Hidden in the Stars: HITS (a Falling Stars novel) Book 2 Read online

  Sid and I have always been close, but it was during my teenage pregnancy when we grew to be more like sisters more cousins. She was like a second mother to Lucas, giving up high school dances to babysit while I waitressed at a local restaurant.

  "I'll try." It's my standard response. I haven’t been back to Pennsylvania since I was eighteen and old enough to pack Lucas and me on a bus to California.

  Being a young mother made me grow up a lot, but I still held onto my youthful dreams of fame—making a name for myself as a singer and becoming a star. Then I'd be able to take care of Lucas and my aunt. Unfortunately, like most young girls in Hollywood, I learned too soon it wasn't like the movies.

  I was rejected at most auditions, only landing a couple to find they would cut me later. Having a toddler with me also cost some opportunities, but my son always comes first.

  At eighteen, I didn't have a lot of options. Not comfortable with stripping, I ended up waiting tables at a strip club. The hours were late and the crowd crude, but the tips were good. It was also easy to find a high school age girl in my building to sleep at my apartment with Lucas.

  After waitressing for a little over a year, a co-worker, Anna, mentioned an opening at Lux Hedonica. Not fully understanding what burlesque and cabaret was at the time, I figured it was another strip club. I tagged along one afternoon when she applied and watched the girls practicing on stage. At that moment, I fell in love with the costumes, songs, and dancing. I inquired about being on stage and was referred to Thom, the owner. After singing and being shown a few dance moves to repeat, I was hired as a backup. So, I would waitress at the strip club and during the afternoons, rehearse with the dancers at Lux. When one of the girls quit, I got to take her spot. For six years, I've been an active entertainer at Lux.

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's what you always say." She gives me a knowing smile. "How are things with Kelvin?" She leans forward, placing her elbows on the counter.

  "He's eighteen. How do you think they are going?" I snort, and take another drink from my glass.

  My brother, Kelvin, came to live with me four years ago after my mother and father were killed in a car accident. Aunt Charlene tried to convince him to stay with her, but after his second attempt to run away to California, she let him have his way.

  Lucas and I welcomed Kel with open arms, but I was definitely afraid of having a five-year-old and fourteen-year-old boy under my care. It's not like I made a bunch of money. Thankfully, my social worker found this two bedroom apartment, available to the housing authority, and was also able to help with assistance.

  "So, he's still adamant about going to work full-time instead of college?" Sid asks with a sigh.

  "Unfortunately. He thinks he needs to 'earn his keep' around here." I shake my head. "I wish he would take the tuition assistance we can get and go to college. He's too smart to get stuck washing dishes and bussing tables." I drain the last of my wine and place the empty glass on the counter.

  "Time to finish the laundry?" Sid's lip curls in disgust.

  "Yep." I nod.

  "I hate the creepy basement laundry room." She shivers, emphasizing her statement.

  "It's better than the laundromats around here." I raise my brow.

  "Good point." She grabs the basket of clothes and walks toward the door. "Cross your fingers that Mick the Dick isn't down there," she calls over her shoulder, reaching for the doorknob and peeking out.

  Laughing at the nickname she's given my creepy, perverted, but harmless neighbor, I exit the apartment with laundry soap and dryer sheets in hand.

  "Though, he is the only guy who's hit on me the entire time I've been here," Sid mumbles.

  "Stop it," I say, cutting off the conversation before she can even get started.

  Sid may be bold and outspoken, but she holds an underlying insecurity: her weight. Being five-foot-four and roughly one hundred and seventy-five pounds—not that she would ever tell me her exact weight—she considered herself short and fat. Fact is, Sid's a curvy girl. But what she fails to see are the way men and women both eye her curves. Her rounded hips and butt draw almost as much attention as her double D chest. At least fifteen pounds alone was due to her cup size. She is a short, old school Hollywood starlet reincarnated as a computer and graphic art nerd.

  "What? It's true. Your creepy neighbor is the only one who has hit on me," she snorts. "With you around, I can't get any attention."

  "Didn't I tell you to stop?" I shove the laundry soap into the middle of her back.

