Chapter 18 Strip Club

The atmosphere in the TV station these days was depressing.
Officials from the Municipal Broadcasting Bureau had a private conversation with the Manager, but the details were unknown. If there were any tasks assigned, an internal mid-level meeting would be held first.
What was strange was that the chief editor and those in charge seemed relaxed.
She helped the assistant place the collected inventions on the backstage shelves, neatly classified and stacked.
She bought the shelves with her own money. At first, the TV station didn't pay much attention to "Shining Bright," when it faced the impact of online media becoming increasingly entertainment-oriented. They couldn't even compare to half-hour entertainment programs.
Several news programs similar to Washington News had already stopped airing and disappeared.
Maggie had put in a lot of effort and deliberately collected some strange inventions in the early stages to increase the highlights and excitement. With the witty commentary written by the director, the response was not bad.
The Manager knocked on the door of the recording studio twice. "Maggie, come out."
She had a bad feeling in her intuition. News about the TV station had spread that the Manager had been criticized by his immediate superior. The cause was the Cultural Night, which was exaggeratedly described as the manager engaging in shady dealings and providing women to the title sponsor.
Selling others' dignity in exchange for his own benefits.
Maggie had carefully thought it over and realized that this matter had nothing to do with her.
That Mr. Flores had wholeheartedly pursued Tiffany, and when he saw her, he didn't care at all. The subsequent advertising negotiations were also led by Tiffany.
The Manager interrupted her absent-mindedness. "Take this document to the manager's office."
The document contained the ratings of various programs on ABC, and this program in Maggie's hands ranked third in the entire station and first in its time slot.
Except for marriage, she had always believed that where people's thoughts were, there they would be. And this achievement, unless the manager made things difficult and took on additional projects, couldn't find any major faults.
The top floor corridor was silent, and Maggie stood in front of the manager's office, unsure whether to enter or not.
The door was not closed, and Abby's moans spilled out, too exaggerated, with a touch of acting.
Manager was in his fifties. He was overweight and with hardly any flesh on her body, Abby, not even reaching 5.2 feet, had a plump figure, with her clothes wide open, sitting on Manager's half-removed pants, holding onto his head and vigorously moving her fat buttocks, shouting incessantly, "Daddy, fuck me to death..."
Their affair lasted no more than five minutes.
Abby was Manager's mistress, a secret known by everyone at the television station. She was in her thirties and had a mysterious background, having been married to a high-ranking official who ended up in prison.
From her mouth, some unknown secrets from the political arena could escape, but she was tight-lipped, only revealing them once at a welcoming party, mentioning that old officials would employ orthodox techniques during sex and put on a righteous facade, while rich children of officials had a special penchant for dominating women's behinds by inserting bottles. They brimmed with arrogance.
These drunken words were half true and half false. When she sobered up, she would deny everything.
It was Maggie's first time stumbling upon them. The noise inside was deafening. She held her breath and retreated to the stairwell, waiting for Abby to compose, open the door, and walk out as she pretended to have just arrived.
Abby applied some lipstick to her thick lips and exuded a strong fragrance of cologne. "Maggie, what are you doing here?"
"I'm delivering some documents. Is Manager here?"
She nodded, suspicion in her eyes. "Are you just here? Didn't hear anything, did you?"
Maggie shook her head and changed the subject. "Why did you come back from the countryside earlier than expected?"
"The trip went smoothly." Abby took the documents. "I'll help you deliver them."
Maggie was grateful and thanked her. Then Abby pulled her aside and spoke in a lowered voice, "During the Cultural Night, did anything happen to you?"
Confused, Maggie asked, "No, why?"
"That's strange then. They reprimanded Manager for not following the proper procedures in attracting investments and warned against using underhanded methods. It was said that a state official saw something that had a negative impact." Abby asked again, "You were the only one accompanying him. Nothing happened?"
"Nothing happened."
Maggie was certain, her heart racing inexplicably fast. She silently wondered if she had said something wrong in front of Harold.
Or perhaps what Abby said had nothing to do with him, just a casual complaint. Why would he worry about it?
...
At 7 o'clock, Maggie left the television station and hurried to the newly opened Wind and Moon Strip Club in the southern suburbs. It was the grand opening tonight, and she was introduced to be the host.
The middleman's last name was Brown, ten years older than Maggie. She called Ophelia, with red lips and big waves in her hair, her beauty having a Hong Kong flavor.
Opening the club at a specific auspicious time was crucial. It had to be 7:26, not a second earlier or later. Businesspeople believed strongly in these things.
