http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B05VVZC
That’s when she meets Brad Harrison. A handsome Australian millionaire, Ria is easily lured by his bravado and materialistic displays of affection. Impulsively she agrees to move back with him to Sydney to a life of luxury living, leaving behind all her family and friends in the process.
But the dream soon becomes a nightmare and Ria finds herself all alone on the other side of the world…
A dramatic Australian adventure packed with sex, scandal, suspense, and more twists than a pole dancer’s stage show, Corrupted is an entertaining and shocking journey of survival that will surprise and thrill you with every page turned.
A semi-autobiographical novel, Corrupted is partly based on the experiences of the author; Emmy Yoshida, who worked as an exotic dancer in London and Australia for several years.
CHAPTER 1
“Don’t worry love; the first times always awkward, like your first shag. And I’ve got plenty of money for you to practice.”
The man who had just introduced himself as Terry sat before me; arms spread across the back of the red velvet and gold chair, his flabby torso spilling between the arm and the seat. His sweat patches were clearly exposed by his chosen stance and a tuft of grey chest hair brimmed from his white shirt; which he unbuttoned as if to signal his day of work was now done and it was time for him to kick back.
But unbeknownst to the people who associated with him in his day-to-day London rat-race existence, consisting of executive boardroom meetings and rub-shoulder, lick-arse lunches, Terry didn’t choose to unwind in the stereotypical pint of lager, evening news kind of way one would expect he would favour at first glance. No, Terry preferred unwinding with a less conventional method, one which would shock and offend his colleagues and family in equal measure if ever brought to light; by watching a girl undressing and paying her for the pleasure. He shot me an impatient look, as if to say get the fuck on with it, and hesitantly I proceeded to dance.
Sandwiched between his ample thighs, my towering heels swayed beneath me worryingly. I was used to wearing heels but in these monstrosities it felt as if I were on a pair of stilts; my ankles were one awkward movement away from snapping. The copious amounts of champagne I had consumed had left me feeling flushed and only slightly bolstered my confidence, which had taken a remarkable nose dive since I had set foot in Centrefolds earlier that evening and seen the vast array of exotic beauty surrounding me. Big breasts the size of melons with egos to match, acrylic nails, fake tan, and hair extensions; I felt plain in comparison to the audacious glamour of the other girls, but whoever this man was he obviously wasn’t looking for the archetypal playboy bunny type as I was the complete opposite.
He had approached while I had been sat on a bar stool watching dissolutely as every customer who walked through the door was quickly swept away by a throng of beautiful ladies. I was wondering whether I had made a mistake in coming to this alien world where I wasn’t the centre of attention for a change, when he had disturbed me from my thoughts.
“Are you new love?” he asked, propping up the bar the way most alcoholic middle-aged men did, in a bid not to lose any precious drinking time walking from a table to being served.
“Yes, is it that obvious?” I laughed and took another deep gulp from the drink I had just bought myself, and couldn’t afford on my student loan allowance.
“I can tell a newbie when I see one,” he said. “So what’s your name?”
I paused momentarily as I struggled to remember what the house mum had christened me earlier that evening. “Pearl,” I answered, flicking my black hair off my face in an attempt to look seductive.
“So are you into pearl necklaces?” He laughed then; a dirty roar which displayed some silver crowns in the back of his teeth, and I resisted the urge to spring away from him and crawl under a rock to hide. It took a moment for me to register what he was implying. “I can definitely tell you’re new,” he said. “You’ve obviously not been corrupted yet. So will you give me the pleasure of having your first dance?” He spoke as if we were at a debutante ball not a strip club, and I nodded. I could hardly say no you’re not my type could I?
I followed him through a sea of gorgeous, scantily clad women in various states of undress, dancing for a selection of delighted looking business men. Effortlessly they teased and seduced the customers before them, many of whom looked like they were about to combust with desire, mesmerised by the pure unadulterated sex appeal possessed by the women on display. They seemed so in control, every movement they made exhibiting the power they held over their customers. In comparison I felt like a car crash waiting to happen.
I took a deep breath, in the hope that the motion would alleviate my inferiority complex and absolute terror. Did I really want to go through with this? I knew now was the time to back out if I didn’t.
We approached a secluded circular table at the back of the room; before I’d had the chance to make a decision either way we had reached our destination and my first customer had made himself comfortable for the show.
He tucked a twenty pound note into my garter and it suddenly seemed like a rather abysmal amount of money to take all my clothes off, for a man I would usually cross the street to avoid on a dark night. Still though, it was only for three minutes, and seeing the large wads of cash on many of the girl’s garters was enough of an encouragement. Being a struggling student was losing its appeal; it was only to help me get through the final year of uni. Then I could move on to fulfil my real ambitions.
