Stripping Her Gears

  Stripping Her Gears

  An SK Private Label Story

  Sahara Kelly

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 Sahara Kelly

  Discover other titles by Sahara Kelly at Smashwords

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  With thanks to those who have made Steampunk a more familiar term. To Jules Verne and H.G. Wells, to the movies which have offered us a glimpse into that world, and to those...like me...who would love to belong to a Steampunk Club and experience it first hand. Probably won't happen, but at least I can write about it...and dream.

  To my best friend - who shares so much of my writing and gifted me with these amazingly fun titles - thanks, Partner. Sorry I couldn't use "Changing Her Oil".

  Author's Note

  Set in and around Boston, this story uses as many real places as possible. Newbury Street is a very popular high-end shopping destination and close to the Boston Common, although I have invented the location of the Steampunk Club itself.

  Revere Beach was one of my summer pleasures, in spite of the occasional oily wash from tankers heading in to unload in East Boston. The planes fly low since it's on the approach path to Logan Airport, which adds to the ambience. There are souvenir shops and several bars, but I took the liberty of adding my own Hurdy-Gurdy. However, if you've got one, you might take it down to the Boulevard. I bet the beachgoers would love it.

  Enjoy!

  Chapter One

  "You what?"

  Cora Standish blushed. "I'm rather afraid I made kind of a tiny mistake on my taxes."

  Olivia Hayden shook her head. "A tiny mistake is forgetting to carry ten cents over from one column to another. Owing eight thousand dollars is not a tiny mistake by any stretch of the imagination. How the hell did that happen?"

  "Some sort of stock sale at the very beginning of last year. I checked with my accountant."

  "And?"

  "He took two weeks to get back to me. He's switched careers. If I need a used car, I should call him, but he's done with the IRS."

  "Shit. This is a mess."

  "Well, I guess." Cora shrugged.

  "Look if you need money..."

  "No." Without hesitation, she interrupted Livvy, stopping the offer before it was made. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart, sweetie. But no. I won't take money from anyone else."

  Livvy nodded. "I should yell at you, but I'd say the same thing, so we'll move on." She licked her ice cream cone carefully. "You're in a predicament then."

  Cora finished her bottle of water and carefully placed the empty container in one of the environmental receptacles that dotted the sidewalk fronting the beach. "That would be a fair assessment."

  "Any ideas?"

  "Well, as a matter of fact..." She paused and leaned her elbows on the wall, looking out over the empty ocean. It was late Sunday afternoon and she and Livvy had decided to meet up for some sea air after their errands had been completed. For Cora that had been a thorough apartment cleaning and then a long soak in the tub. The walk along the shore was the perfect ending to the day and they'd both agreed a roast beef sandwich would put the seal on a super summer weekend.

  They were headed toward Kelly's now, the place that made the greatest roast beef sandwiches in the known universe. Livvy had gone with the "life's short, eat dessert first" school of thought and succumbed to the lure of strawberry ice cream, but they still had a good walk ahead of them, so Cora figured by the time they got there, they'd both be ready for their evening meal.

  The sun was warm but not unpleasant, they had always enjoyed each other's company and, for these few moments at least, they'd put aside their everyday problems. Not that Livvy's were awful, since she was dating a fabulously wealthy dude from whom she refused everything but the occasional dinner and lots of lusty sex.

  Cora, who had previously been the one to enjoy the lusty sex stuff, was now indulging in such activities with her vibrator, since she'd been dumped just before Memorial Day and had declared she was going to remain celibate for at least one season.

  It was now late June and she sadly realized that what began as a joke might well become reality.

  "Hello? Earth to Cora?"

  Livvy was watching her, while licking the last drips of ice cream from the pointed end of a rather soggy cone. Then she popped the remnants in her mouth and chewed blissfully. "Mmm. That was good." She sucked a finger clean. "So give, kid. Whatcha going to do about Uncle Sam?"

  Cora straightened and together they headed off toward Kelly's. "I had a meeting with his reps on Friday afternoon. In the JFK building at Government Center. Nice place, by the way."

  Livvy nodded, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear as the sea breeze whisked it out of place. "Okay. Good start."

  "I paid them what I could. Explained I was not a distant relative of anyone named Rockefeller nor was I Bill Gates' love child. Therefore I had no familial resources to tap into for extra up front cash."

  "How'd that go over?"

  "Not great." She sighed. "But I came away with an extension, a penalty and a payment schedule, which is going to ensure I live on nothing but macaroni and cheese for approximately fifteen and three quarters years."

  "You're exaggerating."

  "Yes, but it seemed like it at the time."

  "Why am I feeling there's more to the story?" Livvy bumped shoulders with her friend as they walked.

  "Because you know me so well." Cora chuckled. "On the way out of the Fed offices, I checked their bulletin board, just for giggles."

  "Yeah?"

  "I found something."

  "Okay. You went through the 'Wanted Dead or Alive' section and found someone you knew and you're going to turn them in for the reward."

  "Better." She pulled a flyer from her purse. "Take a look at this."

