by Rosie Harper
Still, a girl has to make her living, Mary thought, knowing that in order to eat tomorrow, she needed to knock the crowd out of their seats while they were still vulnerable. In a swift motion, the woman rocked her bottom in a suggestive way, removing the thin, leather cloth that served as her thong faster than anyone could react.
The crowd’s roar quickly turned into a silence, before coming back in all its loud glory a moment later. Again, money came pouring in from everywhere, unfortunately still mostly in one dollar bills.
I hate the whole cheap lot of you, Rose though as she brought her number to a close, posing provocatively for a couple of seconds while moving her breasts and bottom enticingly. I’m knocking my ass off here- literally, and you all give me peanuts.
Regardless, Mary diligently and swiftly picked up the money that the Dame’s patrons have so generously dropped for her. Wearing a fake smile, she wiggled her tender buttocks for all to see every time she would bend over to pick up a bill.
A minute later, the woman was out of the staging area and back in the preparation room. Silently, she passed by the other performers, not greeting a single one, before sitting down in her designated spot. Having placed the pieces of the costume she had removed on the small table on her left, Rose turned toward the mirror and beheld her reflection.
Staring back into her soft green eyes was a shining ode to the female form. Her face was oval and her complexion flawlessly pale, reminiscent of the pin-up models of the sixties. Under a straight, thin nose lay a pair of flawlessly made-up, puckered red lips that immediately evoked desire in whoever would laid their eyes upon this divine creature. Framing this heavenly beauty were locks of coal-black, curly hair of medium length that kept swaying over and around her eyes in a provocative way.
Proud at what she had to show, Mary stared into this illusion for a while, posing for herself, before she finally grabbed a nearby rag and made it all disappear in one swift motion. Gone was the heavenly figure that stared back from that position just a moment ago, replaced by a similar yet unworthy imitator.
Although the overall shape was the same, the previous display was possessed of a degree of polish and energy that the current one just didn’t have. The contrasting palette of colors that used to accentuate every good feature has left in favor of a pair of tired eyes and colorless lips, framed by a small set of barely visible lines.
Goodbye, Rose, the woman silently told herself. Hello, Mary, you stupid old slut.
She didn’t have to remove her guise that fast, the stripper knew. Just as easily as she waved the magic away, she could have gone on to the private booth instead, where horny patrons undoubtedly still awaited her presence. A bit of wiggle here, a bit of tugging there, and she’d be set for the week.
But I refuse! Mary wanted to scream at herself for even entertaining the thought.
Bringing an unused side of the cloth up to her eyes, the woman vigorously started rubbing what was left of the make-up off of her face. The faster she finished, the faster she’d be out of there and away from the temptation. Private shows were simply not an option anymore. I will not whore myself out again.
It took a while, but by the time it was done, Mary was well on her way to feeling better. Although the face that stared back at her from the reflective surface was without a doubt attractive, the patrons of the Dame of Hearts didn’t come there to shag a woman well on her way toward middle age. They were there for the illusion, something that wasn’t there anymore.
The woman was safe from the private chambers now, and in knowing that she felt a sense of relief. Unfortunately, an uninvited guest would always follow: a slight, yet still greatly unpleasant certainty of her own ever-decreasing value. No one wants an old stripper, Mary thought, all while knowing that with each passing day she was well on her way to becoming one.
Regret and disappointment, my two old, yet rarely absent friends. Slowly, Mary grabbed her own pair of panties, plain white ones, slowly sliding them over her legs and up into their place. The touch of the fabric was pleasant, much more enjoyable than any touch she was forced to endure in recent history. You’ll never hurt me, will you, Mr. Panty?
Next up was the bra, a fittingly white one. Swiftly, with all the experience of someone who had earned a living by removing her own lingerie, the woman locked every piece in its place faster than the time it took her to draw a single breath.
Then, having risen to her feet, Mary quickly put on what was left of her casual wear: an ordinary, not too tight fitting pair of jeans and a red tank top. Completing this comfortable look was a short jacket following the similar style of her jeans, along with a simple set of regular white loafers.
Now ready to leave the place, the woman who was known as Rose picked up her handbag, placed it over her left wrist, and casually strolled out through the backdoor. If anyone of the girls had anything to say about her, good or bad, Mary didn’t care. The job was done and she was well on her way home.
The drive was uneventful, save for the occasional swear word she directed toward her car; an old, rickety thing whose best trait was its low gas consumption. Slowly and loudly, the thing rumbled as it traversed the road, as if to remind Mary of her impressive list of bad choices.
Those new girls… Every single one of them must think she’s queen of the world. I know I did. Oh, how wrong I was… For a short moment, the woman allowed herself a brief smile before letting it fade into nothing. They’ll all learn, eventually, and by then it’ll be too late.
“As it is for me,” Mary finished her thought aloud.
Oh, stop it! If her hands weren’t busy, she’d have slapped herself. My life wasn’t that bad, she told herself. In fact, that statement was true.
