Page 1 of Georgia On My Mind (Southern Promises)

Chapter One

Nodding heads and knowing smiles greeted Gia Bates as a staff member escorted her down the wide hallways of the Atlanta Country Club toward a private dining suite. Several staff and club members watched her pass with curiosity as her four-inch platform heels clicked on the marble floors and her calf-length, pleated skirt swished to the intentional, exaggerated movement of her hips. She licked her crimson lips and patted the blonde, retro-style glamour wig one last time, knowing she was seconds away from surprising an unsuspecting birthday boy. His business colleagues and friends thought it would be a hoot to hire a Marilyn Monroe strip-o-gram for the occasion, insisting on the sexiest Monroe impersonator the Atlanta entertainment company had to offer. Gia was their most popular Marilyn. She was also a pretty good Madonna, and requests regularly came in for her unforgettable “Officer Good Body” routine where she would mock-arrest an unsuspecting client, handcuffing them to a chair before blowing their minds with a memorable lap dance.

Blessed with legs that went on for days, Gia’s years of dance training came in handy during specific work situations. The staff was prepared to scope out a corner of the room near the lucky recipient and to set up a small fan and sound machine by some potted plants. She heard boisterous, male laughter through a crack in the door before the clinking of glass in an apparent toast. Gia waited for a beat and took a deep breath before making her dramatic entrance into the private room.

Heads immediately turned as she posed theatrically, beveling her heeled feet and resting one hand on her hip, the other demurely holding the ivory skirt out to the side. She purposefully arched her back, pushing her chest out and accentuating her perky breasts in the plunging neckline of the halter-like bodice of the iconic Marilyn dress.

“Is there a birthday boy named Mitch Montgomery in the house?” she asked in a sultry, breathy tone.

Approximately fifteen overzealous guys were on their feet in a second, several of them slapping their friend on the back as he cautiously raised his hand.

“That would be me,” he said, rolling his eyes. His buddies erupted in whoops and hollers, pushing him toward Gia. She slowly approached him with one eyebrow raised, her eyes fixated on his reddening face. Grabbing him by his loosened tie, she pulled him into the corner area and pushed him down into a vacant chair. She ran her fingers across his cheek and smiled.

“I have a little song for the birthday boy. Would you like me to sing it for you?” She batted her false eyelashes at him.

“Sure!”

More raucous racket erupted from the all-male audience who gathered as close as they could to witness the show. Gia circled the back of the chair Mitch was sitting on and placed her hands on his shoulders. When the room quieted down, she sang intimately in his ear.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you.” She sang slowly, imitating the way Marilyn sang to President John F. Kennedy back in 1962. The men seemed mesmerized, all eyes on her. “Happy birthday… Mr. Montgomery. Happybirthday to you.”

Before anyone could say a word, Gia hit the convenient floor button of the fan and straddled it, making the skirt of her costume lift and billow, replicating the famous scene in the 1955 Marilyn Monroe movie, The Seven Year Itch.

“Oh!” she squealed, leaning forward and shaking her breasts for everyone. The entire room went crazy. With another push of a button, the jazzy instrumental song, The Stripper, blared out of a small Bose speaker. The famous trombone slides set up the next part of the show—the striptease.

Reaching behind her neck, Gia unclasped the halter of her cocktail dress and let it fall seductively forward, exposing her gorgeous lingerie beneath. Mitch threw his head back and laughed before she turned around and sat on his lap.

“Would you mind unzipping me, handsome?” she teased, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Not at all!” He enthusiastically pulled the zipper down as his friends shouted, lifting their glasses in the air.

Shimmying out of her dress, she held Mitch’s hand while stepping over the pile of fabric that now lay on the floor. Her encrusted rhinestone bodice hugged her curves, and her fishnet stockings accentuated her long, lean legs. She danced and gyrated all around Mitch, pulling him by the tie and ruffling his hair, aware of the cat-calls and whistles. A couple of his friends handed him wads of cash that he happily stuffed into her cleavage and the bottom of her bodice when she would purposefully bend over in front of him. The entire PG-13 tease lasted less than five minutes, ending with Gia still covered in more clothing than when she was at the beach. The sophisticated lingerie, stockings, and shoes were an illusion of sorts. It was the way she used her body, especially her long legs, teasing her male audience, that produced the sensual fantasy.

When the song ended, she pulled Mitch up from the chair and grabbed him by the face, forcefully planting red lip stamps on both his cheeks. She held his hand and swung it ceremoniously in the air before bending forward in a final bow to the roar of applause.

As if on cue, the staff of the country club rolled in a huge sheet-cake lit with candles, and the men erupted in another boisterous rendition of the happy birthday song, raising glasses and beer bottles into the air. Gia quickly pulled the cash out of her cleavage and buttocks before slipping back into her show dress. By the time Mitch had made a wish and blown out the candles, she was poised and ready to take photos with the crowd of men who had ogled her just minutes before.

Waiters and waitresses passed out generous slices of cake and came around with trays of shots, the men eagerly grabbing the tiny glasses. Mitch’s face flushed as he approached her and handed her one.

“Here, Marilyn. You deserve it.”

She batted her lashes at him, offering a shy smile. “Why, thank you, Mitch. You’re a doll.” They clinked glasses and downed the shots in one gulp. The expensive bourbon was delicious on her tongue, and she welcomed the warmth and courage it gave her to continue in the unusual job setting.

As the men continued to drink and eat cake, Gia posed over the fan while a few of the guys took the opportunity to stand next to her for a photo op. An hour after she arrived, the group dispersed onto the veranda for authentic Cuban cigars. She gave Mitch one last hug and wished him well. The staff manager helped gather her props and walk her back through the club toward the lobby. He stopped by the intricate iron double front doors and pulled a white envelope out of his suit jacket.

“You did a great job tonight. The client wanted you to have this and to thank you for using your…assets in the birthday surprise.”

“Oh, great!” She took the envelope from his hands, surprised when his index finger purposefully brushed hers.

Eyeing him cautiously, she watched as he looked around quickly before boldly taking a step forward and speaking with a low voice near her ear. “You got any plans tonight? I’ve heard some of you gals from the entertainment company like to party afterward.” His breath was disgusting as he spoke. Usually, it was a drunk party guest who would cross the line. That it happened to be the staff manager of the reputable club tonight miffed her.

“Uh, yes. Unfortunately, I do have plans. Thanks for everything!” Quickly, she turned on her heels and started for the door. The man grabbed her by the arm, causing her to swing her head around and scowl at him in protest. “Stop it!” His clammy fingers dug into her flesh, and she knew there’d be a bruise on that part of her arm in the morning because her porcelain skin bruised easily and his grip was strong enough to leave a mark. “What are you doing?”

Keeping a firm grip on her arm, he leaned in and whispered gruffly, “Come on. I could show you a really good time. I got the keys to this place. And I’ve got cash for you. We could have our own party…”

“Asshole!” she shouted, bringing her knee to his groin and sending him to the floor.

“Ah, fuck!” he squeaked, grabbing his crotch. He fell to his knees and rocked back and forth on the expensive marble in obvious pain.

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