Damn it, what in the world should I wear?

I stared at my face in the mirror. I had such a doll face, innocent and pure, and it made me look even younger than my twenty years of age.

That kind of look worked well at the clubs—customers couldn’t believe I’d be in the industry and they were always eager to hand over money to try to corrupt me. But now that I was about to start a professional job, I wanted to look more mature than some silly cute young thing.

I picked up some neutral foundation and prettied my face up from the slightly dark rims under my eyes, due to my restless night. They were a step away from puffy. Which wasn’t gonna cut it in this situation.

After I was done applying “normal looking” makeup— which is quite different from “exotic dancer” makeup— I left my bathroom and braced myself for the craziness that was my bedroom closet. I dug around through the frilly strings and lace that adorned it. Much to my non-surprise, I seemed to own nothing but sexy stuff that was way too unprofessional for my first day of work.

I kept digging around. I knew there had to be something in here I could pull off. To my relief, I finally found it. There, in the back of my closet was a cute business get up. I really had always planned to go to a job interview one day, so at some point I had bought this suit and stashed it in the back of my closet, where it had gotten lost behind all the lingerie I had bought since then.

This will work, I said to myself, holding up the pencil skirt, matching suit jacket and frilly, pastel pink Victorian blouse. I added the finishing touches of a neatly wrapped bun, subtly sexy stockings, and black pointed heels.

Damn, I looked good.

I’d almost think I looked too good, for a girl who hoped to leave the stripping world behind her and head to the professional world, but Willow had told me it would help if I looked sexy. Therefore, her wish was my command.

I had to remind myself to breathe. This was a major step in the right direction. No more exotic dancing for me, and luckily I had a good friend to make sure I didn’t have to try to dip back into that life. It may have taken fate to get me to this point, but at least I was on my way, and nothing could stop me now.

Phone, check.

I.D, check.

I had everything in my small black purse, ready to go.

My phone rang, blasting the White Stripes’ song “We’re Going to Be Friends,” which I had programmed as Willow’s ring tune.

“Hey Willow, ‘Morning! How’s Ella?”

Willow and Darien even had a newborn baby together; she was very lucky in the love department. Very lucky. Stories like her were rare, and I was happy for them. If not a tad bit jealous, sometimes, but I guessed that was only natural.

“Good, except for the fact that she’s a big bundle of spit up most of the time and she manages to get a bunch of it on me as well!”

We both laughed and then she continued.

“I’m gonna text you the address; Grant’s expecting you.” Willow yawned; she must’ve been up all night tending to Ella. The long nights— and the spit up— were things I wasn’t jealous of.

I still remembered her last day at the club we used to work at, when she was whisked off by Darien like he was her knight in shining armor. Just when she had thought things weren’t going to work out between them, he had moved heaven and earth to be with her. And that’s how things really should be between a couple who is now spending the rest of their lives together. A happy ending to their storybook romance.

I used to joke with her that she needed to “gag me with a spoon,” with my perfect 80’s Valley Girl accent— we liked to watch old reruns of California Dreams together, which, sadly, aired way before our time— but in all seriousness, it was great how everything had turned out for her and Darien.

“Okay, I’m about to leave now,” I told her. “Thanks again, Willow.”

“Not a problem. I owe you after you showed me the ropes at the club years ago. Without your help, I wouldn’t have met—”

“No, crashed onto,” I corrected, tapping my heel on the floor with a huge grin splashed across my face. That moment was another one that was impossible to forget about.

“Right, crashed into my husband. Relax. You’ll do fine.” In the background I heard the faint cries of a baby, which quickly rose into a crescendo of a loud wail. “Oops, gotta go. The little one is calling for me. Good luck, Stacy.”

“Right back at you. Sounds like you’ll need it more than I do, with those powerful lungs.”

We both laughed and after I hung up I saw the text that Willow had sent me while we were on the phone. I checked my Uber app but it would cost twenty bucks to take an Uber there, and I needed all the cash I had. So instead of the uber, I decided to take the bus.

With one last glance at the mirror, I readjust my glasses (which are fake, but I want to look the part of an eager and studious young professional) and tuck in a strand of hair. I was ready to go. Or as ready as I’d ever be, at least.

 

The sun shone brilliantly down, this time without its bludgeoning heat. Today felt new, fresh— straight out of the shower fresh.

I made my way over to the bus stop that was two blocks up from my apartment building and sat down.

A lone guy straggled over and leaned on the side of the bus shelter.

At first I didn’t pay him any attention, but he waved and gave me a crooked smile. God, did this guy even know what toothpaste was?

“May I help you?” I asked.

“Yeah, babe. I got some money that’s begging to be spent.” He leaned in and I stood up. What the hell was this freak talking about?

“Excuse me?”

“No need to be shy baby. I know how well you can dance. Been a fan of yours for a while now.” He inched over towards me. Wait, he said he was a fan? He knew me from the bar. But how?

“How did you find me?” I asked, folding my arms. I glanced past him, praying to the universe the bus would magically arrive from around the corner.

“Baby, I had to follow you home,” he got closer and I moved to the side. “To make sure you were okay from all the others that followed you too.”

Oh shit, looks like rent was going to be the least of my concern. I’d have to shell out moving costs now. If he followed me, then there was no promise that others didn’t either.

“Look, I’m not a dancer anymore. So get lost.”

He sneered and grabbed my hand. I jerked away, but he pulled me into him. The gross odor of alcohol fumed off of him. Time to get serious.

“You don’t mean that, baby.”

I stabbed my heel straight through his sneaker.

“Ahh! Fuck!” he shouted, doubling over and releasing me out of his grip.

“Yes I do,” I said, bending down.

The bus came roaring around the corner and I waved it down. When the bus stopped, the driver looked over my shoulder at the guy cradled on the ground holding his foot.

“You nasty bitch,” he cried while I boarded the bus.

“That’s right, I’m really nasty. Think about that next time.”

The bus doors closed and I paid my fare.

Lindsey was right, martial arts was a mandatory skill for us dancers, especially with perverts like that around.

 

After a thirty minute bus ride, I was standing face to face with the Carter building where all the magic happened. This company provided funding to startups and was behind the genius minds at Flossline Tech.

“Wow, my colleagues are gonna get so jealous.”

I walked towards the entrance, skipping up the stairs when something caught the tip of my heel and tripped me up. So much for trying to look cute.

When I turned around to sit on my ass and take in what just happened, a hand was shoved in my face. I looked up and lo and behold, it was him.

The Grant Carter…

“Go ahead, take my hand. I don’t bite,” he said with a confident smile.

I sure wished he would.