Savannah
“Ten minutes, Abby.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m coming,” I assure Jet, glaring at my reflection in the mirror.
My father would be rolling in his grave if he could see me now. Not only am I wearing a bathing suit as if it is an outfit, but my makeup is also done in a palette that can only be described with one word: trashy. The red lipstick is classic old Hollywood, but my dark shadowed eyes and contoured cheeks make me look years younger than I am, and much more risqué than my celibate lifestyle entails.
After adding a few more pins to the rich chocolate brown wig I’ve been wearing the past three weeks, I stand to make sure the girly parts of my body are covered.Well, as hidden as they can be in a two-piece someone my age shouldn't be wearing.
I fan my sweaty cheeks with my hand when I take my position in the wings of the stage, waiting for my introduction. The crowd has grown dramatically the past few weeks, and are graciously missing the vicious chants and unmissable boos my first routine was welcomed with.
The clients at Vipers were as unimpressed with my dressed form as Pete was the first time he saw it. Fortunately, the topless waitresses’ mingling around the club kept their interest at bay long enough I could perform my routine without incident.
When I finished, pin-drop silence spread across the club. I was sure I was seconds away from being pummeled with rotten tomatoes.
Something was pummeled that night.
Mercifully, it wasn’t my body with rotting fruit.
It was my eardrums.
The crowd of approximately thirty men responded in the same manner Jet did the first time he saw my routine. They cheered. They clapped. Then they threw money at my feet.
I was so damn excited, I bobbed down to gather the bills like the novice I was. After ushering me off stage, Jet explained it was his job to collect the tips at the end of each performance, and he would have them waiting at my dressing table by the end of the night. Although trust has become a significant issue for me the past ten + years, I held Jet to his word.
He didn’t disappoint.
I made one hundred and eighty-three dollars and fifteen cents in tips my first night. Although it was a little short of the figure Jet had assured earlier that day, it was pretty damn close, and I didn't remove an article of clothing.
The first week, my money went toward the deposit for a two-bedroom apartment. My second week, I used my earnings to have the gas and electric connected. This week, I'm aiming high. I need a car. I don't care what condition it is in. I just need it to get me from Point A to B. The four-mile walk from Vipers to my apartment is growing old fast. After twisting myself around two slips of silk for three hours in four-inch heels, I'm exhausted. A car will be a godsend.
The lights dim two times, announcing it is time for my performance to begin. I move to the X marked on the middle of the stage. Wanting to give his clients the same dramatic edge he got, Pete requested I start my routine as I did the first time he saw it: by leaping off the stage.
A smile touches my lips. You won’t believe how many clients hold out their hands, preparing to catch me. Doing my routine without any safety measures enhances the clients’ . .thrill level, which, in turn, increases my bank balance. It’s a win-win, really.
Once I have the silk positioned around my right arm, I twist my neck to Jet standing at the side of the stage. Although he is barely seen in the dim lighting, the white stick of his favorite cherry lollipop makes him identifiable.
Within seconds of me dipping my chin, advising I am ready, soft, sensual music filters around the club. I breathe out two times before sprinting for the end of the stage. Just as they do every time I perform, the regular clients of Vipers hold out their arms to catch me, and the newbies gasp in shock.
I love this. Even taking something I adore and ramping it up to entice larger tips can’t change my love of acrobatics. I get so immersed in my routine, within seconds I forget I am performing. I am simply free—floating amongst silk.
By the time my performance reaches the end of my playlist, I am sweating profusely and smiling without shame. The crowd is even more robust than usual. My love of aerial ribboning is as contagious as the flu; they can't help but smile.
With it being Friday night, I climb to the very top of the silk rungs, wanting to achieve the most drastic death roll possible. I’m halfway through twisting the ribbon around my midsection when my eyes lower to calculate my risk. The satin slips from my sweaty grip when my eyes lock in a man at the edge of the stage. Usually, the stage lights hide the clients from my view, but since I’m positioned higher than the lighting, I have no trouble recognizing the blazing brown eyes and shoulder-length hair of a man I once knew.
“What the hell are you doing here, Brax?” I mutter to myself, my furious heart rate resonating in my tone.
I applied for positions on the outskirts of Ravenshoe as my old crew would never be caught dead in this part of town. Clearly, the years haven’t made me any smarter.
While I finish twisting the ribbon around my waist, I scan the club, praying Brax’s appreciation for skimpily dressed women isn’t shared by his friends—most notably, a man with ravishing blue eyes and cut facial features.
Failing to find any signs of Ryan in the club, I exhale three times before rolling down the silk. Though I’d like to say my eagerness to end my routine is compliments of the large bundle of money I see sitting mid-stage, that isn’t true.
I need to leave, and I need to leave now.
With my mind fritzed from seeing a familiar face, my calculations aren't as precise as usual. My worry about being spotted working at a strip club switches to panic when my tumble toward the wooden stage occurs at a faster rate than I usually descend. Moments away from impact, my thoughts drift. I want to pretend only one person is occupying my thoughts. Unfortunately, there isn't. He enters the equation no matter how angry I am. Ryan—my first and only love.
My heart lurches into my throat when my freefall stops within mere inches of the stage. I suck in ragged breaths as I scramble to my feet. I was so certain I was about to plunge to my death, I’m both stunned and relieved.
