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Ruby lets out a low whistle. “You know that’s just what it says on the sign. A man like that–” she shakes her head, tugging loose the last curl and setting the iron aside, close to my mirror so that I can use it. “You could clean up. He’d probably pay any price you set, if he wants you that badly.”
“I told him no. I don’t do that. I don’t want to.” The words come out flat, staccato, probably harsher than necessary, but I can’t help it. Mikhail’s assumption that it was even a possibility had angered me more than I realized. “Men like that need to realize they can’t just have anything they fucking want.”
“You don’thaveto.” Ruby’s eyes widen a little at my outburst. “I’m just saying, men like that pay a lot of money to feel like they’re powerful enough to convince a woman to service them.” She grins. “If you’re not down for it, maybe next time he comes around, I’ll see if I can get him to go back withme. I’d happily take some of his money.”
“Go for it.” I shrug, but a small, hot, irrational burst of jealousy flashes through me at the thought of Ruby on her knees for Mikhail, one that I don’t want and don’t understand.
Get a fucking grip. You don’t evenlikehim. What does it fucking matter if he’s hot? He’s an asshole, like you said. Let Ruby deal with him.
I steel myself to see him again when I walk out onto the stage, the lights coming up as my newest track starts playing, one I don’t know as well as the others. There’s the usual crowd of faceless men around the stage, ones I don’t remember and never will. Still, as I start moving through the steps and running my hands over the pole, I don’t see Mikhail.
I scan the crowd for him, but there’s no sight of the ice-blue eyes that I think I’d be able to easily pick out, or his domineering presence. He stands out here, a man among boys, a lord among peasants, and I know within seconds that he’s not in the room.
Disappointment flashes through me, the same bolt as the jealousy earlier, except this makes me feel chilled and flat. Imiss a step, sliding down an inch on the pole gracelessly before finding my footing. For the first time since I started working here, I hear a tittering of laughter.
Shame and anger sweep over me, hot and burning, and I clench my teeth.You’re not even here, and you’re distracting me, you fucking asshole.
I can’t afford to fuck this up. One wrong step, one second of letting them see me as a source of humor instead of arousal, and I can see my tips for the night dwindling. Tips that Ineed. I haven’t worked the last two nights–weekday shifts have been slimmed down, and as one of the newer girls, I don’t have the same seniority that some of the others do, to hang onto those shifts. I’ve picked up unwanted days and nights from other dancers where I can, but there’s only so much to go around.
After a moment, I manage to settle into my routine, but I still feel off. I can’t seem to stop glancing around, looking to see if he’s come in the door or is making his way through the crowd toward the stage. It makes me angrier that I can’t shake the distraction.
You’ve never let any man get to you like this. Why are you starting now?
Focus. Out of everything that could distract you, it shouldn’t be this.
I try to slip back into that place where everything is on autopilot, but this song is too new for me to do it effectively. I don’t make any more mistakes as bad as that first one, but I feeloff, like I’m a beat behind the entire time. I miss customer cues, too caught up in the inward argument with myself, and I know by the time my solo comes to an end that I haven’t done this poorly since my first night–maybe not even then. There’s only a smattering oftips, and then as if to rub salt in the wound, when I look up, I see Igor standing by the bar, his arms crossed over his chest.
Shit. He doesn’t always come out and watch the dancers, but it seems like tonight he’d decided to do a scan of the floor.Just my fucking luck.As I descend the stage, I can tell that he’s not happy.
No one flocks towards me for the chance at a floor dance, and I see Igor–a tall, imposing man greying at the temples–crook his finger towards me in a clear indication for me to head his way. I wince, but I have no choice but to obey.
Something else that pisses me off.
“You’re not yourself tonight,” he says flatly, without preamble, as soon as I’m close. “My customers don’t appear to be happy. And when they’re not happy–”
“--you’re not happy.” It’s an easy sentence to finish. “I’m sorry–”
“You’re a talented dancer.” He huffs out a breath as if it displeases him to admit it. “But no one here is here for ballet. They want to be titillated.Aroused. Your skill matters less to me than your ability to seduce. That is your job here. To seduce and tease and toe the line of giving them what they want, so that they continue spending money in the hopes of having it. Do you understand?”
I feel my heart flip in my chest. Igor’s eyes are narrowed and dark, his expression unhappy.I don’t want to lose this job.I know I could go to half a dozen clubs on this street and find work–more, probably–but I’d come here because I heard Igor didn’t allow his girls to be mistreated. I know that won’t be true of every club.
“I’m sorry,” I say with as much humility as I can manage. “I’m just not feeling well, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”
“Call off if you’re sick,” Igor says bluntly. “Another girl will be more than happy to take your spot. One who will make me money.”
“I’m sorry–” I start to repeat, but he cuts me off.
“Go home. You can return when you feel well enough to focus on your work again.”
There’s no arguing with him. I can hear the cold finality in his voice, and even in the brief time that I’ve been here, I know Igor well enough to know when he can’t be reasoned with–which is most of the time. I just nod, turning and walking quickly back towards the dressing room, my face downcast to hide the well of tears in my eyes.
What a fucking waste.I should have just called off from the start.I barely made enough on stage to make up for what I’d spent on the cab ride here, and I’ll have to tip the house out of that, which means tonight is a loss. And I have no one to blame but myself for letting myself be so distracted.
Even the letter hadn’t thrown me off as much as Mikhail had.
One of the other girls, a gorgeous platinum blonde who calls herself Taffy, is the only one left in the dressing room when I swoop back in, my teeth sunken into my lower lip to try to keep from crying. She looks up, startled, and then her face relaxes as she sees that it’s me.
“Athena–are you okay?” She cocks her head, looking concerned. “Did that man come back? The one from the other night? I heard Davik didn’t like him–”
