Poll Dancer

by Laura Heffernan

  “Wow. That’s harder than it looks.”

  “A lot of pole is,” I said. “People think it’s easy because strippers do it, but that’s ridiculous. Pole is a sport. It takes training. That’s my point.”

  Reaching over his head, I grabbed the pole several feet off the ground and climbed again. When I got near the top, I halted, coming to rest in a sitting position.

  “Is this all a way of impressing me with how talented you are?” Daniel’s voice held a note of awe that thrilled me.

  “Maybe a little.” I kept my tone light, teasing.

  I leaned around the pole, clamping my left armpit around it while gripping with my right hand. My legs rose into the air, pointing away from the pole like a flag flapping in the breeze. Then I pulled my body back in, adjusted my grip, opened my legs into a vee shape, and flipped over so the pole rested between my thighs. My upper body and legs extended outward. I released my bottom hand from the pole and held it out in front of me like a superhero, holding myself aloft with one hand and my thigh muscles.

  On the floor, Daniel gazed up at me, eyes as wide as saucers. “How do you do that?”

  “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?”

  He shook his head with a wry smile. “Practice, practice, practice.”

  “You got it.” I allowed myself to slide down to the ground before rising to my feet. “And now, you’re going to learn, too.”

  He gestured at the pole and swallowed. “I’m going to learn–?”

  I laughed. “No, not those moves specifically. Some of that is pretty advanced. We’ll start small.”

  After my demonstration, Daniel turned out to be an eager learner. He had no dance training or experience, but was in good enough shape from the gym that he quickly picked up several basic strength-based moves. After ten minutes, he tugged his t-shirt off and tossed it in the corner. Half an hour later, sweat glistened on his chest, and he begged for a break.

  “You know, this may not have been the best way to get me to convince Erica to let you keep the pole,” he said as I dropped onto the crash mat beside him. “Not if you’re going to use it as a torture device.”

  I nudged his shoulder playfully, and he pretended to wince. At least, I think he pretended. “Come on. You loved it.”

  “I did. Surprisingly,” he said. “This was a lot of fun.”

  “Just a workout, right? Nothing sexy or unseemly about it.”

  “Nothing sexy? I wouldn’t go that far.” He grinned at me, and a flash in his eyes reminded me of our connection that first night. Maybe I hadn’t imagined it. “But your point is well taken. My entire body is going to be sore tomorrow.”

  Picking up an oversized sweatshirt I’d left in the corner of the room, I gestured for Daniel to follow me into the kitchen. After grabbing his discarded t-shirt, he pulled out one of the bar stools around my island and heaved himself onto it. While he guzzled water, I pulled out cold cuts, bread, cheese, and veggies to make sandwiches.

  “You know, as your campaign manager, it’s usually up to me to provide lunch.”

  I shrugged. “I like to cook. This isn’t exactly a gourmet meal, but feeding people makes me happy. Much like teaching.”

  “Tell me more about yourself,” he said.

  “I’m an open book. What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” he said. “More accurately, everything that Curtis or the press might dig up during the campaign to try to hurt us. Unpaid debts, bankruptcies, speeding tickets, court cases…Whatever skeletons are in your closet, tell me now. I’ll do a full background check at work tomorrow, but I want to hear it from you.”

  That made sense. We didn’t have a lot of time to convince the public that I’d be the best person to represent them in the state legislature. We needed to be prepared. Unfortunately, I’d never thought of myself as terribly interesting. “You want a deeper, darker secret than dancing in my underwear for a living?”

  “We’re not hiding that.”

  While I thought about what to share, I returned to slicing tomatoes and onions for our sandwiches. “My parents are in the military, so we moved around a lot when I was a kid. They’re still enlisted, living overseas.”

  “Do you have a good relationship with them?”

  “I do. Don’t see them as much as I like, but thank goodness for Facetime. My mom is one of my closest friends.”

  He tapped something on his phone. “Brothers or sisters?”

