2. Vanya
VANYA
My eyes closed, and an annoyed huff left my nose as I felt arms slide around my waist. The moment I felt hands on me, I wanted to go off, but I had to remember why I was doing something I didn’t care for in the first place.
“No touching,” Gerald’s voice sounded off over the music, and I was more than grateful.
I hated being touched by the men that I danced for.
The shit literally made my skin crawl. Four months.
That was how long I’d been dancing, and I hated every moment of it.
For one, despite my youthful appearance and toned body, I was every bit of thirty and in my opinion, I was too got damn old to be stripping.
But desperate times called for desperate measures.
Also, I knew that strippers were supposed to be sexy and alluring.
They were supposed to sell a fantasy and make men want to spend money, but the fact that too many of them felt that meant they had the right to put their slimy hands on me was annoying.
When my cousin, Tee asked me to work a private bachelor party with her, I was too broke to say no, but I only agreed because one of the bouncers from the club was going to escort us.
I refused to do private parties without security because it was too damn dangerous.
Though it was my body, when I told men about the no touching policy, it usually went in one ear and out the other.
They either ignored me or had the nerve to get offended.
But when 6’4, three-hundred-pound Gerald said it, the hands slid right off my skin.
I was $500 dollars short on my rent, and it was already two days late.
If I didn’t make more than $500 from the party, I was going to curse Tee out for wasting my time.
The four years I spent working for the post office, it wasn’t like I was rich, but I was damn sure keeping my head above water.
I had a nice one-bedroom apartment, and a reliable Honda that got me where I needed to go.
After all my bills were paid for the month, I’d have enough left for food, hair, nails, gas, and a pedicure, and that was okay with me.
When I got laid off, it only took me three months to use every cent that was in my savings account.
The unemployment that I got was a joke, and it barely covered my rent.
Before the benefits ran out, I applied for at least twenty jobs, and I only heard back from two of them.
One paid $18 an hour, and the other paid $16 an hour.
I worked both of them for two months before my body shut down.
I was exhausted mentally and physically.
I had no choice but to quit one of them, and $18 an hour wasn’t paying all my bills not even if I moved out of my nice apartment and into the heart of the hood.
I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.
One night I ended up on the midnight ballerina side of social media, and I wondered if I was insane for considering it.
I loved to dance and was good at it. Pretty face, nice body, rhythm, and sex appeal.
I checked all the boxes, but the main issue standing in between me, and dancing was confidence.
Just the thought of dancing topless for a room full of strangers made my gut churn.
But when I had worked overtime three weeks in a row and still couldn’t afford to pay all my bills, plus the property taxes that were due on my car, and get the inspection required to renew my registration, I cried for at least an hour.
Then, I put my big girl panties on, and I auditioned to work at one of the most popular clubs in Diamond Cove, North Carolina.
The first night I made $300, and I didn’t know if that was good or bad.
The second night, I made $245, and I felt like I was degrading myself for pennies, but making $545 in two days was the kind of money that I needed.
The third night, I made $605, and I knew I needed to stick it out for at least six months.
Being a midnight ballerina required me to keep myself up.
Getting my hair and nails done, pedicures, facials, Brazilian waxes, lashes, it was all an investment.
Aside from that, I tried very hard not to spend unnecessary money.
Before I quit dancing, I wanted to have a job lined up and enough money to live off for at least three months in addition to having at least three months’ rent in a savings account.
Living check to check and robbing Peter to pay Paul wasn’t how I wanted to spend the rest of my life.
My ass was tired of getting paid at midnight and being broke twenty-four hours later.
The music ended snapping me from my thoughts.
When another song didn’t start it alerted me that it was the end of the playlist, and our three hours were up.
I’d been dancing nonstop, and a bitch was tired.
There were around eleven guys present and from what I could tell, they all threw money, so I was prayerful that my cut would be way more than what I needed.
There were nights at the club that I only left with $200, but thank God there were times I saw more than $700 in one night.
In true life fashion, however, anytime it seemed that I was up, something occurred to set me back.
After spending $600 getting an oil leak fixed and paying a ridiculously expensive premium for the medical insurance I got for myself, my savings was back on some bullshit.
One thing I had learned in life was being without healthcare as an adult was a bad move.
My mother was born with sickle cell and the older she got, it was beginning to take a toll on her.
My entire life she was back and forth to the doctor and had hospital stays a few times a year but lately, it seemed to be getting worse.
When she ran short on money for food, gas, or other essentials, I never hesitated to help.
Just a week before, I paid her light bill which was over $300.
I paid my mother’s bills before my own because she was sick and couldn’t work.
If she got evicted, she wouldn’t be comfortable with me in a one bedroom, so I put her rent before mine.
That depleted the money I’d managed to save, but I was thankful that I had it to give.
She did get a monthly social security check, but with the way rent prices were, it was laughable to think she could pay rent and have money left over.
A person shouldn’t work hard for years and then become sick for a few months and lose everything they busted their ass for.
When she was younger, she worked with no issue.
Never did she use sickle cell as an excuse not to give us a good life.
But maybe pushing herself wasn’t the best thing for her body.
Around the time I turned twenty, her crisis began happening more often.
She was always getting infections or suffering from painful gall stones or breathing issues. Her body was going through a lot.
“I’m saying. Let me holla at you for a minute,” the sweaty guy that had attempted to put his arms around me begged as I sauntered off.
Tee was flirting with the groom to be while I made a beeline for the bedroom, so I could get dressed.
I wasn’t there to meet anybody. I had been in grind and survival mode for so long that I hadn’t even gotten horny in months, and I loved that for me.
In my opinion, men weren’t worth the trouble when a person was already stressed.
Rarely did they come along and make things better.
In fact, the wrong man would make things much worse.
I stepped into a pair of black leggings and pulled them up as Tee walked into the room. “Girl, I told you these niggas would throw some nice change.” She was excited about the money that Gerald had collected off the floor.
“Yeah, they did.” I put a jacket on. No bra. No shirt underneath. I just wanted to leave. “Thanks for offering me the job.” Pushing my feet into my slides, I grabbed my bag and paused to wait for her.
“Dann chick, yo’ ass is running out of here,” she giggled. “Some of them are fine as fuck.”
Her comment made me frown. “I see fine men every day. What is that supposed to mean?”
With a groan, Tee rolled her eyes. “Lord, cousin. I know you’re focused and trying to run up a check, but I think life would be easier if you found one or two big fish. These niggas be too easy. Most of them lowkey like being used.”
“I’m good.” Tee ran niggas’ pockets for fun.
She got a thrill out of it, but I wasn’t interested.
She had a nice crib, drove a Lexus, and took frequent trips.
I didn’t hear her complaining about bills, and she always had a story to tell.
Tee was twenty-six, and life was lit for her.
I loved that for her, but I was just on something different.
I didn’t judge her, but I didn’t have the desire to be on the same type of time that she was either.
She called me old and boring. I called myself wiser and not with the dumb shit.
At the end of the day, I’d rather make my own money.