CHAPTER 2

She could not believe what she was actually doing. If her parents ever found out where her feet were about to set foot in they'd probably set her on fire or at the very least go on a year's prayer and fasting for her.

Feeling drowned and out and tired of laying in her bed crying in self-pity over her fail of a life especially on a Friday night she chanced the idea that going to a strip club might put her in better spirits.

Barely an hour in her high black ankle heels she could already feel the sting on her soles and rocked side to side to take the pressure off from her foot whilst waiting for the bouncer to let her and five friends through.

“Are you guys going to give the strippers money?”

“Bitch please, I can't even afford to top up my Oyster card to get to uni.”

She couldn't help but laugh at her friend's Miriam's reply as she watched her get a twenty pound note from her purse. They were all broke as broke can be but neither of them minded breaking into their overdraft to have some good ol' hedonistic fun.

Her Christian morals were being compromised and just when her conscious was about to have a go at her, the bouncer told them to get out of their I.D.s and pay the entrance fee before finally letting them in.

It took her a long minute to get used to the dark surroundings as her body was just revelling in the warmth, glad to be out of the freezing cold of Soho.

Her friends talked amongst themselves but she quietly observed the interior. Chandeliers fell from the ceiling providing the brightest light in the room, which on the scale of things was not so bright. There was also purple lighting purple which reflected perfectly the light purple and black theme of the interior. and black interior

Private booths were set up all over the rather intimate setting. A bar on the far side of the lounge and two pole stages were erected opposite each other in the centre of the lounge and there were a row of front row seats to men to get the perfect view of the show.

And there was a lot being shown.

Four girls - four topless girls swirled around simultaneously and effortlessly on the metal poles and if not for the affronted nudity she would have thought she was in some theatre and this was some Circue du Soleil shit going down, but no she was at a strip club.

“These bitches can dance,” Miriam once again was voicing her thoughts.

She felt her one of her hands being grabbed and she knew it was her other friend Celine as whenever Celine got excited about something she'd grab on to any body part. “We need to go to pole dancing lessons.”

She only laughed it off, because there was no way she was going to do such a thing. “Guys my feet are hurting me, let's go find somewhere to sit.”

The others thankfully agreed and one thing they eventually soon discovered was that they made up 98% of the females in the room and that was excluding the actual strippers which meant a lot of perverted gazes were set on their group.

Without a single word said to each other they quickly scurried off to Milos's side and hooked arms with him. “You girls are coming on strong.”

“Oh shut up, you look like some fucking pimp boss, Hugh Hefner type shit with all of us on your arms. Enjoy the moment because it won't last,” retorted Miriam that left everyone else laughing including Milos.

“The girl on the phone was not joking when she said having a male companion was mandatory,” said Josefina another of her flatmates.

“No lie,” added the last girl in the group who was already half-drunk but was more of a mellow drunk so the rest was not worried about her being a problem.

Even though Milos, her adorable Russian friend was there to protect them, she couldn't help but think that with his lanky frame he was more of a cushion than an actual firewall against the over-excited testerones in the place.

“Oh my gosh, the way that guy looked at me is so creepy,” Celine said looking almost traumatised as she quickly settled into her seat and seeking refuge in the booth that they were in.

“Shut up ho, I told you if you were going to wear that minier than mini skirt to be prepared for the attention.”

Miriam was definitely straight-cutting one of a kind persona and that's why she was her friend. And even though everyone laughed to what she said about Celine, they all thought Miriam to be right. Celine was the one in the group who got most of the male attention and that was on days even when she did not dress provocative, and so when she did provocative the attention was even worse.

Whilst her friends called over the under-dressed waitress to get them drinks, she surveyed the room once more mesmerised by how much money men were throwing at the exotic dancers as they twirled and grinded out their body on the pole. It made her feel sad for some reason.

She felt foolish doing this but she prayed for God to save her soul.

Needing to clear her head and not wanting to have an emotional breakdown in a strip club of all places she told her friends she was going to the toilet.

“D'you want me to come with you?”asked Celine.

“Nah, I'll be fine, thanks.”

