Damn it, what in the world should I wear today? I should have been figuring that out last night instead of fantasizing about my new boss.
I stared at my face in my bathroom 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’re the girls?”
Willow and Darien had a newborn baby together, named Dahlia, and Willow had adopted Darien’s daughter, Ariel, so now they were a happy family of four. Willow 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 Dahlia is a big bundle of spit up most of the time and she manages to get a bunch of it on me as well! But, Ariel is still her strong-willed, usually pleasant self, at least.”
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 Dahlia. 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.