AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I spent a few nights on the street. I couldn't return to my apartment and finally found a shelter. I showered, went to several bars and lounges looking for work, and finally ended up in front of Cheeks.
A strip club wasn't where I anticipated working, but they had a server position open, and I was desperate to find work. The manager tossed me a black leather thong and a blingy black bra. He told me to put them on and then come to his office.
It was the most embarrassing job interview I'd ever had. Three men assessed every part of my body. And I don't consider myself a tiny girl. Sometimes I feel as if everyone in L.A. could be a cover model. While I'm not fat, I'm more voluptuous, which doesn't make me fit in with the skinny standards of the city.
They discussed my body parts, tossing out phrases like "thicker thighs,” "nice rack," and "round booty." Their comments made me believe they would send me on my way, but they offered me the job. So I filled out my paperwork as Blakely Fox, which I had wanted to use for my stage name since I was a child. And since my parents weren't ever super active in raising me—leaving the nannies to deal with me while I grew up—I've never told them what I wanted to call myself. So I figured it was safe to use.
When the manager asked me for my documentation, I tried to bluff, telling him I was mugged and didn't have any. He called Troy to the room, who helped secure me a fake ID and social security card. I've been using Blakely Fox ever since.
Then, I stayed in the shelter until I could afford an apartment with several women I met at work. Slowly, I secured some lounge gigs singing during the day or early evening.
Now, Cheeks is like a second home to me. Nothing shocks me anymore. I'm used to hustling around the club half naked, seeing the strippers do all sorts of things my sheltered life kept me in the dark about, and fending off comments and offers men make.
The naive girl I walked into Cheeks as is no longer in existence. And not a day goes by that I regret leaving my cushy old life behind. I may not be the definition of successful yet, but I'm living my life in a way that makes me happy. The people around me are real. And every time I get to take the stage and sing, it refuels my desire to keep going.
And I could earn more, but I can't seem to bite the bullet and take the management up on their offer to change my position. I don't judge the strippers. I admire their ability to do what they do. They excel at it, and I don't believe I could. I may wear barely any clothing during my shift, but it still gives me a thin layer of protection.
"Blakely, can you handle two sections tonight? Cindy called off again," Savannah, the night manager, asks in an irritated tone.
"Sure," I reply, happy to be offered the extra tables. I'll have to work my butt off, but it'll pay off at the end of the night when I'm counting my tips.
"Thanks." She pats me on the shoulder and cries out, "Phoenix! What are you doing?"
The bartender freezes in the middle of pulling a fifth out of a new case. "What did I do now?"
"We have six open. Did you check the cabinet?" she questions.
"Oops," she says.
"Yeah, oops," Savannah mimics.
I go into the dressing room, toss my purse in my locker, then remove my jeans and top. I've found it's easier to wear my Cheeks clothes than take the time to get changed. The sooner I get on the floor, the more I can earn. I exchange greetings with several girls, then go to the main room.
Some of the regulars are at their usual tables. Within an hour, more customers fill the room. I hustle between the two sections, doing whatever I can to keep the men happy and earn higher tips.
It's after midnight when two beefy white men I've never seen sit down in my section. One has salt-and-pepper hair and the other is bald. They're wearing expensive suits, which isn't out of the ordinary. Cheeks is a higher-end club, and many rich men from around the world frequent it when they're in town.
I approach the table, set two drink napkins down, and chirp, "Welcome to Cheeks. I haven't seen you two in here before. Are you in L.A. traveling for business?"
The bald one firmly answers, "No."
They both study me, and a chill runs down my spine. It's not the first time I've experienced it, but it rarely happens.
"Are you enjoying your shift, Blakely?" the salt-and-pepper-haired man asks.
Goose bumps pop out on my skin. I blurt out, "Sorry, have we met?"
The bald one replies, "Not exactly."
My mouth turns dry. I question, "What does that mean?"
They stay quiet.
"How did you know my name?" I inquire.
"Lucky guess," the salt-and-pepper man states.
We all study each other for a moment, and I suddenly feel extremely exposed. I lift my chin, asking, "Can I get you something to drink?"
