, landing softly on her hands and knees. Her gaze locked onto a man sitting at the edge of the stage, his eyes wide with hunger and a grateful smile plastered across his face. She crawled toward him, slow and deliberate, her every movement precise—meant to entice, meant to leave him wanting more.

A dollar fluttered onto the stage as she reached him. She barely spared it a glance before spinning away, finding another pair of eager eyes fixated on her.

The gaze of the men didn’t bother her. They could look all they wanted. But their desire never touched her heart, never reached her mind. All they got was what she chose to show them—nothing more.

She slid her hands up her legs, drawing up the hem of her slinky dress inch by inch—a slow, calculated reveal. Her thighs, smooth and toned, caught the stage lights as she opened and closed her legs, flashing hints of fluorescent pink beneath.

The dress inched higher. The crowd leaned forward.

By the time the first song ended, her dress was on the floor—a forgotten relic of temptation.

The next song started with a low, sultry bassline, and she moved in rhythm, tugging at the straps of her bra, letting it slide just enough to hint at bare skin beneath. Her panties shifted, revealing just a glimpse of what lay hidden beneath their delicate lace. The air in the room was thick with anticipation, the audience held in silent, mesmerized captivity.

A flash of a nipple.

A fleeting glimpse of soft pink as she crawled across the stage.

A tease of what no man in this room—except one—would ever truly have.

She was in charge. And she loved it. The thrill, the attention, the rush of being seen but never truly touched.

As the final song faded, she stood, fully nude, owning the stage like a queen accepting tribute. Dollars slipped into the garter at her thigh as she made sure every man got his fill—his chance to look, but never touch. Because in the end, there was only one man who had access to what they all wanted.

“PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR LOLA BELLE, EVERYONE!! LOLA BELLE!!”

The DJ’s voice rang through the speakers as Darlene strutted offstage, her hips still swaying, her presence still teasing even as she walked away. The money was good tonight. Several hundred already, and this was only her third dance.

“Lola!” The boss called as she reached the dressing corner, where her locker and costumes waited.

She turned to meet his gaze while pulling a thin robe over her still-warm skin. No sense standing around naked for this conversation.

“What’s up?” she asked, stepping closer to Frank in case he wanted to keep things quiet.

“Hey, well done out there. Very well done.” He nodded in approval, his voice the same professional praise he gave all the dancers. “I have a newbie who’s thinking about joining us. Do you have time to show her the ropes?”

Darlene tapped her fingers against her hip, considering. Private dances were where the real money was, and the crowd had definitely wanted more of her when she left.

“I was hoping to get in a few private dances—the guys were into me tonight.”

“Tell you what, I’ll give you $200 if you do this for me.”

Darlene touched her chin, pretending to think it over even though she already knew she’d do it. “Sure. Where is she?”

Frank turned toward the door of the dressing room and gestured for someone to enter. A woman stepped in hesitantly, her wide eyes scanning the room as if taking in a foreign world. Even with the door shut behind her, the muffled bass of the music pulsed through the walls.

Her blonde hair still carried streaks of gray—subtle traces of the long life she had lived before the WE made her young again. Her hair might reveal her true age, but her body screamed youth and beauty, fresh and untouched by time.

“Lola, this is...” Frank hesitated before turning back to the woman. What was the name she picked?

“Did you settle on a stage name?” he asked.

The woman shook her head, her hands twisting together at her waist. “I don’t have one,” she admitted.

“How about Desi?” Frank suggested.

Darlene barely held back a grimace. No. That name didn’t suit her. This woman was new, hesitant, but there was something hopeful in her eyes—like she wanted this to work but didn’t know how yet.

“I know,” Darlene said. “Since you’re new, how about Angel?”

Frank paused, mentally running through the club’s roster.

“Sure. We haven’t had an Angel in a long time. That’s fine with me.”

The blonde woman—now Angel—smiled softly, some of her nervousness melting away. Maybe a name made it feel more real.

“Okay, that sounds good to me. Thanks for helping,” she said, directing her gratitude toward Darlene.

“You’re very welcome, Angel.” Darlene said, purposefully using her stage name for the first time.

Frank clapped his hands together. “Good. You two get acquainted, I’ve got a club to run.” He shot them both an exaggerated air kiss before disappearing through the dressing room door.

Angel turned back to Darlene, her posture a little straighter now. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

Darlene raised an eyebrow.

“First rule—no real names. Not here.” She gestured toward the club beyond the door. “The WE keep us safe, yeah, but you still don’t want some husband or boyfriend screaming your real name while you’re working. Keep your personal life and work life separate. That’s rule number one.”

She waited until Angel nodded in understanding before offering her hand.

“So, with that said—call me Lola. Lola Belle.”

The two women shook hands, a silent agreement passing between them.

“Then call me Angel,” she said, her smile widening into a light laugh.

Darlene’s thoughts shifted to the WE. WE, can you upload some dance routines for Angel? That’ll speed up her training.

The request instantly mirrored in Angel’s mind, a shared thought passed between them. “Sure thing, Lola.” The WE responded, its voice humming in both their heads.

Angel’s eyes glazed over for a moment, distant as the knowledge flooded her mind. When the transfer completed, she instinctively began moving—her body testing the newly embedded dance techniques in the privacy of the dressing room.

Darlene watched, impressed.

“Wow, you’re really good at this. How long have you been dancing?” Angel asked once she had finished running through the routines.

Darlene smirked, adjusting the strap of her robe.

“In this new life? About a year. But before that, I danced professionally in Vegas.”

Angel’s jaw dropped, her eyes going wide.

“Vegas?! That means you’re a real professional!”

Darlene gave a playful shrug. “I sure am.” Then her tone softened. “So why dancing? What brings you here?”

As Darlene moved to slip into a baby doll nightgown, preparing for private dances, Angel sat down, exhaling deeply.

“I had to do something to support myself.” Her voice carried a weight that hadn’t been there before. “My husband died years ago, and until recently, I thought I was going to join him. Cancer, you know?”

Darlene met her gaze with quiet understanding, nodding but not interrupting.

“I didn’t want to work in an office again,” Angel continued. “I wanted to do something completely different. Not sit behind a desk, punching numbers nine-to-five.”

Darlene nodded again. She understood the need for reinvention.

“Now that I have a new body, I thought ... why not?” Angel gestured toward herself with an amused chuckle. “I mean, I look great—so why not get out there and show it off?” She shrugged, hands lifting in a casual ‘why not?’ motion.

“Well, good. Now comes the hard part. Take your clothes off so I can get a look at you. I’ll see if I have an outfit that fits.”