Samantha’s pseudo-Victorian sofa had not proved to be the most orthopedically beneficial place to spend the night.  As Michelle walked down the street after her neighbor, her back hurt, her neck hurt, her sides hurt, and if she tried to move her right leg too far over to the left, a shaft of sharp pain would climb up her thigh, her right ass cheek, and her lower spine.  Bruises from dancing decorated her knees, thighs, arms, and abdomen with lovely shades of blue, purple, and occasionally, green.  She walked with a slight, swaggering limp, remembering with near nostalgia dancing on point with bunioned, blistered, calloused feet.

She entered The Caribou, walking past tables full of customers who, at 4pm, were already filling a few dancers’ garters with cash.  She pulled her shoulders back and tried her best to carry herself as if she felt beautiful.

Every chair in front of the mirror was taken.  She stepped past Princess and two other dancers.  Bunny Lu (real name Laura) was telling the other two about a regular of hers who had taken her out to dinner twice.  Angel (real name Angela) listened, while Princess, maybe listening, stared in her direction.  They all took turns unglamorously snorting coke off a greasy pocket mirror.Julie sat at a seat in front of the mirror with an open book and a notepad.  Michelle tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hey,” she heard herself say.  “I’m on in ten minutes.  Since you’re um, only doing homework, do you mind if I use the mirror?”

Before she finished the word “mirror,” Julie’s forearm flew up, shielding her face as if blocking the idiot rays before they could damage her skin.  “Busy, please go away now.”

“But I – ”

“Busy,” Julie said emphatically, and put her arm back down to write.  Michelle swore silently and walked to the other side of the mirror.  She didn’t notice Samantha until she almost bumped into her.

“Oh, hey,” she said.  “Didn’t you say you wanted to do my makeup?”

Sam was staring at nothing when Michelle nearly collided with her.  She shook herself back to the present.  “Oh, yes.  I’ll do it.  Come sit down over here.  You look great in this outfit, by the way.”

Samantha painted Michelle’s face in baby blues and pinks to match her girlish pajama costume.  “Well, Miss Isadora, I think tonight is the ideal night to nail that first lap dance.”

“Nail?”

“You know what I mean.”

Michelle walked to the mirror and looked at her face.  Her cheeks shone with glitter.  “Well, I guess now’s as good as ever.”

“That’s a good mantra.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

She heard John over the speaker system.  “Will Isadora please make her way to the main stage?  We have the lovely Isadora coming up next for you folks.  Better get your cash ready.”

It was the first time she had ever danced completely sober.  Her head was so sore from the night before that she was still adhering to the impulsive vow she made that morning to renounce drinking entirely and forever.  As she took the stage, she began to reconsider.

She swung her hips joylessly back and forth, overcompensating for her poor dancing with pouting looks.  It will be over soon.  Soon it will be over and you can go to the bar.  Soon you will be at the bar and this will be the past and Mina will give you your drink like every other time.  Like every other time it will be okay, and Mina will have your drink for you before you even sit down.  You’ll walk up and she’ll know.  Mina knows and she cares about you.

She spent nearly all of her moderate tip earnings on cheap whiskey at the bar.  Mina gave her the headshake as she poured the liquor into a glass.

Princess sat with a table full of men in suits.  She had impeccable posture, thrusting her breasts forward like girls in old pinup photos sent to the boys overseas to ameliorate loneliness.

Angel was dancing on the main stage.  She was the worst overall performer at The Caribou, but her caramel skin and thick hair distracted customers from how little she actually did onstage.  Bunny Lu was obviously fucked up and sitting on the lap of some young man in an oversized t-shirt and jeans, allowing his hands to travel.

Michelle’s drink was almost gone, and she motioned for Mina to refill her glass.

“What you got there?”

“Whiskey.” She was a little hurt that Mina didn’t remember.  “Bourbon.”

The enormous man from amateur night sat, filling nearly an entire loveseat.  His forearms looked like sides of beef, and Michelle could see muscles through his skin that she didn’t know existed.  His hands could span dinner plates.  Again, Julie Han sat talking with him.

Princess led one of the businessmen to the private rooms.  It was Julie’s turn to dance on the main stage now, and her gargantuan friend squirmed with difficulty as she left.  Immediately, Bunny Lu was sitting next to him.  She smiled and giggled, and after a few minutes he was on his feet (a feat, it seemed difficult for him to negotiate a rise from the loveseat) and following her.

“Horrible,” said a familiar voice behind Michelle.  She turned around to see Sam sitting beside her.

“What is?”

“What Laura just did,” said Sam.  She was drinking a glass of water through a straw.  “Sniping.  Did you see that?  Julie had him, she was working him up so he’d buy a dance from her, then John called her up and he was left there, all hot and bothered.  He probably promised to buy a dance from her when she was finished, but suddenly, here comes Laura, and she’s ready, so he goes with her.  It’s a dirty trick.  Respectable dancers don’t do it.”

“How many respectable dancers are there?”

Sam raised an eyebrow.  “Here?  Two.  Maybe three.”  She stood up and turned to walk back onto the floor, and Michelle had the sinking feeling that she was most definitely not included in the two, and probably not even in the three.  Before leaving, Sam turned back and said, “You going to get that dance tonight?”

Michelle nodded.

Sam returned the gesture and added a cheesy wink.  She pointed to a man in his late forties in a business suit and tie.  “That’s what you should be going for,” she said.  “Angela and Laura go for the young hot guys, but they’re disrespectful and nine times out of ten, they don’t have any money.  You wait until an older gentleman – keyword, gentleman – walks in, and take your time chatting him up.  That’s how you get the good tips, and for the most part, avoid unwelcome advances.”

Michelle nodded again as Sam walked away. Remember your mantra.  Now’s as good as ever.  Let’s go.

She sat down next to the gentleman Samantha had pointed out.

“Hi,” she said.  Her voice wavered and she felt sweat on her temples.  “I’m Isadora.  Pleasure to meet you.”

The man made a motion with his head acknowledging her presence, but made no sound.  He was hunched over a glass of clear liquor, his face heavy with wrinkles.  Looking at him made Michelle feel uncharacteristically melancholic.

“You’re quite lovely,” he said.

“Thank you.  And how are you tonight?”

He shrugged a tired shrug, a lame attempt to shake off some of his burden.  Michelle hesitated, then said, “Are you looking for a private dance tonight?”

The man shifted his weight, exhaling.  She thought for a moment he wasn’t going to answer, then he took a final drink of his liquor and nodded.  “Sure.  Why not?  You can show me a good time, young lady.  I need a good time.”  She rose and led him back to a private room.

A green, plush chair waited in the corner and geisha drawings hung on the walls.  Michelle sat him down and recited prices.  Thirty dollars for one song.  Thirty more buys you another two.  Tipping always appreciated.  The current song ended, and the dancer stood stiffly, trying to pinpoint what had felt different the night before when she had danced with Samantha.

The song started and Michelle funneled all of her effort into dancing seductively.  When the song was over, though she knew she hadn’t danced the way Sam had tried to teach her, the expression on her customer’s face had lifted – some of the deep lines even seemed to have smoothed.

“Two more songs?” she asked.

He shook his head.  “No, thank you.”  He handed her a fifty-dollar bill.  “Keep it,” he said.  “And thank you, young lady.”  The anachronistic manner of his speech amused her, and she hoped she had helped him toss off a little of the weight he seemed to carry.

When he left, she looked at the fifty she had made in three minutes’ work.  So this is where all the money comes from.  I could get used to this.  At least for now.  At least for a while.

Filed under: Julie Han, Michelle, Money, Samantha, The Caribou, alcohol, dancing by Jade