A short story by

K. Sue Collins, author of Literary Promiscuity

Cellophane Rapp was not a happy camper this night. During her first set her thong popped. The twenty ones decorating the sequined garment spewed onto the ground only to be collected by the horny bastards who gave them to her. Sons of bitches witnessed a free show. She dropped to her hands and knees scoffed up six Washingtons before she clicked off stage.

That fucker Bart was supposed to be the bouncer. Instead of doing his job, he was chatting up a conversation with Tina, one of the bartenders. Cellophane was the one who was buck naked. But he didn’t even give her a second glance. She huffed and pouted, not that she gave a rat’s ass. Her tits were a million times better than Tina’s were. They should be considering how much they cost her. This was what Cellophane was thinking about when her thong snapped in the middle of doing a backbend. She was focusing the blame on Bart’s lack of responsibility. If he was doing his job instead of trying to coax a blowjob out of little Miss Homecoming Queen, shit like this wouldn’t have happened. And to make matters worse, one of the sequins got lodged in her ass crack. Last fucking time I wear fuckin’ sequins over my crotch, bellyached Cellophane silently on her stage exit.

"Ohhhh, Honey, I can see your—" One of the strippers announced when Cellophane stepped backstage.

Cellophane stomped her four-inch plastic transparent heel on her big toe before she could finish her observation. "Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut, Uma or I’ll goddamned tear off your fuckin’ lips and feed them to my cat."

Uma aimed her Lee Press On intact hand towards Cellophane’s wig when Jonsey, the manager, ripped her hand away. "Hold it right there, Darlin’. No fighin’ here unless it’s in front of the paying customers."

Cellophane would have almost rather had Uma take a swipe at her. That fuck Jonesy was a walking talking hard-on around her. He had been aching to get between her legs ever since she was hired. She was the only "dancer" not to have to go through the obligatory audition process. The other "dancers" who worked there told her that she was lucky. Once of the former "performers" said that her knees were never the same again. Not that Jonesy was doling out workers’ comp. Strictly under the table or on top of the table business as the case may be.

Cellophane tried to ignore Jonesy’s presence. She pushed past Deb to snatch her robe to cover her…well. It burned her Jonesy saw. She could handle her own brothers watching her strip down to her bare necessities, but scum-matic here was a different manner. As anyone can tell, Cellophane was not a shy girl, but she did like to have some control over who saw her in all the best surgeons blessed her with. She threw on her Oriental robe, tightened the sash. An admirer told her when he went to Japan and saw the ornate embroidery and intricate silk decorations, he knew he must purchase it for her, cost be damned. He said it was better she was not aware how much it cost, because people would try to steal it if they knew how much it was worth. Reality of the matter, the "admirer" picked it up on the Ross Clearance As-Is rack for $4.97. No refunds or exchanges. There was an ink stain on the right sleeve. Cellophane had yet to notice it. The man purchased the robe as a gift for his wife, but unfortunately, the robe was not plus sized and the sleeves wouldn’t fit over her arm wings. The husband apologized and promised he would return the birthday present for something that would fit like a hat or a scarf. That was how the robe came into Cellophane’s possession.

"Fuck off, Jonesy. I’m on my break." She snatched another less sequiny thong off of the costume rack.

"Hey, that one’s mine," Silee Pudy snapped.

Cellophane ignored her complaints. The girls at the club didn’t much care for Cellophane. At first she couldn’t figure it out, then it came to her. Jealousy. Let’s be perfectly honest who wouldn’t be jealous of Cellophane’s perfectly enhanced bod. She couldn’t wait until some horny rich sickly geezer came into the bar and whisked her away to Utopia where she could lay around in her underwear, eating bonbons in bed and spend the day watching Days of Our Lives and Buffy reruns. Then she would show all them bitches a thing or two. But with the night she had at Jeepers, Peepers! Tonight was not that night.

Jonesy wasn’t discouraged by the plethora of vaginas. The "dancers" had gotten used to it. Cellophane was the only one who covered up around him. It wasn't ladylike behavior, Cellophane refused to let anyone have a free show. "Celly, you know the rules, tops only, no pubes. Not while we still got us a Robbie Right-wing Republican in power. Now if that pussyhound Clinton was in power we might get away with it."

Wiggling into her newly acquired wardrobe. "The fuck you yammering about, Willis?!" Cellophane focused her wraith towards Jonesy. Silee wanted to reclaim her thong, but thought better of getting her eyebrows singed off by the curling iron. She slipped out of the room before Mount Kilimanjaro erupted.

"You honest to God think I fuckin’ planned this?" She couldn’t believe this shit was happening. "That mother fucker Bart’s to blame for this!"