  "Ow, that hurt. I could've fallen down the steps." She sticks her bottom lip out.

  "We aren't even to the stairs yet, drama queen," I laugh.

  "Close enough." She shrugs, raising her chin.

  We reach the stairs and descend to the laundry room level. As if we're on a spying mission, Sid tiptoes into the room, practically pressing her back against the wall.

  "It's clear," she shouts, dropping the basket in front of an empty washer.

  Stepping forward, I start loading the machine.

  "Will tonight's show be the same? Or will it be something different?"

  "Tonight will be different since it’s Friday night. We'll go more modern, rather than the old school burlesque route. Next weekend will be old school stuff. It switches back and forth." With the last towel in the wash, I push in the coin tray and turn the washer knob to start the cycle.

  Sid starts mumbling something under her breath.

  "What now?" I jump up to sit on the washer.

  "Oh, nothing. It's just a luck chant an old college roommate taught me." She shrugs.

  "A chant?"

  "Yeah, a chant. Too bad I don't have a curse for Jizzswallow." Her grin is mischievous and infectious. Soon, I'm smiling with her.

  "Leave Jazzmin be, she's not so bad." Shaking my head, I jump off the washer. "Come on." I motion for Sid to follow. "I'll come back down in twenty to throw this stuff in the dryer. Lucas will be home soon."

  "Is it that late already?" Sid asks, looking at her bare wrist. "I do need to spend some more time with him before we leave for the club."

  "He'll love it."

  Chapter Three

  Jackson

  After going over my schedule for the next week, Julia informs me of a package left by a guy named Randall and motions to a table near the entryway. Quickly, I make an excuse to retreat to the bathroom, snatching up the paper wrapped package along the way. Once in there, alone with my thoughts, I dig through my black carry-on bag until I reach my brown vial. Taking it out, I refill the little bottle and scoop some up before stashing the package back into my black leather bag. Two bumps later, I'm in a steaming shower, feeling remarkable.

  When the car arrives at the hotel, just as Julia said it would, my mood is lighter and carefree. Coming face-to-face with Xavier brings back a ton of memories. I can't fight the smile taking over my face.

  "My man." Xavier grasps me by the forearm. "Fuck, it's been too long." He pulls me in for the one arm bro-hug.

  Flashes of light surround us, causing us both to slip quickly into the car. Damn reporters!

  "Well, you let your hair grow, even tried to cover your face, but the beard doesn't hide that you're still ugly as fuck." Laughing, I settle into the backseat of the limo.

  "Look here, you overgrown bastard." He flips his middle finger up, the smiley face tattoo complimenting the smile on his face.

  "I don't fuck on the first date. Oh, wait, how old are your daughters?" I grin.

  He scowls.

  "Their only thirteen, you fucking pedophile."

  I put my palms up between us. "Okay, so I've got five years."

  "More like only if I'm dead, you little fucker."

  "Little?" I raise my brow. "Have you seen the size of me?"

  I gesture to my crotch.

  "Christ, you haven't changed a bit, have you?" His scowl melts into a grin.

  "I'm a bit wiser." Shrugging, I see the look on his face. I know exactly where he's going to go and I'
m powerless to stop it.

  "Listen, man, I'm sorry about that Laney shit. You don't need that bitch. She didn't deserve you." He shakes his head, furrowing his brow.

  "No big deal." My voice cracks unintentionally, but I shrug it off.

  "Yeah, sure. Besides, you just have to get over that whore, ya know?"

  I snort.

  "What?" He gives me a curious look.

  "Nothin'." With a shake of my head, the conversation changes.

  We talk for the next forty minutes about old times on tour and I don't miss the edge of sadness in his voice. He clearly misses the band. Instead of opening up old wounds, I change the subject by asking where the hell Red has us going tonight.

  Xavier grasps the subject change like a fucking lifeline. He tells me Redman will meet us at the club and is really serious about taking over the ownership. He also discloses that this is the first time he's asked anyone to come check the place out.

