AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Blood rushed in my ears. I was just getting warmed up. No one sold me out and lived to tell the tale.
2
Shivering, I dashed from my beat-up car towards the side entrance of Mystique Mirage. Larry, one of the security guards, spotted me and opened the door.
“Evening, Amy. It’s getting cold,” he said.
Larry was huge and sweet. He had three kids, and his wife was pregnant with their fourth.
“It’s always cold on Halloween,” I said as I stepped inside.
“True.”
“Are you on the floor tonight?” I asked him, feeling on edge and in need of extra reassurance.
He kept the girls who danced at Mystique safe – better than some of the other security. The club was always packed on Halloween, and the busier it got, the more handsy the patrons became.
“I’ll be on the floor by ten.” He closed the door.
Once inside, I headed for the changing room and my locker. I was here earlier than usual because of my intricate costume for tonight. The new boss was coming in, and I needed to impress them. I’d worked at enough strip clubs to know that new management was often bad news for dancers. They like to clean the house and start again with their own team. Each girl needed to prove her skills and popularity to ensure we kept working. I was in my final year at university and needed this job for another ten months.
The changing room’s typical scent of perfume and sweat met my nostrils. It was busy already. My gaze darted around the other girls. All the make-up stations were full of a mixture of devils and angels. Tanya had decided on a sexy zombie. She was a classic blonde-haired, blue-eyed bombshell and could get away with gruesome fake cuts.
“Hey, girl. What are you rocking tonight?” Michelle appeared next to my locker, sporting an X-rated Catwoman suit with more holes than material and cute black cat ears.
“Skeleton.”
“Sexy skeleton?” She high-fived me. “Let me know if you need a hand.”
I nodded. Michelle’s stage name was Candy, and it matched her bubblegum pink hair. Her friendliness was refreshing as these clubs often contained plenty of bitchy types, or cabronas, as my mamá would have called them. I tried to stay away from drama, so I avoided too much confrontation. Plus, I had more on the line than other girls.
I stuffed my bag into my locker and unzipped it. The mirror on the locker door would do for my face paint. Methodically, I added layers of white, dashes of colour, and rhinestones to make the sugar skull pop. I had a quick drink because I couldn’t have one later without risking some of it falling off.
Once I was done, sadness washed over me at the reflection that stared back at me. My abuela would have cursed me for painting a sugar skull to strip, but this was me honouring my mamá. She taught me everything I needed to know to support myself in this business and loved me unconditionally. Sometimes, I missed her like the air in my lungs. The bottom of my mouth burned, and I blinked at the moisture that collected in my eyes. I couldn’t afford to cry. I could cry tomorrow. Tonight, I was channelling her, the most beautiful woman I’d ever known.
Eyes on the prize. Make a great impression, ensure the bosses know your worth, make good tips, and get home for a few hours of sleep before uni tomorrow.
With my face and pep talk complete, I moved on to the transfers for my body. I pulled on a sparkly red thong and applied the glow-in-the-dark bone stickers to my skin. They stood out against my olive complexion, and the rib ones stretched across to cover my nipples. The ones running down my spine proved a challenge.
“Michelle?” I called her over.
“Wow, girl, you look amazing.” She touched the long ponytail that I’d pulled high on my head.
“Could you apply my spine?” I handed her the transfers and the glue, which would be a bitch to remove later.
She snickered. “Brings a whole new meaning to growing a backbone.”
“Why are you trying so hard?” Kelsie’s nasal voice carried above the general chatter.
Her stage name was Vixen, which matched her curly red hair. She liked to think of herself as queen bee but came off as insecure. I’d met versions of her type in strip clubs across the country. Mamá would have called her a cabrona for sure. She was barely twenty and had a big chip on her shoulder. At twenty-seven, I felt positively ancient in comparison. Twenty-five. I mentally reminded myself.
“It’s Halloween. This is a costume,” I deadpanned.
“It’s her heritage,” Michelle said.
I wanted to point out that painting sugar skulls on to strip wasn’t what people did in Mexico, where mamá’s family came from, but I had a rule about not feeding the trolls.
Kelsie rolled her eyes. “Did your ancestors shake their titties for twenty quid? Puleeze. You’re about as South African as Dave behind the bar.”
