The Stage

I leaned my head back against the cold brick wall, hugging my knees into my chest. It was cold tonight; bitterly cold. The kind of cold that stings when it touches your skin. The kind of cold that makes your fingers numb within minutes. The kind of cold that matches the way I feel inside currently.

I bring my hand to my mouth and take another long drag off my Marlboro Red. My hand trembles as I tuck it back into my sleeve. I felt the loud thumping of the bass against the wall, quickly getting annoyed by it’s repetitiveness. I heard the song come to an end, followed by various cheers and slurs. We’d all become so accustom to all the names we get called on a nightly basis. Slut, bitch, whore, cunt, sexy, a good fuck. You name it, we’ve heard it. Oh, who is we, you ask? Us dancers at Cheetah’s.

“Ruby, what’re you doing out here? You’re on in ten!” I jumped when I heard the thunder-like voice from the backdoor. I looked up to see my boss, Alex, standing there in all his sleazy glory. I sighed and put out my cigarette on the cold pavement. I rose, my heels echoing loudly in the alley.

I entered the dressing room to see all the girls winding down from their performances. Some counting their money, some taking off their makeup. But there were the others, the ones who lived this party twenty-four fucking seven. It practically ran in their blood, it was in their DNA for life. Some were drinking, some were taking lines off another girl’s ass or tits. All in a night’s work. I, myself, was the latter of the two most nights. But tonight, I just wanted to get home.

I sat down at my makeup table, making some final touches. I pulled my blonde wig over my natural brown hair, making me look like a different person. It was hard to protect yourself from the weirdos that came in here, but we did our best. I looked at my phone, hoping for a missed call or text from my best friend and coworker. Not sure why I was disappointed when I saw nothing, I expected it. It was 12:55am, I had five minutes left to stretch and warm up.

“And next up, we have our most beautiful, talented dancer, Miss Ruby!” I sexily sauntered out on stage, swinging my hips overdramatically. I did a quick spin around the pole before coming front and center, bending at the waist in front of dozens of horny men, giving them a little peep show before my song began. I swung my hips back around and danced around the pole, waiting for my song to start.

Cherry Pie by Warrant came blasting through the club and I started my routine. First I would tease the men by only peeling one strap of my shiny bra off at once before finally taking it off. I would swing it above my head and throw it at one man in the front. I would slowly grind up and down the pole, doing various spins and tricks. I would take my panties off within the last minute of the song, revealing to them what they came here for.

I would bend once more at the waist, revealing everything I had to offer before turning around and winking at the crowd. I sexily walked off the stage, careful to not slip on the cash that would be picked up and brought to me. I grabbed a robe off the hanger immediately entering backstage and slipped it on. I went back to my makeup table and sat down, taking my wig off and putting some of my actual clothes on. I threw my hair up in a ponytail and decided to take care of my makeup when I got home. I waved goodbye to the girls before exiting the dressing room.

I decided to stop for a cigarette in the alley before heading to my car. I hated my car smelling like cigarette, the smell always lingered far longer than I wanted it to. I leaned against the wall, adjusting my gym bag that contained my cash for the night and clothes.

I rested my head on the brick wall. Why do I do this? That’s the thought that ran through my mind every night. I degrade myself, for what? Some money I could make doing something respectable; something great. But instead, I come out here six nights a week and flaunt my tits and my ass around like they’re not valuable.

I inhaled deeply, holding the tobacco in until it burned, then releasing it. I can’t believe I do this to myself every night, but I continue to do it. Fuck it, it’s good money.

I open my eyes as I hear someone’s footsteps approaching me. I quickly lean up and look to my right, seeing a figure walking directly towards me. I began to panic. I’m out in this alley all alone, nobody will hear me if I scream. The noise inside is much too loud.

“Hello, I’m Martin Reeves. Could I have a minute of your time?” the figure held out their hand to me as I studied their face. It was a white middle-aged man with dark hair and dark eyes. He had pearly white teeth that lit up in the darkness of this alley. I turned myself to face him.

“What do you want?” I hissed, as I placed my right hand on my small .22 caliber pistol on my hip. The man chuckled and held up his hands, as if surrendering.

“That won’t be necessary, just had a couple questions for you,” he said, gesturing at my hip that held my gun. I furrowed my brow and slowly dropped my hand, yet still ready to grab it if need be. He continued, “I saw you dancing tonight, and I must say, you put on a wonderful show. Would you be interested in furthering your career?”

