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CAMBRIA (PRESENT DAY)
Auditioning to work in a strip club was never one of my greatest aspirations, but the job market in the city has been so hard to predict, and I’m too nervous to try and go back to school. I spent a few months at the local community college to study veterinary technology, but I felt like my heart wasn’t in it.
Now that I’m here, I might as well give it everything I have.
Delirium isn’t anything like I pictured whenever Marcus talked about it. He always said I watched too much TV, and he’s right. It’s a nightclub, sure, but there’s something about it that feels… wrong.
The atmosphere is sinister in a muted, shifting way, almost like there are points in the club that are safe and others that are inhabited by an evil that clings to the walls like cigarette smoke. The audition room is one of these spaces, with red lights and low, bass-heavy music. I feel like I’m in a dystopian cyber-thriller.
I’m waiting with a handful of other girls, all of them decked out in waist-length extensions and false lashes that could cause a category four hurricane on one of the Great Lakes. They’re all insanely beautiful, and I can’t help but compare myself to them as I watch the way they swing their hips while they practice their stage walks.
A curvy woman with sleek, long hair and edges like black lace walks in, a black leather dress clinging to her hips as she glides along the floor in her seven-inch heels. She brings with her an air of authority and judgment.
She comes to a stop in front of us. “Hi girls, my name is Ariella. I’m assuming we all know why we’re here.”
There are a few nervous laughs and smiles, but I’m stone-cold serious. I can’t relax. Not at Abram’s club.
Ariella looks us over, seemingly pleased with the line-up today. “So, here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to perform for Abram, and he will assign you a piece of jewelry if he wants to bring you on,” she explains, holding up a small glass case with a velvet jewelry display.
“If you receive red ruby earrings, that means he wants to keep you on the floor as a dancer only. If you receive a white diamond necklace, then you’ve been selected to work for his exclusive luxury escort service. If you receive nothing, you go home,” she continues, pointing to each piece of jewelry as she explains.
Now that the stakes are so high, I feel my guts twisting with anxiety. What kind of place gives expensive jewelry as an onboarding gift? I know that office jobs give people coffee mugs and candy sometimes. This feels much more involved than I was expecting.
Ariella arranges us in a single-file line along the wall as we wait for Abram to show up. He’s late, which annoys me greatly as someone who had to take two buses to get here on time.
When he does finally show up, I feel my blood run cold as he recognizes my face immediately, staring at me without any emotion. I know a secret that could ruin his life, possibly ending it. Why doesn’t he look more upset?
“You first,” he demands, gesturing to me to come up to the stage.
The rest of the girls in the line give me little cheers of encouragement, which helps somewhat until I’m up in front of him, clinging to the pole with impossibly sweaty hands.
A song begins to play over the monitors, and I flow into my dance routine. My muscles shake, and I grip the pole too hard as I swing my weight forward into a front hook. I roll my body up the pole as I rise from the floor, and my ankle almost collapses in my heels as I prematurely step into a corkscrew.
I force myself to breathe, to slow down and rejoin the dance that I’ve practiced over and over. My moves are basic, but they’re fluid. At the very least, it’ll show that I’m teachable.
Occasionally, I’ll catch a glance of Abram’s eyes as I spin. He’s leaning back in his chair with his arms folded, trying a little too hard to indicate boredom or annoyance.
But I can see that he’s interested.
It’s clear he doesn’t want to feel that way, but that little glimpse into his true feelings gives me the confidence to finish my routine strong. I land my last move perfectly, smiling cheekily as the girls in line give small claps.
“Thanks. Next,” Abram says with no inflection as he waves for the next girl.
Another woman steps up to the stage, and I watch her dance beautifully as I sit down on a bench toward the back of the room. ‘It’s not a competition. They have multiple positions open,’I remind myself as I watch this woman flip upside down on the pole with no interference whatsoever.
After an hour or so, we’ve all completed our routines, and the confidence levels of each woman are much more evident than they were before. Some girls, no older than nineteen, cross their arms over their bellies and shift their weight from one foot to the other as we wait for our results. The other women, likely mid-twenties like me, smooth their hair with their perfectly manicured fingers as they lean casually against the wall. They know they have jobs.
When Ariella comes back, we all try to subtly get a glance at how much of each item she has. She certainly doesn’t have enough for everyone.
A nervous hum fills the air.
We’re arranged back into our single-file line, and one by one, Ariella grants each of us with earrings, a necklace, or nothing.
When she comes to me, she passes me by. I get nothing.
I try desperately to keep myself calm, to not let my embarrassment and anxiety manifest as tears. This is the last place I’d want anyone to see me cry.
