Casey hated her job, but it paid more than even waiting tables. Without a diploma it was the best she could do right now. Saving every penny she could, Casey hoped to have enough money put aside to pay for classes at Garrison Community College in the fall. It was all planned out. Another month of dancing and she’d have enough two years paid tuition
She even had Penny enrolled in the pre-school program there. As a student, her fees would be waived. Once she finished at Garrison she’d have her nursing degree and could forget about this time in her life. Maybe Penney would never have to know her mother was an exotic dancer, stripper if her grandmother had anything to do with telling her.
Two hours before her set started Casey was sitting in front of the dressing room mirror, applying heavy makeup and adjusting her wig. Her natural hair was a mousy brown, cut short, almost boyish. her wig, one of the only expensive pieces of her costume was raven black, long and straight, hanging well below her shoulder blades, nearly to her waist.
When on stage, she kept her hair in a thick braid. After a little trial and error, she found that for some reason, men tipped better when she had her hair tied back, instead of falling free.
It took another hour to get into her outfit – a skin tight red leather jumpsuit that she pretended was her superhero disguise. The fantasy helped her get through the night if she could be someone else, doing something else.
The ballet lessons her mother forced her to take as a young girl were coming in handy. The agility she gained working the barre, helped her now work the pole. That’s where she made her best tips. She was athletic as an gymnast, using the movements she learned in danse de caractère. Being such an intriguing character was the only thing that saved her from having to submit to lap dances.
Her stage tips were more than most of the other dancer got in private performances, and that gave her a get-out-of-jail-free card. She avoided all contact with the patrons, sharing tips with the security staff to keep the more touchy-feely guys from getting too friendly.
Casey was putting on her last false eyelash when Brooke, one of the other dancers came over to her station.
“Stanton’s back tonight, just thought you’d like a heads up.”
A shiver of dread raised the hair on her arms. Casey’s hand began to shake so badly she couldn’t get the last lash on straight.
“Don’t worry sweetie, Carl is on tonight, he’ll look out for you. Here, let me do that before you put an eye out.”
Brooke helped Casey finish her makeup. Once done, Casey stood up to get a better look in the full body mirror. Turning this way and that, she had to admit she looked sexy. With patrons like Stanton, this fact was dangerous. He had the mistaken attitude that Casey, or rather her on-stage persona, Ruby, was his private property. Each night he came in was worse than the last. Since he was a heavy drinker and heavy tipper, the bar owners didn’t want to ban him from the bar. There was a feeling of menace about him. A look on his face, the way he would tuck his tips in her garter, the very air about him was toxic.
Luckily Carl, and the other bouncers took special care of the dancers and kept men like Stanton on a short leash. Casey knew that as Ruby she had to play to this man’s fantasies, but did her best to keep out of his reach. She was afraid if he was able to get his hands on her, no one would be able to protect her. It was men like him who gave her a reason to get out of the business.
This wasn’t the life she wanted. Being a stripper is not the typical dream of most teenage girls.. She hoped for that perfect picket fence life. True love, a wonderful career, 1.9 children, maybe a little dog. Something she could be proud of, something worth living for, not this meager existence. Living in run down apartment, a job that she was ashamed to admit, trying to raise her fatherless child on her own. Rejected by her family, her friends, left to fend for herself.
Her parents had kicked her out when she told them she was pregnant, and wasn’t marrying her child’s father. They didn’t believe her when she told them he had raped her. To them, there was no explanation that would redeem her. She must have provoked the boy, either dressing like the slut she was or getting so drunk on her own that she couldn’t control her lusts and couldn’t remember her sins.
They didn’t want to hear she had been walking home from the library when a boy from school pulled up and offered a ride home. They thought she was lying when she told them he drugged her, assaulted her and left her alone in a seedy motel room to find her way back to town.
She was so scared to tell anyone what happened at first. Everyone wanted to blame her, she must have asked for it, then changed her mind. There was never any question that she would keep her baby, another innocent victim. The shame of it was too much for her parents to bear and they made her leave their home.
Moving to a new city, away from any friends she had left, was difficult but she soon made new friends. The other dancers at the bar were closer than family. They looked out for each other. They even helped Casey find a reliable baby sitter for Penny. She was on her way back, stronger and happier than ever before.
Then there were parasites like Stanton. Men who believed if he threw enough money at the dancer, he owned them body and soul.
