First Stage

I walked out of a sales job because I was having ethical issues.

Now I'm tossing back a double Cuervo in a dark corner of the club. The last verse of She Talks to Angels is on the juke box.

When it's over another song will play. Then I will climb onto the oblong stage running through the center of the club. I will have to dance seductively for the three strangers along the stage and the five dancers drinking at the bar. I will have to take off the little outfit I put together with help from my boyfriend, an old lady at the flea market and a teenager at Frederick's of Hollywood.

I feel extremely awkward.

Also, my perineum itches like a motherfucker. About three hours ago (again, with a little help from my boyfriend) I shaved all of my junk. Bald. I didn't want to worry about any stray pubes hoisting like a flag in a not-so-classy way as I performed a fairly unpracticed spread-eagle reverse somersault in an attempt to generate revenue to pay the rent due 12 hours ago. Now that extra-sensitive skin is feeling raw and delicate and I'm wearing thong panties composed of a polyester blend. That shit is starting to chafe.

I don't feel sexy at all. I feel stupid and chilly and fat and way too sober.

Somebody plays an R Kelly song. So I climb up and try a little Bump n Grind. I move around the stage. There are a lot of mirrors so I do a poor job of pretending I'm dancing alone in my bedroom. A guy comes up with a dollar in his fist. I look over at the dancers leaning along the bar. They all start frantically gesturing me toward the guy. A tall chesty blonde -- actually, she is blessed with the largest god-given tits I've ever seen -- moves a few feet behind the Dollar Bringer, and demonstrates how I should hook my thumb in the hip strap of my thong so the guy can slip the dollar in. He lets the tips of his fingers graze my hip. They aren't supposed to touch us but hell, I have soft skin and anyway. I'm just so fucking grateful I didn't have to go through my first dance unappreciated. The song ends.

I walk over to the bar and Rachel pours me another Cuervo. "Nice job. This will help you. It's good to keep a mid-level buzz going, if you can." She refills the glass on the bar in front of me.
"Now, are you here to make money or to get free drugs while you sort through your daddy-baggage?"

"Money. Fast money."

"Well, then. The guy that gave you the dollar? Go ask him if he wants a table dance. The stage dances are your advertisement for your table dances which is how you make your money."

I swallowed the Cuervo and walked across to his table. I leaned over so my tits were about 3 inches from his nose and he could smell the perfume in my cleavage. "Hey, I'm Mia..." I said in my best husky phone sex voice. That phone sex voice is the shit. I used to be able to get a guy off over the phone in 2.5 minutes using a detailed description of my preferred method of fellatio.

"Would you like a dance?"

"How much?"

"Twenty."

"Can I touch you?"

"No. They'll throw you out."

"They won't see."

"No. Arms at your side. I touch you."

"OK."

I straddled him as the song started. The table dance was somehow less awkward. I knew how to entertain one man in a chair. Shaking my ass directly in the face of a complete stranger was weird, but it turned me on a little. I also didn't love the way he smelled but when the song was over, I plucked a twenty dollar bill from the table and it didn't seem matter anymore.

And I went to the bar and ordered another double cuervo on the guy's tab.