The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) by Elena Aitken Read Free Book Online Page B

another client booked, and since she was paying Mrs. Johnson to watch the baby anyway, she wasn’t in a hurry to get home. The only thing that waited for her there was crying and dirty diapers. Her job at the salon may not be glamorous, but it was something, and at least Harriet, the owner, had been understanding about her schedule after Whitney had been born.  
    “Hey, do you have time for a walk-in?” Patty looked up to see one of the shop girls looking at her.  
    Patty peeked around the girl and saw a stunning blond woman with perfectly teased hair standing at the front of the shop. Dressed in a black leather jacket, her red lipstick and heavy eye make-up stood out among the rest of the women in the salon, but to Patty, she looked like a movie star. “Of course,” Patty said.  
    She was stunning and elegant and the most confident woman Patty had ever seen. She approached the table and sat down with a wave of perfume.
    “Hi, I’m Patty. How can I help?”
    “I’m Bridgette.” The woman thrust her hands out. “I chipped a nail and I couldn’t get in to my regular place.”
    The nail was an easy fix, so Patty got to work, trying her best not to stare at the beautiful woman in front of her and instead concentrate on her job. She worked in silence for a few minutes before she finally worked up enough courage to blurt out, “Are you famous?” Patty could feel the blush up to the roots of her hair. “I mean, you look famous.”
    The woman tipped her head back and a rich laughter erupted from her throat. “Famous?” she asked when she recovered her composure. “Only to the guys down at the Lady.”
    “The Lady?”
    “The Lusty Lady,” the woman said without lowering her voice. “I’m a dancer.”  
    Patty choked and tried to cover the noise by coughing. She hastily put down the nail polish she was about to use and leaned across the tiny table. “You’re a stripper?” she whispered the question and looked around to see if anyone else had heard.
    “No, honey,” Bridgette said, laughter edging her voice. “I’m a dancer. There’s a big difference.”  
    Patty felt the blush refresh in intensity. “Sorry,” she stammered. “I mean…I know…there must—”
    She picked up the bottle of polish again, happy for the distraction.
    “It’s okay,” Bridgette said. “It really is just dancing.”
    Patty didn’t look up. “So, you don’t take your clothes off?”
    “Oh, of course I do.” Her matter-of-factness almost caused Patty to lose control of the brush again.  
    “But you said—”
      “I know what I said. But there’s an art to what I do. A rhythm, ya know? It’s so much more than taking off your clothes. It’s about power and control. When I’m up on that stage, I’m in complete control and just by moving my body I can have the entire audience entranced. It’s a performance on a base level. My dancing has to appeal on a level that’s almost primal, ya know?”
    Patty didn’t know, but she nodded just the same. She’d never met a real life stripper, or dancer, or whatever she was. She’d been raised to think strippers were dirty and bad people. But the woman sitting in front of her was anything but bad. Bridgette was very clearly the opposite of everything she thought she knew.
    She blinked hard before refocusing on the nail in front of her.  
    “You know,” Bridgette said. “You’d probably be good at it.”  
    “Pardon me?” Patty jerked back so quickly, the nail brush slid across the woman’s hand, leaving a slash of red in its wake. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Reflexively, she reached for some cotton and dabbed it on Bridgette’s finger, which only served to smear the mess further.  
    “It’s fine,” Bridgette said. “Nothing that can’t be cleaned up.”
    Patty looked up and met the other woman’s eyes. There was laughter in her features, but kindness too. Patty took a deep breath and reached for the bottle of polish remover. “I really am sorry,” she