  Livvy took the paper and read it carefully, then folded it and handed it back to Cora. "No way in hell."

  "Why not?" Cora tucked it back in her bag. "I can do data entry."

  "I know you can. But you already have a job. This is a second job. Cora, it'll kill you. Besides, the IRS facility is up in Andover. That's at least a good twenty minutes or half hour from Somerville. You leave work at five thirty, right? So when you add in travel time - rush hour travel time - you'll be lucky to get there by seven at night, let's say, you pull a four-hour shift -- you won't be home much before midnight. Every night?" She stopped and touched her friend on the shoulder. "It'll kill you. You'll get maybe five hours of sleep. If that. I know you. Other than weekends, you're an early to bed kind of gal."

  Cora sighed. "It sounded good. But the money isn't that great for part timers, either. I guess I was hoping you would talk me out of it."

  "Have I?"

  "Almost."

  "Give me another hour and I'll have you cleansed." Livvy shuddered. "God above. I would worry myself sick at the thought of you driving up there and back every damn night."

  "Okay mom." Cora grinned. "Cut it out."

  Livvy looked self-conscious. "Sorry, yeah that was a mother moment, wasn't it? I apologize."

  "Don't. You're looking out for me. I appreciate it."

  "Well, okay. Moving on." She waved away the compliment. "Let's see if we can come up with something else."

  She lapsed into silen
ce and Cora walked quietly beside her, enjoying the salt-filled tang of the air and the warm sunshine. There had to be a way out, of course. There always was. And if worst came to worst, she could simply pay it off over the time allotted. It seemed like forever, but all things must pass, as somebody smart had once said.

  Obviously whoever said it hadn't been talking about taxes.

  The roast beef sandwiches lived up to their billing, and it wasn't until after the last fry had been consumed, the last little bit of sauce licked up and the last suckable particle of milk shake had been...well...sucked, that they returned to the subject of Cora's problem.

  Livvy frowned a little as she tossed her trash into the bin. "Cora, didn't you tell me you used to take dance lessons once upon a time?"

  Cora blinked. "Yeah. For years. Pretty much all through high school and then some. I took tap, jazz, ballet until I topped the height limitations, and a bunch of other classes. Some salsa, a bit of ballroom. I can find my way around most music and not embarrass myself, I guess."

  "Yeah, I've seen you. And you can do it in heels, too. Very impressive." A veteran of more than a few nightclub outings with her friend, Livvy nodded in agreement. "So. Here's the thing. You remember the Steampunk Society, of course."

  "Duh." Cora's invitation to the Steampunk Society's party had resulted in Livvy becoming a wanton woman of the highest order. Which, in Cora's book, was an admirable trait even though she'd had to wait weeks for her friend to 'fess up to it. Livvy had attained her status thanks to Dane, another Steampunk fan, and the resultant relationship was sizzling along very nicely.

  "Well something Dane said the other night is sticking in my head. He heard that someone from the Society is opening a Steampunk nighclub. A private club, I think. One of those ritzy type deals. And he's looking for help."

  "Where does the dancing come in?"

  "That's the thing. They're looking for waitresses who can sing and dance. Do you know that restaurant that hires music students? I forget the name of it..."

  "I think I've heard of it..."

  "Well apparently they stop serving and sing every now and again. Not like some happy birthday stuff, but opera or musical theater. It sounds cool. Haven't been there." She looked pensive. "Perhaps I should get Dane to think about taking me some night. Up toward Saugus way..."

  "Off topic." Cora snapped her fingers. "This is all about me here, remember?"

  "Yep. Sorry." Livvy grinned. "So what do you say I find out if they're still hiring Steampunk wait staff for that club? You could do a weekend stint, probably for minimum wage, but I'll bet anything there'll be some hellaciously fine tips, and you could get some dancing in at the same time. Maybe even free food..."

  "Hmm."

  Cora turned the idea over in her mind as the two of them made their way back to the car. "Is it in Boston?"

  "Not sure." Livvy shrugged. "I didn't get many details. But I reckon Dane will have all the inside stuff...or he can get it if I ask him."

  "He's not just a cute face, huh?"

  Livvy's expression softened. "Nope. Although by God his face is gorgeous."

  "Doesn't it bother you? Dating a guy who's prettier than you are?"

  "Har har."

  "Okay." Cora squared her shoulders. "If you can find out anything from Dane about this club, I'm definitely interested. One or two nights a week with big tips probably doubles anything the Feds might offer. On the basis of that assumption alone, I'm in."

  "Beats data entry to hell and gone." Livvy smiled her approval as they got into her car and headed for home.

  *~*~*~*

  Jack Brandon watched her. There was something about the tall blonde that grabbed him and wouldn't let go. Sure, she was damn good looking. She had a body like an Amazon warrior and the face of a fallen angel or a Renaissance painting. No, make that a pre-Raphaelite painting. There was a hint of wickedness in her blue eyes.

  But pound for pound, she was no more lovely than the bevy of staff he'd hired for Goggles and Cogs. All of them were talented and attractive, and he knew once the club opened he'd have a full house every night. Boston society was always on the lookout for something new and exclusive. He was offering them both in one package deal.