I had watched the other girls that night and began copying what I had seen, playing with the ties of my red lacy camisole, undoing each strap before finally easing it down my body, almost tripping over as the fabric got stuck on my stiletto. I struggled with the clasp of my bra, cursing inwardly as the hook got stuck, and noticed a smug look from a stunning blonde a few metres away as I did so. Meanwhile Terry seemed ignorant to my gracelessness, his eyes intently fixed on my body as I swayed near him, a serious expression on his face like he was studying a road map. He looked like he was afraid to blink, more than likely memorising every image for his own personal wank-bank, to store inside the deepest darkest corners of his brain for future use; probably for when he shagged his wife.
When the music finally came to an end I eagerly scrambled for my discarded garments on the floor, foolishly neglecting to realise that the whole point of the process was to get the customer to buy as many dances as possible. Still at least I had got the first dance out of the way now; it had been painful but quick, like ripping off a plaster.
“You forgot to take off your thong,” Terry said, laughing as I adjusted my dress. “Don’t worry though, we’ve all got to start somewhere love.” He ordered some champagne and I happily accepted a glass, drinking hungrily while he sat beside me, a grin on his face once more. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, cringing at my amateur performance and he leaned in closer. “So, what made you want to become a stripper then, a lovely girl like you? You strike me as being a bit innocent for this kind of malarkey.”
“The same reason most people do any kind of work,” I said. “Money.”
“Well I’m sure you’ll be earning a fortune before you know it.” He raised his glass as if my stumbling into the world of stripping was cause for celebration. “Here’s to you making a packet then. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I repeated, knocking my champagne flute against his.
“So how old are you anyway?”
“I’m twenty.”
“Twenty!” he said in disbelief. “Bloody hell, you’re the same age as my daughter! Usually I only get dances from the older girls. Still, there’s something special about you Pearl.”
“Thanks,” I said, unsure as to whether his admission was supposed to be a compliment. The uncomfortable revelation made my thoughts veer to that of my late father, and I shuddered at the thought of him knowing what I was doing. With his strict Japanese values he would have been deeply shocked if he could see me now, but then he wasn’t here anymore. The last time he saw me I was eighteen, innocent to the ways of the world. There was no one to protect me now, just a deep void that needed to be filled with distractions. Dancing was my main escape so I had figured working as a dancer would be an ideal job for me. Maybe I had been wrong?
“Well I feel honoured to have had your first dance. In a few months’ time when you’re one of the biggest earners here, I can say that I took your dancing virginity!”
Before I’d even had the opportunity to comment, a tall curvaceous brunette, with tumbling waves, and a long expensive-looking black dress, had perched herself on the arm of his chair. “Terry,” she breathed, as if the man next to her were a George Clooney lookalike. She shot me a look of superiority and scepticism. “My favourite customer,” she said, eyeing me with so much disdain that for a moment I felt like a piece of dirt caught under her perspex heel.
“Stacey, didn’t realise you were here. Just had a dance with Pearl, it’s her first night.” Terry looked startled if he had just been caught committing adultery, but judging by the gold signet ring around his fourth finger Stacey wasn’t the only woman he owed his misguided loyalties to.
“Hi Pearl,” she said, a smile plastered across her face more false than her breasts. “Oh well, now you’ve had your fun with a beginner, I think it’s about time a professional took over don’t you?”
“Sorry sweetheart,” Terry said to me, scarcely able to tear his eyes away from Stacey’s ample cleavage which she had cleverly directed in his eye line. “I’m going to have to go back to my stripper wife now. Here though, take the champagne, think of it as a christening present.”
“Ok then, thanks,” I said, feeling pretty put-out. I took the bottle and backed away, seating myself so I had a good view of the exotic world of red velvet, poles, and mirrors surrounding me. Five hundred pounds. If I don’t make at least five hundred pounds tonight then I won’t ever be coming back.
I knocked back my drink in an attempt to calm my nerves. With each glass I drank the night went quicker and my inhibitions decreased, until finally it got to three am and I had managed to accumulate quite a respectable wad of cash on my garter; eight hundred pounds in total, which meant that I had managed to take my clothes on and off about forty times all in all. No wonder strippers had such great bodies, the dressing and undressing alone probably burnt about a thousand calories, not to mention all the dancing and charming. I was exhausted and stumbled into a cab after handing in my money to collect on my next shift. As the car shuddered off into the crisp London night air I wondered how much of a cut they would take, and looked forward to holding the cold hard cash in my hand.
CHAPTER 2
I was used to being judged by men and my confidence had soared since working at Centrefolds, but still as the man sitting opposite evaluated me, I felt a wave of panic. It was one thing being judged on your looks but quite another to be judged on your mind. Ironic how I could dance around naked in front of men all night, but when it came to day-to-day occurrences, without the safety blanket of Pearl and the emotional crutches I used to become her, I was about as far removed from the girl who stalked the club seducing strangers as I was from the Queen.
The man crossed his legs, made notes, and sucked on the end of his pen, scratching his bald head whilst carefully considering my answers. Then came the dreaded question, the one which I always wished wouldn’t be asked but for some ridiculous reason always seemed to be.
