Thread: Indecent Proposal [Traveler et dearestdarling]

It was the one thing she said she would never do. She had borrowed the dress from Danielle, and the shoes. Both black, both edgier than anything in her closet. Even B.E., before Evie, she hadn't worn clothes like this. The stage in her life where she was supposed to party in short skirts had ended before it had even begun, and she didn't miss it. It was hard to miss something she'd never known. But this is what men were supposed to like, right? At least she could walk in the heels-- her brief pageantry circuit had taught her that much. There was one thing she could thank her mother for... If only her mother could see her now. She had seen club often when she'd had the job at the diner, picking up midnight shifts, any shifts they would give her, while Evie stayed with Mrs. Stanton. She had always walked quickly by, trying not to draw the attention of the bawdy men who were leaving. She was certain Seth had visited there too, during the day, when he was supposed to be out looking for a job. Weren't topless dancers that worked the day shift supposed to be the most wretched ones? What if she was offered a day shift? What if Seth still came around...? She would take whatever job they offered her, she realized, and hated herself for that. But what else could she do? Evie was getting smarter. She was beginning to notice that the things that she'd had to sell to afford rent, food, paying off the debt that Seth had put them in... So far she had been able to spare the toys, the Disney movies... But she was running out of things to sell. Last week she had taken her grandmother's pearls to the pawn shop, and even though she would rather have a fridge full of food than an old necklace, it still made her cry. It was the last memento she'd had of her. The outside of the building was painted gaudily, charcoal and tacky flamingo pink, with neon signs that seemed to taunt her as she passed them by. LIVE GIRLS . As opposed to what, dead ones? PRIVATE DANCES . Could she stoop that low? Could she afford not to? She entered and immediately shivered it was like entering a cold, dark cave. The lights were on, but they they were mounted so high, and the beams were so dim, that it was hardly brighter than the twilight outside. The air felt stale on her exposed shoulders as she passed by the empty, unattended bar, the clusters of tables and bar stools, spotting the main stage where four other girls had already lined up, and what they wore made her look like she was going to church, their implants bulging, lips sticky with too much gloss. They smirked at her, as if she was the one who looked bad. A man with a clipboard and a clear addiction to tanning beds turned to see her walk up, waving her over quickly. You're late, Ginger. It's Sadie, she said, and instantly regretted it. Weren't you supposed to use some fake name? Look, if you work for me, I can call you whatever I want, sugar. Now get up on stage and let's have a look at you. Then you can show me what you can do at the pole. He sounded bored. Without further protest, she took her place beside a girl with blonde hair that was so brittle, it would break off at a touch. The man pressed the play button of a small boom box downstage from the pole. Sadie waited for her turn at it, watching with a sinking feeling in her chest as the other girls swung from it like crazed acrobats to a sultry, hip hop number. Sadie glanced out into the audience and noticed that a small group of men had gathered around a table, talking quietly and watching the auditions. Wasn't this place supposed to be closed? Ginger, you're up. Cotillion had never prepared her for pole dancing. She tried to look confident as she crossed the stage, head held high, shoulders back, and she grasped the gleaming metal in her head it was freezing. Slowly, she swayed her hips, trying to move naturally as she walked around it. She tried not to shudder as she hooked her leg around it, nestling it behind her knee and bending backwards, her back arched as she posed for a beat. Her feet were pointed, residual habits from years of ballet. Trying to mimic one of the girls that went before her, she slid her leg back down, taking the pole in both hands and swinging around it slowly a few times, using the momentum and her upper body strength to jump up, grasping the cold steel between her thighs. She forced herself to smile at the clipboard guy as she slowly slid back down. She went on for a few painful minutes before her song had ended. Too bad she couldn't have waltzed or done the foxtrot for him instead. She toyed with a copper curl as their judge gave them a final cursory glance. Okay, Ginger, you didn't make the cut. You four, come back Tuesday at noon for tshirt fittings and scheduling. I want you to start immediately. She had danced for this skeeze, on a pole for goodness sakes, and he didn't even have the decency to offer her a job. He seemed to be done with them, wandering off and scribbling something on the clipboard she wanted to rip from his hands. Hey! Hey! Sadie brushed past her giggling contenders, following quickly after him. He was heading towards the back, and she didn't catch him before she got to his office. Listen, mister-- Chad. Chad . Please. I know I'm not the best pole dancer, but I can learn, I swear, I have dance experience-- Honey, that's not why I passed on you. Her sighed, plopping down behind a messy desk and opening his laptop, not bothering to give her another look. We teach girls to dance. A monkey could do it. I have four new monkeys that will start doing it on Tuesday. That's not the issue. Then what? Please, I need a job. I can wait tables. Serve drinks, mop the floor... Chad slicked his hair back, finally looking up at her. We aren't hiring for that. I passed on you because quite frankly... You're too sweet. Too... Sweet? Well, yeah. See those other girls out there? They're fantasy. Illusions. Nothing about them is real-- their tits, their asses, their hair... It's all male fantasy. That's what we're selling here. Men come here to escape the sweet girls in their life. They don't want to see some innocent on stage, making a fool of themselves, reminding them of the wife that's waiting at home with the kids, the girlfriend who's busing tables to put her boyfriend through college. They want a hot chick with huge fake knockers swinging around a pole and writhing on the floor, like they were born to do it. She hated his smug voice, she hated his orange face. So there's no job. Not for you, sweetie. Not here. Why don't you go back to school? Make something of yourself? You look like a smart girl-- Shut up. She glared at him for a moment, then swiped a bunch of clutter from his desk, sending a box of booze merch flying and scattering its contents all over the laminate. Tight tank tops with brands of vodka emblazoned on them, plastic shot glasses, Mardi Gras beads. How's that for sweet? He was laughing as she stormed out of his office, feeling more pathetic than ever. Dancing was what people did when they had no other options left. What happened when dancing wasn't an option? Craigslist ads for 'female companions'? She hated Chad for turning her down. She hated Seth for leaving her, leaving Evie... She started the walk back to the apartment, thankful for the hot summer air, but not much else. Hopefully Evie would be sleeping sometimes she wondered if Mrs. Stanton slipped NyQuil into her milk. Old people had different ideas of what was okay to give to kids to help them sleep. Better than whiskey, she guessed, but she couldn't really complain. The old woman watched her for free, and beggars couldn't be choosers. God, she hated begging. The street was quiet, nearly abandoned, but for tattoo parlors, and bars, and clubs, and... It wasn't a place to bring up a sweet little girl, but it was all that she could afford. And soon, even this place would be too glitzy for her. Where would they go, when they were inevitably evicted? A women's shelter? Would they take Evie away from her? She had walked two blocks when she sensed that a car was following her. She slowed her pace, and the car slowed too. She turned down the wrong street, and it wasn't long before the head beams fell onto her back, illuminating tumbles of long, red hair. She stiffened as it pulled up next to her, sleek and black and clearly very expensive. Reaching into purse for the pepper spray she had never needed to use, she watched as the tinted window rolled down, a shadowy figure inside. Look, I don't know what you want, but whatever it is, I don't have it. She mentally prepared herself for what would come next, the spritz of pepper spray, flinging her heavy heels at him and running off as fast as she could.