by Grace Lowrie
I arrived at the club half an hour before opening, just as the rain was stopping. I squinted up at the neon flash of the sign, bright and exciting against the grey of London, and made my way round to the side entrance where two large muscle-bound bouncers were holding the door open for two women. Taking a deep breath I reminded myself I wasn’t Calluna anymore; I was Luna; I could do this; I wanted to do this. And if I didn’t enjoy it I could always leave.
Despite the inscrutable expression on his face, one of the doormen reminded me of Liam – he had a similar haircut and prominent brow – which was oddly reassuring. I approached him with a smile.
‘Hi, would it be possible to see Pavel?’ In my peripheral vision I could see the other man looking me over with suspicion, but I kept my eyes on the stolid-looking guy before me.
‘You looking for work?’ His voice was a low grumble.
‘Yes, I’m a friend of Jasmine Reed’s,’ I said calmly.
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You might be in luck; someone just quit.’
‘Great!’ I said brightly.
He sighed. ‘Give me a minute.’
As he disappeared inside I was left standing with the other bouncer who ignored me but leered openly at all the other woman who passed into the building. It was a huge relief when the other man finally reappeared and signalled for me to follow him, with a tip of his head.
The interior of the club was much larger, lighter and less seedy than I’d been expecting, with a long mirrored bar, a lavish raised stage, and a series of polished metal poles dotted throughout the remaining space. Each pole was mounted on a round, elevated plinth and surrounded by a cluster of cosy-looking seating. For all my false bravado, the sight of those podiums almost crippled me with fear. I was a long way from Wildham.
Pavel was a round man of short stature, with a shiny bald patch and a neatly-trimmed goatee. He was perched on the edge of a plinth and flanked by two tall, Amazonian women; a redhead and a tanned blonde.
‘So, Jasmine sent you?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘She’s a good girl, Jasmine. She has gone far but she has not forgotten where she began.’ Pavel had a Russian accent and shrewd eyes and I smiled non-committally at this fresh insight into Jasmine’s beginnings. ‘So, you want a job.’
‘Yes.’
‘What can you do?’
‘I can dance.’
‘You work in a club before?’
‘No, but I have trained in ballet and contemporary and commercial dance.’
‘Ballet!’ He chuckled. ‘You work the pole?’
‘I know the basics, yes,’ I said, ignoring the double entendre that had raised a snigger from the redhead.
‘Show me.’
‘Now?’
‘Change first – Zena will show you.’ He turned away, effectively dismissing me, and the blonde stepped forward with a tight smile. She was older than me, and intimidating, her generous curves strapped inside a leather corset and skinny jeans. I hurried after her swinging hips as she sashayed towards a door marked private.
The changing room was cluttered but clean-looking, with long dressing tables, orderly rails of costumes and clothes, and women in various states of undress. Zena wordlessly hung my raincoat and jumper on a peg and I bent down to pull off my shoes and socks. She was called away to the bar for several minutes and I took the opportunity to do a few warm up stretches.
‘You’re not going out there like that, are you?’ Zena said on her return.
I glanced down at my T-shirt and leggings. ‘I don’t have anything else.’
‘Sweet Jesus,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Here, put these on.’ She thrust a studded black leather bra with matching hot pants at me and my mouth dropped open. ‘Honey, we need to see your assets – tits and arse – that’s what this job’s about. If you’re not prepared to flaunt it, you might as well leave now.’
I took the clothes from her and changed quickly, aware that I was blushing furiously but trying hard to ignore all the eyes on me.
‘Try these, they’re fives,’ Zena said handing me a pair of black stilettos.
‘Can’t I just go barefoot?’
She shook her head. ‘Your legs will look much better in these, believe me.’ Despite her brusque demeanour I was grateful to this woman for taking pity on me and squeezed my feet into the shoes without further comment. ‘Hold still.’ Zena clamped my jaw in one hand and, with well-practised efficiency, applied black eye-liner and mascara to my eyes, powder to my nose, and blood red lipstick to my mouth.
