The dressing room is packed full of dancers. They’re weaving wigs onto their heads and slathering glitter all over the their breasts. Each one giving me a friendly smile, but no more. They’re as nice as they can be without slitting my throat. The competition is fierce here and there seems to be a hierarchy of dancers that I know nothing about.
I take a deep breath and walk through the war zone. If anything’s going to quell my aching body parts, it’s a bunch of strippers wanting to rip them right off me.
I set up my make-up station and quickly line my eyes with black kohl and add a fresh coat of mascara to thicken my lashes. I don’t bother doing my hair, it’s long and thick and wild, perfect for dancing.
I slip a black leather rip-away vest over a black lace bra and match it with a leather thong. I want to wear something stunning, something that will make Corrado stay and watch because he just can’t look away.
The last thing I do is slip my feet into a pair of high highs and inspect myself in the mirror.
“Wow, girl. Look at you tonight,” Candy whistles. “You got your fiancé out in the crowd tonight?”Shit, myfiancé. My made-up fiancé who gave me a fake diamond ring that’s probably still on the floor in the back room where Corrado threw it.
“Nah, I just need a few more tips tonight. I got some bills to pay.”
“Felony, we all got bills to pay,” one of the other girls says drily behind us. “Instead of just dancing, you should get on your knees if you want to make more money. Or you think you’re better than us?”
I don’t think I’m better than them. But I have a specific debt I have to repay and it’s much harder to deal with that than giving a bunch of the good old boys head. These girls don’t know anything about me. They think I judge them for doing whatever they can to put food on their tables or clothes on their backs. I don’t. But I know damn well they would judge me if they knew my story.
“I don’t think I’m better than anybody. We’re all here for the same reason, to make a living, that’s all,” I say.
“Girl, shut up. You don’t know why I’m here,” she snaps.
Okay, fuck off then and leave me alone.
I pack up my bag and storm out into the club. I have officially lost my clit throb. Now I’m just sexually frustrated and dying to punch someone in the face.
I take a few deep breaths until I calm my breathing, lock my bag in one of the lockers, and don’t speak to anyone until my music goes on.
My first dance is always “Bad Girl” by Girls Love Shoes. I start off-stage and dance with my silhouette behind the curtain for a few beats until I can smell the anticipation of the men in the crowd. And God, you can, you can smell it thick and heady in the air like a tangible thing.
As soon as I step out, my eyes follow the flecks of silver glitter that lay on the stage up through the soft heat of the lights right into the eyes of Corrado. He’s sitting off to the side, with a tall drink in his hand. I can see the condensation drip down the glass and over his strong thick fingers.
I turn my back to the audience and reach my arms over my head and grab onto the pole. Slowly I bend my knees and slide my ass down it. I peek over my shoulder at him and slide back up, a moan of his name on my lips.
Did he hear me whisper his name?
I turn, facing the room. Hundreds of hungry expressions look back at me. It’s really crowded tonight, and it makes me hesitate for a split second before I lean back and kick myself up into a Jade pose and lose myself to the rhythm of the music.
“Show off,” Candy laughs from the catwalk to the right of me. She’s dressed in a tiger-stripe leotard and is crawling around on all fours. She’s even wearing a pair of cat ears attached to a headband that’s holding back her wild curls.
I’m not showing off.
I spin around the pole into a Banana Split and try to ignore the guy in the front leaning over the stage waving a handful of Benjamin Franklins at me. One of the girls working the floor pulls him back by the shoulders and climbs over his lap. It’s Cherry. She can’t dance the pole but will give a guy a lap dance until he cums for a fifty in the private rooms. For another hundred she’ll meet you in your car and doesn’t mind an audience.
I watch her claw her hands around the wad of hundreds and crush them in her fists as she starts grinding on him slow. Some girls would get angry she’s stealing their attention away from the pole, but I’m not. Cherry’s got two kids under the age of five and an ex that hit her so hard the last time she saw him, she doesn’t remember his name.
Besides, I’m not here forjust the money.
I’m here for vengeance.
Let’s just say I have daddy hang-ups.
Bigger issues than any of the other girls here, that’s for sure. I bet none of their families did what my own family did to me.
I slide over the dance floor to the edge, and hands, dozens of them, are slipping ones and fives into the straps of my G-string and into the pockets of the leather vest. They’re close enough I can smell their sour breaths and see the whites of their half-hooded eyes.
Corrado stands up from his chair and marches off to the back of the club. I lose sight of him in the throng of men staring back at me. I try to follow him with my eyes, but I know he’s gone, pissed off it’s not him touching me.
I know he likes me.
