Plata Page 2

  As soon as the little man left, Madison self-consciously disrobed under Beba’s relentless glare. She tried to move slowly and confidently, as if she’d done it a hundred times, carefully folding her clothes and placing them in a little stack on a love seat. She slipped on the thong, realizing with horror that her pubic hair grew well outside the bikini line. This was one detail Enzo had forgotten. Embarrassed, Madison sat down on the love seat and crossed her legs.

  She waited for a long time. The room was drafty, which made her all the more aware that she was practically naked. Occasionally, a glamorous looking woman would wander in to freshen up her makeup, or get a piece of gum from her locker. A pale young man with orange-dyed hair arrived with a makeup box, and set up at the end of one of the mirrored counters. One woman rolled into work late. She was beautiful and dark-skinned, with strange wide eyes. She settled onto the stool next to the man. Both of them stared at Madison in the mirror.

  Madison had never been naked in front of strangers before, and she couldn’t help feeling that she was having one of those childhood dreams where she’d forgotten to get dressed before going to school. But she tried not to let it show. She leaned into the sofa cushions, constantly crossing and uncrossing her legs. She studied her fingernails and tried to look bored. Occasionally, she even forced a yawn. But she found it was hard to look nonchalant while wearing nothing but a red thong.

  Finally, a very poised, middle-aged man whisked into the room. He had dark, receding hair, and wore an expensive suit. Her first instinct was to cover her breasts, but she stopped herself. He approached her with his hand extended, so she stood up.

  “Simon,” he said, shaking her hand as if they were in a corporate boardroom. “Manager of operations.”

  “Madison.” She felt her cheeks burning. Be confident, she told herself. Confident, confident, confident.

  Simon nodded brusquely and took several steps back. He looked Madison up and down. “Turn around,” he commanded.

  She turned in a perky little circle, holding her arms out like a bird. He walked around her, studying her body as if it were a used car he was thinking of buying. With another quick nod, he strode out of the room. Madison stood there blinking, unsure of what had just happened.

  “Put your clothes on, madre,” Beba’s disdainful voice piped in from the kiosk.

  Madison quickly pulled on her clothes right over the uncomfortable thong, desperate to be covered again. Just as she was pulling on her shirt, the short man returned.

  “Simon said you looked good. Come at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. You’ll need at least three dresses. Elegant. Nothing trashy. Be ready to go onto the floor by two thirty.

  He turned and bustled toward the door, then remembered something and stopped.

  “Oh,” he called across the room. “And he said you need to shave.”

  There were titters from the woman and the makeup guy, and Madison went scarlet.

  “Do you have a bag?” Beba asked, stepping out of her kiosk with a small black purse dangling from her hand. “One hundred fifty pesos for this.”

  “A bag?” Madison asked, dazed.

  Beba rolled her eyes. “For the plata, madre,” she said. “For the money.”

  Chapter 6

  After Madison found Enzo at the café, he took her shopping again. This time, they bought three form-fitting, ankle-length gowns, and a pair of black strap stilettos. Madison held up the shoes and furrowed her brow.

  “How am I supposed to walk in these?” she asked, with genuine anxiety.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Enzo said with a grin. “Put them on tonight and practice.”

  He topped off his Madison renovation with a quick trip to the neighborhood spa for a bikini wax, which she hated almost as much as the audition itself. By the time they were finished, she was exhausted, but Enzo convinced her to join him for a drink at their old hangout, Mama Rumba.

  “You simply can’t go to bed looking like that,” he exclaimed. “Let’s take you around the block a couple times.”

  Madison and Enzo had spent many evenings at Mama Rumba during her school year in Mexico City. It started out as a little hole in the wall with graffiti-covered walls, a tiny dance floor, and a statue of St. Lazarus on the bar. Old Cuban musicians would line up against one wall and fill every nook of the place with classic salsa, cha cha cha, and rumba, as Madison and Enzo would cram onto the dance floor, squeezed up together until they could barely move. It was so successful, the owners expanded until Mama Rumba was a sprawling, two-story club with a large stage that held a full Cuban orchestra.

