Mounting Danger

Chapter 1: Regulars

I clicked my tongue and closed my eyes, savoring the single sip of water I'd had in hours.  I could've downed an entire gallon if I wanted to but that'd be pretty pointless considering I'd be hanging upside down on a pole in just a few minutes.

Right then, I was mentally preparing myself to give the last inkling of energy I had to make a few extra bucks. I adjusted my trench coat over my outfit. I had really outdone myself choosing this one. I knew it would send the patrons crazy. If I was lucky, someone would throw their entire wallet. Wishful thinking.

 The curtain to my personal space ripped open dramatically, startling me. My only friend at the club strutted in, clutching the tallest pair of stilettos I'd ever laid eyes on. As usual, Roxie was wearing her signature loud colors. She was the only person I knew who could make the wildest outfit combinations look like a fashion statement. I watched her throw herself lazily onto the beanbag chair in the corner, her raven-black hair spreading out like wild tendrils. The mischievous grin that always played on her lips now held a hint of exhaustion. 

"Selene, my feet are killing me. I think I'm calling it an early night. You want me to stick around and wait for you?" She asked, body sprawled out like a starfish.

I gave her a half smile. "Nah. You go rest your crunchy feet. I'll catch a ride with someone."

She sat up abruptly, lifting her feet as high as they could go. "These are the feet of a hard worker." 

"I can tell." I flashed a tired smile when Roxie playfully nudged me. She left me to wrestle back into my stilettos. I eyed my reflection in the mirror; surprisingly, I didn't look as worn out as I felt. Clubs had a way of sucking the life from you, at least this one did. The only reason I was dancing was because I had hefty medical bills to foot. That meant I literally had to pull the money out of my ass.

My curtain slid across quickly again, this time to reveal the sour face of another dancer. The woman stared blankly around my space for a few seconds and left without a word. I had learned by now that was my signal to make my way to the back of the stage.

Taking the nonverbal cue, I spritzed a bit of perfume and headed out again. Dim, crimson-hued lighting bathed the room, making sure everyone understood why this place was called the Red Room. If possible, the air felt more heavy with perfume, and cologne than I had left it. Men in disheveled business suits huddled around tables holding liqueur-filled glasses and crumpled dollar bills. Some wore smirks, others expressions of longing, all fixated on the dancers.

Gathering myself, I stepped into the spotlight on the main stage and watched it dim. I closed my eyes and let the music move my heavy body forward. I grabbed the pole, slid down it lazily, and peeled my trench coat off. A rowdy group of guys waited below, waving dollar bills and letting out eager catcalls. Little that they knew, they'd be getting the bare minimum. The night had been a killer, and I was ready to be done with it. 

I glided around the pole while arms attached to drunk men reached out greedily trying to grab onto me. It took all my strength to refrain from kicking one. This was the part I hated. No matter how disgusted you were, you had to suck it up if you wanted the money. Instead of allowing my intrusive thoughts to win, I forced a playful smile on my lips and waved "no" with my finger. I climbed to the top of the rod to do my first actual trick of the night, a simple descending split. I reached the top, stretched my leg out onto the metal, and slid down, allowing the room to become a red blur. When I came to a stop at the bottom,  a group of men were standing near the entrance.

In between moves, I snuck glances at the men. It wasn't long before the floor manager scrambled over to them. The simple gesture meant one thing, these men were important. I looked away to entertain my crowd for a while but when I searched for the men again, they were being escorted to one of the VIP rooms in the back. Whichever girl got them would probably go home with a nice fat tip.