  “None. Also no bankruptcies or judgments. My credit rating is near perfect.”

  “Great.” Another note into the phone. “You deleted those dating apps.”

  The tiniest lilt in his voice made me wonder if he was asking as Daniel or as my campaign manager. But that was stupid. Campaigning was going to be difficult enough without constantly having to remind myself that my manager was unavailable to me. Since he’d already watched me uninstall everything from my phone, he was probably just trying not to insult me by asking the question.

  “Every single one. You know that.”

  “Good,” Daniel said. “Is there anything else I need to know about you?”

  Only that I wish you didn’t have a girlfriend, I didn’t say. My eyes roved over him. The shirt he’d put on for lunch clung to his chiseled torso, making it hard to keep my gaze above his neck.

  “No, nothing I can think of,” I said.

  “Sounds like you’re ready.”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Perfect timing. We’ve got our first public event tomorrow night. A fundraiser. This is your chance to meet the donors.”

  Excitement filled me at the thought of getting started. “I can’t wait.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Vortex: This one’s probably going to leave some bruises until you get it down. It’s cool, I enjoy explaining my armpit bruises at cocktail parties. Call them “pole kisses” and wear them as badges of honor.

  - Push and Pole Fitness Tutorials, Vol. 4

  The next day after work, I went shopping again to pick up a few more “appropriate” outfits, and maybe find a way to look at little less boring at the fundraiser. My initial plan had been to work out, but Erica left me with strict instructions not to exercise before the party. You’re apparently not supposed to wash your hair before getting an up-do. Who knew? My hair probably wouldn’t look much different if I showered before the party or not, but I needed to look like I was making the effort. Sweaty hair didn’t make a good impression on people, and I wanted the donors to like me.

  I’d just finished my errands and arrived home when my phone buzzed with a text from Lana. What time’s the fundraiser?

  You don’t have to come, I replied.

  ‘Course not. But I want to be there for you.

  It’s not going to be terribly interesting. A lot of donors and party big-wigs sizing me up.

  That stuff interests me. I interned with the Legislature during law school. Worked on drafting legislation my first year after graduation. I’ll be fine.

  A wave of relief hit me. It would be nice to see a friendly face other than my campaign manager. After all, Daniel had to pretend to like me, but he’d probably be bringing his girlfriend. I’d rather let rabid wolves lick peanut butter off my face than spend the evening watching him and Erica together.

  The rest of the guests would be people I’d seen on the news or total strangers. I wouldn’t have asked Lana to ruin her evening by attending, but after reading her messages again, I realized how badly I needed her there.

  Thanks, I texted. You’re a lifesaver.

  She sent back a series of emojis that brought a smile to my face. Since I couldn’t blow off steam by exercising, I grabbed a cozy mystery I’d been reading and went to run a bath.

  The stylist arrived outside my door just as I figured out who the killer was, so I regretfully set the book aside. Erica arrived immediately behind her, and we got to work. Robyn started on my hair while Erica quizzed me on the spee
ch she’d written, prepared me to answer questions that would likely come up, and gave me the background on some of the party’s more important donors.

  After about an hour, Robyn spun me around to see the finished product. She’d done a great job with my face. I hadn’t worn this much make-up since my last professional competition, a few months ago. I’d placed third, netting a thousand-dollar prize. With luck, this evening would turn out as successful.

  Then my gaze moved to my hair, and my jaw dropped. I couldn’t speak. What on earth had Robyn done to me? Tears threatened the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Erica met my eyes in the mirror, beaming smugly. My hand itched to slap that smile off her face.

  The stylist hadn’t given me a new style, as expected. Instead, she slashed the length, and shellacked what remained. Instead of my normal free-spirited brown shoulder-length waves, I wore a dark brown helmet that ended at my chin. It made me look like about forty years older.

  “It’s perfect!” Erica said.

  Not wanting to insult Robyn’s expertise, I fought to choose my words diplomatically. “You don’t think it’s a little, um, severe?”

