Every day was the same. No matter what, nothing ever changed in this miserable existence that I was supposed to call a life.
I’d wake up exhausted, get ready for work, and head into Stanley’s to strip and dance all night just to stagger back to this tiny shit hole of an apartment so I could get up the next day and do it all over again.
And again.
There was no change to this constant catch-up game of paying off debt, and I saw no hope that I’d ever win at it.
How depressing. Working without any end in sight. Forever.
I had zero enthusiasm to hurry out the door and get to the club so I’d have enough time for makeup and getting ready. And it was evident, how robotic I felt in rushing to grab my bag and get out the door of my apartment.
Everything was exactly the same, including my lack of punctuality. I had the same routine, the same route back and forth from Stanley’s, and still, I would be late. It didn’t matter how prepared I tried to be so I wouldn’t be so stressed to get to work on time. I was always behind because of the endless sleep deprivation I battled.
Outside my door, I shoved it shut to lock it. Like usual, it didn’t click closed, so I had to ram my hip against the surface to force it to fit in the junky frame that I doubted my landlords would ever care to fix.
“What the—” I paused after banging my body against the panel. Flapping up from the force of air that moved with my impatient push, a piece of light-yellow paper snagged my attention. It had been taped to the door, and the familiar header of the apartment complex was overly bold in its contrast with the pale hue.
No longer invested in the effort to properly close and lock my door, I tugged on the bottom of the notice and skimmed it quickly.
What the actual hell?
Anger built swiftly at what the message indicated. I’d reread it later, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly what this brief note said. Rereading it wouldn’t change the fact that the lazy, cheap, money-hungry landlords wanted to up the rent. Again!
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I growled to myself, narrowing my eyes as I zoned out and stared at the message taped to my door this morning when I’d been sleeping—or trying to.
Next to me, my neighbor opened her door. With a baby on her hip and a bag of trash in her hand, she wasn’t able to stop her toddler from rushing out the open door. Banging a spoon on a pot, he carried his typical loudness from her apartment to the hallway. Each clang of metal on metal served to worsen my headache, one I didn’t want at all on my way into the club. Stanley’s blared music like any other strip club would, and I could usually tune it out. But this kid…
I gritted my teeth as I watched him dart by. In a diaper and a dirty T-shirt, he marched with that pot and spoon held overhead, drumming and shrieking to some kind of music he had in his mind.
That was one half of the reason I couldn’t sleep. Between his loud toddler days of tantrums or playing or screaming or drumming and his younger brother’s colicky crying, I had no peace to sleep. Worse was his mother’s shouting at her boyfriend. And then next door in the other direction, that cacophony competed with that neighbor’s music that he turned up first thing in the morning as he worked out in his apartment.
“Sorry,” the mother said, not really meaning it. Maybe she had good intentions and she was genuinely apologetic about her sons’ making such a ruckus, but she was too beat down and exhausted from life to make any amends. “They’re being a little loud today.”
I huffed before I could stop myself. I wasn’t laughing at her, and it wasn’t fair of me to react with sarcasm, but she was joking, right? Her baby and toddler were loud every day. Since the walls were so thin and I heard it all, I was well aware that she neglected them, refusing to help them and insisting that they learn to cry it all out and figure it out.
I had no clue what a baby was supposed to figure out on his own, much less a toddler, but I knew better than to impart unsolicited advice for another woman.
The mother narrowed her eyes. “I said sorry,” she snapped, interpreting my huff as a reason to fight. “You’ve got no idea how hard it is to be a single mother. To be a mother at all.”
“You got me there.” I used to daydream about having a family, but I had enough logic not to wind up like that, single and destitute. Having to pay back outrageous debt from when my ex-boyfriend, Derick, ran off with my credit cards kept me from getting back on my feet enough to even consider starting a family.
But that didn’t mean I would judge a mother for becoming one at all. I wished I had a baby and toddler like her, but with the ability to care for them properly. I wanted a child of my own to enjoy and teach and watch them grow up, but not when I wouldn’t be able to provide for them.
Glancing at the baby she held, I refrained from sighing and trying to explain I didn’t hate her or her kids for being the reason I was so chronically sleep-deprived. Picking a fight with my neighbor wasn’t something I had time for, either.
