There was a strange glint in her eye, and I wondered then if that’s how her family broke apart. If her father cheated. If this was revenge dressed up as justice.
It explained her. And somehow, that made me relax. I took a deep breath and sipped my coffee.
Cage dancing.
I thought about my bank balance.
She winked. “I’ll call my boss. Don’t worry. We’ll get you some sexy high-heel boots. You can borrow one of my dresses. I’ll do your makeup. No one will even know it’s you, Beth. Just dance.”
I told myself it wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t a stripper. It wasn’t dirty. I was just dancing. That’s all.
A few days later, I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror.
Heavy makeup. A push-up bra that didn’t belong to me. A short miniskirt Sage swore no one could see up because it would be dark. A long red wig cascading down my back. I looked like a stranger pretending to be brave.
Her boss eyed me up and down, made me spin, checking whether I looked sexy enough. Whether I could pass.
The fog machines started. The strobes cut the darkness into pieces. The music pounded through my bones.
I climbed into the cage.
Sage winked at me from below.You’ve got this.
I didn’t.
I danced stiffly at first, painfully aware of the eyes on me, of people mouthing,What’s wrong with her?I rubbed my hands along my thighs, my breasts, my stomach, my ass—copying movements I’d seen Sage do effortlessly.
But I didn’t have what she had.
She had that invisible thing. That aura that made everyone want her. Made every man want to fuck her. And I just… didn’t.
I felt like I was being asked to be something I wasn’t. Something I didn’t know how to inhabit.
Still, I tried.
Because I needed the money.
Because everything else had dried up.
Because sometimes survival looks like a cage lit by strobe lights, and you tell yourself it’s only temporary.
And you dance anyway.
They lower me down slowly, the cage sinking through smoke and light.
Security is already there when my feet touch the floor, big bodies forming a wall around the opening as the door unlocks. Sage is lowered down beside me, her boots hitting the ground with confidence, like this is just another day at work.
The moment we’re free, she grabs my wrist and drags me backstage.
The private makeup room is small and hot and smells like sweat and hairspray. She turns on me, eyes sharp.
“You’re gonna get fired, Beth,” she hisses, pulling me close. “He’s not gonna bite you back. You’ve got to relax. You’ve got to loosen up.”
Before I can answer, a tray appears. Shots.
She pushes two into my hands. Then two more.
“Beth, it’s free. Take it. Just drink.”
