Chapter Three

Iwrapped the silk ribbons around my calves, placing the bows strategically behind my knee. I heard the banging of the bass even in the dressing rooms. The guards yelled over the sound and screamed for the girls to hurry and get to the stage. Their voices hit my ears as I tried to hurry, but my fingers slipped, and the ribbon fell to my ankle.

The door flew open. The women beside me all squealed in fright. I didn’t look up, I just grabbed the silk and tied it again. I never gave the guard the satisfaction of knowing that they scared me. It would blow their ego out of proportion and then they would take advantage of me.

And I wouldn’t give it to them. I learned that the hard way.

I bit my cheek until it bled and continued to wrap the silk. My fake nails scratched my skin.

“Dang it,” I whispered and tied it around the back of my knee. I stood and pulled down the white skirt and took another last look in the mirror and adjusted the bright blonde wig.

The women in the dressing room shuffled around me, threw on the last bits and pieces of their costumes. Their wigs, their tiny scraps of bare mid-riff tops, bras, strings, and skirts to make up their outfit for the various numbers for their dances fly about the room. Amanda, the girl beside me, swears. She’s new and still hasn’t mastered putting on her wig fast enough.

I leaned over and grabbed a pin and shoved it into her hair to keep it in place.

“Thanks,” she sniffled. Her glassy eyes looked at me with gratefulness.

I just wished there was more that I could do at this moment. A few words of encouragement. Let her know that this all would be over soon. That all she had to do was go inside her head, complete the dance I taught her to do, block out the noise, the chatter, the jeers, the catcalls, and just concentrate on the dance like I taught her.

It would be foolish to give her that encouragement now. Not when the guards swept the room and grabbed the girls while they threw them out the door. No one was to say anything, just grab their things and go.

All the words of encouragement danced on my lips until it sunk in deep into my skin. I tried to convey it through my eyes, but panic had already set in deep into Amanda’s soul.

A guard came by, slapped her on the ass, and grabbed her arm.

I hated the guards with a fiery passion. The predatory way they stared at her, the other women. Even with their reflective sunglasses they wore, you can see they took in the views.

And they craved Amanda. She was just so innocent and skittish; the guards fed off of her like a sweet dessert. They were nothing but giant meatheads loaded up on roids and beer.

Amanda was young and sweet, the guards were ready to devour her if she messed up. I wanted to be there with her on stage, but this was her first night and the newbies go first.

Amanda wore a platinum blonde wig and black panties. The guard smirked and took in the curve of her ass. His hand reared back and slapped her pale skin again. It flushed red quickly from the smack.

She whimpered, but dared not cry like I’d warned her and countless others.

The guard, like the rest of the goon crew, was in a black uniform, his sheer size and his dark eyes made them all look the same. Identical demons that feasted on the innocent.

All the guards wore the same attire: black pants, black-collared dress shirts. The black leather belts held a gun, a taser and a flashlight. A radio lay on their shoulders. They wore mirrored sunglasses that hid their eyes.

None of us knew their names. We were all instructed to call them, “Sir.” I joked with others that they were all really just the same person, just multiplied by however many guards they needed each night.

It was fun to come up with new ways to entertain myself, just making others laugh. The other women didn’t find my weird antics funny at all. But how were we all to survive if you couldn’t smile at least every once in a while?

“Finish up, Ginger. You’re due in five,” the guard grunted.

And how funny it was that these were supposed to be guards that should be here to protect the women in this type of line of work. Instead they did nothing but terrorize us.

The guard tugged on Amanda. She gazed back at me as if I was her hero. That I would lunge forward and take her from the beast of a man that was twice my size.

I wish I could, god; I wish I could.

But we both knew that would never happen.

It would mean hell to pay for the both of us. And yes, there was a more terrible place than this.

I rubbed my chest, feeling my heart beat wildly in my chest. Amanda wasn’t the first I’d helped, nor the last. I’d silently help as many as I could. The first night was always the hardest. She could do it, I knew she could. I trained her and stayed up with her until mid-morning, made certain she was ready. She would have a great chance if she stayed here and worked at the club at least for a while until —

They tugged Amanda away before I finished the thought. The guard that still stood on the other side glared at me to finish getting ready. I’d never given them a reason not to trust me, not yet anyway.

