Alexis

 

When the cab pulled to the curb, I thought surely, he must have misunderstood me. The mansion, with its high brick wall and massive gate, was a much nicer place than I was used to going. “Is this 1407 Maplewood?” I asked as I double-checked my phone for the information that had been included with the work agreement. I’d never worked someplace this nice before.

 

The cabbie glanced at me in the mirror. He had been leering at me for the entire ride and his dark eyes glittered now at my uncertainty. “It is, but I’d be happy to take you someplace else if you’d like. Maybe back to my place.”

 

I was used to this. It was my life, and there was no point in being offended or throwing a fit. If I yelled and raged at this man, there would just be another one to take his place once he moved along. Besides, I was being paid to let men look at me. “No, thanks.” I paid him, grabbed my bag, and scrambled out of the car. If this turned out to be the wrong house, I’d just call a different cab company.

 

As the taxi screeched off into the night, I advanced toward the gate. My heels clacked on the concrete and my feet already hurt inside them. My boss had insisted that I work at least part of my shift at The Corral before I took off for this private job. If he had known what I was doing, he might have fired me on the spot. “The customers come here to see you, Alexis,” he had explained when I had asked for some time off. “Sure, they like the other girls. I mean, skin is skin. But you’re the star of the show. Nobody dances like you do.”

 

“I guess that means I deserve a raise,” I had argued from the shabby chair in front of his desk, grateful for any bargaining chip I could get my hands on.

 

He had immediately granted me my time off after that. Now I wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea. This place was set up like a fortress, with two guards at the gate who I had no doubt were armed. What was I getting myself into? “Hi, I’m Alexis Reid. I was told to ask for Vick.” This had been the man who had slipped his business card into my G-string along with his tip and promised me a much more lucrative position than the one I had at The Corral.

 

The guard’s eyes roved down my body and then back up to my face. I was ready to give him my identification, but he swung the gate open with a push of a button and waved at me to step into the courtyard. The mansion was a modern one, stark white and full of right angles and long lines. Tall palms flanked it on either side and I felt small as I walked slowly up to the front door. Landscape lighting kept the place illuminated, showing off the owner’s wealth even at nighttime. I wondered how many luxury cars had driven over this payment and just what this guy did for a living that he could afford a place like this.

 

The door swung open as I made my way up the front stairs that led up to the portico. A man in a suit leered at me as he gestured for me to come in. “Alexis Reid?”

 

“Yes,” I affirmed, unsure of what else to say. I knew what my job here was, but I had never performed it at a private residence before, and certainly not one of this caliber.

 

“We’ve been expecting you. Please follow me.” He closed the door and led me through the entry way and down a long hall toward the back of the building. Gesturing at a door, he turned to me. “You can get dressed here. Just head down those stairs when you’re ready.” The man pointed to a carpeted stairway at the end of the hall.

 

“Thank you.” I stepped into the room he offered. From its position and the sparse decoration, I knew it had to be a guest bedroom of sorts. Still, there was a king-sized bed with a lush comforter, a massive window that overlooked a garden, and a private bath with a tub, shower, and a double sink. Yeah, this guy had money all right. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad idea. If I played my cards right and got more gigs like this, I would have myself hoisted out of debt and into a better apartment in no time.

 

I set my bag down on the bed and got out everything I needed. The heels I was wearing were high, but the ones I danced in were even higher and covered in sequins. I couldn’t understand why men were so turned on by just a pair of shoes, but they had been a hit every time. Next, I laid out my hot-pink bra and matching thong, plus the slinky silver dress that would go over it all.

 

As I removed my rhinestone heart pasties from my bag, I felt a pang of guilt for being in this business. I had never imagined myself as a stripper. It was supposed to just be a short-term thing—something to get me through until I got a real job—but the money was good and the late nights kept me from getting up and submitting resumes in the mornings. Besides, who would be interested in hiring someone like me? Skipping through various foster homes growing up, I had never been in one place long enough to truly get settled. My grades had constantly slipped and I had managed to graduate by only the barest margin. There had been no time for college or certificate courses after that. I was too busy trying to survive. At twenty-four, I couldn’t say my life had gotten any better.

 

Still, I had work to do. I took deep breaths as I changed clothes and put on my shoes. Packing everything else back into my bag and leaving it there, I headed downstairs.

 

I guess there are a lot of things you can put in a mansion, and apparently one of them is your own private strip club with a DJ. As I descended the stairs, my music kicked on. The room was dark, with only a few lights shining on the stage. The DJ was off in the corner, and the men were arranged in plush chairs and on sofas all around the stage. The walls, furniture, and carpet, were all a dark blue. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have imagined I was in an actual club. It was just a much nicer one than where I performed regularly. I immediately found my place on the small stage, glancing out at my audience.

 

The men here weren’t like the ones at The Corral. There, I could encounter anyone from a college kid out on his own for the first time to an old drunk. I treated every one of them like they were the only man in the room, and the wad of cash I took home every night meant they believed it. Here, the men wore dress shirts and trousers. They looked like they had come from a business meeting, and they leaned forward eagerly as they waited for my performance to begin.

 

I’d sent over the soundtrack, as Vick had requested. I knew what songs worked best for me—which ones I could lose myself in as I danced. Strutting forward, I set my feet wide and flipped my long hair back. I was ready.

 

I swiveled my hips enticingly, keeping in time with the beat. I had to admit that there was some small part of me that enjoyed being viewed as a sex symbol. It made me feel as though I was finally worth something to someone, even if it was only for a few minutes. I was special and important as I swung around the gold pole and pulled off my dress.

 

The men clapped and cheered, eager for more. I didn’t worry about them for the moment, letting the music take over my mind. On the days when I felt so ashamed of what I had become, I let myself disappear into the songs. I wasn’t a stripper, scraping up the cash men had thrown at me just to pay the bills. I was a beautiful woman, the personification of the melody as I let my body flow free. As the music built to a crescendo, I whipped off the hot-pink bra and flung it aside, confident and completely in my groove.

 

The men called for more, and the DJ had everything set up and ready to go. The next song kicked in, and I stepped down to the floor. One man was seated closer to the stage than anyone else. It wasn’t Vick, but he was clearly the guest of honor. I stepped over his legs so that I straddled him, leaning forward to push my chest into his face. I knew this would only be the first of many lap dances.

 

“What’s your name, big boy?” I asked seductively. I knew that men liked it when you made them feel as though you were interested about them—like you truly cared what their names were instead of how many bills they had in their wallets.

 

“Call me Frankie,” he said with a grin. His eyes were on my chest.

 

“Whatever you say, Frankie,” I replied as I worked my hips against him. I felt something hard in his pants, but not what I had been expecting. He was armed.

 

Frankie reached out and ran a hand down my side. I didn’t let the men at The Corral touch me; it was against policy. This was definitely not the club, and I made no move to bat his thick hands off my body.