Walking home, Rochelle didn’t have far to go, living only a block from Casey’s apartment. She twirled around the lamp posts, humming what she thought would be a seductive song, pretending she was on a stage like Casey. In her room at night, she rehearsed her routine, not having any idea what men like Stanton found exciting.
Her naive attempts to move her body to music blaring through her iPod earbuds, could only be described as clumsy. her sense of rhythm was non-existent, her sense of her body was awkward. Had she tried to perform at the Stallion she would have been laughed off stage, patrons mistaking her dance as a comedy break between the real strippers.
Rochelle’s romanticized idea of exotic dancing had nothing to do with taking off her clothes. She could never imagine that being so exposed in front of so many strangers was part of the job. She also had no idea that her tips were tucked into garters, waistbands and bras. In her mind, she envisioned large jars sitting at the edge of the stage like the piano player at her parent’s favorite restaurant had on top of his Steinway.
She was turning 18 in a week. She wanted to ask Casey to take her to the var one night, so she could see her dance. Rochelle just knew she would be as popular as Casey if only given a chance.
That night as she fell asleep, Rochelle dreamed of being on stage dancing.
Casey was careful to lock the front door back after Rochelle left. Checking on Penny, she threw Carl’s jacket across her bed and began to undress, dropping her costume on the floor. She limped into the bathroom and started the shower, turning the water to aas hot as she could stand. Looking in the full-length mirror on the back of the door, the purple and greens signs of bruises were starting to bloom across her ribs where Stanton grabbed her. She smiled thinking about where his bruises would show up, hoping he hurt worse than she did.
It took an hour under the steaming water before she started to feel normal again. Wrapping one towel around her body and another around her hair, she ade her way back to her bed. She nudged her red suit with a damp toe, gingerly pulling at the sleeves and legs, Casey spread it out until it looked like a murder scene outline. A gash was evident where Stanton held his knife to her. Opening the towel, she inspected her waist, seeing a red line where the blade cut through the leather. She was lucky, the suit protecting her from being cut deeper.
Her purse, open from where she paid Rochelle, was full of bills. Pulling the covers down and climbing into bed, she began to count what was there. Among the ones, she discovered several larger bills, including at least two dozen Benjamins. At the bottom of her purse was a note signed by the other dancers.
The final money count was well over $5,000. More than enough to pay off her tuition. The girls had all given her their tips for the night. The tears finally began to fall when she realized she would never have to dance on stage again.
Her dreams that night were of picket fences and true love.
The next morning Rochelle was off to the mall. Today was the day she was shopping for her dancer’s costume. She missed the news report of about an assault at the White Stallion, about the suspect also being investigated in several local rapes, about his intended victim fight back and putting him in the hospital. She missed still shots of Casey being escorted out of the bar by the police, and her attacker being loaded into an ambulance handcuffed to the gurney.
Instead, she called Casey asking her if it was okay if she came over. Her intention was to ask her to come shopping with her, to help her pick out something special.
Thinking Rochelle would help take her mind off she agreed to her visit.
“Hey Casey, thanks for letting me talk to you.”
“What’s up Rochelle,” Casey led her into the kitchen where Penny was finishing a plate of waffles.
“I was wondering if you could… if you would, go shopping with me today.”
Casey frowned at the unusual request.
“Why don’t you ask your mom, she knows what clothes you like.”
“Well, not these kind of clothes.”
“What, a prom dress or something like that?”
“No, I want to be a dancer like you. I want to find an outfit to wear on stage. I was hoping you could help me pick one out.”
Casey nearly choked on her coffee.
“Oh Rochelle, you have no idea what you’re asking.”
Wiping up her spilled cup, Casey picked up Penny’s plate and told her to go into the living room. She could watch cartoons for a little while. Pulling her stool up closer to Rochelle, Casey studied the young girl’s face for any signs of her joking about dancing.
“Why in the world would you want to be anything like me?”
“You have such a glamorous life! You meet all kinds of people, you get to perform on stage, making all that money!”
“Rochelle you have no idea what I do, not really. I tell you what, instead of shopping right now, I’ll take you to the Stallion. It’s Saturday, there will be shows during the day.”
Casey’s neighbor, Mrs. Sherman agreed to watch Penny for the morning, happy to act the part of surrogate grandmother. Casey rode with Rochelle to the bar, checking the parking lot to see which of her follow dancer were there, and if her own car was still there from last night. She was happy to see that Carl’s Ford truck was in the lot too.
