by Monica James
Clearing my throat seems to snap her from her gawking.
“Are you done out here?” she asks, gesturing with her chin to the stools.
“Almost. Why?”
“A couple of lights have blown in the dressing room. I would change them myself, but I just got my nails done.” To confirm her claims, she wiggles her long Barbie pink nails at me.
This is clearly a ploy to get me alone, but I have a job to do. The sooner Tawny knows I’m not here for anything but that, the better it’ll be for us both. So I nod. “Sure.”
Tawny’s face lights up. “Thanks so much.”
I gesture for her to lead the way.
She ensures the way is led by her wiggling her ass in the cutoffs she’s wearing. Her long legs seem amplified thanks to the cowboy boots she’s sporting. As I observed last night, she isn’t unattractive in the slightest, but she just doesn’t do it for me. It has nothing to do with her looks, and everything to do with the fact that I wouldn’t have to work for it.
She’s basically serving her tits to me on a silver platter, but I’m not interested. Nothing in my life has been easy, and I don’t expect women to be either.
The dressing room is bigger than I thought. It has four different shaped mirrors attached to the walls, and each mirror is bordered with lights. The tables are littered with lotions and makeup. The backs of chairs have colored feather boas twirled around them.
In the corner of the room are lockers. But as far as change rooms are concerned, there are none. There is nowhere private for the girls to change from their costumes once their dance number is up. It’s a communal room where protecting one’s modesty is nonexistent.
Kind of like the showers in prison.
“It’s these lights,” Tawny says, interrupting my thoughts. When she passes me a box of bulbs, I see where a few of the lights on the mirrors have blown.
Ensuring our fingers don’t touch, I reach for the box and walk over to the first mirror. I can see Tawny’s reflection as I turn off the switch and unscrew the bulb. She is anything but shy as she openly stares at me.
“So your name is Bull?” she asks, as that’s what Lotus referred to me as.
I nod in response.
“Were you born here, Bull?” My name trickles off her tongue like honey.
“Yes, sadly,” I reply, replacing one bulb. Only five more to go.
“Me too. I always thought I was destined for bigger and better things, but here I am.” She spreads her arms out wide. “I tried going to college, but it wasn’t for me. Stripping was supposed to be a temporary thing; yet, three years later, I’m still here.”
“Nothing wrong with being a stripper,” I state, peering at her briefly in the mirror. “The douchebags think they’re in control, but you’re not the one throwing cash at them.”
“I never thought about it that way,” she muses.
“Well, now you can.” I move to the next mirror and unscrew the bulb. Just as I reach for a replacement, I feel and smell Tawny behind me. I spin around and grip her wrist, stopping her in midair from touching me.
Her lips pull into a sassy smirk. She thinks this is a game, but it’s not. “Wow, you have like superhero reflexes. Is there something you’re not telling me?” she teases, batting her eyelashes. “With all that muscle, you could easily be Superman.”
She leans in close, too close, but I stand my ground. “I’m not the hero in this story, Tawny.”
“You don’t want to be my white knight?” she asks, her tone filled with sarcasm. I have no idea what that means until she clarifies. “Someone who thinks they can save a dancer from a life of stripping.”
“Definitely not me.” I snicker.
“Then what are you?” she challenges, pushing out her chest. Her tits are mere inches away from me, which means they’re mere inches too close.
Tightening my hold on her wrist, I lower my face to hers. She inhales sharply as her straight white teeth tug deliberately on her bottom lip. “I’m the bad guy,” I reply dangerously low.
I’m not trying to be melodramatic. It’s the truth. Yet my words only seem to excite her all the more.
Her pupils dilate, and her cheeks flourish a wicked red. “I like bad boys,” she hums, breathing deeply.
My demons roar to the surface, demanding I show her just how bad I can really be. But I shove them down deep. I don’t shit where I sleep. “Do yourself a favor then…don’t like me.”
She wets her lips, ready to speak, but when I hear a familiar voice, my attention drifts to the door. When I see who enters, memories of when I saw her last slam into me, and I squeeze Tawny’s wrist unintentionally.
Tiger has her cell pressed to her ear, talking happily to whoever is on the other end. “I’ll see you later. I love you, baby.” When she sees us, though, she stops dead in her tracks, replacing her smile with a stiff upper lip. She’s clearly confused as to what she just walked into.
Instantly, I let Tawny go, as the exchange looked rather heated, and it was, just not in the way Tiger thinks. When she finds her footing, she shakes her head, as if clearing the haze. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t think anyone was in here. I just need to grab my purse. I forgot it last night. I’ll be out of your hair in a second,” she says in a rushed breath.
Tawny remains close to me, appearing to gloat. I immediately take three steps away.
Tiger marches past us and heads straight for the lockers. She turns the dial, which is an amateur move, as I now know what the combination to her lock is.
1021.
I wonder what the significance is? Maybe her birthday? Or maybe it’s the birthday of the person, or rather, the baby she just told she loved?
What does it matter? I need to stop fixating on her.