  The place was packed, but the doorman waved Enzo and Madison past the line. Enzo grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the bar. And just like the old days, Enzo immediately ran into some gorgeous hunk he once screwed or wanted to screw.He would then whisk Enzo off into the crowd, and Madison wouldn’t see him again until the end of the night. This time it was a tall guy with fashionably disheveled black hair and a tight neon green tee shirt. Madison sighed as Enzo flittered an apologetic wave before being swallowed up by the mass of bodies.

  Madison pushed her way to the bar, taken aback by how many men stepped aside to let her pass, as if she were the Queen of England. They muttered things at her and begged her to dance, but she just politely shook her head and continued along. When she finally reached the bar, she was relieved to see that Beni was still tending bar. She’d spent so much time in the place back in the day that he began to call her his baby sister. But when he looked her way, there was no recognition in his eyes. Still, he ignored the shouted requests and made a beeline for her.

  “What are you drinking, gorgeous?” Beni asked her. He had dark skin and perfectly symmetrical Caribbean features. His hair was close-cropped, which brought even more attention to his glorious face. He knew that most of the women clinging to the bar were simply trying to get his attention.

  “Beni, it’s me.” Madison pointed awkwardly at her face. “Madison. As in Madison and Enzo.”

  Beni blinked at her for a moment, trying to take it in. Then he let out a bellowing laugh and grabbed both her hands.

  “Madison! What the hell? I didn’t know you were back! Look at you! What happened to you? You look like a movie star!”

  Madison blushed and squeezed his hands. “It’s really, really nice to see you, Beni.”

  “Whatever you’re drinking is on the house,” he shouted, slapping a cocktail napkin down in front of her.

  Madison ordered a beer, but Beni made her a vodka tonic instead.

  “Beer will give you a paunch,” he quipped with a wink. “You’re too pretty now for a paunch. You’ll thank me later!”

  Madison made a face, but accepted the drink. The band launched into a popular song, and a cheer surged up from the crowd. Beni jumped onto the bar and began to dance, making the cluster of women squeal. Madison sipped at her drink, feeling the vodka warm her insides as she watched Beni dance. He held his arms out to the sides as if he were about to launch into flight, and swung his pelvis in wide, loose circles.

  “What a showoff,” said a voice behind her.

  Madison turned around. She caught her breath, and her heart leapt into her throat. A stunning, dark-haired man stood at the bar with a couple of bills in his hand. Madison recognized him immediately from the Mexican soap opera she used to watch, La Vida Salvaje. He’d played the romantic lead, Esteban, a wealthy estate owner whose fiancée is kidnapped by drug lords. It was the only soap opera Madison had ever been hooked on.

  She tried to keep her composure, looking up at the spectacle on the bar. “Yeah, Beni has no shame.”

  As if on cue, Beni smiled down at her and blew her a kiss. They watched as he swung around and did a few salsa moves on the narrow bar. Then he wiggled his butt, which made the female patrons whoop and yell.

  “If we ever get our bartender back,” the actor said, turning his body so that Madison’s shoulder was pressed up against his chest, “can I buy you another drink?”

/>   “Beni never charges me for drinks.” Madison was surprised by the flirtatious lilt in her voice.

  The actor’s eyes shamelessly rolled over her body, from top to bottom, and back up again. “Of course he doesn’t.”

  She contemplated telling him what a big fan she was, but she knew that would tip the balance in his favor. He came up to me, she told herself.

  “Your accent sounds Cuban,” she said.

  The actor gave her a broad smile. His teeth were TV perfect. “So am I.” He took the glass from her hand and took a sip. She could tell by his confidence that no woman had ever been offended by this presumptuous move. “And your accent is…well, I have no idea.

  “American.”

  “Really! Your Spanish is perfect!” He handed back the drink and looked up in desperation at Beni, who had pulled a woman onto the bar to dance beside him. “I’m not getting a drink tonight, am I?”