“So Ria, what would you say your weaknesses are?” He adjusted his black framed glasses as if they could somehow zoom in on my deficiencies and waited for my reply. A million and one unsuitable responses raced through my mind, and I contemplated which would sound the least awful; time-keeping, a penchant for coming into work hung over, an inability to follow instructions or respond to authority figures; the list was endless. I swallowed back the urge to tell him I was an alcoholic party animal, and instead listened in bewilderment as the lie I had prepared for the occasion slipped out of my mouth.
“Well I sometimes find it hard to delegate tasks in a team situation, and as a result, I often find myself doing the lion’s share of a project. I often have the attitude if you want something done properly then you need to do it yourself, but I realise that to be a truly efficient team player then I need to relinquish control over certain tasks occasionally.” I smiled and he responded with a warm nod. The word bullshit was echoing through my head, but I had learnt from experience that bullshit was the food of love enthusiastically indulged in these situations, and it seemed my answer had done the trick.
“Wonderful reply,” he said. “Well when you work here there are tight deadlines and it can be quite high pressured, but I’m sure you will find we have a great team and we are a very well-oiled machine. That’s if you get the job of course.” He winked and I could almost feel my chest bursting in reaction. A wink; surely that was a good thing? Do I really allow myself to believe that I could have just landed my dream job?
“We will be in touch very soon. Thank you for coming, it has been a pleasure to meet you.”
I noticed his eyes sparkle as he spoke, glinting behind the glass of his specs. Was his liking for me based solely upon his assessment of my suitability for the job, or did he just fancy me? It was hard to tell. Either way, I couldn’t give a shit. Perhaps after months of countless interviews and rejections I had finally got somewhere. I almost felt like I was floating as I stood up to meet the handshake of the impeccably dressed man before me.
“It has been wonderful meeting you too, thank you very much for your time,” I said, a grin plastered across my face so wide, my cheeks felt like they were aching.
I left the office, a spring in my step, and made my way through the building, smiling to everyone I passed; my future colleagues with any luck. They bustled round the modern glass-fronted work spaces with purposeful steps, discussing designs around cutting tables, pinning mannequins, assessing beautiful garments hung from long rails around the rooms. Designers, pattern cutters, machinists; an eclectic mix of interesting people, some of whom looked like they had just stepped straight out of a fashion magazine. This is what I want; what I’ve worked for. I raced towards the tube entrance hoping that this weekend might be the last time I would ever work at Centrefolds, and that I was finally on my way towards having a legitimate career.
***
“Ria, your cab’s here.” I heard my mother calling up the stairs and quickly downed the glass of wine I had been drinking, before racing to the front door.
“Thanks Mum,” I said, kissing her on the cheek and ignoring the look of disapproval on her face, which I wished I could have replaced with the look of pride she had worn on my graduation day a few months ago.
“Don’t be drinking too much.” She watched me warily from the front door as I made my way down the garden path, trying not to slip on the frozen patches. I hoped that she hadn’t smelt the alcohol that was probably already on my breath; a lecture before I went to work was the last thing I needed right now. I could understand her concern though; I’m sure if I ever have a daughter then becoming a stripper wouldn’t exactly be high on my list of career choices for her, but that’s life and hopefully it would all change soon.
It had been almost a year since I had first started working at Centrefolds. Like everything else that was bad for you in life, it was addictive. Working a regular nine-to-five job had seemed a pointless waste of energy when I had been studying; I could easily earn in one night what I could in a month with an ordinary job. So I had continued to work as a dancer, hoping that I would eventually find a design job and be released from the cycle of drinking, sleeping it off the next day, only to get ready for it all again.
Despite my resistance, I had to admit that for all the times a customer was rude, a girl was bitchy, and I felt like walking out at the “I’m just shopping round love,” comments, I just as often enjoyed myself; dancing could be a liberating experience. I did wonder at times though how men could spend such an obscene amount of money on what was essentially self-torture. They watched me getting naked with such pained expressions that I sometimes felt cruel; like I was eating a big mac and fries in front of someone on a fast. Still, I couldn’t help it, it was my job; this is what these men wanted after all. They didn’t call it a strip tease for nothing.
“Alright love,” my driver greeted me as I lowered myself into the black cab. “Where you off to?”
“Centrefolds in Soho please,” I instructed, and for a moment I could have sworn I could see his eyes bulging from his head in the rear view mirror.
“No problem.”
I sighed and took a swig from the bottle of white wine in my bag as he pulled off. It was the first time I had been made to go in on a Saturday since my income had progressed from an average of six to seven hundred a night, up into the thousands. When you hit the high scores with regularity certain rules did not apply, and I had milked it, turning up if and when I felt like it. Truth be told I rarely did feel like it. Centrefolds was a hard place, behind the glitz and glamour of the girls were fragile egos and ruthless attitudes. That week though the house mum had insisted upon me working; obviously the new recruits were disappearing faster than usual.