A shiver of exhilaration passed through me as I turned to a mirror and saw ‘Luna’ for the first time. ‘I can do this,’ I said under my breath.
‘Right,’ Zena said, placing her hands on my shoulders and staring into my reflection. ‘The most important piece of advice I can give you is to be bold. You can pull off just about anything with enough confidence.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much.’ Zena nodded once in acknowledgement before steering me out into the club as if I was just the latest in a long line of willing fools.
The lights had dimmed and a DJ was playing music over loud speakers from a booth in the corner. He winked at me as I passed and I smiled back, pleased that it was Erykah Badu’s ‘Next Lifetime’, a tune I was familiar with. Telling myself it was merely a performance, just like any other, I stepped up to the pole nearest to Pavel, who was in conversation with several other people at the bar, and began to dance. I blocked out everyone around me, concentrated on my body and let the music be my guide; blending practised moves together with a liberal smattering of improvisation as I threw myself around the pole.
After a couple of songs, Pavel approached and signalled for me to stop. The room was filling with people – more girls gyrating around poles, and men in suits who sat drinking, while a woman on the stage, dressed as a schoolgirl, performed an elaborate striptease, complete with classroom props. Breathless, I sank down to a crouch on my aching feet, allowing Pavel to shout in my ear.
‘What’s your name, darling?’
‘Luna.’
‘Ah, like the moon.’
‘Yes.’
‘So. You survive tonight, and the job is yours.’
‘Really?’ I grinned, genuinely thrilled. ‘This is good club; respectable club for nice girls. You work hard and we will look after you – understand?’
‘Thank you, Pavel.’
‘Take a break; five minutes.’ He held a small, soft palm out to help me down and I spotted a couple of fivers lying on the podium. I offered them to my new boss but he smiled and shook his head as he folded the cash and tucked it neatly in the waistband of my hot-pants. ‘Save it ‘til the end, then come see me, Luna.’ My head buzzed with satisfaction as I made my way back to the dressing room with a spring in my aching instep.
It was gone 2 a.m. by the time a taxi delivered me back to my swanky flat; tired, sore, and hungry. Once inside I peeled off the clothes I’d thrown on for the journey home, kicked off my trainers, readjusted my borrowed leather bra and limped into the kitchen area. Having loaded bread into the toaster I collapsed onto the sofa while I waited for it to cook. What a night! Most of what I’d earned in tips I’d had to pay to Pavel by way of a House Fee – that was how it worked – but he had offered me three shifts a week, starting in just a week’s time. Zena, the House Mum, had given me a whole load of House Rules and a comprehensive Code of Conduct to read through, but it all looked fairly straightforward. Despite never having stepped into a strip club before, I was confident that once I got into the swing of things I could earn myself good money. Especially once I’d worked up the courage to go completely naked. Tonight, I’d kept my borrowed outfit on and focused on the dancing, but that was how you earned the real tips – nudity and plenty of eye contact. Seeing the other girls perform made me realise I needed serious practise, if I was going to be successful. Closing my eyes I wearily flexed my blistered, aching feet. My new persona ‘Luna’ was also in need of pr
oper attire, including decent size six, four inch high heels…
I woke with a start, leaping up in terror at the ear-splitting scream of an alarm, the smell of burning and the sight of smoke pouring from the kitchen.
The toast!
I rushed over and gingerly hooked the scorched bread out with the end of a fork, inadvertently risking electrocution, before remembering to switch the appliance off at the wall.
‘Shut up, shut up, shut up,’ I yelped, swatting ineffectually at the small, flashing ceiling alarm with a tea towel.
‘Sidney? Are you there?’ A man shouted through the front door, hammering on it with his fist.
