The Doll House

[The Stranger]

A three-story building made in a grand style of an older time, the Doll House has a large entrance with a red carpet and double doors. Above it a neon sign flashes a picture of what is probably supposed to be a naked woman. As Natasha approaches, she sees numerous attractive but tired women moving out the door, and into the sunlight, most shading their eyes with their hands or with large sunglasses.

[Flex]

Natasha gave the departing ladies a brief appreciating glance, before entering the establishment.

The moment she walked in she put on a strut she had perfected over years, one hand on her hip, a mild expression of arrogance on her face. She looked around to see if a person of managerial looks was about.

[The Stranger]

A very large man of the darkest shade of black Natasha had ever seen, and wearing a suit of the exact same color stopped her, and said calmly, in accented English, "Pardon Miss, but can you be helped?" The left shoulder of the man's suit sagged slightly, probably under the weight of a shoulder holster of some kind.

[Flex]

Natasa eyed the man before looking up, right in his face.

"I'm looking for a job," She said, unzipping her jumpsuit slightly to give the man a quick estimation of what lay beneath. She was wearing a bra.

[The Stranger]

"Okays," he said, "Speak to Mr. Turner, he in the booth at the back.

Across the floor space, which was typical of many of the joints Natasha had worked at one time or another, she spotted a bald white man, seated behind a corner table, where he was counting script and smoking a cigar.

[Flex]

Natasha studies the man momentarily from a distance before strutting over to him. Halfways there she pops a cigarette in her mouth, moving it to the corner of her lips.

"Got a light?" She asks, arriving beside Mr. Turner.

[The Stranger]

"There's no smoking in here," Turner replied without a trace of irony. He does not look up from his money.

[Flex]

"Huh, and I always thought I was," Natasha suggested, staring down at the man. "Smoking, that is." She added with a note of amusement.

[The Stranger]

"Honey if I spooged myself at every piece of tail that walked in here, I'd have one hell of a dry cleaning bill. What do you need?" He said, finally looking up, as he held the cigar between his thumb and forefinger.

[Flex]

"You haven't seen me dance yet," Natasha replied with a wink, taking the cigarette from her mouth and placing it behind her ear. "I want a job, and this place seems as good as any."

[The Stranger]

"What's your name?" he replied, bringing a small tablet on top of the desk and waiting expectantly. "Dancers are expected to do at least two routines on the main stage ever hour. Stage time costs $200 Nuyen. Private Dances split 50/50 and tips are all yours."

[Flex]

"Sounds good," Natasha replied, setting her bag down. "The name's Tammy Obolensky; where do I get changed?"

[The Stranger]

"If you ain't noticed sweetheart, its 7 o'clock in the morning. We won't open again till noo..." Turner said as he began typing the name into his pad.

"Mmm... We got problems Tam," he said, as the Pad gave a distinct beep of disapproval.

[Flex]

"Thought I'd give you a more personal dance, let you see what I can do," Natasha said, before frowning. "What do you mean, problems?"

[The Stranger]

"The name is flagged. I can't hire you, you gotta talk to the man upstairs. Shoulda been named Daisy, or Starlight, or something. Sorry hun. If you want, go up to the third floor," he gestured at a shiny metallic door representing the elevator. "And knock on the door marked management."