  His fingers drifted over the condensation on his glass of soda as he watched three of his new waitresses running through a little soft shoe routine. He planned on keeping their entertainment in keeping with the time period, although he was straying out of Victorian theater and into early twentieth century Music Hall. So let someone sue him. After a few martinis they wouldn't care if it was era-appropriate Victorian or Ozzie Osbourne.

  And there were those legs--a major distraction if he ever saw one. Or two, in this case. She had legs that could be defined as fucking perfect. Flawless. Calves that were firm and shapely, knees that looked about as good as human knees could look, and thighs... Well damn. Just looking at those thighs made Jack's mouth water. He wanted those thighs wrapped around his waist, or pressing against his ears.

  He sighed and surrendered. He wanted her. Cora Standish, her name was, from Somerville. She was twenty-seven and single and she'd walked in to the interview like a queen. He had the strangest feeling if she'd demanded fealty he'd have fallen to one knee before her and asked for her blessing.

  But then again, history was his thing. She might not be able to spell 'fealty', let alone understand what it was.

  Nothing to do with the blonde hair, of course, but everything to do with the class of women Jack had been mixing with lately. For some reason, the intellectual level had dropped and the giggle quotient had risen. He was, all things considered, not impressed with either.

  So if Ms. Standish had a brain to match her breasts, he was looking at a piece of heaven he would very much like to get his hands on. And yes, that was about the most arrogant thought he'd had in some time. He mentally slapped himself for being a jerk.

  Then he forgave himself. He had a right to ask for a compatible companion. Was there any reason at all he couldn't talk to a woman as well as fuck her? Sex was the best thing since sliced bread. Better actually, unless it was that hot, fresh-from-the-oven sourdough bread from Fisherman's Wharf.

  But afterward, in those lazy sweaty moments when the heart slowed and the body relaxed--well, wasn't that a time to share ideas? To laugh a little, cuddle and talk to each other? To communicate on a new level--one made possible by the just-finished, mutually satisfactory, orgasms.

  Recently, Jack had run into a problem with that particular phase of intimacy. The woman who fucked like a nymphomaniac and drained his balls to prunes had wanted to talk about her favorite tv show. At length.

  Needless to say, in spite of the world-class sex, the relationship had been...brief.

  After that, he'd found himself getting more involved with organizing his club and there'd been little time left for socializing. So he was presently unattached. After surveying Cora Standish once more, he realized he was also damned horny.

  The short black shorts suited her--it was the legs, of course. But the neat vest, Edwardian collared shirt and bright bow tie were both sexy and cute on her, and the top hat with the gears--something all the staff were wearing--well with her blonde curly hair it was downright stunning.

  Her silky pantyhose ended with tap shoes and he hoped they'd be comfortable. Some of the 'dancers' would be wearing them and on their feet all night as well. The singers were slightly better off, but in basically the same outfit. It was a design he'd chosen himself and he was proud of it. Sure, it was a tad sexist, the women being in shorts and the guys in pants, but hell. He was a businessman. Damned if he was going to apologize for decorating his club with terrific legs.

  Even though he was initially planning to offer a buffet table, not a restaurant type deal, he knew his people would have to work hard ferrying drinks around, keeping on top of the used china and glasses and generally making themselves useful. Since it was a private club there would be a smoking room and he could keep the entire place open
past the hours mandated for public venues if he chose.

  He dragged his attention from Ms. Legs and took a long, impartial look around the room. It was the second floor of an old home just off Newbury Street, and the owner had decided to break it up into usable spaces rather than lose it to foreclosure. Luckily, the location was ideal for what Jack had in mind, so he'd snapped up the entire second floor along with the couple of smaller attic rooms on the third, and was pleased with the result. It hadn't taken much to recreate Victorian splendor.

  Lots of brilliant colors, rich velvets and heavy draperies did the trick, along with more than a few old leather pub chairs rescued from an antique collaborative in Waltham.

  There was a fireplace in one of the three large rooms comprising the club--this would be the social room, where guests could schmooze and eat. The pub chairs added a nicely elegant touch to the room he earmarked for relaxed or intimate conversation. It was furthest away from the music, of course. The entertainment would be held in the largest room, probably some sort of enormous dining room originally.

  Coming up the stairs from the street level, guests would walk into the second largest room and find they could get themselves a drink from the bar set in the far corner, and take it to a tallboy table or sit on one of the couches arranged along the walls. One wall was free to hold a sturdy buffet where the food would be laid out. In the winter, he'd have a fire going to add to the atmosphere. Maybe. If he could get a permit.

  At the moment he was more concerned about the air conditioner units not overloading his wiring, even though he'd been assured everything was up to code.

  There were unobtrusive exits leading to the modest kitchen facilities and also a clearly signed one for the rest rooms. Smoking would be permitted in the small area off the lounge, which had floor-to-ceiling windows. They could be cracked open for ventilation and even though it was his choice to make a smoking area available, Jack disliked the lingering odor of tobacco in his clothes and preferred his guests not be subject to it either, if he could avoid it.