Plata Read Online Free Page A

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 mirror 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,