  “Excuse me,” Erica said. “I just need to take this call.”

  Her phone hadn’t rung, betraying the lie. Coward. I wanted to point it out, but the traitor stepped away, leaving me alone with the woman she’d paid very well to destroy my look. I couldn’t believe that someone who worked in a salon where the shampoo cost more than most of my bras gave me the worst haircut of my life.

  “No, this is perfect. This style is very popular among female politicians,” Robyn said.

  “Right. I can see that,” I replied. “Out of curiosity, what’s the average age of female politicians who wear this haircut?”

  She tapped one finger thoughtfully to her lips. “Now that you mention it, I suppose it is a little mature for you. But this is what Erica asked for.”

  “A little mature? I look like an old schoolmarm!” The words burst out of me so quickly, I couldn’t stop them. I held my breath, hoping I didn’t offend Robyn.

  After a moment, she laughed. Then she leaned forward. “Okay, listen. Erica told me to give you this cut. I worried it wouldn’t work, and you’re right. It ages you way too much. After she leaves, I’ll give you some gel. Wet your hair a little, scrunch the gel in, and let it air dry. You should be okay for the event tonight.”

  “Are you sure?” Not that I was in the habit of questioning professionals, but the last twenty-four hours had been a great lesson in being careful about who you trust. Even when you’re paying them buckets of money.

  She nodded. “If not, come by my salon tomorrow. We’ll get you sorted.”

  Hopefully, getting me sorted would involve extensions or maybe replacing the honey-brown highlights that used to accent my hair. Before I could say anything, the she-devil returned.

  “All good? I have to drop by the office, but I’ll meet you at the fundraiser.”

  Wordlessly, I nodded. The less said right now, the better. If only Robyn could give me an entirely new look before I had to leave, but unfortunately, there wasn’t time to wash out all the hairspray and start over. I needed to get dressed soon or I’d be late. Not the type of impression to make at my very first public event. Tomorrow would have to be soon enough to fix my hair.

  After the two of them left, I pulled out my tablet and opened a video chat with Lana. Sure, I’d see her in less than an hour, but some things couldn’t wait.

  “Oh, honey, I know imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but your mom knows you love her. You didn’t have to copy her haircut.”

  My fingers curled into fists. I was going to kill Erica.

  “Right? I have trouble believing that turning me into a sixty-year-old drill sergeant is going to make people want to vote for me.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Lana said. “We can fix it. Or…hmmm. I could bring you a hat?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for the confirmation,” I said. “But we’ve got to do something about Erica.”

  Quickly, I filled her in on everything that happened over the last few days. She listened carefully, nodding once in a while, but not interrupting until I’d finished. Then she leaned back and scrunched up her brow. From experience, I knew she was working through this problem in her head, so I waited for her to speak before saying anything. “What’s your end goal here? What outcome do you want?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—you’re a strong, intelligent, resourceful woman. You love teaching pole. I was surprised to hear you say that you’d decided to run for office instead.”

  “It’s not like I had a choice. Curtis shut me down,” I said.

  “I still think you’d be amazing at running your own studio.”

  “Thanks. But Curtis isn’t happy with a temporary injunction. He wants to shut me down for good even if that means changing the laws. Someone has to stop him.”

  “He’s not changing the laws.” Lana pressed her lips into a grim line. “Not if I have anything to say about it. I’ll use everything I’ve got to fight him.”

  “You want to become a lobbyist?”

  “If that’s what it takes,” she said. “Anyway, don’t get me wrong—you’re doing a wonderful thing, standing up for your rights and free speech. But I’m not sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.”

  “Any reason for standing up for our rights is a good one,” I said. “I mean, probably. Listen, Daniel is great. I’m honestly glad you introduced us. It’s just been a rough couple of days. Erica’s job is to help me seem more responsible, but it’s been exhausting. She changed all my clothes, she won’t let me teach pole or make videos.” I gestured at my head. “She even gave me this ridiculous haircut. Err, no offense to my mom.”