‘Shit,’ I muttered under my breath, running to the door with my hands over my ears. ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ I yelled, yanking the door open. ‘There’s no fire; I just burnt some toast!’ The alarm stopped abruptly so that my final word was shouted ridiculously loudly at the guy before me. He was tall, dark, and wild-looking; his hair sticking up in tufts, enhancing the stormy expression on his face. ‘Sorry,’ I whispered into the ringing silence. It was a shock finding myself in such close proximity to a strange man, having kept a careful distance from them all night. And this man was particularly intimidating – I guessed he was slightly older than me; the flecks of silver at his temples giving him a wolfish look. I briefly registered dark, paint-splattered clothing, extensively tattooed muscles, a pierced eyebrow and intense eyes, which narrowed as they slid all over me.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he said. He reeked of turps or white spirit and held a bristly paintbrush in one grubby hand. His glowering frame filled the doorway like a malignant shadow and I instinctively took a step backwards into the relative safety of my smoky flat.
‘I’m Cally.’
‘Cally…?’
‘Calluna… Calluna Drey. I’m house-sitting for Mr Curtis while he’s away.’ I stammered.
‘House-sitting? Well, Cally, you’re obviously doing a splendid job.’ His eyes mocked me.
‘I just burnt some toast…’ I said, folding my arms, ‘…and I’ve apologised—’
‘When’s Sidney back?’
‘In six months. Sorry but, you are…?’
‘Why are you making toast at two in the morning?’
‘I’m hungry,’ I snapped. ‘Not that it’s any of your business. Why are you painting at two in the morning?’
His eyes darkened, adding to my unease. ‘I live next door – own the whole building in fact – so if you could try to refrain from burning it down…’ He stepped backwards onto the landing.
‘Fine. I’ll do my best,’ I said, pushing the door shut with an irate bang. What a rude, arrogant, patronising arsehole! No-one had ever spoken to me like that before – not in person, anyway. Sure, I’d dealt with my fair share of disgruntled customers on the phone at the call centre, but they weren’t usually angry with me personally. Where I came from, people were polite and courteous to people they met for the first time, especially neighbours. And the way I’d snapped back at him… that wasn’t like me at all – normally I avoided confrontation at all costs. But he wouldn’t even tell me his name. Jerk.
I stalked into the bedroom, still riled up and trembling with adrenalin, and then cringed as I caught sight of myself in the mirror; still scantily clad in leather underwear; my hair a bird’s nest of tangles and my eye make-up smudged with sweat; giving me panda eyes. Ugh. How humiliating. That settled it; I would do everything in my power to avoid my only neighbour. If I never saw him again, it would be too soon.
Chapter Six
What the fuck was that! What did Sidney think he was doing inviting a complete stranger to come and live in my building without even telling me? Why hadn’t he just asked me to feed his fucking fish? Actually… probably because I’d kill them off – not intentionally of course, but I wasn’t the most reliable of people. But still. Fuck. A woman – a beautiful woman who blushed when flustered, owned a ridiculously big stuffed bunny, and dressed like a hooker! What the hell was she doing up in the middle of the night? The night was my territory; I didn’t want to share it. I’d been so careful about selecting a tenant for the flat next door – someone quiet and tidy, someone who went out to work all day and slept all night and didn’t throw wild parties. Sidney was almost as much of a loner as me. She’d better not start throwing parties or I would throw her out. End of story.
‘Calluna Drey…’ her name rolled around my tongue as if I was tasting something new and exotic and I fought the urge to repeat it over and over again. The way she had looked at me, warily, as if I was a rotten smell best avoided, was nothing new. I recognised her type; snotty, privileged and judgemental. She was right to be wary; I was bad news. But who was she to judge me, dressed like that! She had invaded my own private hell, up on the top floor, completely without warning and she wasn’t welcome. It was unnerving knowing she was just on the other side of the wall. I already couldn’t stand her. I would avoid her like the Black Death.
Returning to the canvas I was working on, I dabbed my paintbrush into a dollop of wet paint and scrutinised my efforts so far, but my concentration had been shot to hell. Those long, shapely legs… that slight gap between her front two teeth which made her look so innocent… those eyes; those startling, cobalt blue eyes. And the way she’d said “I’m hungry”; the way she’d looked at me as she said those two words, had made me instantly hard – rock hard. Fuck it. Angrily launching the brush across the room like a javelin I watched as it daubed a crimson smear on the opposite wall before clattering to the floor. I wouldn’t be getting any more work done tonight. Grabbing my tobacco tin I stalked to the kitchen to fix myself a strong drink.
