Smoke and Mirrors (Jimmy 'The Rev' Sullivan)

Chapter 1

My thighs burnt with agonizing pain and my cheeks began to hurt from smiling so broad while I danced, giving the performance of my life. As I swayed my body along with the other girls, my eyes were fixed on the club.

Round, little tables stood in the dim lighting, forming a circle on the platform in front of the stage. They were covered with a velvety red linen, which I could see shine even from where I stood. Surprisingly, not all of the club's visitors were men. Immaculately dressed and groomed women watched us perform while puffing thin, fragrant cigarettes.

Something about this place’s energy kept me motivated. I don’t know whether it is the distant scent of perfumed smoke, that so closely resembled mystical incense, or maybe it was the incredible adrenalin rush that fueled my body each night I presented my body and skills to this audience.

What is it exactly that I do, you’re asking? Well for once no, I am not a stripper and most definitely not a whore. I practice the long forgotten, captivating art of Burlesque.

Being a Burlesque artist means that 5 times a week, I tighten my corset, pull on my fishnets on and slip into a tall pair of tiny stilettos, and dance. My job is to display my body to the crowd, in a creative and tasteful way.

My name is Cassidy Vex. The girls simply call me KiKi. But it’s only my stage name. Our coach had us come up with “seductive” names for ourselves. To be honest, I’d rather be KiKi than my true self.

Our club, “The Scarlet Anchor,” is rather anonymous. It’s been around since long before I was born, but I always tend to think that it’s named this way because the place remains forever, it’s the performers and people who change.

It’s rare for me to spot the same face in the crowd more than twice. They usually sit down, drink a few cocktails and give a standing ovation. And then they’re gone, for good. However, we do have our staple clients. Most of them are middle-aged millionaires who would like to believe that they deserve more than their wives.

Though there is this one guy, who I don’t believe is older than 30. He always sits in the very corner, hidden between the shadows. The weird thing about him is that he never shows his face, he’s always covered by a black, old-school bowler hat.

I suppose that I should be somewhat freaked out, but I have a feeling that I’m the only one he comes to watch. I can feel his gaze burnt into me as I dance. Whenever I turn around or bend over, his presence is like a poison that rushes through my veins.

And I love it, I love the mystery, the thrill.

The upsetting part is that the mystery stranger would only come for a few days, and then disappear for months. But every time he returns, he always keeps his notepad near. In the corner of my eye, I can see him scribble notes, write lines as his eyes never leave my body.

I wonder if he’s a writer, or an artist. It’s sad how I’m so fascinated by this person only because he’s drawn to me, or at least that’s what I’d like to think.

I’m only certain about a number of facts when it comes to him, he’s extremely tall. Oh and once he dropped his pen, so he had to bend over. And that’s when I saw that he had a strange tattoo on his neck.

Maybe it’s just my twisted, fetish mind, but it looked like he had a pair of handcuffs inked into the flesh of his neck.

My head was so clouded with thoughts that I began to turn dizzy, and almost twisted my ankle. I managed to play if off by turning my clumsy move into a seductive spin. As I bent, I felt the tight corset press painfully into my ribs.

My heart sank, I can’t allow myself to bear any bruises on my body. You see, my family has no idea what I’m doing. But I don’t see them that often anyways, I live right here, above the bar with the other dancers, and they are my best friends.

I hesitantly peeked at the side of the stage and my guts churned. If there’s one person who’s pain evil, then it’s Sweet Lou. She’s our coach and she’s unbelievably strict and brutal. She’s been in the industry for years and years, she’s the best in the field.

I could see the anger in her cold eyes and she pointed her whip at me, threatening to kick me off tomorrow’s show. Right when I gulped, the lights when off and glitter spilt on us from the celling.

I sighed, finally giving my body a chance to rest. I head the chairs rustle and squeaked and I rushed to the front of the stage and gently pushed the curtain aisde. To my disappointment, he wasn’t there anymore.

Vanished into thin air, again.

___________________

Thank you so much for reading! Please comment and let me know what you thought of this. Be honest :D