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Two girl friends relieve their frustrations.

Don't make me tell you again." He headed for the door. "And the next time you go psycho like that, it'll be your last."


An hour later she was back on stage not at all into what she was doing. She was phoning it in and it showed. She couldn't wait for the night to end. Junior kept an eye on her. If she wasn't going to make an effort, he might have to have another chat with her.

When she finished her routine, she put her costume back on, took a seat at the bar and ordered a coke. After about five minutes, Junior walked up, leaned on the bar next to her and took a hard look at her. "Why aren't you working the room? Private dances are how we pay the bills around here."

She turned and looked at him with pleading eyes.

"Don't look at me like that. It's part of the gig, you know that."

"I know," she sighed.

"I just sat a group of conventioneers in the Rumpus Room. I want you to put on a happy face and go in there and show them a good time."

She knew there was no choice; it was either do it or get fired. She slid off her chair, straightened out her schoolgirl costume and headed for the Rumpus Room.


There were already several girls in there when Sinnamon arrived. The group of guys in the back of the room was monopolizing them, though, and the ones near the door were being ignored. They tapped their toes to the pounding rock music, drank and talked amongst themselves but looked really bored. They were all dressed in slacks and polo shirts. They seemed nice but then again, so did the assholes at the stage earlier. She hadn't yet developed the radar that dancers have to spot that kind of thing.

She approached one of them from behind. His buddies saw her coming and started teasing him about how the hottest one was coming for him and he'd better get his billfold ready. She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "You ready for a private dance?" she asked just before playfully biting his earlobe.

He turned his head and a look of horror crossed both of their faces. "Michelle?" he said with shock in his voice.

"Uncle Bill!" she said with an equal or more amount of shock.

He wasn't her real uncle; he was her father's best friend of thirty-five years whom she had always referred to as Uncle Bill and was actually closer to than her real uncles. Her heart sank into her gut. She was speechless.

He leapt to his feet. "Oh my God! What th... What are you doing here?"

"I... I..." She couldn't get anything out.

"What... why?" His buddies laughed their asses off when they realized what the situation was.

She was too embarrassed and horrified to do anything but run for the door. She ran smack into Junior who was just coming in to check on the party.

"What the fuck? Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he asked, more annoyed than ever.

"I told you I can't do this."

"You know what? I've had it with this shit." He grabbed her by the arm and forced her out of the room.

"Wait, let me explain," she pleaded.

Uncle Bill raced after them and caught them near the main stage. "Hold

on," he said. "I need to talk to her."

"Talking and dancing costs the same, pal. But you're out of luck; she's incapable of making money so I'm afraid she's out of here."

"Junior, please, I need this job," she said as she began to cry.

Uncle Bill flips out a hundred dollar bill. "Will this help?"

Junior laughs. "Not even close, she's cost me a lot of money tonight."

Uncle Bill ups his offer to five hundred. "How about this?"

"You're getting warmer."

Uncle Bill fans out ten one hundred dollar bills.

"Looks like you got yourself a girl," Junior said as he shoved Sinnamon at him. "Have fun."

She buried her head in Uncle Bill's chest and let the tears flow. He gently stroked her hair. "Shhhh... it's okay, it's okay," he said.

After a moment or two when she was done crying, he asked her if there was a place they could talk in private. "Only in the booths," she told him.

"Fine," he said. "Let's go."


They talked for an hour.

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