The bodyguard pulled her to the door, where the dark hallway lets the beams of light filter inside the dressing room. The frigid air ran across my skin, and I shivered, seeing the bumps ripple across my body.

My nipples bud into hardened points because of the cold. I gritted my teeth in anger, my eyes filling with tears. It wasn’t fair to Amanda, to the other women here, to me. How cruel can these monsters be?

I took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. I’m still here, I’m surviving.

Come on, Juni, another night, just another night.

Don’t think about the unwanted stares, what they think, what they want. You are doing this to survive.

My nails pricked my palms, and I closed my eyes and thought about what lay beyond these walls.

Freedom.

One day.

I sat up straighter and grabbed the obnoxious platinum blonde wig that sat on the mannequin”s head. My big, dark eyelashes glued evenly, my eyeliner done, my makeup dark and sultry so I don’t look pale with the bright lights on stage.

The wig slid on effortlessly and I grabbed the pins, securing it in place so it wouldn’t fall off. I tugged on it several times, flipping my hair up and down to give it enough bounce.

Big, luscious curls fell around my shoulders and down my back.

The door slammed open once again. I didn’t flinch, too used to the sound.

“Ginger, out,” the male barked at me.

I reached for my soft, woolen shawl, feeling its comforting warmth as I draped it around my shoulders. With deliberate slowness, I leisurely made my way toward the door, my footsteps barely audible against the polished floor. The faint scent of freshly polished wood lingered in the air as I approached, avoiding any eye contact with the vigilant guard stationed nearby.

Once I was halfway out the door, the guard took his enormous hand, lifted my white skirt, cupped my backside, and wrapped his hand around the front of my neck. “You may try not to look fearful, but I can smell it.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a smile on my face. “Of course, Sir,” I said, my voice steady despite the fear that was coursing through my veins. “I know my place.”

He squeezed my neck, his grip tightened. “That’s right, you do. Never forget it.”

I nodded, my breath shallow. I felt his hot breath on my neck and a wave of revulsion washed over me. But I’d learned to hide my disgust, to keep my emotions in check. It’s what kept me alive, kept me working here instead of disappearing.

He released his grip, and I stumbled forward, my heart pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath and composed myself before turning to face him. “Thank you, Sir,” I said, keeping my tone polite but distant.

He sneered at me and waved me off with a dismissive gesture. I walked down the chilly hallway, listening to the clamping of my high platform shoes.

As I grew closer to the music, the stairs leading up to the stage, I took my shawl and hung it on one of the many hooks that held the clothes that were discarded on the stage.

I heard laughing and jeers come from the other side of the curtain. I placed my forehead on the wall, shaking my head. This isn’t good. Amanda was up first and damnit, I’d really hoped she could pull it together.

A whimper and thump on the black-colored carpet that led up to the stage behind an enormous curtain moved. Amanda fell down the five steps that led to the cement floor and the women waiting their turn to go on stage stepped back and gasped.

Amanda, now on her knees, took a heaving breath, her cheeks bright red with embarrassment and her arms covering her chest.

Damnit.

I rushed over to her and kneeled beside her, placing a comforting hand on her back. “Are you okay?” I asked, my voice soft and gentle.

She looked up at me, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go out there. To show myself—” She uses her palm to wipe away her tears.

I gave her a reassured smile. “It’s okay. It’s your first night. It takes some getting used to. Take a deep breath and try to calm down.”

The guards in the hallway crossed their arms as they approached. One spoke into their radio, and I instantly knew it wasn’t good. If she couldn’t complete the first dance and the customers weren’t happy —

Amanda nodded, took a few deep breaths, and wiped away her tears. I helped her to her feet and gave her a hug. “You can do this,” I whispered in her ear. “I believe in you.”

She rubbed her knees from where she fell. “Thank you,” she said, a small smile on her face.

I took her hand. She wobbled, not used to the platformed shoes. The guards gazed down at me with no emotion. “I’m taking her back. I’ll be back for my turn,” I said.

