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All Eyes On Me	By : ibgarry Category: +G through L > Ib Views: 1242 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Previously uploaded on AO3 and FFN. I do not own Ib or its characters, nor do I make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Ib's fifth night on the job was a Thursday, and it rolled around before anyone saw it coming.
That Thursday, Garry was free from any deadlines or work he had outside of the club. Thursdays always felt like a break, despite having to work at Rosie's. It was an odd day to take a break, but Garry didn't mind.
He worked from home, auctioning things online in his spare time and illustrating most of the day. But deadlines had already drawn to a close, and for the entire Thursday afternoon he had to waste, he was bored out of his mind.
With the sun still high overhead, he drove down the freeway, freely dodging the traffic coming in from the city just as the office workers and businessmen were pouring back into the smaller town he had left behind for the night. On the bordering edge of both counties was Rosie's, its neon lights still shut off from the previous night.
Garry turned into the back alley, from pavement to gravel. The car rattled over the change in traction. He parked his car at the back entrance alongside the rear brick wall of the building. The car shut off, and he looped his keyring on his finger.
His car door squeaked open and slammed shut. The rubble turned under his boots, and he found parked under the trees, among a couple other cars, Ib's black VW.
Garry let the back door's weight close itself while he clocked in by the rear entrance. The hall lights overhead had all been turned on, but it was deathly quiet save for the ever-present air conditioning (that never really seemed to cool the building). Under the wide gap of Carrie's dressing room door, the lights hadn't been turned on.
Garry didn't bother with going in to check; the lack of light was indication enough. The faint piano score from beyond the front stage hit him, and he followed the sound.
He realized it was Elvis as the staff-entry door swung open and closed behind him.
[ Take my hand / Take my whole life, too / 'Cause I can't help falling in love with you ]
Ib was on the thrust stage, glistening with what was either lotion or sweat. Garry knew the song perfectly well, but dancing around a pole was not the first thing that came to mind when he thought of Elvis Presley.
[ Like a river flows / Surely to the sea / Darling so we go / Some things were meant to be ]
As the door closed behind him, Ib's movement stopped entirely when she turned to the sound. Her face was bare and without makeup.
[ Take my hand / Take my whole li- ]
Shocked at the presence of someone else, she dashed for the front edge of the thrust stage and fell to her knees, pausing the stereo. She stood up alertly and turned, pulling her hair behind her ear with one delicate swipe. She donned just a sports bra and spandex, typical practice gear. Both were black. Standing at attention, Garry could tell she was wearing lotion, but the sweat was beginning to wash it off.
"Did I interrupt something?" He joked, stepping closer to the table nearest to him.
"No, not at all!" A shot of adrenaline always made Ib much more emotive. She hopped off the thrust stage, grabbing the bottle she had left on the edge of the platform.
"Does the manager know you're here?"
"Yes." She was still panting from exertion.
Garry glanced around the room. "Did you get here early just to train yourself...?"
Ib shifted her weight and looked around with him. "Yeah, I've been doing it since I started working here, but I've missed a couple days." Indeed, there was a newer hint of muscle on her that Garry had hardly noticed. Again, she met his gaze. "Why are you here so early?"
"Boredom."
Ib smirked. "And so you came to work?"
Garry fidgeted. "I don't think that hard about these things."
She laughed, playing with the cap of her water bottle. "I guess not. Want me to keep you engaged?"
Garry laughed for a moment with her, almost scoffing. "You really don't have to."
"It's alright." She waved him off with the flick of her wrist. "I'm already tired, anyway."
Garry grinned and took the first step towards the back door.
The hall was still deserted, so they could take their time in the narrow corridor. "Don't you have a job or something?" Ib asked him, striding smoothly behind.
"I work from home, so I go at my own pace." Garry opened the door for the two of them, and Ib stepped ahead.
"What do you do for a living, then?" She dropped the bottle on a beanbag towards the back of the room and fell into the beanbag next to it.
"Ah, I illustrate," he began. He shut the door behind him and pulled up a stool. "I paint, too. Sometimes I do other things."