Walking into the dark bar, Carl met her and Rochelle at the door. Sending the teen to a stool nearest the stage, Casey tried to explain why they were there. The shows hadn’t started yet, so Casey asked the bartender to pour Rochelle a soda and give her a bowl of chips.
“Wait here Rochelle, I’m going backstage to see who is on the schedule today. I’ll be right back. Carl will keep an eye on you.”
“Why would Carl need to watch me, I’m almost 18.”
“He’s not really watching you, he’s watching those guys over there,” Casey said, pointing to two men at a table in front of the stage. “He’s watching them to make sure they leave you alone.”
Finding Brooke in the dressing room, Casey hugged the other dancer tight, thanking her for helping her the night before. They talked about the tips the other dancers had given her.
“We all know you don’t belong here girl, you’re meant for better things. After last night we all decided to do what we could to help you get out. I hope it was enough.”
“It was plenty, it was way too generous. After what you all did, I feel bad about asking for a favor so soon.”
“Anything for you sweetie, you know that!”
Casey explained about Rochelle, and that she needed a harsh dose of reality.
“She thinks this is such an exciting life, that all we do is dance, she has no idea what it’s all really about. Can you and the other girls really play it up, really show her what she’ll be expected to do?”
Brooke peeked out the dressing room door at Rochelle. Despite her age, she looked closer to 14 than 18. Rochelle was looking around the bar, staring at the the scantily clad servers and leering patrons.
“You’re joking. That girl wants to be a stripper?”
“She has no idea. I think she’s confused and thinks this is like some elaborate Vegas show. She needs to be enlightened.”
“No, problem. We’ll educate her to the truth.”
For the next hour, Casey sat with Rochelle at the bar watching the Stallion dancer in all their glory. The audience filled up with men who yelled thing she didn’t understand, tucked dollars into spaces never meant for holding money, and removed nearly every bit of clothing they were wearing, in ways that Rochelle could have never done.
Rochelle watched in turn her mouth agape or looking through her fingers, her hands trying to block out the performances on stage. Casey sat beside her, quiet, silently encouraging her friends to turn up the heat. When Casey felt the tee could no longer watch, she gently guided her back to the dressing room.
“Why did you bring me here?!”
“You had this unrealistic daydream about this place, about what I really did for a living. You needed to know the truth, this is not a life for you.”
“You could have just told me all this, I didn’t have to see it.”
“Would you have believed me, or would you have thought I was simply trying to talk you out of dancing?”
Rochelle was still, near tears, when she shook her head.
“No, I wouldn’t have believed half of this if you told me. How did you do this?”
“I had little choice. I had to drop out of high school because I was pregnant with Penny. My family kicked me out, I had no friends, had to income. This was the only thing I could do that would give me the income I needed to live.”
Casey told Rochelle about her plans for college, about the events of the night before and how she was giving up this life in hopes of something better. They talked about what Rochelle really wanted to do, about her dreams of a life on a stage. Casey suggested she try theater instead, taking acting and voice lessons, and dance.
“I’ll still go shopping with you, but it might be better to looks for something a little more appropriate for you.”
When they walked out to their cars, Casey saw Carl standing by his truck.
“I’ll meet you back at my apartment, we can pick up Penny and take her with us.”
Casey watched Rochelle drive away before walking over to Carl. Without a word, he opened his arms and she walked into his embrace.
“I’m glad you’re getting away from this place, but I’m scared that I won’t see you again.”
Pulling back so she could look in his eyes, Casey smiled.
“You know where I live, you could come visit me instead.”
“I’d like that, I’d like that a lot.”
The two made plans for that night, a home cooked dinner at Casey’s. Her life seemed to finally be falling into place, a much happier place.
Casey and Rochelle, with Penny in tow, spent the rest of the morning shopping. They hit the outlet stores looking for more age appropriate outfits for a teen. Casey felt like a kid herself, enjoying the freedom she was feeling after years of heartache.
After paying for her purchase, handing the cashier 40 one dollar bills including one with red lettering stamped along its edges, Rochelle offered to pay for ice lattes at a favorite coffee shop.
They passed a young man as they left the clothing store. Hardly noticing him, there was no way they could know that he was looking for a new suit. After six months unemployed, he had his first job interview next week. He needed to impress his potential new bosses.
