Chapter 3
Kaia
I frown down at my cell phone as another missed call goes to voicemail. I’ve now missed seven phone calls from my dad. Taking a deep breath, I turn the phone off completely and slip it into my locker.
My dad is probably leaving me another hate filled voicemail as we speak. If he knew where I am right now, knew what I was about to do to earn money, he would scream so loudly that I’m pretty sure he would have an aneurysm.
But I have to earn money. Enough money to pay my father back for every last cent he’s ever spent on teaching me to become a perfect, graceful ballerina. I’ve calculated the cost and it is well over two hundred thousand dollars.
He’s made it very clear that unless I come up with the money, I will follow his rules and do whatever he says until the day I die.
That knowledge slithers through my stomach as I close my locker and spin the combination.
“Lily, Brandie, Misty!” A dark-suited man sits by the door, reading off names. “One minute warning, girls.”
Behind me, the dancers’ changing room is loud and busy.
Huge makeup mirrors and well-lighted white desks line one wall.
White director’s chairs are placed at intervals, each one of them currently supporting a stripper.
They talk to each other as they lean close to the mirrors and perfect their lip gloss or apply another layer of blush.
I slide into the seat at the very end, feeling self conscious. I’m wearing what amounts to a tiny black bikini underneath a white kimono with clear six inch stilettos. My hair is teased and blown out, my makeup looks almost garish under the room’s soft lights.
For any other job, I would look insane. Sliding a glance down the row of dancers, I feel like I fit in just fine.
“Candi, Baby, Daisy,” the man sitting next door the door reads off. “You’re up next, ladies.”
The dancer to my left gets up just as Mia struts in the room. She sees me and comes over, her caramel-colored body glistening with baby oil and glitter. She clutches the top to her red bikini in one hand, tossing it on the desk as she throws herself into the chair beside me.
“Fucking cheap assholes,” she says, sounding perky even though she’s complaining.
She produces a neat wad of cash from the red triangle of fabric between her legs, shaking her head.
She starts counting the cash as she glances at me.
“I got a bunch of frat boys. They’ve obviously never been to a spot this nice and they didn’t behave themselves.
And to top it all off? They hardly tipped anything, even when I took them back to the private rooms. It was basically a huge waste of my time. ”
I scrunch up my face. “I hope you told security to kick them out.”
She chuckles. “You’re damn right I did.”
I glance at her outfit, noticing a snag in her fishnets. I perk up. “You can fix that,” I say, pointing it out to her. “A little hairspray and some clear nail polish will do the trick.”
Mia flashes me a puzzled glance. “Girl, I do not have time to be fixing a pair of tights. The men like to rip them, I throw them away and buy new ones. It’s the circle of life.”
A tall, dark skinned dancer in a black babydoll dress stands up. “Anybody got some baby wipes? I ran out.”
Mia glances over at her, then looks back at me, rolling her eyes. She leans closer to me. “No way am I giving that bitch anything. We double teamed a bachelor party together last week and I think she stole from me.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
Mia nods, wrinkling her nose. “Yep. I have no time or energy for these hoes. I’m busy working it, trying to find a patron.”
I pause. “A patron?”
She looks at me with a sigh. “Yes. A patron. Someone that will pay for my services. Someone with a fat wallet that will take me out of here.”
I bite my lip. “Pay for you to strip privately, you mean?”
She huffs out a laugh. “No, honey. Any man can get that here for a few hundred dollars. A patron gets you any way he wants it, as often as he feels like it. In exchange, he pays for an apartment, a car service, all the fancy clothes you could want…” She looks at herself in the mirror, leaning close to examine her reflection.
“I’ve heard that a few girls even married their patrons. ”
My eyes widen. “Oh! That’s pretty huge. I wonder what those girls did to get noticed?”
She shrugs, eyeing a group of girls coming through the door. I turn and look at them, laughing and wearing street clothes.
“New girls,” Mia says, smacking her lips. “They all just turned eighteen, I bet. And they’re wearing designer labels. If I had to put money on it, I would guess that they live at home with their rich daddies, who don’t know that their little girls come here to get their ho on at night.”
I purse my lips. “I bet you said something similar about me not that long ago.”
“True. You have proven yourself, though. If your daddy has money, you wouldn’t know it from looking at you.” She pauses. “No offense. I’m just saying you don’t act entitled.”
I blow out a breath. “I am actually working here, trying to earn money to pay my dad back for private school. I’m never, ever going to owe anything to anyone ever again after working here for a year.”
She arches a brow. “Owing your dad sounds like some white nonsense. You should be saving every penny and looking for ways to get to the next level.”
“And what’s that?”
“I already told you, girl. A patron.” Her gaze catches on my white kimono. “I wouldn’t wear that out on stage. It’s too light colored. It’ll give you little fuzzy white balls in your armpits.”
I glance down at my kimono, biting my lower lip.
“I’m not planning on wearing it out there.
It’s just for comfort in here.” Smiling, I stand up and head back to my locker.
I swap the white kimono out for a black version, figuring it’s better safe than sorry.
“I am thinking of doing something a little different with my first routine, though.”
Mia leans forward, snagging her top and putting it on. “More fancy ballet shit?”
My face goes hot red. “Yeah. You think it’s a bad idea? I’m still on my month of probation with Club X…”
She looks at her teeth in the mirror, checking for lipstick. “I think you made a shit ton of money when you did that standing on your toes bit last week. Anybody would be crazy to tell you not to do it.”
She eases out of her chair, her long legs gleaming as she stalks over to the lockers. I follow her, shrugging out of my kimono. As I put the robe away in my lockers, I whisper to Mia. “Hey, remember how I told you that I’m a dancer during the day too?”
She’s changing into a different bikini, this one black pleather. “Uh… yeah, I guess I remember.”