  Madison shoved the vodka tonic back into his hand. “What do you want? I’ll get it.”

  “Just a beer, but…”

  “Corona?”

  “Perfect.”

  She slipped through the bodies huddled near the bar and made her way to the end, where she dipped under the counter, just like old times. Beni turned to look at her as he swung his hips and swayed side to side. He gave her a go-for-it smile. She went to the refrigerated cabinet and pulled out two Coronas. Then she popped off the caps and headed back to her actor.

  “You are a good girl to know,” he laughed, taking the beer. “I’m Daniel.”

  “Madison,” she replied, clinking her bottle against his.

  They took a long drink, holding eye contact until they’d finished the first sip, as is customary in Mexico. They were jostled about and the music blared, but even after the long sip they still held the gaze. Madison shivered a little, and butterflies exploded in her stomach.

  “Madison,” he said in a low voice that she somehow managed to hear over the din. “You are something else.”

  She smiled and took another long sip of beer. It was surreal to see that face, those seductive eyes that had helped his character bed at least four different women on the show in the time Madison was watching. And now they were trying to bed her. It was almost too much to believe. She felt a hand on her arm and someone spun her around. It was Enzo.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, breathless. “My ex is here and he’s looking for me. Apparently he wants to break my nose. Can you imagine?”

  “Why?” Madison asked impatiently. She glanced at Daniel, hoping he wouldn’t take it as a cue to leave.

  “You know, stupid rumors. He thinks I slept with his current boyfriend just to get back at him.”

  She gave him a look. “Did you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Let’s just get out of here.”

  Without another word, he pulled her through the crowd. She turned to see Daniel sadly watching her go. Madison gave him a little wave and mouthed “I’m sorry.” He nodded and held his beer in the air to say thank you. The next thing she knew, they were out in the street. It was a cool night and the air smelled of smoke and grilled corn. A group of drunken revelers spilled out of the club singing at the tops of their lungs.

  “That was Esteban from La Vida Salvaje!” Madison hissed to Enzo. “He wanted to buy me a drink! Can you believe that?”

  Enzo pulled Madison close, his arm tight around her shoulder. “I know Daniel.”

  Madison gaped in amazement. “My God! How do you know him?”

  Enzo shrugged. “I know all the Cubans worth knowing in Mexico City.”

  He guided them in the direction of home. Madison was exhausted so she let her head rest against his arm. He kissed the top of her head and sighed.

  “Look, doll,” he said, the usual playfulness gone from his voice. “Now that you’re one of the hot chicks, you’ve got to start looking out for the wolves.”

  Chapter 7

  Not wanting to be late on her first day, Madison arrived at The Gentlemen’s Club at exactly two o’clock. She didn’t realize what an American concept this was until she’d stepped into the empty camarino. Beba sat in her kiosk sorting through a new shipment of cheap jewelry, and the makeup artist,who introduced himself as Ali, was just setting up his makeup station at the far end of the mirrored counter. Then she noticed a woman sitting at the counter across the room pinning her hair into an updo. She had an angular face with a hook nose and small, natural breasts.

  Beba showed Madison to a locker and then escorted her to Ali’s chair.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked him quietly.

  He clicked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly, digging through the case for his lightest foundation.

  “Those lazy asses are never on time. They go out clubbing all night and then sleep through half the day.” Then his eyes flicked to the mirror, at the woman across the room. His voice dropped. “Except for Vera, poor thing. She gets here earlier than Beba.”

  Madison watched the woman push an endless series of pins into her thick, black hair, gazing contentedly at her reflection. “She looks nice enough.”

  “Of course,” Ali said, rubbing foundation over Madison’s skin with a makeup sponge. “But she’s ugly as sin. No one knows how she got in here.”

  Madison frowned. She’d always hated that people were judged on their looks without any regard for what they were like. And even now that she’d gotten off the ugly team, it still seemed crass and unfair. But she bit her lip and said nothing. She had to let that part of her go, at least for now. There was a job to do.

