Ring ring.

“Hello?  Department of Philosophy.”

“Um, hi.  I was looking for Philosophy of Science.”

“It’s a subset.  I can help you.”

“Hi, um, my name is Michelle Browne, and I’m looking for someone.”

“…Alright.  Is it a student?”

“Yes.  Well, a graduate student.”

“Okay, what’s his name?”

“Her.  Well, I don’t know her last name.”

“…Okay.  May I ask what this is regarding?”

“I, I met this woman, and I know she’s a graduate student in Philosophy of Science, and I know her first name, but that’s all.”

“And she goes here?”

“I… don’t know.”

Pause.

“Ma’am, we’re not supposed to disclose personal information about our students to strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger!”

“But you don’t know her last name?”

“No.”

Pause.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Ma’am.  This sounds a little suspicious.”

“But I’m not a stalker or anything.”

“…Right.  Goodbye.”

Click.

“Fuck.”

She showed up to work late that evening.  Bunny Lu and a few other girls wore on their faces evil smirks.

Vivian in the dressing room was not smirking, but smiling wide.

“What’s going on?” Michelle asked her.

“Beth called me this morning.”  The smile widened.

“No, no.  I mean, good.  That’s good.  But I meant what’s going on with Bunny and them.  Where’s Julie?”

“Oh that.”  She glanced over her shoulder.  “I don’t know for sure, but I think they did something to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dunno.  I heard them talking.  I think they like, hurt her or something.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my God.”

Vivian shrugged.  “Eh, she’s kind of a bitch.”

“Yeah, but, jeez.  I mean, after all she’s been through.”

Vivian shrugged again.  “We’ve all been through shit.  Come on, we’re strippers.  You think we pick this job because we had some like, ideal childhood?  Have you even talked to most of these people?  Laura got gang raped and beaten and left for dead on the side of the road when she was eleven.  Angela was raped by her father since she was six.  I got kicked out of my parent’s house the day I turned eighteen ‘cause of something that was totally out of my control.  You?  Well, I dunno, but I’m sure something shitty has happened to you.  But you’re not a bitch, and neither am I.  It’s not my fault if Julie can’t handle what life gives her.  I’m not gonna feel bad for someone who actually got what they deserved when so many of us got handed shit for no reason at all.”

Michelle swallowed, said nothing.

“Anyway, Beth might be coming to the club in the next few days.  I think we’re gonna work it out.”

“Good.  I’m glad.  She’s really nice.”

“She brilliant, too.  I swear she’s gonna be a professor someday.”

“That’s cool.  I bet she will.  And you gave up the drugs?”

“Yup.  I mean, I’m still giving them up.  It was really fucking stupid of me to get into it in the first place.  But in a way, I’m kinda glad it happened.  I think I’m a lot wiser because of it.  I learned a lot about myself.  I think in the end, it’ll make me an even better girlfriend.”

“Good,” Michelle said.  “That’s good.”

Julie came in late that night.  On her face and body hid blue bruises, scrapes, and scratches concealed ineffectively with makeup.  A black eye showed through, and her bottom lip was swollen and purple, but she walked in tall, proud, with eyes straight ahead unshaking.

In the dressing room she heard snickers and whispers.  They hit her like droplets of water, breaking apart, cold and harmless.  I am calm.  I am powerful.  Their words do not, cannot hurt me.  I know now that I’m invincible even against sticks and stones.  Yes, I am battered.  Yes, I am beaten.  But I will dance like always.  If I dance and they look away in disgust from my bruised body, it will not harm me.  I am strong.  I am great.

The night was over quickly.  She made a little money and walked out without fear.  She could hear Bunny and the others shouting after her as she walked down the street the same way she always had, at the same unhurried pace.

Let them come.  Let them beat me again.  Let them end me.  I don’t care.  Or let me fight back and destroy every one of them, and let me go on to destroy everyone in the godforsaken place, all the dancers, all the customers, everyone.  I don’t care.  I don’t care.

No one followed.  She had won.

Michelle spent the next afternoon calling colleges in the city, finding no leads.  When she arrived at The Caribou, Abe Jackson was sitting at a table by the bar.

“Good morning, my Michelle!” he called.  The voice in the otherwise empty club startled her.  She jerked her head and saw him sitting there slumped comfortably with knees wide apart.

“Hi there,” she said.  “I haven’t seen you around here lately.”

“Well, ma belle,” he said, draping an arm over the back of his chair.  “Ole Abe’s been on a vacation.”

“Oh yeah?  A vacation to where?”

“Canada.  Lovely country, Canada.  I get to parlay voo my francais.  Have a seat.”

Michelle pulled up a chair next to Abe.

“You,” he said.  “I seen you dance last night when I came in.  Something’s changed about you.  You look different on the stage, you know what I mean?  Like a professional.”

“Well, thanks.  I don’t know what’s changed.  I think I’m just more confident.”

“No, now don’t you make Abe out to be a fool.  You know what I mean.  You a pretty girl, you always been a pretty girl, but before, your dancing was nothing better than amateur quality.  Now you own it.  The customers, they can’t take their eyes off you.  You’re our best dancer, I think.  You want a raise?  Bigger percentage of your tips?”

“Um, do you do that?”

“We do now, ma belly-belle.  And you got it.”

During the long pause that followed, Abe stared in the general direction of the stage.  The blonde on stage twirled and thrust in approximate time with the music, and as Michelle noticed the tattoo on the girl’s lower back she experienced déjà vu.

Dumb belle.  False mute who spoke jagged English.  Disease carrier.  Beauty queen.  No, not queen—Princess.  Princess Sakura dancing on the stage like a dervish, spinning wildly, releasing her anger and sorrow in the turns.

“When it rains, it pours,” Abe said, absently watching the prodigal dancer as she turned and turned.

“You can say that again,” Michelle whispered.

“When it rains, it pours,” Abe said.  He turned to the ballerina and smiled.  Michelle looked at him blankly.

Julie saw Princess as soon as she walked in.  No rage came, no disgust.  Princess was just another enemy, just another compatriot in the bizarre sweeping intricate perfect narrative of her life, and the feeling she’d had in her dream, in her time dancing at the pub in Ireland, washed over her and filled out every capillary until her fingertips tingled with it.  Her hatred fused, became intermingled with her love for the girl, misunderstood and dying, and instead of accosting or forgiving her, Julie ignored her, averting her eyes whenever she passed.

Princess, noticing Julie’s deliberate behavior, reacted as best she knew how and ignored Julie in return.  Full of fear and loathing, it was one less thing she had to deal with as she navigated her newly terrifying life.

Princess closed her eyes and tried to stop thinking.  In the darkness and the lights she danced in silence inside the music.

Filed under: Julie Han, Michelle, Princess, The Caribou, Vivian by Jade