I scrunch up my face. “No one at my day job knows about this place. And vice versa. It’s like… very much not allowed for ballerinas to…” I suck in a breath. “You know, dance for guys.”
She closes her locker, favoring me with a smile. “Your secret is very much safe with me, honey.”
“Cerise, Fawn, Latisha,” the bored employee announces. “One minute till showtime.”
Cerise. That’s me. I take a deep breath, looking toward the doorway.
“See you a little later,” I tell Mia. She smiles at me, counting her money again.
I totter toward the doorway, trying to make myself into Cerise. I start with my walk. Head held high, shoulders pulled back, arms nice and loose, lengthen my strides.
When I’m playing Cerise, I’m confident. Smiling. Teasing. Winking.
She likes men to look at her, to fawn over her tits and ass, to rain singles down as she slithers on the pole. She’s my opposite in so many ways. I’ve never dated anyone, much less had strange men touch me as boldly as my customers will tonight.
Cerise is confident and worldly, I am introverted and naive. It’s just easier to be Cerise for a while, a mask that I can slip off and leave in my locker at the end of the night.
Heading down the dark little hallway to the stage, I mount the steps and wait for the emcee to announce me. My heart rate rises. My smile stays plastered in place. In the seconds before I go onstage, it feels the same as it does when I’m waiting in the wings in my tutu and pointe shoes.
“Now appearing on the main stage, it’s Cerise!”
My heart beat sounds like a drum in my ears. My music comes on, MIA’s “Bad Girls”. At the sound of the first notes, a switch is flipped for me.
There is a spotlight illuminating a shiny stripper pole on Club main stage. Everything around it is dim, made more so by my singleminded focus. I strut out onto the darkened stage, barely seeing the audience. All I can see is the stage, bare, waiting for me.
A shiver of excitement slides up my spine. I reach out for the pole, caressing it with one hand as I turn to face the audience. I don’t really see them, though. Just the bright stage lights down front.
I grin and skim my fingers down my hip, biting my lip.
Turning toward the pole, I slip my shoes off.
As soon as I grip the pole and push onto my toes, a few whistles leave the crowd.
I go into point briefly and the face away from the audience, leaning against the plot as I slide down into splits.
I raise my arms over my head and then swing my hip around, grinding the ground beneath me.
I keep a look of pleasure on my face as I get up, quickly turning it into climbing the pole and artfully sliding down.
I step away from the pole and arch my back.
Taking a deep breath, I move away and focus on the audience members.
A cluster of men in the front row grab my attention by waving a hundred dollar bill.
I slide over to them, a knowing smirk on my face, and get on my knees.
Plucking the bill from the customer, I push my breasts together and squeeze them.
At the same time I spread my knees farther apart and run my hand down to the band of my bikini.
Feeling naughty, I make sure to cup my pussy and pluck at my nipple, all the while making eye contact with the stage man.
Then I get on my stomach, never breaking eye contact, and slowly roll my ass so that I hump the floor in slow motion.
I don’t see his reaction. I have no idea if it’s good or not. I’m just sucked into the performative nature of that slow body roll.
When I finally get up, I spread my legs wide and skim my bottoms down my legs. Bending over, I make sure that the customer gets the first look at my pussy.
Then I stride back to the pole. I lean my ass on the pole facing the audience, sliding down, an orgasmic expression on my face.
Dollar bills rain down from above as I complete my splits, reaching above me to help myself back up.
This time I go on my tiptoes with one foot, lifting the other high above my head.
I lower my leg to the floor and raise my torso, steadying myself as my arms come up in an arch above my head.
I tear off my top, my breasts bouncing free. I climb the pole again and wrap my legs around it, dropping the piece of fabric and letting my entire body fall backward oh so slowly.
I let myself slide down until my hands can touch the floor. Then I gracefully round into a back bend and rise once more. Composing myself for a moment, I lift onto my tiptoes and execute a half-pirouette. Planting my right foot, I sweep my left leg skyward, then fold my body into the splits again.
All of this takes just a heart beat… or so it seems. Before I know it, the song shifts. The applause makes me turn pink.
I blink a few times and then run down to the end of the stage, collecting the cascade of dollar bills that I earned. After I sweep up most of them and grab my bikini, I hurry off stage. A minute later, I have my bikini on again and the money stashed in a little locked drop box beside the stage.
I didn’t really have time to count, but the dollar bills felt weighty against my palm. One more step closer to independence.
I strut out to see at least five tables signaling to me that they want a private dance.
That’s the least favorite part of my night. But at least guys are interested in what I can provide… I credit Mia with giving me tip to improve my onstage presence.
Lifting my chin, I’m about to walk toward the closest table when one of the dark-suited managers raises his hand to me.
I shoot him an odd look, but he continues waving me over. I look at the table of customers, hold up a single finger, and then scoot over to the bar.
He sniffs, rubbing his nose. “You got a guy waiting for you in the platinum room, darlin. The customer isn’t a regular but he’s very rich and very private. This customer is to be treated with kid gloves, you got it? Whatever he wants, you give.” He looks me up and down. “Whatever’s legal, anyway.”
I am absolutely sure that he means all but the last part. My heart rate picks up. I nod my head, glancing at the tables.
“Hey,” the manager says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Don’t worry about them. Worry about the guy in the platinum room. You could easily make three or four times as much tonight as you would’ve normally. Now get going.”
Eyes widening, I nod and scurry toward the Club’s staircase. I bite my lip, trying not to look worried. Usually I’m not called in when customers choose dancers for the luxurious private rooms. Then again, it’s only been a few days since Mia gave me a critique to earn more on stage.
Maybe it has started to work. Maybe it is really my time to shine.
As I climb the stairs, I try to convince myself that I deserve to be called back to the most expensive private room of all.