I quickly turn around and finish replacing the bulbs on the mirrors while Tawny takes a seat and lights up a cigarette. The girls don’t make small talk, which makes me think they don’t like one another. When the locker door slams shut, I look in the mirror, wondering what’s going on.
Tiger has her back turned, so I take this opportunity to watch her unguarded. She’s in yoga pants, a baggy tee, and well-loved Chucks. Her long hair is twisted into a high knot on her head. When she turns, I see that her face barely has any makeup on, which I like.
Last night, I had the inexplicable urge to wipe the red lipstick from her mouth. However, I had no issues devouring her mouth with it on. My cock twitches at the memory. But that memory is soon replaced with pain and blood, and how I wanted to corrupt her, to taint her, so I’m not the only one marred with this blemish on my soul.
She meets my eyes in the mirror, but it’s only for a split second before I swiftly busy myself with changing the bulbs. I need to be more careful. She is toxic, which will only lead to trouble…for her.
“Well, see ya,” she calls out. It’s evident she’s hoping for a response.
Tawny blows a ring of smoke in reply while I simply ignore her. A sigh leaves her before she walks out the door.
After a few moments of silence, Tawny smugly says, “You weren’t kidding. You really are the bad guy.”
Hell to the fuck yes I am.
I just did Tiger a favor. She just doesn’t know it yet. Now, she can go home to her baby, safe as safe can be, because me, I would only send her castle crumbling to the ground.
Lily
“One, two, three. One, two, three. Heels should be touching with your toes turned out. Good, Jennifer. Now move your feet apart. Very good, Roberta. One, two, three. Open your arms wide but don’t stretch them back.”
The music wafts softly from the speakers as I walk around the small ballet studio, teaching my students the basics of ballet.
It’s here where I usually feel at peace, at home, but today, my five-year-old pupils have more coordination than I do. I leap into a jeté, determined to escape the memories that have plagued me since I got sucked into heaven and hell.
The music ends, alerting me the hour-long class has come to an end already.
I spaced, which has never happened before. Regardless of the shit that’s happened in my life—and believe me, there has been some major shit—I have always been able to focus the moment I stepped into this room. This is my happy place.
But clearly, today is different, and that’s thanks to…him.
Ugh, fuck…him.
“All right, class. You all did so well. I’ll see you next week.”
“Yes, Ms. Hope.” My students run to their gym bags, chatting animatedly amongst each other, while I open the door. Parents rush in, eager to see their children. Melanie Arnolds, a soccer mom with too much time and money on her hands, makes a beeline for me, which is no surprise, as she does this every week. Although, I much prefer her to her sleazeball husband, Derrick.
She’s a parent who hovers, but she’s a parent who also pays my bills, so I await the inquisition with a smile. “Lillian,” she calls out with a wave of her hand, jingling her Tiffany bracelets. “Can I speak to you for a second?”
I have no idea why she’s phrased it as a question since I have no say in the matter. But I only broaden my smile. “Of course, Melanie. And please, call me Lily.” I’ve only told her this for the past three months because only one person gets to call me that name. Maybe one day it’ll sink in. However, today is not that day.
She gestures with her eyes that she wants to speak in private, so I humor her, and we walk to the back of the room. When we’re huddled in the corner, she tugs at her pearl earring. “I know I sound like a nag, but I really think Brenda would excel in a different class.”
I open my mouth, but soon close it when Melanie reveals she’s not done.
“She knows all the routines by heart. She practices every day. I know you aren’t allowed to play favorites, but she is clearly your best student.” She winks mischievously as if we’re in some secret club.
We’re not.
And this is the reason I have a closed-door policy. No parent is permitted inside my studio because of the Melanie Arnolds of this world. They believe their child is a ballet prodigy when, in reality, they’re as graceful as a one-legged fish.
But putting my professional face on, I smile gently. “Brenda is exceptional, and I can see she is practicing, but I can’t move her to the next level until she sits her exams. I know it may seem unfair, but I don’t make the rules.”
“But this is your class,” she presses, pursing her Botox-infused lips.
“I realize that, but Ms. Everland is the director of this academy, and if I were to bend the rules, then I would get into serious trouble. Not to mention the fact that Brenda isn’t ready.”
Melanie flinches, her face stuck on resting bitch mode. “She is better than kids twice her age. I don’t understand why you’re hesitating.”
“I only want what’s best for Brenda. Please trust me. I will talk to Ms. Everland, but—” I don’t have a chance to finish my sentence—which would have been “but it won’t make a difference”—before I’m interrupted.
Melanie claps her hands together, her bright yellow nails resembling talons, as she clearly thinks she’s won me over. “Oh, Lillian! You won’t regret it.”
I already do.
When she peers around the room and turns her back, I arch a brow, wondering what in the hell she’s doing. I watch in confusion as she reaches into her Chanel clutch and produces a bundle of crisp hundred-dollar bills. That confusion soon transforms into utter offense.
“Here, take this. Spoil yourself.” Is she really trying to…bribe me? Bribe me so her five-year-old daughter can move up a grade? This would be comical if she wasn’t serious.
I step back two feet, shaking my head discreetly. “No, I couldn’t.”
“I insist.” She attempts to shove it into my hand, but I clench it tight, seconds away from slapping the filler from her cheeks.
