FicWad

Sarah pulled up outside her building and took the box up to her apartment. She looked around at the dull rooms, with their white walls and neutral furniture and sighed.
“This won’t do,” she told herself, “When I go to Las Vegas, I gotta make sure I’m stylish. Maybe I’ll rent a suite.”
So, over the next week, Sarah sold all her furniture and he old Volkswagen, and used that, plus the money she’d been saving for a vacation, and bought a one-way ticket to Las Vegas.
She stood with her three bags on the sidewalk outside her apartment building, staring at the building as she waited for the taxi that would take her to the airport. She sighed, silently saying goodbye to the place she’d called home for two years. The cab pulled up behind her and she turned to it, smiling. The driver popped the trunk and she threw her bags in before getting in shotgun.
“LA International, please.”
Four hours later, she was pulling up in front of a mediocre hotel in Las Vegas. It wasn’t what she had had in mind, but it worked. She checked in and brought her bags up. She got settled in. She would have to find a place to rent or something, but this would have to do for now.
A week later, Sarah was seriously running out of steam. And money. She couldn’t find an actual apartment anywhere, and she had even less luck finding a job. She walked down the street, searching desperately, knowing if she didn’t find one soon, she’d be left out on the street in a matter of days. She couldn’t believe her money had gone so fast. It wasn’t that much, but she was sure it would last her at least a month.
She stopped outside of a seedy little laundry mat with a help wanted sign in the window, and walked in. At least in LA she got a reasonable wage. She walked up to a small booth in the corner when an old man sat behind bullet proof glass. He looked up at her and reached forward, pressing a button on the counter in front of him.
“How can I help you?”
She leaned forward to the microphone.
“Hi, I saw your help wanted sign outside and-”
He cut her off.
“Sorry. You have to talk to the manager about that.”
“Oh…kay… can I speak to them, then?”
“He’s not in.” The little man replied. Sarah frowned, annoyed with his belligerence.
“When will he be in?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.” She huffed and began walking towards the exit. A greasy man stopped her at the entrance. He was short, with short, peppered hair, wearing a yellow Hawaiian t-shirt and a pair of Bermuda shorts.
“I heard you were looking for a job, sweetheart.” He said, grinning. She smiled nervously.
“No, that’s fine, I-”
“No, no,” He cut her off, “Seriously. It’s a good paying Job. You could make hundreds of dollars a night, if you’re good enough.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“What kind of job is that?”
“Well,” he lowered his voice, “How do you feel about dancing?”
“Like, ballet?”
He chuckled, coughing a bit, and shook his head.
“No, I mean, strip dancing.”
Her eyes widened and she began shaking her head.
“But you have such a lovely body, and I bet with a bit of work, you could be one of my highest paid dancers.”
She bit her lip, frowning.
“You mean that?”
“Of course. Do you have any experience?”
“Dancing on poles? God no.”
He nodded.
“Just as well.”
“Wait, wait. I don’t want to work for some low-life little strip bar or anything.”
He smiled.
“My club is anything but low-life, my dear. I run one of the cleanest strip clubs in Las Vegas. Every table, every pole is wiped down after closing. My dancers are treated with dignity and respect. Each girl gets her own stylist and choreographer. It keeps the girls happy, which makes the dances better, I find… but I’m rambling. Would you be interested?”
Sarah looked away at a young couple making out in front of the crummy laundry mat she had previously tried applying at, making up her mind.
“I’ll do it.”
The man grinned again.
“Alright. I am Tim, I’m your boss,” He held out a hand, “And you are?”
“Sarah.” She replied, shaking it.
“Lovely, but, to avoid any stalker cases, we’ll have to change that on stage. Now, here’s how we get you started…”