I swallow to soothe my dry throat caused by the shock in her tone before nodding.
“Is that not allowed?” I ask when her silence becomes too much.
It takes her nearly a minute to respond. “None of the other girls know how to mix drinks, so it’s never come up before.” My nod becomes more assertive when she asks, “Did you share your tips with Santo?” Her smile relaxes the tension in my shoulders. “Good. He’s here for the same reason as everyone else. He needs this job, and I won’t letanyonerisk it for him.”
“Understood.”
She appears pleased with my response, but disappointment still engulfs me when she says, “Give me your playlist. While I get that ready, you can remove your wig.”
I hand her the old-school iPhone I’m never without before attempting to push against the rails. “I’d rather keep it—” I stop when anger reddens her cheeks. I can’t lose this job. It’s five hundred dollars a dance. That’s more than I’ve been paid at any club.
Furthermore, I applied for hundreds of jobs over the past week. This is theonlyone that called me back. As far as I can tell, that’s solelybecause I changed my dancer credentials to include my natural hair color.
“Can I swap it for something else? I have a stunning chocolate wig that doubled my tips…” My words fade as Giana shakes her head.
“I hired you as a blonde. If you wanted me to consider you as a redhead or a brunette, you should have shown up for your interview in a wig.” I hate every word she says next, but I can’t deny their honesty. “You didn’t because you knew this position was advertised for ablondedancer.” Confident I’ll follow the rules, she heads for the exit. “You have ten minutes...” She cranks her neck back to face me. I’m already unpinning my wig, so the perfect name slides into her head. “Angel.”
It’s a suitable name for a stripper. Along with Candy, it’s the top-ranked name in this industry. I just wish it didn’t carry a strange sense of sentiment.
Happy with her choice, she continues through the door. “If you’re not backstage in five, Angel, I’ll give your spot to someone else.”
Even with my per-dance rate above decent, I still rush to the mirror to add some volume to my hair. It’s always floppy and lifeless when I wrangle it out of a wig.
The only good thing about preparing to take the stage without a disguise is the bright-pink hue on my cheeks. It gives me an innocent look.
Santo’s commentary assures me that the men in front of the stage will welcome that.
I throw down my ancient curler when the four-minute timer in my head goes off.
As I rush into the wings of the stage, an unfamiliar quietness engulfs me. The music I walk onto the stage with, like a fighter entering the octagon, hasn’t started yet, but the previous dancer has finished her set. I can see the empty stage floor from here. I try not to panic. Some strip clubs have intermissions so the clientele has plenty of time to purchase another drink.
I won’t mention what else they try to order during a brief break. Mypalms are already sweaty. I don’t want more messes added to the looming disaster.
I scrub my hands down my thighs, shaking off the nerves crawling up my spine. I don’t get stage fright. How could I after everything I’ve been through? Removing my clothes for money is nothing compared to what I’ve done to survive.
I’m not generally a nervous person. The only times I’ve experienced these nerves were when I was sixteen and stupidly in love with the housekeeper’s son. I thought he liked me for me. I had no idea he was trying to get intel on my father’s business for his competitors.
The second time…
I shut down the thought before it can form.
Edoardo doesn’t deserve an ounce of my time. He was a snake in tall grass, and I stepped right on him. I more than bled when he sank his teeth in. I paid the ultimate price. I’m still paying for it now. But I also got Gabriele out of the mess, and for that, I’d walk through the same flames.
With the opening music of my performance trickling in my ears, I exhale my unease, then prance onto the stage with practiced grace. The stage’s spotlight homes in on me instantly. It’s hot and blinding and swallows everything beyond the first row of tables.
I blink through the glare as muscle memory takes over.
Step.
Turn.
Extend.
Breathe.
You’ve got this, Lucia.
My silent assurance would be more convincing if I could hear a single sound.