Ib straightened up. "What do you paint?"
"Portraits, mostly..." Garry started to turn various shades of red. "Sometimes just figures."
"Would you paint me?"
Garry stumbled over his words. "I mean... I make a living off of it, so-"
"Are you suggesting I wouldn't pay you?" Ib crossed her legs.
"No!" Garry bit his tongue. "It's just-"
Ib giggled. "I'll pay you."
Garry was scarlet. "I'll think about it."
There was a momentary pause. Garry pulled out a stool and sat.
"Don't you have classes right now?"
Ib's smile faded for only a moment before it returned. "Maybe."
"Ib, that's irresponsible!" Garry gasped. Ib only laughed.
"It'll be fine."
"You're an adult! You need to attend your classes!" The shock on Ib's face at his reaction to her carelessness stopped Garry in his tracks. "Getting here isn't your first priority."
"I guess you're right." Ib stood and moved to the wardrobe behind her; she swung it open and retrieved her dress, torn earlier in the week by Mary when she had tried to dress herself in it.
"What will you tell your parents if you start failing your classes?"
She grabbed the sewing kit at the bottom of the wardrobe before shutting its doors. "I won't fail my classes." She sat back down and draped the dress over her knees. The sewing kit popped open. "Were you implying I would have to tell my parents about my gig here?"
Garry crossed his arms. "Well..."
"They don't know that I'm here." Ib paused to thread a needle, unable to talk and do so at the same time. After the thread was through, she continued. "I'll give them another excuse if it happens." Her voice softened. She pulled herself out of the dent she'd made for herself in the beanbag and got on her knees to spread out the torn dress in her lap, inspecting its tears.
"Don't you think using a sewing machine would be easier?"
"Probably, but I don't want to borrow one. I won't buy myself one, either."
Garry lit a cigarette. "You have more than enough to buy one."
She put down the needle. "It's just..." She sighed. "You get- you get stingy with all that money. You don't want to give it to anyone." She ran a hand through her hair, and her bangs shifted awkwardly out of place. "My mom, she- I don't know what my parents will say if they- if they visit and I have all these things. I haven't borrowed any money from them; I keep telling them I can support myself, but they have no idea."
"I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine." She crossed her legs again. "That's how it is."
"Don't you ever worry about being expelled?"
"No."
Garry sighed. His cigarette was already burning to nothing. He smothered it in Carrie's ashtray. "I'll paint you."
Ib's train of thought broke and redirected itself to him. "What? Really?"
"Sure." He smiled, and Ib returned the gesture.
There was a knock at the dressing room door, and both Garry and Ib turned to it. Garry chimed, "Come in," and the door opened.
The manager stood in the threshold, waving a small stack of papers in his hand. He was already physically exerted from walking from the parking lot to the dressing room, as he was a burly, older man. Garry and Ib grinned at him, and he smiled back.
Still trying to find his composure, he began. "These are for you, Garry," he said, waving the papers at him for emphasis. The boss stepped inside with the papers outstretched to Garry, and he casually took them, still sitting.
The boss turned to Ib, and she straightened to attention. "Did you get a good workout in, sweetheart?"
Her face lit up and she nodded in reply. "I did!"
He seemed to perk up again. "Wonderful!" Garry read the schedules to distract himself from the conversation.
"Thank you for letting me use the stage."
"Of course, sweetie. You can use it whenever you'd like." He turned to Garry. Garry was deep into the papers; the boss nodded wordlessly, understanding. "I'll leave you two to your work."
Ib watched his back as he left and shut the door.
"You're performing with Mary?" Garry interjected.
Ib redirected her attention. "I am?"
He held the paper out to Ib's view. "Apparently so." Ib scanned the paper for a moment before huffing.
"Huh." Looking over the dress again, Ib had lost the motivation to continue and pushed the dress and needle to the side. "How many times will I be on after that?"
Garry looked over the paper again. "Well... the act with Mary is the last one of the night, and we close at one." He pulled his bangs out of his face and squinted. "You only have one other act tonight, it looks like. You're fourth in line."
