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Chapter One
Samantha
I have no idea what’s going on. I’m standing here in this schoolgirl getup my boss put me in. I was supposed to be dancing tonight.
My first night on the job. I spent all day on the verge of being sick, but I’m not stupid. There’s good money in stripping, especially at the Calla Club, and I need every penny I can get.
As soon as I can get it.
The opening dance is an introduction. All the girls file out, letting the men in the audience get a good look at what they have ahead of them. That wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t the only one on stage.
I don’t even know how I got this job. I’ve never done anything like this.
All I know was that my boss, Harry, took one look at me when I came in for my interview and hired me on the spot. Big boobs and a round butt are more important than experience, I guess.
After the opening dance, I make my way back to the dressing room. Everyone who isn’t on stage is back here, seated before brightly-lit mirrors, adding more eyeliner, more lipstick. Adjusting boobs so they spill just right.
I glance down at my own overflowing top. I’m buttoned into this tiny little white top, two buttons straining to hold it closed, the bottom of the shirt tied at my rib cage.
What the hell am I doing here?
But I know exactly what I’m doing here, so I make my way to an empty spot at the mirror and swipe more pink gloss over my full lips.
Mostly, I’m focused on not throwing up. I close my eyes and hear the music I’ll be dancing to in my head. I picture myself up there, dancing, giving the audience the sinuous, sultry moves they’re lusting for. Taking off the top, then teasing them before I take the tiny skirt off.
Yeah, so I had to watch videos of strippers to plan this dance. I’m trying to pretend this is any other performance. I’m just playing a part.
Naked. While hoping that men shove money into my G-string.
“Sam.”
I spin around and spy Harry leaning against the door to the dressing room. “I need you to come with me.”
Oh, shit. Is it possible to get fired before I even start? The thing is, Harry actually seems like a decent-enough guy. So I follow him, rehearsing how I’ll beg him to let me dance. I’ll do better than I did in the intro. My nervousness must have showed or something.
My steps slow as we get closer to the office, but he walks past it and up a narrow set of stairs.
He opens a door at the top and glances at me, then gestures for me to step inside.
This room…it’s not what I expected. I mean, really, I have no idea what to expect about any of this, but a room full of men in suits, sitting there as if they’re about to start a business meeting or something, is about the last thing I thought I’d find here. There’s a raised dais at the front of the room, five other girls standing there in their stripper get-ups.
Harry waves me toward the stage. “Make me proud, girl.”
I numbly make my way up to the little stage, and a few of the other girls smile at me. They seem excited, almost giddy.
Is this where I’m dancing? What is this? These men are clearly rich.
Better tips, probably.
Well. That’s what I’m here for, after all, I think, doing the endless, impossible math in my head. How much I need to make per night to save Pops. I take another deep breath. Just another type of performance. I was born to perform. I can do this, too.
I keep my eyes down, well aware of eyes on me. My stomach twists, and I wish I was wearing just about anything else. The tight white blouse, the skimpy plaid skirt, the knee socks and ridiculously high heels… I’m barely wearing anything at all. My long black hair is put up in pigtails.
I feel like an idiot.
Money. Think of the money. Think of Pops.
There aren’t many well-paying jobs for girls like me. I’ll take what I can get.