Saturdays didn’t tend to be worthwhile; the big players were usually at home with their disconcerted wives playing happy families, the hard-working façade they put on to dodge the myriad of questions fired at them when returning in the small hours during the week had to give sometimes I supposed. I would much rather have been with my girlfriends, downing jager bombs and dancing until the sweat poured off me in one of London’s top night spots, but by the time we arrived outside the club, the wine and beautiful city views of London had got me into a money-making mood, and I was raring to go and begin my transformation into Pearl.
***
Boredom had led Brad Harrison to Centrefolds that night. Boredom and his insatiable appetite for beautiful women. If he didn’t have a good looking girl hanging off his arm Brad felt bare; like a woman without a handbag. So after his mundane business dinner, instead of going back to his hotel suite and masturbating to pay on demand porn, he decided to venture into Soho and sample some of the delights that London had to offer.
He had heard good things about the club; it had a reputation for being the best in London, every taste catered for. For Brad, money was no object. In fact, much to the annoyance of his parents, he was as much of a spender as he was an earner.
After quickly making his way through his inheritance at the young age of twenty five, he had turned his own hand to business, to supplement his already impressive allowance. Property, entertainment, gambling; it didn’t matter what Brad dabbled in. The rewards were usually returned quickly and at a high ratio. Whether he had inherited the Midas touch from his entrepreneurial father, or he owed his good fortune to having the safety net of one of the wealthiest families in Australia giving him the winning edge, it didn’t matter. To Brad there were no risks: only the prize at the end of it. He had the determination and stubbornness of a fighter dog. Once he had sunk his teeth into something he didn’t let go until he had his way. After ten years of business he was a renowned entrepreneur with celebrity status in his country, and his own wealth almost matched that of his father’s which had taken him a lifetime to build.
Brad walked into the plush surroundings and made his way to one of the tables at the back. Although he could see heads turning already, it was a refreshing change not to be bombarded with women in the same way as he was in Sydney. Over here he was an unknown and he revelled in his anonymity. He could certainly relax more, knowing he wasn’t going to have the usual clingers on hanging around his neck like a noose. Here he could be anyone he felt like. No holds barred. He selected the finest bottle of champagne on the list and noticed the attention it was drawing.
A girl strutted over confidently and placed herself into the seat next to him. “Hello, I’m Annabelle.”
She was petite, blonde, with ridiculously enormous looking breasts, and it was obvious she had fillers pumped into every orifice. Attractive looking enough, but Brad wasn’t on the market for a Pammy lookalike tonight. She smiled broadly, sticking out her artificial tits as far as they could go, and grabbed the arm of a dark haired stripper who was walking past. “This is Naomi,” she said, yanking her equally well-endowed friend over. They sat on either side of him like vultures, flicking their hair, and brushing Brad’s legs not too subtly.
“Here have a drink ladies,” he said, ushering over the waiter and getting two more champagne flutes. Sitting back he observed as the strippers laid all their best moves on him. Brad definitely liked an ego boost, but he also liked a challenge and was getting bored by the women on either side of him. He listened half-heartedly as they told him a story about some celebrity he had never heard of, and their evening of debauchery with him. God some women talked a load of crap, he thought, nodding along to their routine tiresomely.
That’s when he finally saw a girl of the kind of calibre he was looking for. She had an unusual look; an exotic contrast of Oriental and Western influence, delicate features and kissable lips. She was sitting on a bar stool, laughing with a customer. Her laugh was wholehearted; she was as unaware of her surroundings as a child. Compared to everything else in the club, she stood out like a sore thumb. Every movement, flick of the hair and bat of the eyelids of the other girls, was false and pre-determined. But this girl, now, she had something different. Innocence.
Brad kept his focus on her, watching as the man she was talking to made his advances. Ordering her a glass of champagne, his plump body leaned in closer until his round gut was brushing against her legs. Brad felt himself growing agitated, observing as the man scanned over her body hungrily, licking his lips in a sickening fashion, and casually placing his hand on her knee. He felt the sudden urge to go and knock him out and was about to stand up and whisk her away, when she pulled his hand away from her leg, got up, and made her way over to the stage. Not one to waste any time, Brad stood up, thrust a few fifty pound notes at the women on either side of him, and got a seat by the stage for a closer look.
As she stepped up under the spotlight his pulse began to race, and he watched mesmerised as she swayed her body around the pole gracefully. Her long raven hair was like a veil of silk falling down her back, and when she finally eased off her red lingerie to reveal her delicate, perfectly formed breasts, he could feel his erection pressing against his trousers. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty pound note, leaning forward to tuck it into her garter. She knelt down by him, a genuine smile on her face, and when their eyes met she looked flustered under the intensity of his gaze. He was pleased to see that he liked what he saw even better close up.
“God darlin, you’re bloody beautiful,” he said, and she blushed in response making him want her even more. He looked her up and down and imagined her lying naked in his enormous bed back in Sydney, swiftly making the decision there and then that she would make the perfect souvenir to take back home with him.
CHAPTER 3
The eyes of the club were upon me as I climbed the steps of the stage; awaiting the display I was about to give them, like a crowd of spectators watching the black night sky in anticipation of fireworks about to erupt in the atmosphere. The place was buzzing as ever, champagne being knocked back like there would be no tomorrow, girls hustling, flashing their best smiles and just about everything else, their legs crossed towards the customers who were revelling in their attentions.
