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It’s insane.
It’s clear this is their private space—no drugs or panties to be found—so I’m assuming they use the basement for parties and guests and then live up here. They might as well run the fucking house.
To the right is a hallway, and I follow it down, finding only four doors. I open the first to reveal a huge bedroom done in blacks with a low leather bed and an en-suite on the right. Even the carpet is black, and there are helmets and paintings all over the walls. I close the door, not wanting to snoop... yet. The next has a built-in wardrobe with rows upon rows of clothes, even more than my mother. The bed is a high back wing bed with satin sheets and the wordCrewstencilled above it. There is an en-suite in here too, and floor-to-ceiling windows. The third door I open is another bedroom, clearly belonging to the last son. There are easels, spray cans, and everything you need for art in one corner and some unfinished pieces in a similar style from those littered around the house. I’m betting he’s the artist of all the work in this place.
There’s a king-sized, leather bed with a leather jacket tossed on it and another en-suite too, but this one has the first picture I have yet to see in the house. It’s tucked on the bedside table behind the industrial style light as if hidden. I carefully pull it free, seeing a baby in a smiling woman’s arms with the ocean behind them. She’s cute, with long blonde hair, and she’s smiling at the baby with such love. It’s a bit tatty and obviously important, so I put it back before closing the door and trying the fourth, praying it’s mine.
I’m a little scared to live up here with these three clearly insane rich boys. I mean, they have knives and spinning bikes, for fuck’s sake... okay, so I kinda love it and wanna play with everything in here. It’s my style, all black and edgy with graffiti. It’s nothing like the richness I was expecting. It’s like a grungy bachelor pad.
I push open the door to the room. I was right, it’s mine. Both fear and excitement flow through me as I step into my space. It’s clear it used to be used for storage, because there is still a slightly musty smell, but it’s nothing that keeping the windows open won’t fix. There’s a note next to the door on the switch, and I pick it up with arched eyebrows.
Decorate however you want—Gareth.
Crumpling it, I toss it into the garbage. Hopefully I won’t be here long enough to decorate, but I can see why he offered. It’s a blank slate. It only has the bare necessities even as it screams luxury and money.
There is a huge, king-sized—maybe even bigger—sleigh bed with a deep grey, almost black headboard and rolled over baseboard dimpled with buttons. The bedding is a deep navy and pintucked with throw cushions that make me snort. Really, throw cushions? There is a matching deep grey fur rug at the bottom of the bed with an ottoman with golden feet. The bed itself is situated to the right and pushed against a wall with two doors on either side of it. Strolling across the cream carpet, I peek into one to see a walk-in wardrobe with two long empty racks on either side and built-in, floor-to-ceiling shelves opposite a mirror. I turn on the lights, and bright blue LEDs flicker on. Cool.
I try the next door and find an en-suite. Thank fuck. Have you ever tried to share a bathroom with boys? Not cool. There is a huge, triangular corner bath big enough to fit more than one person, and a built-in, walk-in shower with black and gold marble walls and two huge waterfall showerheads. There is also a bench to sit on and built-in shelves to hold products. The glass door slides shut as I play with it. On my right are double sinks with two LED mirrors above them.
Shaking my head, I return to the room and place my hands on my hips. There is a TV mounted on the wall to the left of the door, opposite the bed, and a deep grey dresser tucked in the corner behind the door. The other wall has floor-to-ceiling windows, which have a view of the back garden, framed with gauzy white curtains like something from a magazine. Those will need to be replaced with black-out curtains.
The one thing that does excite me? There’s a giant black chandelier. My stuff will hardly fill this room, but that’s okay, it’s only a place to lay my head for a few hours. I don’t intend to spend much time here, after all. My boxes are stacked in the middle of the room with two suitcases of clothes. That’s everything, apart from the few bags in my car which were too important to leave to the movers.
I check my phone and see I only have a few hours before the audition, so I get to my knees and unzip the cases, rooting through for something to wear. It needs to be skimpy and sexy, but not too revealing, as well as easy to move in. I hold up a few options before settling on some high-waisted leather shorts and a black bra with a crisscross back, the cups covered in sparkles. I load some burlesque videos to ensure it’s what they want. It’s a bit grungier than normal, but so am I. I scroll through the videos, easily recognising some of the moves and memorising the others before I turn back to the clothes.
I change quickly and stretch, testing out my limbs before I plug in my headphones and crank up the music. I choose an upbeat song, not too fast to move to, but with enough beat so I can really lose myself in the music. I will probably make the dance up when I’m there, but it’s nice to have a backup if they ask for one.
I move across the room, mixing ballet and R&B freestyle, swinging, rolling, and dropping to the floor and grinding. I lift my ass as I bang my fist to the ground, flicking my hair as I slide to my knees and shake. Winking, I press my hands to the floor and extend my ass into the air and shake before dragging my hands up my body. I keep moving, since it feels right. I leap, twirl, and pop as my heart thunders with the sound of the music. Peace fills me as my mind stays on the moves, on the next step, the next beat—never on the past, never the present, only the future.
Panting, I still as the song changes, wearing a smile on my face. Oh yes, tonight will go well. It has to. I need this job; I need the money. I want to get as far away from this place as possible. I have nothing against this new family, but I can’t stand the woman who now lives here. Checking my phone, I realise I don’t have too long until my audition. I still need to find the club and park, so I grab my boots and slip them on along with my jacket before taking my keys and shutting the bedroom door behind me. The house is eerily empty, but I shake it off.
Routine sorted, I grab my shades, and with a smirk, I head out to become a burlesque dancer.