However, it was apparent that everything was about to take a turn for the worse. Mary had become jaded, fallow, uninterested in her job, human relationships and everything else. She didn’t save any money, so quitting the private shows she began to loath has hit her harder than it should. Every night was a hustle to make ends meet, and by the looks of things, nothing indicated that it would get better, soon or ever.
Doesn’t matter, it’s still better than being a glorified prostitute, she reminded herself. And the minute one of the employers I’ve contacted gives me a positive response, I will leave this nightmare behind me. The contractors, however, never replied, not positively nor in any other way. She was a dancer way past her prime, with no real talents other than an impressive high school and track record.
Ah yes, my track record… How I thought we would do great things together!
Indeed, high school had been a time of glory for her. Sharp, beautiful and athletic, there was not a teacher who wasn’t certain that their beautiful female student would go on to change the world. She believed them fully, for a time. Sadly, things change, people leave, and a part-time job one takes for some easy money becomes a gilded cage from which it becomes more and more difficult to escape.
Almost two decades later, Mary was in the same place, working the same degrading job, lesser in every way but in age. Due to her occupation, she had trouble finding intimacy and didn’t marry, and every time she planned to move away was followed by a streak of horrible luck that sucked her right back into the Dame of Hearts.
Maybe I should have went with one of the guys from school. There were so many of them, she recalled. Andrew, with his flowing locks of blond hair and infinitely sunny disposition. Hugh, whose gentle gaze never seemed to wander far away from Mary’s general direction.John, the school’s jock superstar, who refused to talk to her again after she refused his premature marriage proposal. The list went on.
One after another, the images flashed in her mind’s eye. They were all so beautiful and she missed them so much, but her actions have driven them away, as they did everyone else. Whether they were good for Mary or not was irrelevant at this point. She rejected all of them in different ways, and now they were gone from her life.
“You go, girl,” she told herself, without a hint of mi
rth in her voice.
The building she lived in now well in her sight, Mary steered the car to the usual parking spot. Locking it out of principle, yet still refusing to believe anyone would go out of their way to steal that hunk of junk, she entered the derelict, but somehow not yet condemned building.
A couple of minutes of hurried stair-hopping later, she found herself in front of the familiar door to her apartment. The key clicked, the lock opened, and the fading stripper was home.
Home, sweet prison, the woman thought while hanging her jacket onto the rack to her right. Another step into the place, she almost tripped on a badly placed, cheap little carpet.
Having turned on the lights, it was apparent that Mary’s apartment was in no better shape than her mind was. Everything was everywhere, not having been cleaned up for weeks. In fact, the only neat spot in her entire home was a small, square-shaped piece of the floor that the woman used for her daily exercise routine. Aside from that particular detail, the place was more akin to an animal’s lair than something fit for a human being to live.
In as much of a straight line as was possible, Mary paced toward the fridge. Having opened it, she greedily inspected its contents for something to sate her hunger. Grudgingly, she settled for a slice of yesterday’s stale pizza.
Unwholesome, she thought while forcing herself to chew through the pastry, but beats having to make dinner.
Just about to grab the TV remote, something immediately caught her attention; and object that was not in the room when she left this evening. Slowly, the woman walked back to the door, just close enough to notice a flat, white piece of paper lying on the floor.
So this is what almost tripped me, she noticed, grabbing and lifting the object up to her face with her left hand. A letter, of all things. It has been a while since Mary saw one of those, let alone had it delivered to her.
After shoving the slice of pizza down her throat in a single gulp, the woman grabbed the envelope with both hands, turning it around in order to discern who it was from. Curiously, there was no return address.
Creepy, was the first thing she could think of. Regardless, she was most certainly intrigued.
Oh well, let’s see what our secret admirer has to say. Carefully, the woman tore off a small piece of the envelope, exposing its contents: something that looked like a ticket to some sort of rest resort, and a neatly folded white piece of paper. Written on this paper were but two words:
PLEASE COME.
Oooooooook. Perplexed by this development, Mary turned her attention back to the ticket. It was nicely decorated, with printed leaves imposed over a black base. A set of archaic looking, golden letters spelled out the name of the resort: Wild Things.
Apparently, due to the post office’s lack of diligence in delivering the letter, the ticket was only good if redeemed by tomorrow night. If she was to have any hope of making use of it, the stripper would have to call in sick for tomorrow.
“Yeah, like I have the luxury to let that happen,” she said, letting both pieces of paper fall to the floor.
It might be for the best, Mary concluded, walking away from the letter’s contents and toward her filthy chair. Who knows what this might be.It might be a maniac of some sort, she considered, having slowed her pace down, an especially obsessed old stalker…
Then, she stopped in her tracks. Or, it might be the change of pace I so desperately hoped for. Slowly, the woman turned around, letting both pieces of paper enter her vision radius again. Hell, be it good or bad, it MUST be something new.
Now showing more interest than she did for anything else in the previous week, Mary practically jumped over half of her small apartment. As she grabbed the ticket and held it in her right hand, the woman quickly rose, turning her gaze toward the only window in the room.
It’s a brand new day, she concluded, looking into the bright-blue sky outside. Let’s see what it has to offer.