Scanning the room, I held the gazes of the men around me. The usual suspects were sitting at the front as they always did at the beginning of the night, their pockets filled deep with cash ready to be dished out accordingly as if they were giving out sweets in a playground full of children. Well I suppose in a way Centrefolds was a playground and us girls were battling it out to be the most popular girl at school. I certainly wasn’t about to lose the battle.
I began to swing myself around the pole leisurely to warm up. “Dirty Cash” was playing and I found myself getting lost in the music, circling my hips and slowly playing with the straps of my dress, gradually easing it down to unveil each part of my body. The metal of the pole felt cool against my bare skin as I slid against it.
I winked at one of my regulars, remembering that I was up there for a reason; to get tips. Ignoring everyone while I just had a good time dancing probably wasn’t the best way of doing that. My attention was lost though as I spotted someone new, someone I had never seen before, a man who was commanding more attention from the room than anyone including me. He was approaching the stage and everyone in his way was parting before him like the Red Sea of Egypt. Even the customers were giving him double takes as he sat down, directly in front of me.
He motioned at the lingerie waitress who had followed him like a shadow to his table, and within moments she and two others were serving him, pouring his drink and flapping around him with the excitement they would usually reserve for one of our celebrity guests. Looking at him it was no secret why. He resonated power, sex, and charm. It was displayed in every facet of his physicality; from his towering physique, to his confident swagger, to the perfectly tailored suit which hung immaculately from his muscular body as if it were a second skin. The girls were practically salivating at him, but despite their best efforts to compete for his attention he was brushing off their advances casually, as if they were specks of lint on his suit. There seemed to be only one girl who had caught his interest, and to my delight I realised it was me.
The discovery made me instantly aware of my every movement; I felt completely exposed as if Pearl had deserted me on stage; too intimidated to even look in his direction as I continued to slowly undress myself under the heat of the spotlights and his gaze.
Gradually I let each bra strap slip down, concentrating my attention on the other men seated at the front who were eagerly waiting for it to fall to the floor. I made them wait for as long as humanely possible before letting it ping off. One of them waved a note in the air and I crawled over to collect it, all the while very aware that the man with the dominating presence was still watching me; now with even more interest.
He stood up displaying his impressive stature once more, a note in his hand, and I could no longer avoid looking at him. I leant by him, my usual bravado melting away as he slowly tucked the cash into my garter. His hand grazed against my thigh and I felt a bolt of electric energy surge through me as his warm skin brushed against mine. His fingers felt smooth, he was obviously a man who groomed himself with precision, but in contrast to the rest of his pristine image was his unkempt hair which made him look like he had just gone for a swim, like a model from a designer aftershave campaign.
“God darlin, you’re bloody beautiful,” he said, and my heart leapt into my chest momentarily. I was caught off guard; it was surprising to hear the deep Australian twang and I felt myself blushing; a fire setting my cheeks aglow until I was radiating heat from within.
He was obviously as taken back by my reaction as I; I couldn’t even remember the last time I had felt slightly shy over anything at work. I got up and tried my best to maintain my composure while I finished the stage show; while he sat opposite watching my every move as I danced, turning the girls who approached him away without even breaking his focus.
As soon as the three songs were up I went to the edge of the stage and began dressing, and he strolled over with a cocky air of arrogance about him usually only displayed by the rich and powerful.
“You’re coming with me,” he said, beckoning the hostess over and booking me for an hour.
I nodded, dumbstruck by how handsome he was. I certainly wasn’t used to customers like this. His piercing blue eyes, sandy brown hair, and deep tan made a devastating combination; I daren’t imagine what he would look like without the suit on, the mere thought of it was enough to make me want to break every rule in the book.
“I’m Brad,” he said. “You’re absolutely stunning. I was watching you on that stage; unbelievable darlin.”
“Thanks,” I said, searching for words. “You’re not exactly bad looking yourself.”
“So what’s your name?”
“Pearl.”
“Pretty but what’s your real name?” he demanded. “Come on I’m planning on spending a lot of money tonight, so I want to at least get your real name.”
“Okay then, I suppose it won’t hurt. It’s Ria.”
“Now that is a beautiful name, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. As his eyes met mine I was struck by how magnetic they were. Azure blue, filled with intelligence and a spark of something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“Would you like a dance Brad?”
“Not just yet, let’s get to know each other a bit first,” he said, pouring me some champagne. “So where are you from originally, you’ve got a really exotic look to you?”
“I’m half Japanese, half English,” I replied.
“What an amazing mix,” he said. “So what’s a lovely girl like you doing working somewhere like this then?”
“I am just doing it temporarily until I find a job in fashion. I just finished uni.”
“Well we all gotta do what we gotta do I suppose.” He began playing with the string of pearls hanging round my neck, rolling them around in his fingertips slowly; I could almost feel the heat of his skin leaving an imprint against mine as he brushed against me. “You’re an amazing dancer though.”