Ib stood, stretching her arms above her head. Garry gave her a moment. "I guess I'll be feeling old man erections on my inner thigh for the rest of the night."
Garry cringed. Ib smirked when she noticed.
"At least you're not the one doing it." She had a point. "Besides, more tips."

It was only after ten minutes of willpower to work and another hour and a half of hard sewing labor that Ib was able to finish repairing the dress. It didn't look the same as it once had, but it had been salvaged to the best of her ability.
Another hour passed before the third person arrived. Carrie had curled her shoulder-length hair, of which she had dyed that morning. It was a pale pink, a color she had done before. She looked good in any color, but it was her particular favorite.
"It would be such a waste to wear a wig tonight," she huffed, sitting down on a stool beside Garry.
"You don't have to wear a wig," Garry added.
Carrie sighed. "I suppose not." She paused. "Does it look okay?"
"You look incredible."
"Aww, Garry, you're the best!" She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. Garry endured it. "Where's the schedule?"
Garry reached out for it, restricted by Carrie's grip. He managed to grab it and hand it to her. She released him and took the stapled papers.
It took her a moment of looking over them, Ib and Garry anticipating her voice all the while, until she spoke again.
"Only three times on tonight, it looks like." She set the papers down on the counter behind her and began unbuttoning her blouse. Ib was still in her sports bra and spandex, so she stood from the beanbag and turned to the clothes rack to get herself dressed.
"Getting dressed so soon?" Garry asked; the question had been directed to Carrie.
"Why not?" Carrie unbuttoned her cuffs before pulling her blouse down. Underneath was a white tank top. "I have makeup to put on."
"You still have a couple hours."
Carrie dropped the tank top on the floor. Ib had managed to peel her bra off, but she was facing the other way to stay out of Garry's view.
"I don't see why I should wait when I could just get it over with," she continued.
"Well, alright."
There was silence as the two girls wormed their way out of their clothes. In the corner, Ib taped pasties down. When she had finished doing so, she turned. Garry hadn't noticed.
"What are you wearing today, Carrie?" He inquired. Carrie appreciated the question, sliding her bra off of her shoulders.
"Not heels tonight. Going barefoot sounds like a much better idea. Maybe I'll wear some beads."
"Sounds good."
Through the whole exchange, Garry hadn't glanced down. To Ib, it was a huge shock, but nevertheless amusing.
Carrie retrieved her supply of pasties from a drawer behind her. She knew the room so well that she didn't even turn around to open the drawer. Ib made her way around the beanbags and stools to Mary's vanity. Although it had been almost a week since Ib had begun working there, she was still required to share a mirror.
"Oh, God," Carrie gasped. Ib and Garry turned to her.
"What's wrong?" Garry asked.
"Tomorrow's fetish night."
"What's the problem?" Ib interrupted. There was a brief expression of shock on her face, but Garry quickly jumped in.
"She hates fetish night," He answered back, leaning over as he emphasized the word "hate". "Which reminds me, what are you doing for tomorrow?"
"I always tell Mr. White that bondage is my best suit, but Mary always gets it." She rolled her eyes; it was the first display of direct annoyance by Carrie towards Mary that Ib had seen. "I always get bunny ears."
"You make a good bunny."
"Thanks, Garry." It was almost sarcastic in tone, but Carrie meant it. She turned to Ib. "How about you, Ib? What do you want to do?"
"Spanking."
It was so on-point that both Garry and Carrie were instantly taken aback.
"You didn't waste any time with that one," Carrie smirked. Ib realized the fact suddenly and went scarlet. Garry tried not to laugh.
"It just seemed obvious to me… I was thinking of school."
"No, I understand what you mean," Carrie reassured her. Ib seemed to relax when she thought Carrie was on her side. "It's perfect for you."
"Is it?"
"Yeah, of course!" Carrie was almost excited about the idea. "I mean, you are in school right now, after all."
Ib nodded, but even Garry could tell she was still painfully embarrassed.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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All Eyes On Me