Disappointment crushes me. I desperately need the money from tonight’s event. It’s meant to inspire me. Rent is due, but I also need more motivation than sparks that might be imaginary and the pleading eyes of a girl who shouldn’t matter to me but somehow does.
I muster a grin before making out that I’m not panicked. “It’s Monday. My last club didn’t get busy until late on Mondays.”
Mia nods, agreeing with me, but she doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah. That’s what I keep telling myself.”
With my performance review with the owner still an hour away, I throw on the uniform the waitstaff wears and then head out to the bar, the heels of my knee-high boots clicking on the sticky floor.
Sicilians don’t have the tipping culture of the United States, but the drinkers are generous when they’re served by one of their favorite dancers.
The club is dimly lit. Only neon signs behind the bar and the disco ball spinning on the stage provide light. The bar smells as it always does—of spilled beer the staff wipes up a dozen times and peanuts even the patrons avoid.
I grab a cloth and wipe the counter, though it’s already clean. It gives me something to concentrate on besides the worry burrowing inmy chest. I’m three thousand short of this month’s target, with only six days left.
A couple of regulars sit at the far end, nursing their pints and watching Keisha strut her stuff on the main stage. I pour a pint for one of them, with the foam rising just right, then slide it along the bar. He nods his thanks, but his eyes stay fixed on the stage. I don’t mind. The quick murmur of “Keep the change” isexactlythe response I’m aiming for.
After serving another handful of patrons, their appreciation mimicking that of the regulars, I glance at the clock. It’s still early. The sun only set an hour ago, so it’s understandable that the footpath outside remains empty.
The air feels heavy with anticipation, or maybe that’s just me, hoping for a rush that might not arrive.
While checking my makeup in the mirrored backsplash to make sure the glitter hasn’t smudged, Salvator walks in from the side door. He glances around the club, searching for someone. When his eyes connect with mine behind a row of empty chairs, I wave at him, my face showing no emotion.
He doesn’t return my greeting. With a grumble that sinks his usually puffed chest, he walks into his office and quietly closes the door behind him. He must have a meeting before ours, because the only time he isn’t on the floor is when he’s up to something shady.
As I arrange the shelves behind the bar, I wonder who he’s meeting and what deals are being made. It isn’t my business. My concern should be the empty bar and the debt that will take me more than a lifetime to pay.
But I’ve only recently arrived in Carlisle, so I’m reluctant to leave. My unexpected happiness from my exchange with Camille and her father isn’t the only thing driving my desire to stay. It’s something far more important.
The music transitions to a slower song Mia uses for the more intimate sets, and my hope of performing tonight sinks into a deep pit.This is usually when I rush back to the dressing room to add the final touches to my outfit and makeup.
A shiver runs down my spine when Salvator sneaks up on me. He’s usually heavy-footed. Even after performing under speakers, dancers hear him coming from a mile away. It shows how deep in my thoughts I’ve been.
“What can I get you, Sal?” My tone is pleasant despite my wish to rake my nails down his face. I’m not being catty. I offered to dock half my pay the day I was late, but for some reason, he seems to have it out for me. His punishment has gone too far, and I’ll only hang around another day or two before moving on to another franchise.
He licks his cracked lips before edging closer to the bar. “Double scotch on the rocks.”
Nodding, I prepare his drink.
Brown liquor spills over the rim of the bottle when he unexpectedly adds, “And for you not to fuck this up for me.”
I crank my neck to him so fast I grow woozy. It only takes searching his eyes for half a minute to understand his request. He’s letting me back on the stage.
“Thank you, Sal. Thank you so much.”
After smothering his cheek with a sloppy kiss, I hurry back to the dressing room, the fringe of my bikini swaying with each step. I touch up my lipstick and then swap my waitstaff uniform for a dress that won’t last longer than a minute onstage.
Guests at this fine establishment don’t pay us for our dance moves or fashion sense.
As I wait for my cue behind the stage curtains, I reflect on everything I’ve had to do to get by. Will the end justify the means, or will the consequences of my choices catch up with me in the end?
Before I can search for an answer, the manager peeks her head through the dark curtains, startling me. “What are you doing here, Cici?”
I hook my thumb to the bar, my heart racing. “Salvator said I can dance.”
Celesta rolls her eyes. “Yeah… but not here. You booked the Viper Room.”
I balk, shocked. The Viper Room is the VIP section of the club. It was another one of Salvator’s grand ideas. Although they designed it for bachelor parties, its ten-thousand-dollar price tag for a thirty-minute set means it mostly sits empty. Once a month, you might get a handful of men willing to chip in a hundred dollars each for a private space and a dedicated bartender, but once they learn the cover charge is limited to one stripper, sixty percent cancel their reservation and sit in the main area.
Entry into this club is free. We simply charge an arm and a leg for each beverage they’re required to consume every thirty minutes.