  Ali gave Madison a pale, natural looking base, with dramatic lashes and eyebrows. She stared at her reflection yet again, recognizing nothing. Now she really did look like a model.

  “They’re going to love you, sweetheart,” Ali said. “Blonds are the biggest hit by far, because they’re so exotic here.” He cocked his head and studied her in the mirror. Then he reached around and cupped her breasts, weighing them in his hands. “Real boobs, yes?”

  She stifled a gasp and nodded dumbly. This was not a place familiar with boundaries, she thought.

  “Very nice,” Ali said, letting her go. “A lot of these guys really go for that.”

  Madison put her bag in the locker and pulled on one of the dresses. Then she strapped on the stilettos, but was too afraid to stand up in them. Beba stepped out of her kiosk with a sheet of paper.

  “Madre, what name are you going to use?” she asked.

  “What name?”

  “Your stage name, madre!” Beba groaned impatiently.

  Madison hadn’t considered a stage name, though she liked the idea of hiding behind a pseudonym. But her brain froze up and she couldn’t think of a thing. She turned to Ali for help, but he just waved it away.

  “Beba comes up with the best names. Not me.”

  Beba squinted at Madison for a moment, contemplating. Then she nodded her head and wrote something down on the paper. “Arizona,” she said. “You’re Arizona.”

  Ali smiled. “Hurry up, Miss Arizona. Cesar is waiting for you to pick your music.”

  Madison nodded, feeling the panic rising inside her. She’d gotten home too late to practice walking in the stilettos, which meant this would be her first attempt. Beba and Ali waited for her to move. She could feel her legs tremble from nerves as she pushed herself to her feet. For a moment, she wavered there, knees knocking like Bambi.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Beba. “Are you going to faint?”

  Madison managed a smile. “No. I’m fine.”

  With great focus on every move, she slowly walked toward the exit. After a moment she found the balancing point, and figured out how to hold her body. At last, she was out. She carefully descended the stairs, holding tight to the railing, and then spent several minutes walking up and down the deserted hallway to the back entrance, holding her arms out slightly, skidding only once on the heel. Finally, she felt like she could safely go out on the floor. She stood before a mir
ror checking her hair, assessing the black dress that hugged her curves and displayed her plump cleavage.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  The upstairs dining room was already filled when she stepped through the back door and onto the floor. All of the men upstairs had a membership to the club, which cost $10,000 a year. This, Enzo had assured her, was where the money was.

  Out of the 600 table dancing clubs in Mexico City alone, The Gentlemen’s Club was in a category all its own. It boasted one of the top chefs in the country, and the atmosphere was famously elegant and very tasteful. Enzo told her that the beautiful women who worked there were often seen more as modern day geishas than high-class strippers. They made a lot of their money just sitting at the tables of wealthy men, looking gorgeous and acting charming.

  Several men turned to look at Madison as she stepped through the door, and a hush fell over the room. She took a breath and walked as elegantly as she could in the stilettos, which meant moving slowly and deliberately. To cover the unsteadiness of her steps, Madison gave her body a gentle sway as she walked, as if she just had a naturally sultry gait. As she made her way to the DJ booth, all eyes in the room were on her. She gave a few men a demure smile, struck with the overwhelming feeling that she was playing a character in a school play. It was surreal to be the object of so much desire.

  The DJ was a young, attractive guy named Cesar who, Madison guessed, had the best job in the world. He sat in his dimly lit crow’s nest in the corner of the club, queued up music, and watched beautiful women take their clothes off. But Madison was touched by how shy and reverential he was, showing her the catalog of available songs, averting his eyes when he spoke. He just stopped short of calling her ma’am. After nervously glancing through the pages, Madison settled on an old Annie Lennox song called “Why.”

  “Great song.” Cesar grinned shyly. “So, what kind of lighting do you want?” He settled onto a stool in the corner of the booth. “I’m thinking, blue filter. It goes with the song.”

  “Whatever you think,” Madison said, since she had no idea about things like that. “I’ll see you later.” She headed for the door with a clumsy wave.