Angela Wickham

The first thing he noticed about Rutina Sunshine when she first sauntered in was that she was too tall and thin.  Everything else about her was unimpressive.  Her boobs were hardly big enough and her butt too flat.  But she had a confident smile and that counted for something.

The floor manager ignored the girl when she went over with an extended hand offering her real name and sent her off to hair and make-up with a gruff “Be back in ten minutes or you’re out of here.”

She returned in seven.  The pasty cosmetics had mercifully improved her features, nothing as luscious as he was used to with some of the other girls, but close enough.  The manager handed out that night’s costume; red bra, gold hot-pants, a large black leather belt and a wide cowboy hat.  Rutina took the garments and stood motionless for a moment looking at him, one eyebrow lifted expectantly.  The manager broadened his shoulders and stood his ground.  Her smile dimmed a little at that.  She turned her back towards him and started to undress while trying hard to cover up her insignificant boobs.

All attempts at modesty were forgotten with the realization that the bra was too big and the pants too small.  Her little boobs flopped out and the pants did not cover anything of consequence.  Her face flushed in anger and she demanded a better size.

“Stop that wafflin’ and follow me.”

She did stop and wobbled behind him out of the staff rooms and into the club on the six-inch heels that made her look like a tall stick.  Her smile had vanished by then.

At the podium he helped her up, generous in that.  She looked around for a second at the drooling men with their large bellies and hungry stares, then started to dance.  The manager watched long enough to note that her performance was satisfactory and left her to it after that.


Half way through her shift Rutina hobbled back into the dressing room looking dismal.  She kicked off her heels and put on her clothes over the costume.  The floor manager shifted from his reclining chair and was about to demand that she return the clothes but Rutina cut him off. “Shut your trap I won’t hear it. I’m no hooker so keep your filthy money. I’m out of here!” Her eyes on fire and her nostrils flared she stormed out.

The floor manager leaned back into his chair.  It was late and he was tired and she was only mildly satisfactory after all.  He reached for his clip board and struck out a name: Angela Wickham – Rutina Sunshine – Sunday 2400 to 0300.

Three Word Wednesdays challenged us to use the following three words in a story of our choice:

Dismal; adjective: Depressing, dreary; (of a person or a mood) gloomy; (informal) pitifully or disgracefully bad.

Luscious; adjective: (Of food or wine) having a pleasingly rich, sweet taste; richly verdant or opulent; (of a woman) very sexually attractive.

Waffle; verb: Fail to make up one’s mind; speak, write, especially at great length, without saying anything important or useful; noun: A failure to make up one’s mind.

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2 comments on “Angela Wickham

  1. oldegg says:

    Midnight to Three on a Sunday morning is a quiet time I take it when no others girls want to work those hours. On the other hand are the customers so drunk by then they are not so choosey?

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