Maggie changed into a beautiful dress and headed towards the stage. She had memorized her script beforehand, holding on to the microphone, her eyebrows and eyes filled with a smile, delivering witty remarks one after another.
Her voice was gentle and measured, her words clear and pleasant to the ears.
The timing was perfect, second counted. The manager donning a suit happily stepped on stage and cut the ribbon.
The club was grand and tastefully decorated, with two floors resembling an old-fashioned soda parlor. The private rooms all had sliding wooden doors, and a theater troupe had been invited to perform. The sound of music and applause filled the air.
The sound of "Spring River Flower Moon Night" starts playing, adding a touch of richness to the atmosphere. According to rumors, the Hong Kong businessman who funded it has a net worth of several billion US dollars and has been listed on the Hurun Rich List.
Ophelia had a joyful expression on her face and gave her a red envelope with 80000 dollars, which far exceeded Maggie's expectations. She bluntly said that she didn't need so much.
The two met at a wedding banquet, and after that, Ophelia introduced Maggie to many hosting jobs. "This is yours. The TV station won't allow you to take outside jobs anymore. You are doing me a big favor," Ophelia said, pushing her into the backstage area. "A professional background indeed sets you apart. I have picked a few before, but they were all mediocre, not as good as you."
Maggie smiled, "Then I'll accept it."
"That's right, little girl. You've had a hard time."
Ophelia moved a chair next to her and bumped her knee against Maggie's leg, being cautious. "Separated?"
"Yeah," Maggie lowered her eyes and squeezed the makeup remover into her hands. "It's been almost a week."
"How much money did you get from the Williams family in the divorce settlement?"
Maggie sighed, "I didn't ask for any money. If I asked for money, he wouldn't sign the divorce agreement. I said I wanted a divorce but I didn't want any property, and only then did he agree."
Ophelia scoffed, "That's how business people are. They pretend to be generous in front of others, but they're stingy behind their backs. Matt's mother is not someone to be messed with. Coming from a commoner background, being able to marry into the Williams family and become the mistress, there must be some hidden agreement. You won't get a single cent."
"So I decided to let it go. It's endless if we keep entangling ourselves. It's better to end this doomed fate sooner."
She said it casually, but her heart was still in turmoil.
Maggie absentmindedly applied oil to her face, smearing her eyes and causing a stinging pain.
Ophelia took her to the adjacent bathroom to wash up. She glanced at the time on her phone. "Maggie, when you're done tidying up, wait for me in the backstage area. I'll treat you to a meal later. I need to entertain some important people."
Maggie gave a vague reply, "Okay."
She washed her face meticulously, leaving her skin as pure and fair as peeled boiled eggs. As she exited the restroom, she encountered a hurried waiter, on the verge of tears.
"Miss, do you have any hangover medicine?"
Maggie realized and said that she had some in her bag.
"Could you please take the medicine to the second floor and wait for me there? I need to go get a bottle of alcohol. It's urgent. I beg you."
"Wait for me, I'll be quick."
Maggie rushed into the backstage area, grabbed the medicine, and when she returned, the waiter had already left.
She was contemplating whether to go or not. In such a large club, they shouldn't have trouble finding hangover medicine. She decided to enter the backstage area but then changed her mind and headed back to the second floor.
She got nothing to do while waiting. Since Ophelia cared a lot about this club, by lending a hand, she could help her a little.
On the second floor, there were five rooms in the wooden corridor. At the end, there were two resting rooms with small red lanterns hanging on the doors covered in poetry.
It was elegant, and there was a faint fragrance in the air.
"Where's the medicine? Ah! My head is about to explode!" She turned her back and waited, listening.
An urgent cry came from the lounge, and Maggie hurried over, feeling hesitant.
Both sliding doors were silent, and she couldn't tell which room needed the hangover medicine.
Maggie tapped on one of the doors, but no one answered. She went to pull the other one, which was unlocked, and it opened. Inside, the lighting was dim, but she could vaguely make out a dark figure on the sofa.
She leaned in and timidly asked, "Is it you who needs the hangover medicine?"
The atmosphere was quite silent, and the figure remained motionless. Instead, she felt a heavy gaze fall upon her.
Maggie was almost certain that this person was not the one who had yelled about a headache earlier.
She prepared to close the door and quietly leave.
"Come in."
Harold bent down and turned on the floor lamp next to the sofa, illuminating the room.
In her astonished pupils, she saw the angular and resolute face of a man, with deep and bright eye sockets. The time their eyes met, it felt heart-stopping.