Wanting to silence Cellophane before things got out of hand, he removed a Sharpie from his pocket and started to write on a piece of paper. "Tell you what go to table six and perform these moves on the table and we’ll call it even."

Last straw approaching. "No way." She started to grab the pen away from Jonesy. It flicked away.

"Cocksucker," she spat. She rubbed her robe. "Look what you did to my geniune geisha robe." She raised the sleeve, wagging the ink spot in front of his eyes. "You fuckin’ owe me a new robe, ass fucker!"

"Yeah, next time I go to Ross, I’ll pick you up one."

Cellophane pshawed his sarcasm. "Uh-huh if there’s a Ross in Tokyo."

"Mmmhmm, right next to the Hello Kitty Outlet." His retort was soft enough not to attract her ears.

Thinking her robe was recently soiled, Cellophane spat into the spot rubbing it. "I am so going to fuckin’ kill your ass, dipshit."

Jonesy was sick of this shit. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it up. Her struggling gave her an Indian Burn. "Mother fucker!"

He pushed her rear down into a chair. She landed with a clunk. He let go and she rubbed her newly acquired mark. "Cut the shit, Cellophane, go out there, perform for the dude and then get the fuck out of my club, got it."

"I’ll do you one better." She lashed out and kicked him in the shin.

"Oww!" Jonesy reached down to his leg. He stopped tolerating her bullshit. "Look," his eyes met hers. "Go out there and perform for the loser. He’s got a shitload of money and he’s not too bright."

A lightbulb went off on top of Cellophane’s head. Dumb and rich. The perfect combination for a gal like me. She stopped struggling. "What’s his name?"

Jonesy scratched his two day beard growth he thought make him look sexy. It made him look like a soup kitchen reject. "Bird or fish or something."

Cellophane began preening herself in front of the lighted mirror. "Do you know where he got his money from?"

"One of his buddies was saying his old man’s loaded."

"How old?"

Jonesy wiped his teeth with his index finger and then spoke. "Fuck I should know? Get your ass out there and dance for the shit."

Cellophane readjusted her wig and stood up. "I think I will." Maybe this night wouldn’t be such a bust after all.

He was nursing a watered down gin and tonic when Cellophane slithered up to his table. He stopped drinking when he saw her approach. His buddies were whooping it up at the sight of Uma performing to a Justin Timberlake song. Cellophane smiled ear to ear. "Hi, I’m Cellophane. Let’s go to another table, it’s too crowded here."

Cellophane led him to the empty table in the corner reserved for table dances and anything else not to be seen in the dank light of Jeepers, Peepers! You couldn’t arrest what you never saw. With the stage presence of Elizabeth II, Cellophane climbed on the table. The man sat down staring up at her. "What’s your name?" She was doing her best to sway to that shit music Uma chose.

Cat catching his tongue he ticked it out. "Louis."
More seductively, "Louis, what?"

"Byrd."

"Bird, huh?"

Staring, not forming words just a head bob. "So Louis, how can a handsome man like you afford a gorgeous suit like the one you’re wearing. Did you get it in Italy on a business trip?"

Shaking head entranced by Cellophane’s charms. "No, my dad ordered it for me."

Pumping him for information. "So what does your father do?"

"Oh, everything, he owns just about everything."

"Like what?" Cellophane asked innocently, biting her lower lip then licking her lips where the teeth marks lay.

Louis almost didn’t hear the question. "Oh, you know, movie studios, banks, real estate, everything."

"Huh, well, then he must be in great shape to be able to do all of that."

"No, not really, he’s not doing too well, he might not make it that much longer."

Cellophane’s eyes glazed over. "Oh, that’s sooo sad."

Louis shrugged his shoulders. "No, it’s okay, I don’t have any siblings and mom passed away a long time ago."

"So you would inherit everything when your father croaks, huh?" She stood up to sway again.

She could have said anything to Louis. He was staring at her form. She was even more flawless up close. He gulped the rest of gin down in one gulp. "Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll take over the company, but I’ll get all the money."

"Is that right?" Head bob again. "So, Daddy’s in poor health, is he?"

"He’s eighty-two."

Calculator went off in Cellophane’s mind. The father was already past his life expectancy. He could go at any time. "I think you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen."

"What?"

Louis looked into her eyes and said it again. "I think you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen."

Cellophane crouched down, her right knee keeping her balance. She tapped the tip of his nose with her finger and gave him the sweetest fake smile she had in her. "Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing."

He gulped. Cellophane stood up and finished out the set. The N’Sync music didn’t bother her anymore. Instead of seeing music notes floating she saw dollar signs.