Cheyenne gestured toward a leggy dancer dangling upside down in full splits. The dancer made the impossible look effortless, her skin smooth and undimpled and gleaming in the purple LED lights.
Spinning in my beginner’s L-sit, I had felt agonizing inner thigh pain, but also—for the first time in a year—elation. The oppressive despair of my everyday life floated to the floor. The grit and sadness had drifted away too, along with the overwhelm of being a single mom with not enough in the tank—or the bank.
“Other gals, at some other club, they might tell you different,” Cheyenne said. “Consensual sex work ain’t a monolith.”
My brow furrowed at the thought of nonconsensual sex work.
“Don’t look so surprised I know the wordmonolith,” Cheyenne said, spinning away to grab a fresh bottle of Tito’s.
“It’s not that—” I called, but she was already out of hearing.
“I’ve never seen you here before.”
I turned, half expecting someone from high school. But it was a stranger with a teal vest over his flannel—wiry, my height, weathered. Guys with neck tattoos who hung out in strip clubs were not usually my thing. But I was a little drunk and in a brutal dry spell, so what harm would it do to practice my flirting?
“This isn’t my go-to watering hole,” I said, stabbing at the ice in my drink with a tiny straw. Yikes. My conversational skills were not what they used to be.
Cheyenne set the second vodka gimlet down. She gave Mr.Neck Tattoo the side-eye instead of a hello. I dug around in my pocket, emptying out keys and lip gloss before finally laying cash on the bar.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Mr.Neck Tattoo said.
“I’m a literal vault,” I replied.
“I come here to forget the one who got away. And her kid.”
I tried to imagine stuffing dollar bills into a stranger’s G-string to obliterate the memory of lost love. What even was the female equivalent? Eating a pint of cookie dough ice cream while watchingNormal Peoplefor the eighth time? It hardly seemed comparable. “Everybody needs a cure for pain,” I said.
“What’s your sign?” he asked, looking me up and down. “If you give me a spin, I can figure it out.”
I played along, turning in a slow circle.
“Capricorn,” he said.
I made a sound like a game-show buzzer.
“Wait! I bet you’re a sexy Scorpio,” he said, hissing on theSsounds, as if overly proud of his alliteration. “Don’t sting me, momma!”
It wasn’t like I was looking for a boyfriend, or even a date. Not in Huckleberry’s. Not with this guy. But it would’ve been nice to be able to banter for five minutes without experiencing this deflating feeling that whispered:Forget about true love. You’ll never again even find a man to have casual-yet-respectful sex with.
Since I was trapped talking to him until Cheyenne finished the gimlets, I might as well have some fun. “Let me guess,” I said, gesturing at his neck tattoo. “Your mother’s birthday. So you don’t forget.”
He leaned in conspiratorially and pointed toward the table of Pole Virgins. “It means, why are you here with that group of—” He let loosea string of slurs insulting the sexual identities, ethnicities, and general whorishness of my new friends.
I tossed the second vodka gimlet in his face.
And I didn’t feel like Tilly Turner.
I felt like Nikita.
A killer pole dancer.
A certified badass.
A female assassin.
Mr.Neck Tattoo let out an inhuman screech as the lime juice seared his eyes. He lunged, knocking me back onto a barstool.
Usually I would’ve run for cover. But white-hot fury flooded my every cell. And maybe I was mad at this guy for being a bigot. Or maybe I was furious that living in late capitalism meant Hucklebunnies had to grind up on men like him to make rent. Or perhaps I was enraged my creative dreams had been tanked by a pervert. Or maybe I was actually infuriated at how hard it is to be a mom in a country where childcare and healthcare are expensive luxuries instead of basic rights. Maybe I just needed a half-hour a day in a room alone where I could scream my head off and bash a piñata with a baseball bat until I could face my life again. But for whatever reason, I pushed off the stool and raked my nails across his face.
