Still, how to explain that being in Los Angeles had made me feel likeI was living my destiny? Los Angeles had blue skies, beaches, comedy clubs, and an understanding that if artists don’t make their art, they are as good as dead in their souls. Back in my hometown, I felt diminished. In winter, an inversion capping the Treasure Valley kept the earth and sky the color of dirty snow, and my insides felt just as grayscale.
The whole table was staring at me with the sort of profound kindness that could make me burst into tears. Salma Hayek opened her mouth, but I held up my hand.
“Please, please don’t say anything nice or I will lose it,” I warned. I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my sweatshirt and took another swig of beer. “Sorry to dump on y’all. I’m like:Hi, I’m Tilly Turner. I’m dead inside.”
“But your pole persona isn’t dead,” Salma insisted. “She’s just being born. None of those bad things happened to her. She’s all sassy and new. There’s a fresh part of you, deep down, that can still enjoy things. That’s what pole is all about.”
I was just drunk enough to be swayed by the promise of a fresh start, even if it was just dancing badly around a pole with this bunch of friendly misfits.
“Ladies, I think pole is just what the doctor ordered for this cuckolded soon-to-be ex-wife.” Layna thumped her chest. “I mean, there I was watchingThe Real Housewives of Salt Lake Cityon my iPad while I cooked the bastard beef stew. And guess what popped up on the screen? A very slutty text from my husband. To some other woman.”
Shade made a horrified face and fanned himself. “What did you do?”
“The only thing I could do. I took all his clothes into the front yard. Suits. Ties. Designer sneakers. I doused it in his collection of rare scotch and set it all on fire.”
Shade gave a low appreciative whistle. “Damn.”
Layna’s only daughter was off at college so she had room to go appropriately berserk. Moms with young kids at home could never really burn it all to the ground. There were always tears to be wiped, argumentsto be brokered, lunches and Target runs to be made. But Layna would clearly rise from the ashes of a fire she set herself.
“Your pole name could be Phoenix,” I said.
“You’re a genius,” Layna said. “I mean, really.”
“Tilly, now you’re the only one without a pole name,” Salma Hayek said. It was stupid how seen this made me feel. Wonderfully, improbably, a Nina Simone song blasted from the speakers. It had undergone a techno remix, but miraculously had not been ruined by the refresh.
“It’s a new life for me,” Nina Simone sang. “And I’m feeling good.”
My tipsy mind skipped through associations. I’d first heard Simone’s music when I’d watchedPoint of No Return. The main character, Maggie, was obsessed with Nina Simone. In the film, Maggie left her ruined life behind to become a female assassin. The movie was based on a French film,La Femme Nikita.
“Nikita,” I said. “My pole name is Nikita.”
I knew it with a certainty then—I was going to blow off some steam.
Up close, I could understand more of Cheyenne’s appeal. The Maleficent horns suited her pointy little face and her fishnet top showed cleavage for days.
“Five vodka gimlets,” I said, leaning against the bar.
Cheyenne slid the first drink my way. “You’re with the Pole Virgins?”
I nodded and took a glug of the gimlet.
“When you’re ready for pole shoes, you gotta buy some of mine. Cheyenne’s Sentient Strippers.”
“Okay,” I said. “Will do.”
“They’re the best. I just gotta figure out the marketing piece.”
“You will,” I said. The alcohol made me believe it too.
“And in the club, don’t be a woo girl,” she said.
“What’s a woo girl?” I asked.
“You know from that old episode? Of that sitcom? A woo girl takes up space at the rail yelling ‘Woo’ and not tipping for shit. When you askif she wants a lap dance, she says, ‘I respect what you do but I’m just here to drink.’ Then she gets hammered and wants onstage to show off some shitty moves she just learned at her pole dancing class.”
“I for sure am not going to do that,” I said, and then, because I was tipsy, added, “Do you like it? Working here?”
“Being a Hucklebunny?” She seemed to consider it. “When I’m working the floor, I’m a therapist, a boundary setter, an athlete, a fantasy, a figment of my customers’ imagination. It’s hard.” She shrugged. “But I keep a positive mindset. There’s always money on the floor, and I know how to get it. But pole dancing? That’s different. Emotional pain? It doesn’t have a chance when I’m on the pole.”
