American Outlaw - Jesse James [91]
“I have to do something with my wife.”
“Bring her to the GQ party! You’re sure to have a good time.”
“Can’t,” I said, regretfully. “Janine works weekends.”
My new wife, the retired porn star, was still stripping occasionally. I’d told her there was no need anymore—she didn’t need to earn her own money, we were in this together—but she just patted me on the head dismissively. Janine still loved a crowd. She fed off of their attention and acknowledgment; when she was up on stage, working a bunch of starstruck men, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world. Janine had first posed for Penthouse at the age of eighteen; the adult business was what she knew. She was going to keep on performing no matter what I had to say. And this weekend, she had a gig at the Spearmint Rhino in Torrance.
When you compared it to other L.A. clubs, the Spearmint Rhino actually came off as kind of a winner. Jumbo’s Clown Room hired all the ugly girls. Cheetah’s and the Seventh Veil were straight-up Armenian mafia joints. And Bob’s Classy Lady in Van Nuys was not so classy. The Rhino, at the very least, lacked a lunch buffet.
“I respect this place,” I told Janine, when we’d filed in through the back door and began to make ourselves at home in the dressing room. “It’s kind of civilized.”
“Huh?” Janine said, distracted, toying with her eyeliner. “What are you talking about?”
“I feel at home here, kind of. I don’t feel like, well, killing myself. That’s all.” Experimentally, I dragged my feet on the synthetic-fibered strip-bar carpeting. A small puff of dust rose up around my ankles, then settled. “Listen, do you need anything?”
“Yes. Be a good boy and get me a glass of vodka, please.”
“Vodka martini?” I asked. “Vodka cranberry?”
“A glass of vodka,” Janine repeated, pronouncing every word deliberately. “Be quick. Go, go, go.”
A few minutes later, I was back. “Listen, that guy behind the bar gave me one hell of a funny look . . .”
“You’re such a sweetheart,” Janine interrupted, snatching the drink out of my hand. “Now, leave me alone for a second. I need to get my head together before they call me out on stage.”
Just then, though, we heard the club DJ bellow into his microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give it up for our main attraction tonight, a very SEXY lady . . .”
“Oh, fuck me,” Janine moaned. “I’m not even goddamn made up all the way!”
“She’s a Penthouse Pet and a Vivid Girl . . . a mainstream music video vixen, and a close personal friend of Jenna Jameson . . . and hoo boy, I’m talking personal!”
Boorish laughter boomed through the club.
“Time for that vodka,” she declared. “Down the hatch.”
“People, let’s put our hands together and give a warm Rhino welcome to the hottest piece of ass in three states—JANINE!!”
“Hold it, honey,” I said, “don’t you want to wait until . . .”
Shushing me impatiently, Janine brought the glass to her lips, and tipped her head straight back. I stared, horrified, as I watched her throat piston back and forth, until every last drop was swallowed.
“Ahhh.” Janine slammed the glass on the table, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She shook her head, shuddering. “That was just what I needed.”
My mouth hung open. What in the hell?
“What are you looking at?” Janine laughed. “Stand back or step aside, dammit! It’s time to dance.”
Pushing her way past me, Janine clipped briskly out of the dressing room, her slim, exquisite body clad only in spike heels and an expensive bra-and-panty set. Her theme song, Blink 182’s “What’s My Age Again?” blared from the speakers, and from the appreciative roar of the crowd, I gathered that she’d made it up on stage. I hung back, not really interested in taking in the spectacle. After all, I’d have her later, at home—this performance was for the schmucks who had to pay for the privilege of watching.
Fifteen minutes later, Janine strode furiously into the dressing room, looking incensed.
“What the FUCK?”
“What are you yelling at me for?” I snapped.
“I just killed out there, and you didn’t even catch it. Why weren’t you out there?” she demanded.