  We pull up to a rundown brick building in East L.A. Stepping out of the car, I hear and feel the music coming from inside. Above two black doors, an arched red and purple neon sign flashes the words Lux Hedonica with a neon-lit pinup girl kicking a leg next to the name. Xavier and I look over to each other at the same moment.

  "This is really it?" I raise one brow.

  "Yep," he sighs, looking back toward the building. "It looks like a rundown strip club."

  "I was thinking the same thing."

  "The kind with cracked out, flabby strippers?" He catches my eyes again.

  "Remember that one in Idaho?" I crack a smile.

  "When we had that stripper with the C-section scar give Chris a lap dance?" He starts chuckling.

  "That's the one," I laugh.

  The poor girl tried to cover the scar with a poorly done tattoo, and it had clearly not been long after she'd received either of the marks. Christ, we'd been some major assholes then.

  Walking through the doors, we're greeted by two large men dressed in black. They eye us both before allowing us to walk by. Next, we come to a wisp of a man in a top hat and a sleeveless red tuxedo.

  "Welcome to Lux Hedonica. This evening you will be thoroughly entertained by our lovely display." Everything about this man is over the top, but it works.

  "We're supposed to meet a friend. Redman." Xavier takes a small step forward.

  "Ah, yes. He is expecting you in the VIP booth." With the removal of his hat and a grand bow, he extends an arm out, directing us to continue. As we pass, I notice the intricate dragon tattoo wrapped around his bald head.

  "They have a VIP booth?" As I ask the question, my eyes soak up the velvet-lined walls. There are pictures of different dancers—some wearing feathers, others lace, and some with thin straps of material and tassels. The women are attractive, not strung out and withered. I'm getting a better feeling about this place.

  "Well, fuck me," Xavier exclaims, pulling my attention forward.

  Before us is a large room laid out with lush red, purple, pink, and gold. Red and pink velvet couches, lined with black leather, fill the area five feet from the stage. Black tables and chairs covered in gold lace rest around the stage and just outside the couch area. A large gold and crystal chandelier hangs in the center of the room. Along dark purple velvet-lined walls, are plush red booths with round, black tables at the center of the booth, a gold lantern light hanging from above each one. Large antique, gilded mirrors sit behind each of the booths.

  My eyes land on Redman, just as Xavier announces he sees him. We walk toward the largest booth in the room. It has a direct view of the stage and sits on an elevated platform.

  As we move closer to the table, the bar comes into view. Shiny black and gold detail wrap around the curved bar. Red velvet stools line it. Two men and one woman, all dressed in black vests with gold chains, tend to the patrons who've arrived.

  "Hidden little gem, isn't she?" Redman exclaims once we reach the table.

  "Jesus, man, I thought this was going to be some shithole, but…well…fuck. How did you find this place?" Xavier slides into the booth.

  "Fucked a girl who tried to get a job here and came to check it out one night." Redman beams. "I couldn't believe this place."

  "So, you just asked the owner to sell it to you?" I ask, sliding in on the other side of the booth.

  "Jack, how the hell are you, man?" I clasp his offered hand and release. "Actually, I became a regular and got to know the owner. When he mentioned selling, I jumped on that shit."

  "You definitely wouldn't know this was inside," I chuckle.

  "It needs some work, but mostly it just needs some PR." Redman waves a hand in the air and a girl in tight black pants and a purple satin corset appears.

  "You want another, doll?" She smiles, bright white teeth flashing from behind burgundy lips.

  "Definitely. What do you guys want?"

  "I'll have beer, whatever is on tap," Xavier responds, but his eyes stay on the girl's chest, which is pushed up tight and bulging.

  "Same here," I say, finally finding my voice. Fuck she's hot.

  "You guys like that, just wait till you see the show. No super skinny, over inflated tits on these girls." He shakes his head and smiles. "These are real women with curves for days. Thom is brilliant in his recruitment."

  "When does the show start?" I ask, looking around at the barely filled tables.

  "In about twenty." Redman licks his lips. "The place will fill up. It always does on Friday and Saturday nights, but I think it could do better."

  Silence lingers for a moment, just before Redman goes straight into the topic I hate most.

