Dylan tries to reach out to me and the bodyguard pulls his arm back. “Chloe, you don’t need to do this.” His voice is hoarse. I stare back at him but one overriding image blots out his eyes.
My mom’s face lying in that hospital bed.
"Fine," I choke out, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I'll do it."
"Good," Mitchell smirks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Welcome to the Grind, Chloe.”
Dylan's fists clench at his sides. "Chloe, listen to me, you can’t do this!" he yells, trying to reach me as Mitchell's bodyguards grab him by the arms.
"Get your hands off me!" he exclaims, struggling against their grip as they begin to drag him away.
"Chloe, don't!" he shouts one last time before the door slams shut behind him. Mitchell waves his hands to dismiss me and I take a shaky breath, my heart pounding in my chest. My legs tremble as I follow one of the bodyguards backstage.
"Get ready," he says gruffly, pushing open the door to reveal a small dressing room filled with costumes and makeup.
"Hey there," a husky voice greets me. A woman with dark curly hair flowing down her back looks up from a table spread with books. She takes off her glasses and stands up, holding out her hand. She’s so petite that I feel like a giant in comparison. "I'm Alia."
"Chloe," I reply, taking her hand hesitantly. Her grip is firm and she offers me a small smile.
“You look like you don’t want to be here, my darling. Join the club no one wants to belong to…”
I smile. “How did you guess?”
She shakes her head. “Most of us are paying off a debt of some kind or another. Mitchell isn’t the kind of man who plays fair. The trouble is you don’t know that until he has you firmly under his thumb. What did he do you for?”
“My Mom’s sick. We can’t pay her bills, so my brother took out a loan against his restaurant and Mitchell’s called it in early. I’m collateral, apparently…”
Alia grimaces. “Right. Keep your head down and you’ll get through this. I’m nearly done for tonight but I’ll look out for you. All the girls will. Strength in numbers.”
“Are you studying?” I walk over to the table.
“Yes. I’m getting my realtor’s license. I’m not much of a dancer but it doesn’t seem to matter. If you shake your ass in the right way to the right person, you’ll make a lot of tips…”
I close my eyes.
"Look, honey, I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your evening." Alia's eyes are kind. "But we've got to get you ready for the stage. Janell is out there now, then you’re up, then I’m up. Usually, there are four of us doing half-hour slots, but Carrie broke her ankle and Mimi is pregnant. Let me help you get ready, okay?"
Nodding, I allow myself to be guided over to a vanity lined with cosmetics, tiny bottles of glitter and plastic containers of gemstones. Alia selects a palette of shimmery eyeshadows and leans in close, her fingers deftly brushing color across my eyelids.
"Anything else I should know?" I whisper, not entirely sure if I'm asking Alia or myself. She continues to work, applying a fierce cat-eye and feathery false lashes that make my blue eyes suddenly seductive.
"You can choose your own playlist, but it’s usually a mix of two fast tracks and one slow. Get your breath back in the slow number. There’s a pole, I usually just hold onto it and writhe around. Don’t stop moving, Mitchell doesn’t like it." Alia says gently.
“My college buddy gave me some pole-dancing lessons in return for some contemporary and jazz dance tutoring. Moving shouldn’t be a problem. Having to do this when I don’t want to, though…”
Alia touches my shoulder. "You're stronger than you think, Chloe. You'll get through this."
As she reaches for a tube of red lipstick, I can't help but study her reflection in the mirror. She appears confident and untouchable – the polar opposite of me right now.
"Here," she says, handing me a costume that’s more shimmering fabric and sequins than actual fabric. "Put this on. It'll make you look like a goddess."
I hesitate, gripping the skimpy costume. That nagging voice at the back of my mind says I shouldn’t wear something so flimsy. But what choice do I have?
"Thank you, Alia," I murmur. There’s nowhere to change, but Alia goes back to the table and pores over her papers. I strip off my dress and step into the outfit, which consists mainly of strategically placed sequins and not much else. Thankfully, it fits, but my cheeks heat up at the image of myself in the mirror.
Alia claps her hands together. “Wow, you’re going to slay them! I was right. Total goddess vibes.”
As I step out onto the tiny stage, I pray that whatever Alia sees in me is enough to carry me through this night and beyond.
