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JODIE

“Ineed someone who can pretty much start straight away,” Courtney, the manager of the bar Sara mentioned, says as she shows me around. Well, I call it a bar, but the stages and poles make it look more like a strip club. Something that excites me and terrifies me equally. I guess the correct term is ‘gentleman’s club’. A shudder works its way down my spine as I think about the kind of men who might come here. Its clientele is certainly going to be different from those watching the entertainment in Hades that night.

Sara knows about my weird fascination with dancing, so I guess it only seems right that she would have found this place for me.

“Two of my girls have got themselves preggers, and I’m kinda up shit creek without a paddle right now,” she confesses.

“I know that feeling,” I mutter sadly.

I’ve already explained to my potential new boss what happened at the coffee shop, but Sara had apparently already put a good word in for me and she just waved it off. I’m not sure if it’s because she trusts me already, is crazy, or just plain desperate. I’m mostly leaning toward the latter.

“I can start whenever. I really need the money, so…”

“Okay, how’s Friday night sound? That will give you time to get waxed and visit a hairdresser.” I lift my hand, brushing my fingers over my long brown locks. “Oh sweetie, there’s nothing wrong with your hair. It’s beautiful. It just needs a little… you know?” she says, waving her hand around.

“Umm…”

“A few highlights would work wonders.”

“Uh… I guess.”

“Listen, sweetie. I know that we’re not in Chelsea or whatever, but our clients expect a certain level of… entertainment while they’re here. And I’m not saying you’re not it. You are. You’re beautiful and have curves to die for. We just need the cherry on top, you know?

I blow out a slow breath, focusing on the hourly rate that’s printed on the contract in my hand.

A few highlights and some waxing are a small price to pay for ensuring a roof over mine and Mum’s heads.

“Sure. I can totally do those things before Friday.”

“Fantastic. The last thing I need from you is your personal details so I can get everything sorted.”

We come to a stop beside a table and she places the folder in her hands on top of it and passes over a pen.

“Why do you need my bra size?” I blurt, although I quickly realise that it’s a stupid question.

“Uniform. I’ll have everything you need waiting for you Friday night.”

I finish filling in everything she needs to know. By the time I get to the end of the form, I’m surprised she hasn’t asked for the length of my little toe or my cycle dates, it’s so freaking detailed with sizes and tick boxes of things we are and aren’t willing to do.

Needless to say, most of that went unticked.

Courtney has assured me that nothing untoward happens here. But I get the feeling she might just be lying. I guess only time will tell. And really, do I care? As long as I can get some money, fix the disaster of my life, that’s all that matters right now.

“Great. That’s awesome. So we’ll see you Friday, say, quarter to five. Gives us time to go through everything before the punters arrive.”

Nerves explode in my belly at the thought of actually doing this. It’s been a running joke between Bri and me for so long that I didn’t really think it would ever happen. But now I’m on the cusp of it, and not out of pure fascination but desperation, I feel entirely different from how I always thought I would.

I wanted to do it because I thought it would be liberating, but right now, I mostly just want to vomit.

“Okay, that sounds perfect,” I say, forcing a smile on my face, hiking my bag up my shoulder, and holding my hand out to shake hers.

“I think you’re going to fit in really well here, Jodie. It’ll be like a home away from home before you know it.”

I nod and pull my hand free, quickly making my way to the exit, hoping that I don’t actually look like I’m running.

I want this… no. I need this. Right now, I have no other choice.

All the other jobs I’ve been chasing over the past few days have either already been filled, aren’t starting for a month at least, or I was too honest about the end of my previous employment and they point-blank refused to talk to me further. A couple even put the phone down on me.

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