Dance, Baby, Dance!

Chapter 2

I walk into my tiny apartment and a little fluffy ball jumps right at my feet.

"Did you miss me, Kitty?" I pet my peachy favorite, who rubs against my jeans and pokes a little damp button of its nose into my empty palms. "I brought you something, wait a minute," I start digging through the bowels of my bottomless city backpack until I pull out a packet of her favorite food, which I always buy with my paycheck.

I squeeze the juicy contents of the bag into the cat's bowl in the microscopic kitchen and, while Kitty pounces on her favorite treat with a loud rumble, I pour water into the electric kettle. I take a tea-bag of molasses out of the jar and drop it into my favorite cup with a picture of the Eiffel Tower on the side. I pour boiling water and inhale the lemon-mint vapor that rises in a cloud of smoke above the cup. I sit down at the kitchen table and look out the night window, where my beloved sea roars and breathes in the distance. I take a small sip and remember how a long time ago, probably in another life and in another body, we went to Paris together and lived in the very center of the eternal city, had breakfast with warm tender French croissants right on the balcony of a five-star hotel and admired the Eiffel Tower hovering somewhere nearby. We have been to Louvre, Disneyland, Versailles, and on the penultimate day I made you - literally dragged you with me - to go to the Eiffel Tower. You were all loudly indignant and stubborn, but you still stood in line for an hour and a half to get a bird's-eye view of the tiny boulevards and houses of my beloved Paris. Your favorite Paris. And now I have one selfie, where the four of us can barely fit in the frame: laughing, with disheveled and waving in the wind hair, and behind our backs soars up the beautiful openwork arrow of engineer Eiffel... And then down at the foot of the tower, we bought two identical mugs from a Senegalese merchant. We always had to have everything the same, didn't we?

The evening and the tea soothe me, sweet fluffy Kitty rubs against my side, purring softly, and I'm almost ready to forget all my troubles when my phone rings and I read a message from Lanskoy: "We're expecting you on Saturday." Back in my life and the tiny room I can barely afford to rent, I pull out of my backpack everything I've earned for the day and start counting it. Oh, well. I really hope it's enough until next time...

I look at the clock: it's three in the morning, and I only have four hours of sleep left. Standing under the scalding hot shower, I try to wash away all of today's sticky, nasty stares, Boshan's disgusting touch, and Arthur's luscious breath. My body turns pink and innocent, and I imagine myself again as a carefree teenager wrapped in a cocoon of love and attention. I wipe myself with a stiff towel and see the cut on my thigh bleeding again, a reminder of the previous evening's events. Frustrated, I search my locker for a band-aid and cover the thin wound with a few pieces of sticky tape. Hopefully it'll be gone by morning, though I might still have a scar.

Covered with a fluffy blanket and cuddling warm, rumbling Kitty, I finally fall asleep.

I open my eyes from the bright, blinding light and for the first few minutes I can't figure out where I am, until I get used to the heat of the spotlights and realize that I'm standing in the middle of the stage in my club, New York 56. Only tonight I don't hear the usual drunken hum of voices and music in the background. The restaurant is empty, and I stare into the cold silence of the room, trying to remember how I got here. I feel very cold, I put my arms around my shoulders to keep warm, and then I realize with horror that I am standing naked in the middle of a huge club! Fear and icy darkness hold me tightly, I see my naked belly, I lower my arms to cover the fuzz at the bottom with my palms, and I try to hide my scared and hardened from the cold nipples behind the hair spread on my chest. I try to take a step, but my legs won't obey me, and I see that my ankles are wrapped around with a thick rope, the end of which is snaking to the edge of the stage, Archy holding it tightly in one hand and the microphone in the other. Tonight the host is dressed in a black tuxedo and cylinder, and his eyes stare through me with empty eye sockets.