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“Basically, I want to research how the myths of Valhalla have shaped the way we think about death in modern times.”
“That sounds…” She scrunches her nose. “Depressing.”
Music pours through the air, signaling that it’s time for me to go. I smile at Sarah before stepping through the doorway.
“Not to me,” I call over my shoulder, and her chuckle follows me down the hall.
It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the bright spotlight trained on the stage, but once they do, I’m able to see the small weeknight crowd.
As my body moves to the beat of the song, I do what I always do when I’m on stage: pretend that I’m dancing for the man in my dreams. It helps to settle the nerves that plague me, even after doing this job for several years.
I may be a nerd and feel uncomfortable performing for strangers, but I’m not ashamed of being an exotic dancer. As long as I don’t have to strip down to my birthday suit, I’m happy to have steady work and income.
Besides, it’s not like I’ll do this forever. Not only do I hate lying to my dad about how I spend my ‘free’ time, but I’m not in graduate school for nothing.
“Take it off!”
Yeah, not happening.
“Show us your tits, honey!”
Definitely not fucking happening.
Dollar bills are tossed onto the stage by most patrons, but a man sitting at the table to the right of the platform rises from his seat and reaches for my leg. Cherry’s might not be the classiest joint, and Steve might not care about how tired we are, but a customer tries to touch one of us dancers, and they’re tossed out on their ass.
While I dance, my eyes focus on Brigg, the bouncer, as he stalks across the room and grabs a hold of the man’s shirt. He drags the guy away from the stage, dodging flying arms and legs as he goes.
After he shoves him out the door, Brigg turns around and meets my eyes. He winks before returning to his post and watching the remaining customers. I really like Brigg and consider him a good friend, but that’s it. He’s asked me out several times, but he’s simply not my type.
He’s not your dream guy, you mean.
When my second song ends, I exit the stage and head back to the dressing room. The leather of my Valkyrie costume is now slick with sweat, and my contacts are making my eyes burn. I can’t get back into my normal clothes fast enough.
“How’d it go?” Sarah asks when she spots me.
“Only one tossed out on his ass tonight,” I tell her with a rueful chuckle.
“Wasn’t it four last week?” I nod, and Sarah laughs. “Things are improving then.”
I strip out of my outfit and pull on the jeans I was wearing when I arrived. They’re dark and tight and hug my hips. The black tank top with the bright red lips and dangling cherries logo that completes the Cherry’s uniform molds to my chest, and my cleavage is on full display. I only dance one set on weeknights, and the rest of my shift is spent behind the bar.
The last few hours go by slowly because we’re not all that busy. I fill drinks and absently wash empty glasses as they’re left on the bar top. It’s almost closing time when Sarah finishes her last dance. Customers have filtered out over the last several hours, and only three remain for the show, none of which are good tippers.
“So, when are you going to close out the night for me?” Steve asks as Sarah walks off stage. “If you were up there, no doubt the place would still be packed.”
“Not happening,” I reply as I wipe down the bar.
“You already close down Saturday nights,” he laments. “What’s a few more?”
“Steve, leave her alone.”
I turn to see Sarah coming from the dressing room in her street clothes. Her bag is slung over her shoulder, and she has dark circles under her eyes.
Our boss shakes his head and makes his way toward the office, his hands full of today’s receipts. He’s not a bad guy, but he is all about money, and if he thinks he can make more, he won’t let an idea go.
“Bring me the last three receipts after you close down,” Steve calls over his shoulder.
An hour later, Brigg is escorting Sarah and me to our cars, and my mind is focused on what I need to get done before class tomorrow.