  "Hey, Jack, heard what the bitch did. She supposed to be with some dude in Hollywood now, right?"

  I shrug and furrow my brow. Why is this topic always up for discussion?

  "I know it sucks, but trust me, you'll get over it. Hell, you have that hot little model chick, right? And this place will—”

  "Laney was the one, Red. How do you replace that? How do you move on? That's right, you don't." Slouching back into the red velvet booth, I toss back the last of my drink. "What you do, is find something or someone bearable enough to focus on. Unfortunately, in my case, I wasn't enough for her either."

  "Sorry, man, I didn't mean—”

  "Let's just change the fucking subject. I'm okay if we just don't talk about the…about her."

  "Yeah, sure."

  For the next ten minutes, Redman discusses his ideas and plans for this club and we barely notice the increasing crowd.

  When the music changes to an old fashion bump and grind, my eyes land on a small band off to the side of the stage. The lights dim and a hush falls over the patrons. A stocky man approaches our table.

  "Thom," Redman motions for the man to sit, "these are two friends of mine. This is Xavier, an old bandmate, and this is Jackson, a longtime friend of ours. Guys, this is Thom, the current owner."

  "Good evening, gentlemen. I hope you will enjoy the show. I'm afraid we've had to make a bit of change up tonight."

  "A change?" Redman sat up straight. "Why?"

  "Well, I'm afraid my wife has become ill and cannot perform. I've asked a couple of the girls to step in for the night." Thom smiles, but the twitch in his cheek gives away his nervousness.

  "Your wife?" Xavier asks.

  "Thom's wife is Jazzmin, the lead performer. She's pretty amazing." Redman furrows his brow. "Who is going on instead?"

  "Well," Thom clears his throat, "we've had to make a change to the format so the girls are more comfortable with the songs. Miz Liz will start off the evening, but I know you also enjoy Bette. She will come on for a solo as well. Since this is the modern weekend, I'm confident they can handle this."

  "Miz Liz and Bette, huh?" Redman nods. "Bethany's good, but Liza is amazing! She's probably your best singer. No offense, Thom."

  "No offense at all," Thom says, looking more relaxed now that Redman is too.

  "Wait till you hear Miz Liz." Redman wears a huge grin. "This girl
sounds like she swallowed a Baptist choir," he laughs, taking a drink from his beer.

  The music changes and the room goes dark. Heavy beats drum through the air. Gold lights fade in on girls dressed in white corsets and thigh-high outfits strutting onto the stage in exaggerated motions of hips, legs, and arms.

  The first raspy words fill the room with the appearance of one stiletto wearing leg from behind a black curtain. She steps into the bright white light like a sexy, dirty porcelain doll with curly white ringlets flowing down her back and over one shoulder. A black, lace corset wraps around her, pressing her tits high and round, and a black garter holds up red, lace thigh-highs.

  The backup girls sing and dance around her, running their hands over her body. Miz Liz runs a hand up her tiny corseted waist, over the bulging mounds on her chest and the side of her face, pulling on a lace mask as she sings, "This is what you came for." Tossing the lace away, she gyrates and slides against the other dancers, making her way to the front of the stage.

  She continues to sing about what they came for, taking more, thrilling her, and I can only stare at her red-stained lips. The stark color against her paleness is shocking and sexy as fuck.

  At the edge of the stage, she sits and spreads her legs. Running her hands over the inside of her thighs, she flips the snap of one garter belt.

  This one action causes a tightening in my jeans. Shifting in the booth, I seek relief, but quickly forget all about my efforts when two of the backups set themselves so Miz Liz can lay over them. Her back arches and another dancer pulls down one lace stocking, only removing the stiletto long enough to get the material off.

  The removal is so riveting, I don’t notice the dancers untying her corset until Miz Liz starts to sit up while repeating the chorus. Still singing, she holds the piece of clothing to her chest.

  Rolling herself, one hand on her chest, one red stocking on, she crawls ever so slowly across the front of the stage. With every arm reaching forward, the audience is given a hint of creamy, plump, white skin.