Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Dutch, who had removed his sunglasses, his gaze not focused on the woman, but on the room. His face relaxed but she sensed his alertness, as if predicting trouble to break out any moment. Try as she might, Cassidy couldn’t locate the source of the threat, though she could not shake the unease and discomfort building inside her, like the slow but sure onset of an illness.
The woman on the stage finally finished her dance and paraded to all four corners of the stage, letting men tuck bills into her underwear. After, she circulated around the room, accepting more money, working the crowd. Cassidy turned back to the bartender, hoping for an update, but he was busy filling an order of cocktails. In the mirror above the bar, she watched the woman from the stage saunter their way.
Cassidy wished she had more space behind her in order to back up, but there was nowhere to go—the edge of the bar pressed firmly against her back.
Dutch made small talk with the stripper, asking her about how long she’d lived in the city and what she did for fun, as if this was some kind of cocktail mixer and she wasn’t almost naked. The stripper turned to Cassidy. “Did you enjoy the show?” she asked in a silky, high voice that Cassidy knew was engineered to sound innocent and playful.
“Um,” Cassidy managed, but her mouth stopped working before she could continue.
“I offer a special price for couples, you know,” she said, winking at her. She eyed Dutch, as if they were sharing a secret.
“Oh. We’re not a couple,” Cassidy stammered. “We’re just waiting to meet someone.”
The dancer fluttered her long lashes and smiled, clearly undeterred. “We have a private room. You can request anything you want,” she said, and ran a hand down the side of her body, giving Cassidy a coy, sultry look. “I promise you’ll leave very happy.”
“Maybe next time, honey,” Dutch said next to her, his voice neutral.
She glanced at him, smiled, her perfect white teeth glowing. “Have a good time tonight,” she said, showing no sign of disappointment in Dutch’s refusal. “Tara is up next. She’s got a new routine I think you’ll like very much.”
She gave Dutch one last look and sauntered away.
Cassidy felt how tight she was clenching her shoulders and tried to relax them, but it was impossible. Shouldn’t places like this be against the law? Couldn’t these women be offered a different choice than to sell themselves like this? The smell of the booze and the bleach from the glassware coming out of the dishwasher mixed with another scent she couldn’t quite name—the smell of sweat and greed and forbidden freedom—to create an ambiance of lust.
I have to get out of here, Cassidy thought.
One of the girls working the floor sidled up to Dutch, and the two of them talked in low voices for what seemed like a long time. They both laughed at something, Dutch showing his teeth, his face relaxed. He’s actually enjoying himself, she thought with disdain.
The stripper named Tara climbed up on stage to the hoots from several men in the audience. Tara strutted to all four corners of the stage, posing and bending over to speak with several of the men, giving the other side of the room a full view of her backside. Some of the men tucked dollar bills under the strap of her lingerie which arched over her hip and into her butt crack. Her skin looked glossy, as if she had greased herself. The music for her routine started and Cassidy had to look away. It was too disturbing. She felt like a part of herself was being poisoned.
“Is Saxon here yet?” she asked the bartender, catching his eye as he delivered a trio of drinks to a waitress’s tray. The waitress gave her a sharp sideways look, so quick Cassidy almost missed it, then lifted the tray and spun back to the floor.
“Yeah,” the bartender replied, wiping a section of the bar with a white rag. “He said he’ll drop by.”
“Did he say when?” Cassidy asked, having to raise her voice over the sudden hoots and cries coming from the crowd behind her.
The bartender shook his head, then hurried back to his orders.
Cassidy caught the reflection of the stage in the mirror behind the bar but quickly averted her eyes—Tara was now topless.
“I’ll be right back,” Cassidy said to Dutch, who nodded. She glanced around—careful to avoid the stage—for the restroom and located it midway down a dark hallway in the back corner of the club. She fell in behind a pair—a patron and one of the girls working the floor. The woman led the man toward door with “VIP Room” lit above it in blue neon. The woman’s white skin seemed to glow in the moonish light, making Cassidy think of vampires, and as if to confirm this, when the woman turned slightly to open the door, her red lips curved into a smile that revealed a set of carnivorous teeth. The couple disappeared into the room. Cassidy realized she was standing, frozen, the music from the stage vibrating the floor beneath her feet.
She entered the bathroom, a darkened space lit by a soft lamp set between two sinks. In the mirror, she was not surprised to see her face looking pale and tight, with faint circles beneath her eyes, the tan lines along her temples from the sunglasses she wore for weeks during field camp still evident. She ran cold water over her hands, the action grounding her so quickly that she began swiping it up her forearms, then splashed it over her face. She slipped her wet hands to her neck where her skin felt sticky. Suddenly thirsty, she bent over the