“Well I’ve always loved dancing, I wanted to be a ballerina when I was younger.”
“So does that mean you’re quite flexible then, being into ballet?” he said, moving his thick eyebrows up and down comically.
“Depends on who’s bending me,” I giggled. “So what brings you to London?” I asked, uncomfortable with the level of sheer sexual tension in the air.
“Business. Would rather be back home any day. I live in Sydney, it’s bloody beautiful. Got a place overlooking the harbour. Best view in the world. You would love it. It’s summer there now; I can’t cope with the weather here.” He shivered dramatically at the mere mention of the English climate.
“I bet it’s gorgeous. I can’t stand the cold either, I’m a sun worshipper.”
“I could take you if you like. I’ve got a beautiful yacht, we could go out on it, cruise through the harbour, lay in the sun and drink champagne all day long.”
I laughed at his empty promise but despite myself I couldn’t help but imagine for a moment being sprawled across a yacht, sipping a cocktail, and browning myself in the hot sun with him lying next to me. “That sounds nice but I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Actually I’m very particular, and I didn’t get to where I am today by playing games,” he said, a smirk on his face.
“Well I can think of worse ways to spend an afternoon,” I said, unsure of how to take the man sitting beside me.
“There is no better way, trust me darlin,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes, his attitude stirring feelings of annoyance and arousal inside me.
The hours flew by and Brad had whipped his card out more times than the girls had whipped out their tits. We had spent the night laughing and talking, and I was beginning to forget I was at work and was wondering why I was so desperate to leave, when I noticed someone watching from the opposite side of the room. He was seated by the stage, suited and booted next to a male counterpart, and the dancer accompanying them both was pointing at me, her finger stabbing the air in my direction in a threatening manner as she laughed. Stacey had always hated me, especially as I had taken away the attention of many of her regulars. I avoided her like the plague whilst she did the opposite, seeking out any excuse for a confrontation. I had got used to her behaviour but there was something a lot more unsettling in the air. As I glanced up I realised what it was; the man she was with looked vaguely familiar. I studied his face and he looked up at me; instantly I saw the recognition flash across his eyes. That’s when it dawned on me who he was. It was the man from the interview!
“Are you alright?” Brad’s voice was a muffled blur through the powerful sick sensation, spreading through my body like a shockwave.
“No,” I replied, in a state of disbelief over my ill-fortune. “That man over there. I know him.”
“How?” he asked, giving him the once over.
“I had an interview for a design job a couple of days ago and he was my main interviewer. I really thought I’d got the job but now there he is, and now he knows I’m a stripper.”
“Fuck!” he exclaimed. “Are you sure it’s him?”
Slowly I lowered my hand from my face for a moment long enough to steal a second look, only to be greeted by the view of the two men nudging each other and Stacey waving at me sarcastically, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. It was bad enough this was happening without her having to witness it as well.
“I need to go, I’m sorry,” I said, standing up.
“Come on don’t go. Let’s just go to a more private area where the dickhead can’t see us. Come on.” Brad took my hand and led me towards a corner of the club, away from their prying eyes.
I looked down, deflated as we passed them, a sinking sensation of shame and disappointment lowering itself inside me; the high I had been feeling at meeting Brad evaporating alongside all hopes I had held for my new life.
“I can’t believe it,” I muttered, and sank into my chair.
“It’s okay darlin, I’m sure you’ll find something else.” Brad squeezed my hand, I felt grateful he was here and I hadn’t been left to face the bitter disappointment of the chance meeting alone. I looked up and saw the empathy on his face, his masculine features softened by his concerned expression. God how amazing would it be to have a man like him in my life; someone to take care of me, look after me, take me away from all the crap?
“I have been trying so hard though; perhaps it’s time I faced up to it. Maybe this is what my life is going to be; maybe I belong here.”
“Now that’s the biggest pile of rubbish I’ve ever heard,” Brad said. “Come on, do you want me to go and have a word for you?” He began to rise to his feet and I gripped his hand to prevent him.
“No, it’s done now. I’m sure Stacey has fed him so much nastiness that there’s nothing you could say.”
“That the bitch who was pointing at you?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, surprised at how annoyed Brad was getting on my behalf.
“Well I don’t know why you’d want to work for that bald-headed loser anyway. A girl like you shouldn’t have to work; you should be looked after, cared for.”
“Is that an offer?” I said, laughing at the precariousness of my situation.
“It could be.” He looked at me with his penetrating eyes and a promising look, which caused such a rush of euphoria, it almost cancelled out the loss I was feeling.
Just then the hostess Eve walked over. “Your show is finished guys, and I’m afraid the club will be closing soon. Here’s the bill for the tab.”
“Thanks,” he said, passing her his card distractedly, not even looking at the amount on the card machine as we waited for it to be processed; eager to be alone again. Finally she ripped off a receipt, thanked him for his custom, and walked away.