“I’m not a prostitute, not interested,” I scoffed. He chuckled whole heartedly.

“Oh no, dear. That’s not what I meant. I have a couple of my clients here with me tonight. See, they’re in a band and they’ll be doing some touring soon. They’ve requested dancers for one of their songs, and they thought you were a perfect fit.” I looked at him once again, studying his face. Was this guy seriously trying to sucker me into some bullshit like that? I may not be very old, but I’m not stupid.

“Still not interested, sorry,” I pushed past him and quickened my pace towards my car before he could argue. I heard him chasing after me after a few moments.

“At least let me give you my card in case you change your mind,” he said loudly, and I paused. I spun around and looked at him.

“What band?” I questioned, furrowing my brow.

“Well, they’re a rock band. I’m not sure if you would know them or not,” he giggled, rubbing the back of his neck. I looked at him harder before he continued.

“Avenged Sevenfold. They’re great musicians, great clients to have. They’re wonderful, and they think you’d be a perfect fit for the tour,” he bragged, showing off his pearly whites again. He extended his arm, holding a business card. I grabbed it slowly, not taking my eyes off of his face. The card read:

“Martin Reeves, Tour Manager
Warner Music Group”

Followed by a phone number and address, located in Los Angeles. I looked back up and him, studying his face briefly. I put the card in my coat pocket and cut our conversation short.
“I hope you consider it! It would be a fantastic opportunity for you, and the guys would love to have you. Give me a call if you have any questions...I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he said as he held out his hand. I decided I couldn’t trust him with my real name. After all, anyone can print up business cards.

“Ruby,” I told while gently shaking his hand.

“Ruby! What a beautiful name. Well thank you for your time Ruby, hope you have a good rest of your night,” he exclaimed while I slid into my car, immediately locking the doors once I shut them. I sighed and started my car, waiting a few minutes for it to warm up.

I began the drive home, but not before passing the club again. I noticed a group of five or so men standing outside in nothing but jackets, smoking cigarettes. All their eyes followed my car as I passed, me trying hard to not look over to meet their gaze. I was used to those kinds of stares anyways.

“Sage! Helloooo, are you here?” I called out as I entered my apartment. My roommate, best friend and coworker, Sage, tended to be a partier so I didn’t expect her here, although I was secretly hoping for a girl’s night. I looked over to the coat hanger next to the kitchen, noticing her purse and coat were missing. I sighed deeply and trudged down the hallway in the bathroom before entering my room.

Our rooms almost described who Sage and I were as people. I was more of a neat freak, liked things to be organized. Sage, well, she tended to breathe easily in complete unorganization. I would always ask her how she found things in her room, to which she would reply: “Everything has it’s place, don’t fuck with my stuff.”

Sage and I were alike in that aspect, our personalities. We were both very independent and territorial. We can do things on our own, and don’t touch anything unless we say it’s okay. Even then, still don’t touch it.

Sage thrived off of chaos, she loved to cause a ruckus. She loved the looks people would give her would she would scream out profanities walking down the street, or when she would wear a skirt in January just because she wanted to. Sage loved anarchy, never wanted to play by the rules. Fed off of partying as hard, and never let anyone tell her she couldn’t do something. Her stubbornness is what put her in the situation she’s currently in.

My best friend is a heroin addict.

A lot of people would call her a dope fiend, but I hate that term. Sage is most certainly not a fiend. If anything is a fiend in this situation, it is that substance. That awful substance that has taken over my best friend, my soul sister. Sage has a hard time telling people no, although I don’t believe that her ‘friends’ shoved a needle in her arm either.

I’ve tried to help her, I really have. Countless nights have been spent lying with her on the bathroom floor while she detoxed, feeling like her soul was leaving her body. Countless calls to anonymous help, rehabilitation facilities, halfway houses, you name it. Anyone I could call, I did. But she refused.

“I’m fine, I don’t need help. I could get off it tomorrow if I really wanted to,” she would laugh and touch my arm. But it wasn’t a joyful, truly happy laugh. It was a cry for help.

Notes

First chapter, not sure if I'm going to keep it or not. Just a little experimental story I suppose, something different. Let me know what you guys think!!

Title credit: My Darkest Days "Porn Star Dancing"