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TWO
Jessie
Weirdest request I’ve had in a long time. Strip in an empty theater at night time. Not even any music. Luckily I’m always prepared.
As I dress and collect my things, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on me, but when I take another long look around the theater, I still can’t see anyone.
Shrugging it off, I pull the door closed behind me as the instructions said to do and head down Hart Row. It’s still quite warm. Not really cold enough for even the light jacket I’m wearing, but I wanted to keep things simple for my performance. Since I’ve got nothing but underwear on underneath it, I’ll be leaving the jacket on, thank you very much. I’m not giving it away for free!
I step onto the subway and flick open the Monstrous Deals app on my phone. Well, that’s one thing that’s gone right today. My mysterious client has already sent through the payment for tonight. I guess someone was in the theater after all. Someone I couldn’t see, but they must have seen me. I wonder what monsters can become invisible. I mean, I’ve had some unusual clients, but never someone invisible before. It’s got to be that. Not that I mind. If they’re going to pay up and not bother me, I’ll take their bookings every time.
I gotta say, monster clients beat human clients any day. At least so far.
I get off at my stop, dragging my feet across the two blocks to the scummy youth hostel where I’m staying. A bed in a six-person dorm is my idea of hell, but it’s all I can afford while I’m saving for a security deposit so I can rent my own place.
Throwing my jacket into the locker beneath my bed, I pull on my sweats and tuck my feet up on the lower bunk. I pull the curtain closed and try to block out the snores of the girl in bed above me. Rachel, I think her name is. She probably told me and I promptly forgot it.
She hasn't reached full rattling train car levels yet, but it’s only a matter of time.
With a sigh, I flop back on my pillow. Tonight’s job was a good start, but it’s not enough for the deposit I’ll need to move out of this shithole and get a private room. I used up all my savings in my first couple weeks here. I thought I’d get work more easily. I’ve done dozens of auditions, but nothing has come of them. I’m going to need to make a choice soon. Find a regular nine to five, or go home. Neither option really works for me. I work a regular job and I’ll cut down my chances of being available at short notice if something comes up. Going home’s not really an option for me right now. Even if I could afford the flight—which I doubt—my parents were pretty clear. If I made the stupid decision to fly halfway across the world to pursue my stupid dream, they were going to wash their hands of me. I’m not sure they’d welcome me back to my old room. Not sure I could stand going back there, anyway. It’s shameful enough still living at home at twenty-two, sneaking around trying to pretend I’m not working as a stripper. It’d be worse crawling back with my tail between my legs at twenty-three, having to admit they were right after all.
Well, they’re not right. I won’t let them be. I’m going to get stage work. Real acting work. I’m going to save up that money. I’m going to get a gig on an ad, or as an extra or something, and things will take off from there. That’s where it starts. A job and a room in a shared flat. A private room all to myself! A door I can close and no stinky socks hanging over the edge of the bed in the morning.
Heaven.
It’s the small things in life that matter. Small things like being able to come. God, it’s been a while. It doesn’t matter what time of day or night here, there’s always someone awake and I don’t have time for hookups right now. Between auditions and odd jobs through Monstrous Deals and another site I use, at the end of the day I don’t have it in me to go looking for a guy. If I could use this Monstrous Deals app myself, I would. It would be easier to pay to have someone do whatever you want, rather than have to go looking.
Too bad I’m too poor. And not a monster.
I’m just a human girl looking for a break.
I’ve thought about offering more than just a dance, but in the end I always decide not to. I like sex. I don’t want to spoil that by making it my work.
I sigh. I don’t usually get turned on at work. It’s just work. But something about tonight was different. Being centerstage in the theater I’ve dreamed about was thrilling. Being alone without an audience meant I wasn’t thinking about what someone else wanted. I was dancing for me. So I focused my mind on what I love about it. What feels good.
I imagined strong hands moving lovingly over my body as I moved. I pictured eyes on me that wanted more than just to devour my image.
A little throb between my legs reminds me how long it’s been. Slipping my hand under the waistband of my sweats and into my panties, I groan at how wet I am. Just as I begin making small circles around my aching clit, a snore and the tortured squeak of springs above me makes me suppress a growl of frustration.
