“I put my phone number on this.” A guy next to the stage grins as he drops a five-dollar bill at my feet. “Call me if you want to make some real money tonight.”
I almost vomit when I realize what he’s insinuating. I won’t be calling him. I’ll be lucky if I’m not curled up in a ball crying my eyes out when I’m done for the night.
I hear the musical cue. It’s time. I push my panties down, and the money cascades to the floor. The dead presidents create a circle of shame around my feet as I expose myself to the crowd. I have a routine to do, one that gives them a glimpse and nothing more. I remember the steps as I move to the pole and complete my dance.
I’m dying inside, and I wish that feeling would spread through my body. I want to be put out of my misery, but that isn’t an option.
Misery is my penance.
“You did good out there tonight, honey.” Rhonda, who goes by Ravishing Rachel when she’s on the stage, walks up as I’m removing my makeup.
“Did I?” I ask, with a mixture of sarcasm and sorrow in my voice.
Rhonda is confident, strong, and she loves her job. I knew that within five minutes of meeting her. I wish I had some of that. It would make things easier.
“Yes, you’ll be a natural in no time.” She leans forward and gives me a hug from behind.
“I’m not sure about that,” I say as a sigh passes across my lips.
“The guys loved you. That’s what matters. If you make money, Max makes money, and if Max makes money, you keep dancing.” Rhonda begins to twist the top off the pendant she’s wearing, and it separates to reveal a tiny spoon filled with white powder. “Want a hit?”
“No,” I reply quickly but remember my manners. “No thank you.”
I can’t tell if Rhonda is upset with my choice or has simply lost interest in me. She mutters a few things after snorting what I assume is cocaine and leaves to check on one of the other dancers.
I’m alone again. It feels better than trying to carry on a conversation. I just want to scrub the makeup off my face and go home. I see a bouncer walk by my dressing room and reach for something to cover my breasts, then I remember that he’s already seen them. Covering up doesn’t even matter at this point.
“Not bad, Kiana.” Max’s voice echoes behind me, and he walks into my dressing room. I do cover up when he enters—even if he did see me on the stage.
“That’s for me?” I motion to the money in his right hand.
“Yes.” He nods and throws the money down on the table beside me. “Why are you taking off your makeup? You’re not done.”
“I thought I only had to do one dance tonight.” I blink in surprise, and a feeling of uneasiness settles into my stomach.
“One dance, yes.” He nods and motions toward the club. “But I want you on the floor until closing.”
“Oh.” I look down and feel a lump rising in my throat. “I didn’t realize I was doing that tonight. You said…”
“I know what I said, but that was before you made them fall in love with you.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Put your outfit back on, and go give them all a reason to come back tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.” A feeling of defeat settles into my veins, but I simply nod in agreement with his request.
Max watches me while I dress. He doesn’t even pretend to look away. I do my best to reapply my makeup, but I don’t put as much on as I wore when I was on the stage. Max gives me a slap on my ass when I finally walk through the door. I’ve seen him do that to some of the other girls too. Most of them smile, so I do as well, even though I don’t want his hands on me at all.
I wish I could hate Max. He gives me the creeps. It just isn’t that easy.
Nothing like this ever is.
I walk out into the club, and the bartender calls me over. He gives me a few drinks on a tray and points out a table. Guys stare at me as I walk by. There are comments—dirty, filthy comments. I smile and pretend that they excite me, because that’s what Max expects. I watch some of the other girls and see how they flirt with the patrons, so I try to do the same thing. I feel foolish, but the guys don’t care what I’m saying. They just want to stare, fantasize, pretend.
“I was hoping you would come out here tonight.” The older man, the one old enough to be my grandfather, smiles at me when I set a glass of whiskey in front of him.
“I’m just delivering drinks.” I smile at him.
“How much to go back there?” He motions to the curtains where the girls take the guys that pay for a lap dance.
“I’m sorry; I’m not allowed do that yet.” I shake my head and pretend not to be happy that I have to turn him down. “Maybe in a few weeks…”
“I’ll be your first customer then.” He flashes a devious grin, and it looks ridiculous. “Save your first dance for me; I’m here every night. The name’s Bill.”
“Okay, Bill.” I nod and almost introduce myself as Kiana but catch the name on my tongue; he already knows my stage name. “I can’t wait!” It comes out with more enthusiasm than I intended because I almost got tongue-tied.
I
