Monday, March 25, 11:15 p.m.
"Hi. I'm Anna," I said, since Isabelle seemed temporarily paralyzed. I didn't blame her, this woman was hot, but damn Isabelle, at least try to act cool while I'm here.
"Simone," she said, extending a hand that looked perfectly manicured without even trying. She just had those long, thin fingers and shapely nails that everyone else had to pay for. Her hair was the color of warm caramel, like her skin, and stood straight out from her head in precise, tight ringlets. She looked beautiful in an "I woke up like this," kind of way. It also actually looked like she had just woken up, or that she had been awake for a few days, it was hard to tell. There was a haggard edge to her beauty, like something wasn't quite right with her. I wondered if it was true that all strippers did drugs and were prostitutes on the side. Isabelle certainly wasn't a drug addict or a prostitute. And Simone looked too classy for that . . . but still . . . there was something about her that made me uneasy. "I'm a dancer here too,"
Isabelle looked like she wanted to run. She pulled in closer to me. "Hey Simone, come with me to talk to Billy about something. Anna, wait here." I just nodded as Isabelle grabbed Simone gently by the arm and led her out of the dressing room.
I sat in Isabelle's chair and took the novel I had bought out of my bag. I would normally fuck with my phone in these situations, but I wasn't ready to turn it back on yet. I knew I would need to deal with everyone soon -- like tomorrow -- but talking to Mom felt like all I could handle for now. Plus I had no plan. I felt like I should have a plan before telling anyone, especially Brandy and Emily, that I was suddenly in New York City. I still couldn't believe I was here. It was like I was living someone else's life and just watching from the outside. I didn't recognize myself, but I hadn't recognized myself in a long time, basically ever since I auditioned for VAB. So this feeling wasn't as alarming as it should have been, given that it was just another degree of unreality, of disconnection with the self I had always thought I was.
About 20 minutes later, Simone and Isabelle walked in . . . together . . . but not. There was definitely a history with these two. I would have to ask Isabelle about that when I got a chance. I was guessing it wasn't a good history . .. Oh fuck, were they lovers??? I felt the first twist of . . jealousy? There definitely wasn't anyone to be jealous of back in Virginia, and plus I was too busy dying and trying not to like her to be jealous. But this was a much different scene. Especially as more girls started filing into the dressing room, some just coming off the stage or the floor, some coming in for their shifts. Everyone was pretty. Not like movie-star gorgeous, but this club definitely had standards. How many of these girls were gay? Or bi? I again had that feeling of unreality, of being outside my body. I am Anna Winters, I am 18, I'm from Boonesburg, Virginia, and I am sitting here backstage of strip club in New York City. How was any of this even possible? How was it possible that I had gone from this chubby, loser, wanna-be dancer to almost dead of anorexia, then in a treatment center in Arizona, and then . . . here? With a girl? That I was actually in love with?
I stood up to give Isabelle her chair back. She pulled one over from an empty station.
"You can sit here. I just need to be in front of the mirror. I need to start getting ready to go out there. I'm supposed to be on the floor . . ." she checked her phone, "shit, like now."
"Sorry!" I said, quickly taking the chair from her and pushing it so that my back was against the spot in the wall next to her station. I didn't want to just stare at her putting her makeup on (although I kind of did), so I quickly directed my attention back to my book.
"No worries, it's not your fault," she said, cutting her eyes to Simone, who was setting her makeup out right next to Isabelle. Isabelle looked like she wanted to do that thing people do on TV where they just clear the entire table with their forearm and then start yelling and throwing things. Simone looked calm, which gave her the appearance of having the upper hand. I was guessing that Isabelle didn't expect her to be here. I was pretty confused, but I tried to just save all my questions in my head to (cautiously) ask Isabelle later.
It became pretty difficult to keep focusing on my book when Isabelle stood up and started taking her clothes off. I read the same sentence over and over and over, as I could see her peeling off her jeans from the corner of my eye. I could also see her pull down what looked like a pair of pale pink, slightly baggy cotton panties and pull on something that looked like three pieces of string fastened with a small triangle of shiny metallic fabric. God help me. I had never seen Isabelle naked. I could feel a warmth spread deep within my core, between my legs, and all the way down my inner thighs to my knees. I didn't want to look (oh but yes I did). Same sentence. Over. Again.
Then she was standing over me, and I had to look because she was trying to tell me something. I made a point to look right at her face. Hard. Focused. Not seeing her perfect breasts, right above my eyeline, or the taut, well-toned stomach muscles in front of me. God, Anna, not only are you a dyke but apparently you're a fucking man. Yeah, I didn't know who I was, actually. I just knew she was beautiful, and this was fucking torture.
"I have to go out now," she was saying. She looked at Simone, who was definitely taking her time getting ready. "Simone. Leave her alone," she said. Okay, so that was clear. She looked like she wanted to say something else to me, but instead she just asked, "Are you okay?"
I cleared my throat, almost choking on my response, "Yeah, of course, I'm fine! I'm fine anytime I have a book. Seriously. Don't worry about me. Go . . . have fun?"
She rolled her eyes. "This could not be any less fun. But thank you. I'll be back here as soon as I can."
"Seriously -- I'm fine. You need to work. I don't want to distract you. Don't worry about me at all," I gave her a smile. Right. At. Her. Face.
"Okay," she said. She looked looked like she wanted to take a step towards me. God, if she hugs me or pecks me or comes any nearer to me looking like that I am literally going to catch on fire. But fortunately for all fire safety regulations, she just turned and walked out of the dressing room.