“What’s your number, I want to see you again Ria?” He took a gold pen out from his pocket and poised it over a napkin ready to scribble it down. I noticed one of the girls looking over; I would be in big trouble if she saw me giving my number to a customer.
“I can’t give it to you, I’ll end up losing my job; I’ve already lost one tonight I can’t risk it. Sorry.”
“Why don’t you just tell me it then, I’ll remember,” he said; clocking the blonde by the bar staring at us icily.
“You’re gonna memorise it? After all the champagne we’ve drunk; I can scarcely remember my own name!”
“Well I have a razor sharp memory; especially when it comes to important details, and you my darlin are a very important detail.” He smiled then; a relaxed self-assured smile. The kind of smile that said I love myself and pretty soon so will you.
“Why don’t you just come in again on Tuesday?” I suggested; partly out of fear of being caught giving my number out, partly because the idea of spending time with the handsome stranger in front of me, and earning a couple of thousands of pounds in the process was too great a temptation to resist. He seemed annoyed at my suggestion.
“Look Ria, I know how these places work and I’m not one of those guys. I want you and I want to get to know you outside of this place. And I know you want me too, so let’s cut to the chase. Let me take you out and spoil you.”
“Where are you going to take me then?” I asked.
“Well you’re going to have to wait and see. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed though.” He threw me a look that said he knew exactly what game I was playing, and I felt the sudden urge to grab him by his collar and give him a lingering kiss on his sensuous mouth.
“Okay.” I said. “I suppose some rules are meant to be broken.”
It was hard to know how to behave with such a sexy customer. With the usual crowd comprising of old men and lonely workaholics I felt completely in control, but with Brad it was different. He was right, I did want him. More than anyone I had ever met, although I didn’t want him to know that just yet. He probably had women throwing themselves at him all the time and I didn’t want to be just another one of them.
“Whisper it to me.” He pulled me in as close as he could without the risk of contravening any rules and I breathed my number slowly in his ear, feeling turned on by the delicious musky scent of aftershave on his neck. I could almost feel his heart beating through the crisp white cotton of his shirt. “God darlin, even you whispering in my ear is making me hard.” He winked as I pulled away, a cheeky look on his face, and I smiled back as I stood up.
“I have to go now Brad my cab will be waiting for me, but I had a great night. Thanks.” I turned to walk away and as I did so he took my hand and pushed a wedge of cash into it discreetly.
“No thank you Ria,” he said, looking into my eyes intensely. “You’re a diamond.”
I stuffed the money into my bra quickly; I didn’t feel like sharing it with the club. After making my way into the changing room, I unrolled the wad of money secretively. Amongst the thick wad of fifty pound notes, which amounted to a cool sum of a thousand pounds, was his business card. It was simple and to the point, black with his name and contact details emblazoned across it in silver print. Brad Harrison. I ran my fingertips across the lettering and wondered if I would ever see him again.
CHAPTER 4
My phone vibrated noisily against my bedside table, waking me from my slumber and making me conscious of the extremely bad hangover I had managed to acquire.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I muttered under my breath, as I glanced at the time and saw it was only nine in the morning. I had only managed three hours sleep so far. Fantastic! I turned my blurred focus towards my phone, pummelling the keypad in search of the perpetrator of my disturbance.
“One new message,” it flashed at me tauntingly. If this is a message from Vodafone telling me my credit is running out, then this phone is going to be thrown at my wall.
“Thanks for a great night beautiful. You’re an absolute diamond. Brad x.”
My stomach flipped with excitement as I read and re-read the message. What was it he possessed that made me so giddy? I never usually got like this with men but there was just something about Brad that made me want him so badly. He had such a strong persona, was so cocky and full of himself, yet instead of finding him arrogant I just found him sexy and alluring. Brad was the kind of man who knew what he wanted and went after it until he got it, and I couldn’t help but hope that he wanted me.
The delicious aroma of frying bacon wafted into my room, and I threw on my dressing gown to go and get a piece of the action. Padding down the stairs wearily, I was knocked out of my day dreams by my nan, immaculately made up as usual and no doubt on her way to wake me for breakfast. She caught an eyeful of my sorry state and almost jumped out of her skin in mock surprise.
“Bloody hell, look at the state of you,” she tutted, shaking her head. “Another night on the tiles was it? Come on, get in that kitchen and get some breakfast down you girl, you still look half-cut!” She shooed me past; flapping at me wildly with her chequered tea towel as I gripped onto the bannister attempting to stay upright.
The sun was pouring through the windows of the kitchen; it was your typical Sunday morning scene. Newspapers were stacked upon the counter, the supplements pulled out and being flicked through, as only beauty and fashion could be digestible on such a beautiful morning. Some fresh flowers were stood in the middle of the pine breakfast table, amongst the place mats depicting different countryside settings. My nan had put radio two on and the sound of Terry Wogan’s velvety voice filled the room, almost as delectable as the smells of the fry-up. Mum was placing a large pot of tea on the table and was looking as freshly turned out as the flowers on it; lipstick applied and white floral apron tied over her ample bosom. My sister Aia was in her silk dressing gown looking radiant, sipping at her tea delicately, my little brother Shinzo was downing his orange juice and playing with his cutlery; eagerly awaiting our Sunday morning ritual. Howard; Aia’s husband, was sitting on the other side of the table reading the sports section.
