I got several chapters into the book about Sadie and then decided to put it on hold for the time being. I think a better next step for the series is a book about one of the dancers at the club. One of my favorite things about writing is getting to know the characters. What would lead a woman to strip for a living? How does she feel about taking her clothes off for men? I discover the answers as I write, and sometimes they surprise me.
Here’s the beginning of the story:
Stepping into the Silver Cross Club transformed me.
I did it four times a week, sometimes five: walked through the door and became someone new.
Outside of the club, I was ordinary Sasha Kilgore, who loved makeup, yoga, parrots, and brunch.
Inside the club, I was Sassy Belle.
I didn’t like Sassy very much. She wasn’t smart, for one thing. Not that I was a genius, but I could string three words together. Sassy mainly giggled.
Men liked her, though. The men at the club liked her. The clients. That was all that mattered.
Maybe someday I wouldn’t need Sassy anymore. I could shed that skin like a snake and leave it behind.
But not yet.
It was one of those sweltering July days that made everyone in the city feel like dropping dead. What was the cliche? Hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. The club’s dim, cool lobby was a welcome relief. I took off my sunglasses and smiled at Javier, the doorman.
“You look hot,” he said.
I struck a pose, one hand on my hip, head thrown back. “Thanks!”
He chuckled. “I mean you look sweaty. Hot as the devil’s nutsack, isn’t it?”
“You shouldn’t use language like that around a lady,” I said.
“Sassy Belle, you are no lady,” he said with a wink, and held the door open for me.
I stuck my nose in the air and walked past him into the club, purposefully wiggling my hips as I went. Javier was lucky that I liked him.
The heavy door closed behind me, and I was inside the main room of the club. Things were quiet at this time of day: it was 3:00, and the club didn’t open for another hour. None of the waitresses had arrived yet, and the only other person I spotted was a fellow dancer, perched at the bar eating a sandwich out of a styrofoam container. I waved to her as I headed for the unmarked door at the back of the club that led to the private area for the dancers.
I gave myself a little shake, settling fully into Sassy’s skin.
Sassy’s sticky, clammy skin. I really needed a shower.