  She laughed. “It does look ridiculous on you. It’s not a cut for a twenty-eight-year-old. Your mom rocks it.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  Lana bit her lip as if trying to decide whether to say anything else. We’d be seeing each other at the event pretty much as soon as we got off the phone, but I couldn’t help wanting to keep her on the line a few minutes longer.

  “What is it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t lawyer me, Lana. You’re making your ‘I have something to say and you’re not going to like it’ face.”

  She exhaled slowly. “It’s just—Erica was hired to change your image. That may be the way people perceive you, but you don’t have to change who you are. You’re vibrant, full of life, innovative. Don’t let her take that away from you. You don’t have to be a cookie-cutter version of Erica to be good enough to serve in the state senate.”

  “I know, I know. But they’re trying to help.”

  “They’re letting Curtis make the election about you as a person. Change the conversation.”

  Confusion furrowed my brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Make it about the issues. After all, that’s why you’re running. You’re trying to protect free speech and free expression. Freedom of expression includes a lot of things. Like your hair.”

  Her words brought a smile to my face. As usual, Lana knew exactly what to say to make me feel better. This haircut didn’t make or break me as a candidate. I would go along with the image makeover. I would wear the boring clothes Erica picked out, but I would make them my own.

  “You’re right,” I said. “Okay, I can do this. See you soon.”

  We hung up, and I went into my room to finish getting ready. With my dark brown hair glued to the side of my head, heavy make-up making my eyes look more hazel than brown, the staid dress Erica picked out, and some faux pearls I’d found on clearance that afternoon, I barely recognized the person reflected in the mirror. She looked boring. Older. Worst of all, she had to wear flats because Erica didn’t like the idea of me towering over all the male donors.

  My upper lip curled involuntaril
y when my eyes landed on those stupid shoes. Men really wouldn’t support a female candidate who was taller than them? Were male egos that fragile? Maybe they should come to a pole class. I’d teach them a thing or two about confidence.

  CHAPTER 11

  Corkscrew: On a static pole, this is a strength hold. When spinning, it’s a really cool trick, especially if you spread your legs into a vee. Start by putting your arms in a split grip, making a wide triangle. Then pull your knees into your chest, curving your body around the pole.

  - Push and Pole Fitness Tutorials, Vol. 1

  When I arrived, the fundraiser was in full swing. Erica thankfully didn’t feel it was necessary for me to greet guests at the door, and Daniel thought I’d make more of an impression if he announced me once everyone arrived. Then I would give a short speech for maximum impact.

  Pausing in the hotel lobby outside the rented conference room, I texted my campaign manager to let him know I’d arrived. Considering the short notice, I’d expected to find maybe four people moving in a sea of empty tables, but well-dressed people packed the room from wall to wall.

  Daniel had to be in there somewhere, but he didn’t stand out in the sea of suits. Not even his height helped me locate him through the mass of people. I thought I recognized a couple of faces, probably from the posters of party members in his office. Erica stood in the far corner of the room, beaming at her companion. She held a glass of champagne in one hand, and she chatted easily with a man in an expensive-looking suit whose face I couldn’t see. But none of that is what made me gasp when she caught my attention.

  She wore the silky floor-length green dress I’d first pulled off the rack yesterday morning. The one she sneered at me for choosing. My lips pressed into a thin line.

  I started across the room, intending to give her a piece of my mind. I didn’t make it three steps inside the doors before a hand touched my arm, pulling me to a stop. In my tunnel vision of rage, I hadn’t even noticed Daniel coming to meet me.

  “Melody! How nice to see you,” he said loudly, handing me a glass of champagne. I didn’t want it. Trying to hand it back, I mumbled an excuse under my breath, but he moved closer and stood at my elbow. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “I don’t know where you’re racing off to with murder in your eyes, but you’re the belle of the ball and all these people are watching you. Smile. You look lovely. Very professional.”