Chapter Seven
Once my feet had recovered I went shopping for a new wardrobe. It had been years since I’d been clothes shopping alone – I’d always been dragged along by Marguerite, who prided herself on her fashion sense and considered each purchase an investment in her own success. This time I didn’t want, or dare ask for, my best friend’s input, but I tried to channel her self-confidence.
Zena’s application of red lipstick to my lips had made me feel like a completely different person; it wasn’t a mask, but it had still given me an enormous sense of freedom; freedom to be whomever I chose to be. I took that lipstick as my inspiration and ran with it, purchasing an array of lingerie in a range of scarlets and blood reds. Lace Basques and silk bras with matching knickers – nothing I bought was studded leather, but I was confident these garments were erotic enough to have the desired effect. They certainly made me feel sexier than I ever had before. Trying them on I marvelled at my own reflection with growing excitement. Marguerite, Liam, my parents, all would be horrified at the sight of me like this, but that thought only made me more determined.
Next I stopped at a shoe shop where I purchased several pairs of strappy heels in black, red, and gold. And I didn’t stop there.
Once I had my dancing outfits organised I was free to style my new daytime self. Throwing caution, and my savings, to the wind, I bought beautifully feminine dresses, skirts, cardigans and scarves, all in crimson hues; accessorising them with soft leather handbags, belts, shoes and boots. It was the vibrant shades of red I favoured; for making me feel most alive, striking and womanly. My tired, once-white, cotton underwear were replaced with simple black pieces, to differentiate from my dance wear. They were still sexy, but for my eyes only.
Less than a fortnight into my London stay, and I already had a job and a new wardrobe sorted out, but I still needed somewhere to practise my routines. Back at the flat I was standing by the window, eating stuffed olives with my fingers straight from the jar, when inspiration hit. The rain had stopped, it had just gone half past five, and the surrounding buildings were emptying of workers for the day. It was time to investigate the garden
The barrage of greenery took my breath away as I exited the lift on the ground floor and rounded the corner. This part of London was mainly comprised of offices in a smart blend of styles, from traditiona
l to modern, with a smattering of eateries and coffee shops at ground level. Space was at a premium, and aside from the odd formal pocket of corporate landscaping, the public Royal Parks, and the private railing-enclosed squares in the west, real gardens were rare.
This secluded walled oasis had clearly been around for a long time, because it held several mature trees, including a gnarled old oak tree, an impressive copper beech and a mixture of smaller contorted fruit trees. The lawn beneath the trees petered out into thistles and nettles at the base of the high brick walls, giving the space the atmosphere of an orchard rather than a garden. The trees nearest to the surrounding buildings had been coppiced in recent years, presumably to restrict their growth and allow more light in, but the trees near the centre provided a green umbrella of privacy, protecting the garden from the several storeys that otherwise overlooked from above. The sounds of the city were muffled by the foliage and as I closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh scent of leaves and bark, I felt comforted – as if I was back in Wildham, in the woods behind the house. How had a shabby, under-used garden such as this withstood the pressure of development? And how had someone as young and obnoxious as my jerk of a neighbour ended up owning such a place?
Weak sunlight filtered down through the trees, along with occasional wet drips of rain, as I stepped through the damp grass. It was bare in patches and mossy in others, springy beneath my flat shoes. I stopped at a small tree that stood alone in a clearing, separate from the rest. It was maybe a wild cherry; younger and upright, with a slender trunk and smooth, shiny bark. Cupping the trunk in my palm, I walked right around it, gazing up into the canopy of delicate white blossom. The girth fit my hand perfectly, and though the bark wasn’t smooth enough to slide up and down on, I figured I’d still be able to practice some swings and jumps, provided the tree was sturdy enough. Taking an experimental leap around it, I let the trunk take my weight, and it held firm with barely a quiver. I couldn’t help laughing in delight – it was if it had been planted especially for me. Kicking off my wet shoes I proceeded to pole-dance around the tree, practising my routine to music only I could hear; a light confetti of snow-white petals, drifting to the grass around me.