“Morning,” my mother greeted me, eyeing me suspiciously. Unsurprisingly I thought as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The seductress from the night before had now been replaced with a trampy looking fiend. Make-up was smeared over my face, making me look like I had just clawed my way back from the depths of hell. “Did you have a good night?” she asked, looking concerned at my appearance.
“Yeah thanks, it was quite a good night.” I lowered myself onto the chair next to Shinzo slowly and rested my chin on my hand.
“Looks like you had the worst night of your life,” laughed Howard. Shinzo joined in with the banter.
“Yeah, looking a bit rough Sis.”
“Oh ha ha ha.” I didn’t have the energy to get into a full blown slanging match, not when my brain felt like it was about to explode over the neatly presented table. Let them have their laughs; I made over five thousand pounds last night entertaining one of the sexiest men I have ever met.
“Fancy a cup of tea love?” my mum asked.
“Oh yes please,” I said. She filled my china cup for me and I stirred in my milk and sugar, and took a sip of the comforting warm brew.
“Did you make much money then?” Aia asked.
I hesitated, not sure how much I should share of the previous night with my family.
“Erm yeah it was really good. I met an Aussie guy and made about five grand.”
“Five grand!” Howard repeated in disbelief. “Bloody hell, I’m in the wrong line of work.”
My nan lowered a plate containing the most perfect English breakfast I’ve ever seen on the place setting below me. There were grilled Lincolnshire sausages, slices of black and white pudding and crispy bacon on one side of the plate. Beside the meat feast was a neatly poached egg, its yellow creamy yolk spilling out onto the triangular shaped fried bread underneath it. Beans, tomatoes, and mushrooms completed the feast.
“Mmm thanks Nanny,” I said, tucking in.
“That should sort you out.” She smiled and placed the rest of the plates on the table.
“Well Ria, I hope you’re planning on putting that money aside and not wasting it on rubbish.” My mum gave me a withering look and seated herself.
“Yeah well, I don’t see how spending my money on enjoying myself while I’m young is a waste. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.”
She flinched in reaction to my statement. “God I hate that expression. You should be spending your energy looking for a real job. God gave you a brain and you should be using it, not sucking up to a load of perverts all night. Your dad would turn in his grave if he knew.”
“Yeah Mum I know,” I said taking a deep sigh, feeling instantly emotional at the mention of my dad. “I really am trying to look for a good job, there just isn’t much out there.”
“What happened to that job you went for the other day? You told me they had practically offered it to you.” She stopped her chewing, lowered her fork, and waited for my reply.
“I don’t bloody know do I? It was only a few days ago, they are hardly going to ring me over the weekend and make a big song and dance over it are they?” I carried on eating, hoping that we could move on to another topic of conversation; the weather, the latest celebrity scandal, the man with the biggest tumour in the world; anything would be better than this right now.
“Well I hope to God you do get it because I don’t think I can bear you working at the club anymore. Look at you,” she said, shaking her head at me. “You spend half your life hung over.”
“Yes well I am hung over now too, so I would appreciate it if you stopped yapping in my ear for five minutes and let me eat.” I stared down at my breakfast which was quickly becoming less appealing served with a side of guilt.
“Mum is just worried about you that’s all, she wants you to make something of yourself,” Aia said.
“Look,” I said, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. “Fashion is a really hard industry to break into, it won’t happen overnight.”
“Well maybe if you hadn’t studied fashion at uni and done something worthwhile, then you’d be able to find a decent job,” Aia shot at me from across the table.
“God what is this, pick on Ria time? Just because I’m not bloody perfect like you.” I looked at my sister, so composed, almost regal looking even in her bloody dressing-gown; no wonder my family were so critical of me, how could I possibly live up to her example? I wished that I could be more like her; stable relationship, good career, but being the black sheep of the family was like a curse; a dark cloud that followed me wherever I went and it seemed hopeless trying to change it. I could feel the tears welling inside me, I wished that I could share the truth of what had happened last night with them but I knew it would only give them more ammunition.
“Leave her,” my nan defended me. “Why shouldn’t she have some fun and make some money? All she does is dance. If I were her age with her figure I’d do it. Now all of you eat up before it goes cold,” she said, not wanting her breakfast to be ruined. She gave me a knowing smile and I felt grateful for her turning down the pressure; at least she wasn’t always judging me.
We sat in silence for a minute or two enjoying our Sunday morning treat, when the peace was abruptly interrupted by Shinzo. “Sis,” he said pausing briefly, a cheeky grin on his face. “Now you’re so rich could you give us twenty quid?”
To read the rest of Corrupted go to: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B05VVZC
First Chapters 
Reblogged this on emmyyoshida and commented:
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