Casey stood back stage looking over the crowd trying to get a feel for how the night might go. The atmosphere was upbeat. Everyone seemed in a good mood. The security team hadn’t thrown anyone out and hadn’t had to even enforce the “no touch” rules for the pole and stage dancers.
Stanton was in his usual seat – front row, center stage. There as a half empty pitcher of beer on the table, a half full mug in his beefy hand, and three tall stacks of one dollar bills at the ready on the table’s edge. As Casey watched, she could see that he wasn’t tipping any of the other dancers and kept looking back toward the dressing rooms. She searched the wings for Carl, relieved when she found him and he made eye contact with her. Smiling, he looked toward Stanton, frowned and turned back to her. A thumbs up from him meant he would watch out for her, and was aware her psychopathic fan was in the house.
Adjusting her skin-tight suit one last time, Casey pulled on her tip garter, leaving it lower on her tight than usual. Hoping to keep Stanton’s wandering hands from getting to close. Hearing the opening strains of her first song playing Casey took a deep breath and transformed mentally into Ruby.
Caressing the dancer pole, Ruby wrapped her legs around the brass fixture, maneuvering her body in ways that should be impossible. Walking the stage edge at strategic times in her dance, spectators either threw money on the stage or if she passed close enough, they would tuck bills under her garter. Stanton dealt two one dollar bills off the top of one of stacks of money, waving them at Ruby, gesturing for her to slide closer. She wouldn’t see it until later that night, but one of the bills had red lettering stamped on its front edge.
When his fingers lingered a second too long, Carl stepped out of the shadows. He made sure Stanton was aware of his presence, only stepping back when the other man sat back down at this table. The rest of her song was uneventful, but lucrative. Strutting off stage, Casey deflated once back in the dressing room. Pulling the wad of bills in her garter, she smoothed them out and put them in her tip box. The loose bills would be swept up and brought to her while the next dancer took the stage.
Casey was reapplying her makeup when she saw in the mirror’s reflection that Stanton was standing behind her. She never heard him walk in. Before she could scream, he’s hand was over her mouth, his other arm grabbed her around the waist pulling her off her chair, a knife tight against her ribs.
His hot breath in her ear, telling her all the things he planned to do to her, Casey went limp, dead weight in his grasp. Losing his hold on her, Stanton had to uncover her mouth to pick her up. When he did, Casey screamed as loudly as she could. The sound surprised him and he almost dropped her. She used his confusion to fight back. Flinging an elbow toward his face, she felt it connect with his nose. In her high heels, when she kicked down and back against Stanton’s right knee, she was awarded with a satisfying crunch. He let her go completely, dropping his knife, and falling to the ground, crying out in pain. She could hear Carl and the other bouncers trying to break into the dressing room. Stanton had locked the door behind him when he slipped in.
Vulnerable on the floor, Casey continued to kick him in any exposed spot, ribs, stomach, back, groin. Once in the room, Carl had to pull Casey away from the prone man before she killed him. Taking her into the manager’s office, Carl then called the police. Waiting for the squad cars to arrive, he queued up the surveillance video from the dressing room that showed Stanton’s attack on Casey.
After taking Stanton away in an ambulance, the police detective interview Casey, viewing the video Carl had set up. Telling her to come into the station the next day for a statement, but that there would be no formal charges filed against her.
Visibly shaken, Casey didn’t change out of her costume before Carl took her home. Penny was already asleep, and her baby sitter, Rochelle was waiting up for her. Walking in her apartment, her black wig in her hand, and wrapped in Carl’s oversized jacket, Casey’s makeup was smeared where Stanton had grabbed her and from her own tears.
Rochelle knew what Casey did for a living, and to the high school senior, it all seemed so glamorous. Her disheveled appearance and the handsome bouncer who drove her home, only added to the mystery. Not knowing the truth of Casey’s life, or what had happened that night, Rochelle fantasized about being an exotic dancer herself one day.
“I’m sorry Rochelle for being so late, it was crazy at work tonight.”
“It’s okay Casey, I have late classes tomorrow.”
“I didn’t get a chance to cash out tonight, I hope you don’t mind if I pay you in ones.”
“No, that’s fine.”
Casey counted out 40 one dollar bills, including one with red lettering stamped on the edge, handing them over to Rochelle. Stuffing the money into her purse, Rochelle left for home, pretending the bills she had were earned dancing around a pole on a stage.