“Thank you, Melanie, but no.” She looks at me as though I’ve just spoken a foreign word, which, in her world, I probably have, and that word is no.
“Are you sure? This is pocket money for me,” she states flippantly, insulting me further.
Her “pocket money” would pay my rent for a month, but I’ll be damned if I tell her that. But I don’t need to. She knows. All these moms and dads know what I am. It’s what draws a distinct line between us.
The rich and the poor.
And the fact I’m being persuaded to take this large wad of cash from a mom whose designer pantsuit costs more than my truck hints to where I sit on the social ladder. I teach this class, dealing with pretentious parents, and at night, I take off my clothes because I do what I have to in order to survive.
If this were a fairy tale, I would have graduated high school and gone to Juilliard or SAB, living out my dream of becoming a world-renowned ballerina. But life very rarely goes as planned. I was a naïve kid with adolescent dreams. And something big made me grow the fuck up and left me with this…this life of a stranger.
Blinking back my tears, I sigh in relief when Brenda attempts to dance over. She ends up bumping into a barre.
“Hi, Brenda,” I say exceptionally loud, alerting Melanie that her daughter is about to witness her mother bribing her teacher. Melanie thankfully gets the hint and shoves the money back into her clutch.
Before Melanie has a chance to corner me any further, I step to the side and pat Brenda on the head. “You did so good today. I’m really proud of you. I’ll see you next week.” She smiles her toothless grin while I excuse myself and say farewell to the remaining parents and students.
When they’re all gone, I lock the door, walk over to the iPod, and select “Smells like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana. The thrashy guitars cut through the once tranquil ballet studio, bringing me alive. I move my body to the upbeat tempo, and when the chorus kicks in, I let loose.
All my frustrations seep from me as I sweat away my pain. My body aches as I leap high, landing on my toes. I turn and turn, around and around, until the room spins away before me. But that doesn’t stop me. It only encourages me to continue.
The dizzier I become, the further away those different colored eyes fade—a sea green-amber kiss from hell.
An anger blisters throughout, and I take it out on my body as I continue to dance a ballet fit for the devil. My body is and has always been a channel, and even though I have the perfect poker face, when I dance, every emotion explodes out of me.
I dance with my heart; that’s what my teacher and the closest thing I have to a mom, Avery Everland, told me. She first saw me dance in my trailer park home when I was six years old. I had no training and no clue what I was doing, but that didn’t stop me.
Dancing was my escape. It was here I could chase the demons plaguing my soul.
Avery saved me from becoming a statistic. I didn’t have two pennies to rub together, thanks to my father leaving before I was born, and my mom being too caught up in finding herself a Prince Charming instead of saving herself.
I have an older brother, but just like my father, he left me too.
Memories of abandonment flash before me, and I scream in fury, punishing my body because it’s the only way to feel. My heart threatens to rip apart my rib cage, but would that be so bad? Twenty-eight years of hell can all end right here, right now.
As I spin faster and faster, my blistered toes beseech me to finish, but I can’t. It’s only when I dance that I feel free, free from this life that turned out nothing like I thought. The song comes to a close, and I end with a sequence of fast pique turns. Around and around, always running away, and when the last note fades, I face reality, breathless and spent.
My winded pants fill the small room as I take a moment to catch my breath. I always feel most alive when I take my last step, gratified that I’ve overcome the past. But today, the weight returns, and that’s thanks to someone I most definitely need to stay away from.
He reeks of trouble, trouble with a capital T, so why am I drawn to him? Something about him calls to me, a deep, carnal yearning, which has me forgetting my numb
er one rule—your heart can only be broken if you let it.
I haven’t had a boyfriend for years because men only hurt me and then they leave. All but one, and that’s the reason I’m single and working at The Pink Oyster.
Sighing, I stop with the moping and grab my bag. I slip out of my ballet slippers and put on my Chucks, ready for the drive home. The drive from Cleveland to Detroit is long, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Here, no one knows who I am, not even Avery. I wouldn’t jeopardize her that way.
I can’t risk anyone knowing what I do at night because a prestige academy like Everland’s would never survive such a scandal. It doesn’t matter that I’m the best damn teacher this school has or that I work my ass off. None of that matters when you take your clothes off for a living.
You’re seen as a slut, a lower-class citizen, but I dare any of these pretentious moms to live a day in my shoes. I do what’s necessary to survive—I always have—and I make no apologies. I couldn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of me, but working in a different state does make things easier for…my son—the love of my life.
Avery’s brother lived in the same trailer park as I did, and from the first time we met, she took me under her wing and made me into the woman I am today. She taught me everything I know, all because she saw something special in me.
When she dropped by the trailer, she would take me to her studio. Those visits were the only thing that helped me through my childhood. I would sweep the floors and clean the toilets—whatever I could do to help—and in return, she paid me in ballet lessons.
She never asked me to do the chores, but I wanted to because I didn’t want to be a freeloader. She saved me from a lifetime of pain. She allowed me to be someone other than me for a few hours, away from my mom, and away from a life that caused me nothing but pain.