She thought going out with her friends would pull out of her perpetual depressive state but she'd thought wrong. It almost made it worse – the whole pretending to be happy because the whole world is looking was getting to her. At that moment she could imagine her bed, it looked so divine and what would have been the most perfect thing was if she could just be in it.

Quickly navigating out of the maze of booths, she noticed that some of the men in the booths looked to be having some important business discussions and some she saw were too invested in their meals to care for any woman on the stage with her private parts out, it broke out a smile on her face as she finally located the toilet – obviously those men were in the minority.

When she was done, she came out and suddenly feeling thirsty she headed for the bar that was a short distance from the toilet. She ordered a coke and instead of taking it back to the booth where her friends were waiting for her, she remained on the stool sipping her drink through a straw, needing a little more alone time.

She felt a presence next to her on the stool but she paid the person no mind as she looked on at the spectacle before her. Seeing the dancers and how they moved with confidence and ease almost made her consider a career change.

“It's you.”

Hearing that, she spun her head to the stranger only to have her eyes vaguely recognize the face. “It's me what?”

With the little experience she'd had at work she could guess that what he'd just downed was whisky. She watched as his jawline tensed at the strong taste before a lazy smile settled on his face as he watched her back.

She tried hard to remember where she'd seen him but her memory failed her. From the little wrinkle lines on the corners of his eyes she could tell he was pretty mature in age but other than that there was a lot of youthful energy she could sense.

“You worked as a waitress at the football match in Wembley about a month ago and you didn't know what you had on the menu.”

It rang a bell in her head but the amount of times that she'd been asked of the menu and she didn't know the answer was ridiculous so she couldn't quite get a clear picture.

“You don't remember?”

“No, I don't,” she answered half of her still trying to figure out where he'd seen him before whilst the other half of her was getting lost in his bluey-greeny magical eyes. Another thing she'd noted was that his accent was most definitely not British.

“You don't remember being given a two hundred pound tip?”

At that her eyes widened in realisation. “Oh my gosh, it was you?!”

“Of course you remember the money but you don't remember the man. Typical.

Letting out a sarcastic chuckle, he downed another drink which gave her just enough time to be irritated by his response.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you know it means,” he replied swiftly ignoring her rising temper, “you really should not be in places like this. It's not for people like you.”

The way he'd said that only highlighted the age of the guy and hinted to an old-fashioned trait.

“Please explain what you mean by 'people like me'?”

“People who hardly have enough to care for themselves to be able to afford to give a stripper five pounds. You should save your money.”

“Wow.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and without saying another word to the dickhead sitting next to her she took her drink and stood up ready to make her way back to her friends but then she felt his arms grab hold of one of her wrists.

“Wait hold on, why are you going? Did I upset you?”

She almost had no reply as she was beyond dazed by the blank confused stare on his face. “Are you being serious? You were just being intentionally rude for no fucking reason, now let me fucking go.”

She snatched her hand out of his grasp but before she walked, his voice stopped her in her tracks. “I didn't mean to upset you I was just being honest.”

“I did not ask for your honesty. I go wherever the fuck I like, if you have a problem with a peasant like me trolling in this place and want to keep it reserved only for the rich and fabulous like yourself you can take it up to management.”

“Maybe I will, but before that I'd like to know your name,” it was almost as if everything she'd said had gone in one ear and come out the other ear as he held her gaze smiling softly. “My name is Saint-Luc but call me Saint. What's yours?”

“Sant as in Saint?”

“Yes, but you pronounce it Sant. What's your name?”

She never gave out her real name in these type of situations. “Naomi.”

So she was beyond clueless why she did with him. The way his smooth jazzy voice had gotten her hot and cold in a matter of seconds was unreal.

“Naomi. I like it,” he said before looking at his phone mildly distracted. “Unfortunately Naomi I'm going to have to go now, I have a flight to catch early in the morning.”

She watched as he fished out a business card and pen from his black suede suit before quickly jotting something to it and handing it over to her. “That's my private phone number. I'd love to talk more with you.”

Stunned at what was happening, Naomi said nothing as she watched him walk away and tucked the card Saint-Luc had given her in her bra.

Just at that moment she saw Miriam walking up to where she sat. “Naomi who was that that old man you were talking to?”

Waving it off, she grabbed her purse heading back to the booth, “Oh no one.”