Aspiring Nobody

Chapter 24 The proposition

ERIN'S POV

As I collect glasses from the tables, Sarah sashays across the stage. She works the pole like a professional, which is why she is the number one dancer at the club. Her acrobatic skills are insane, and the strength in her arms and legs allow her to do things on the pole that no other girl in this club can do. As I unpack the glasses from the tray, Joey appears at my side.

"Gotta proposition for ya, Erin."

I continue with my job. "Oh, what's that?"

He runs his tongue across the front of his teeth. "An American friend of mine wants to know if you'll dance for him?"

I catch my surprised expression in the mirrored wall behind the bar. "I don't dance."

Joey shrugs. "Well, would you consider it for two grand?"

I pretend I am neither shocked nor offended by the offer. But it's not until I open my mouth that I realize I am winded. "Are you kidding? He actually said he'll give me two thousand dollars for one lap dance?"

He nods, "yep." Joey looks at his watch as if he has something more important to do. "I'll leave it with you. If you're interested, let me know, and if you're not, then ignore the offer?"

Less than an hour later, I'm in the dancer's make-up room/change room, blown away by the rows of outfits and accessories. Not the sort of thing you could wear on the street. It's the first time I've had reason to step inside. Now I see why they call it the 'money maker shop'. 

The room is well lit, and the walls are mirrored. I take in my reflection; hunched and looking like I am about to be thrown into crocodile infested water. This will not do. I push my shoulders back and stand tall. Although the room is large, it seems crammed. 

When I see Destiny watching me through the mirror, I smile. Her dark eyes refocus on applying mascara to her fake lashes. Ok, so she doesn't like me. Or maybe she thinks I am taking her business, which, I guess I am. But I need the money as much as her or any other person in this club.

"You do know for a grand he'll expect something extra?" Destiny informs me in a bitchy tone as she tightens the lid on the mascara and then tosses it on the table.

Sarah puts two fingers in the air. "Make that two thousand."

If they're trying to scare me, it's working. Destiny steps from the dressing table wearing a hot pink bikini top, tiny denim shorts and cowboy boots.  "What if he wants more."

"Well he won't be gettin it," I say. "And that I can guarantee." I turn my attention back to Sarah as she pushes the hangers along for the second time. She pulls a wire hanger from the rack and holds up a black bikini set.

"You're about a size eight, right?" Sarah asks.

My eyes swell. "I have to wear that?"

She pushes the outfit at me, "only if you look amazing."

I catch my horrified expression in the mirror.  What in god's name am I doing? Am I seriously about to go through with this? I've seen first-hand how the dancers are treated. How they're nothing but a body to please men's needs. "I'm not sure I can go through with this?" I whisper to Sarah.

"That's what I thought, but here I am 6 years later." Sarah pulls down a pair of chaps from another hanger. "You'll be fine. In six months you'll be saying the same thing to the next new girl."

I'm not the next new stripper and this isn't my alternative career path. This lap dance is the first and the last. In 6 months, this will be nothing more than a memory, one I hope to forget. I don't know her story or how she ended up working as a stripper, but I am nothing like these girls. The prospect of dancing with strange men every other night disgusts me. 

With my makeup finished and my hair hanging loose, I do my outfit change behind a wooden divider. With the American waiting on me, I don't have time to waste, so I undress and re-dress faster than I ever have before. The moment I step out from the divider and make eye contact with the floor to ceiling mirror in front of me, my eyes bulge in shock. My makeup is heavy: red lips, grey smoky eyes, and a thick layer of black eyeliner and mascara. Wow. Sarah knows how to apply makeup.

But it's the sight of my petit body looking curvaceous and barely covered that's takes me by surprise. My breasts are bulging from the bra and appear two-cup sizes bigger than they are. I look like a twenty-five-year-old porn model about to do a photo shoot. I'm not even sure it's me. "Is that really me?" I point at the mirror.

Sarah giggles. "It's all you. And you're all set."

"I feel like I'm morally tied in knots right now."

Sarah raises a brow. "Morals have no place in a strip club. Fact is, if you want that pricks money, your gunna have to forget you have any."

She's right. It's time I put my nervousness aside because this is not a trial or game. This is business. He's a customer who's paid for a service. And unless I fulfil my end of this deal, I won't be getting his money, and I need his money to slap Styles across the face with an envelope full of cash for his damaged car. 

From that point, I don't register much of anything else, only the pounding lyrics of 'Missy Elliott's 'Get Your Freak On' vibrating against the walls.

 I walk out the door ready to get this done. 

I do the dance; collect the money and no one will ever know— ever!