Contrary to what it said on the ticket, finding the resort turned out to have been quite the task. Hidden as it was, deep within the forests of Colorado, quite a few stones had to be turned for Mary to find even a hint of the place’s existence.
A full five hours into the trip, and a whole lot of wrong turns later, a raggedy-looking old man finally directed her toward a narrow, muddy old road that led into a seemingly untouched part of the wild. Slowly, the old car advanced toward the assumed “Wild Things”, while an angry Mary kept cursing her decision to even consider this trip.
For a full hour she went on like that, practically hoping for another car to come from the other way so she would actually have something to be irritated about. Unsurprisingly, nothing like that happened, and the drive through the forest was uneventful. Had she been less frustrated, Mary might have actually enjoyed it.
By the time she found her way to the worn-out hut hat proudly displayed the resort’s name, engraved on a rusty old plate that stuck out from its roof, it was already noon. The place’s parking lot, sizeable enough to hold up to three regular vehicles, now accommodated hers.
Careful so as not to step on anything venomous, the woman walked out of her automobile, closing the door and locking it immediately afterward. Then, all while habitually turning her head left and right every couple of seconds, she approached the hut and knocked three times.
No response. Slowly, but with greater force, Mary produced three more thuds with the clenched fist of her right hand, again provoking no reaction whatsoever.
Freaky. For a second, the woman considered turning the handle and stepping inside herself, but her better judgment quickly prevented that course of action. Disappointed, she turned around, taking the first in a series of steps that she planned on taking toward her car.
Almost immediately, the door behind her opened, creaking horribly, as an unpleasant aroma of stale air filled her nostrils. “May I help you?” a voice soon followed, belonging to something that could only have been an old woman.
Not unlike a startled cat, Mary turned around in an instant, thinking herself ready to face whatever was in store. What lay in front of her, however, barely required any alertness whatsoever: a wrinkled old crone of an indeterminate age, sat behind a barely-standing wooden table, right in the middle of an almost completely empty, dust-covered room.
“No need to be so highly strung, darling,” the old woman’s speech was not unlike a badly damaged violin. “There is nothing in here but little old me.”
“So I see,” Mary slowly replied after having checked behind her for good measure.
“Pretty little thing,” the crone spoke again, her milky pair of eyes relentlessly staring into the stripper’s own pair of green ones. “What in the world are you looking for here?”
Slowly, the stripper unzipped her hand bag, pulling out both the ticket and the paper message with one hand. After displaying them both for the old woman to see, she finally spoke.
“I got these.”
“Ah,” the old lady answered, barely a second after the papers were presented. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Deliberately, she moved one hand over the table, revealing something small and made of metal that dangled beneath it. A key.
Still on her guard, Mary entered the hut, approaching the table soon thereafter. Having checked her left and right for anyone hiding within, she put the ticket on the table, and took the key from beneath the old woman’s hand.
Residence seven, it said on the keychain. Turning to her left, the stripper observed the large map drawn on that wall. Having noticed this, the crone spoke.
“You don’t need that thing for navigation, dearie. It’s older than time itself,” apparently for her own pleasure, she interrupted her sentence with a brief cackle. “Leave this hut on foot and follow the road, ignoring three consecutive turns. Then, after you come across the fourth, take the winding path to your right. Your place will be at the end of that line.”
“Thank you,” Mary responded as she turned around, heading toward the cottage’s exit.
“Be care
ful out there, my sweet,” the crone spoke one more time, “if you find the wrong residence, I can’t guarantee… satisfaction.” Following the words, the door slammed shut almost immediately, snuffing out any sound that might have followed.
Standing outside of the old hut, a frustrated Mary weighed her options. I can turn around and leave easily, the thought cruised through her mind, but then I won’t see what exactly this is all about.Furthermore, whoever mailed that invitation to me knows where I live, so it’s not like I’m exactly safe out there if the person has bad intentions…
For a brief moment, she considered knocking back on the door and giving the old woman a piece of her mind. What the hell is her problem anyway? With all the horror movie routine and everything, it’s no wonder this place is in bad shape.
No problem, Mary thought, I’ll just head back to my crapmobile and – Suddenly, she froze. The thought of going back to that apartment, that job, that way of life, without even checking this place out, frightened her more than anything else possibly could.
It’s noon, the stripper reminded herself. I can turn back at any time. Let’s make the most of this while I’m here. With determination, she turned around, passing by the old but and following the only road that led deeper into the forest.
The way was long, but not entirely unpleasant. Between each possible turn, at least half an hour passed, if not more. Having been awake throughout the night, Mary was beginning to feel signs of fatigue. By the time she had found the fourth turn, the one that led to the right, all the woman could think about was a comfy bed.
Approximately two hours after she left the hut, Mary finally found what she was after: a small, but seemingly well-maintained outhouse, marked on the door with the number seven. Relieved, she practically ran toward the door, jamming the key into the mechanism and moving it aside like it was her worst enemy.
From what she could see, the place was clean but as plain as it could possibly be; aside from a bed for two, a small dining table, and a gas-powered light, there was nothing else. Well, what can you do… she thought, currently made happier with the sight of the bed than she would have been if the place had cable TV.