The guard grunted and grabbed Amanda’s arm. “No. You’re on now. Go settle the crowd.” They ripped Amanda away from me. Amanda cried and reached for me.

She reached for me.

Never in my years of dancing had someone reached for me. This place was every woman for themselves. Few women thanked me for my help, few women asked for it either.

It was best not to create relationships; people come and go. No matter how hard I tried to relate with the others, no one seemed to care.

I couldn’t blame them; we were all trying to survive.

But Amanda, this girl I’d known but a week, reached for me. Like I was her savior.

The wall I had built around me, to protect myself, to keep myself alive and not to die and fall into the dangers of disappearing into the room in the back, was falling, crumbling.

I wasn’t sure of Amanda’s age, but she looked so damn young. Maybe eighteen? If not younger? I watched her retreating body being escorted by the guards back to the dressing room.

“Know your place,” the other guard growled, and crossed his arms. “You know this.” He shoved me in the shoulder.

These guards. They wanted us separated. To be fearful.

Amanda let out a cry, and more bricks fell away from the wall inside me. There would not be a second chance for her to step up on that stage to redeem herself, to put herself above the pack like I did.

The guard snarled at me when I didn’t step away.

“Go, bitch!” He pushed me again. I stumbled but caught myself before I fell.

Fine, pimple dick, I’m going.

“What did you say?” The guard lunged forward and grabbed my arm.

Oops, said that out loud, didn’t I?

I cleared my throat. “I said, ‘I’m going, you have a big dick!’”

He stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line.

I ripped my shoulder away from him, stood tall despite the clothes that hardly covered my body. I pushed my breasts out, the curve of my body completely on display.

That was way too close. I let my emotions slip in front of a guard. I wiped my hand down my face and continued my walk down the hallway to the stage.

The first time I stepped on that stage, I felt humiliated, but I knew the consequences if I didn”t. I learned to be numb.

I stood tall, unashamed. I wasn’t doing this because I wanted to, however. I was forced into this, like the rest of the women here. Nudity, sexuality, it was all to feed obnoxious men that could not get a woman to lie with them, and they would rather pay to see an exotic dancer and stuff bills into their panties.

No offence to the women that did it that enjoyed it, but this wasn’t the life I wanted, nor agreed to. None of us did.

I strutted down the hallway, my breasts and ass jiggling. They swayed like the owner wanted. The girls’ eyes grew wide, seeing my angry stare. They backed away when my gait turned angry, my thighs rubbing together so quickly I might’ve started a fire.

As my anger simmered within, the fiery surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. It pulsated with every step I took towards the platform where I would soon present myself. The deafening thump of the music abruptly ceased and created a sudden void in the air. I Inhaled deeply, and cleared my mind, steadied myself for what was to come.

In that charged moment, two figures emerged from the shadows, known to us as the oil boys. Their hands, slick with an oily sheen, glided up and down my body, leaving a trail of sickening sensations in their wake.

The perfect shine, the perfect glitter to let the light bounce off my more than curvaceous body.

“Gentleman, I give you one of our favorite attractions!”

The oil boys—more like the eunuchs of the club who didn’t seem to care about the women’s appearance—took their hands and pressed them to my chest, dipping into my bra and rubbing it against my nipples. I stayed silent, trying not to show my disgust. Fighting made everything worse.

“I give you—”

I tightly gripped the curtain, my fingers sunk into the soft fabric. With a subtle sway of my hips, I angled my body seductively, positioning one leg gracefully in front of the other. As I stroked my thumb along the plush velvet, its velvety texture soothed my frayed nerves.

“Go to your special place,” I muttered. “Go to your special place.”

“Ginger, your curvaceous burlesque dancer of the night.”

I opened the curtains, swiftly pushed them behind me. The bright lights filled my vision, and the crowd goes black.

I didn’t listen to music. I heard my breath, my heart, and the blood pumping through my veins as I sauntered toward the middle of the stage and to the chair that stands in the middle of it.

To the happy place I go, and to the happy place I will stay until this number is over.