She raked her tired gaze up and down me, then smirked. “You got no damn idea how hard my life is.”
Oh, and mine isn’t? We all had our problems. But I knew better than to remind her of that.
“You just take off and dance all night.” She hoisted her baby up higher and glanced at the toddler drumming and marching, now screaming too. “You got no idea what it’s like to be stuck at home with kids and no decent man to help at all. You got no damn idea, you lucky bitch.” Shaking her head, she grabbed the boy’s hand and dragged him to turn in the direction she wanted him to go. After casting me one more rude look, she yanked her trash bag off the floor and headed to take it outside.
She was right. I didn’t have an idea what it was like to raise children, but that was because I had gone out of my way to avoid letting that happen yet. Derick wasn’t the sort of man to have a child with. He wasn’t even the sort of man to keep in my life as a boyfriend. Cheating, lying, manipulative, he was a lousy excuse for a man. Worst of all, he was too damn controlling.
Walking outside to begin the journey to the club, I held the strap of my bag tighter and shoved the rent increase notice into it. I didn’t want to think about having to pay more to the landlords who didn’t give a damn about the building that was crumbling down. But with Derick on my mind, I didn’t want to think about how much debt I was drowning in from his theft.
I’ll never catch up. With this additional rent to pay, I wasn’t even sure how long I’d be able to maintain staying afloat in this rut I was stuck in.
When I entered the back of the club and saw the bright red hair of a fellow dancer who was most friendly with me here, I approached her. It wasn’t wise to look at any of these dancers as friends. This business was too cut-throat. Too competitive. But Nevaeh was kinder than the others.
“Hey, girl,” I greeted as I reached her on her way toward the dressing rooms.
“Hey.” She turned, giving me a long face.
I laughed once. “We just got here. How can you be so glum already?” She didn’t enjoy stripping any more than I did, but earning money was something that brightened our spirits. It’d make anyone happier.
“Nicky’s telling me that I gotta make more money.” She pouted with that response about her boyfriend. “He wants to cut his hours and doesn’t wanna give up his car, so now I have to take over his car payments.”
I raised my brows. With her, I didn’t censor my judgment. Unlike how I was careful not to wade into an argument with my neighbor, I felt free to give Nevaeh my opinion. “You can’t be serious. You have to pay for his car?”
She groaned. “I know it sounds bad—”
“That is bad. He’s using you!”
“Not really.”
I shook my head, opening the door that led to the hallway of dressing rooms. “No. It is bad. He’s using you for a place to stay. Food, now his car? Why is he cutting hours?”
“So he can play more on his gaming system.”
It was my turn to groan. “The gaming system you bought him.”
“Look, I don’t wanna hear it. It’s different with us.” She tipped her chin up, stubborn.
“How?” I gave her a dull, expectant look, curious how she could be this stupid.
“How?” She smiled. “It’s different cuz we love each other. Unlike you and Derick.”
If she wanted to try to compare her lazy, greedy boyfriend with my ex, she’d lose that argument in two seconds. The main difference was that I kicked Derick out of my life, whereas she’d never see the light and lose the guy who treated her like a sugar mama.
“I just need to make a little more money for a while,” she concluded, pulling her hair back into a ponytail so we could start on our makeup.
“You need more money?” Lenny, the manager in charge of this shift, asked. He slowed down in his stroll along the hallway, checking that all the dancers were getting ready. In reality, the beer-bellied old perv was busy eye-fucking us all, but that wasn’t anything new. “Because you know you can always get bonuses for extras, sweet pea.”
I shuddered at his sleazy voice. He’d mentioned that opportunity before, but I wanted nothing to do with the bonuses or extras he was suggesting.
Some of the dancers did private parties for those bonus shifts. They were primarily events here at the club or at party houses for VIPs. But since many of those VIPs were members of the Mafia or the gangs that held power all over New York, I never, ever got involved with them.
My goal was to never be controlled by a man again. Derick showed me how hellish that experience could be. And those VIPS were all about power and control.
“How about no thank you?” I muttered under my breath as I gathered my long, wavy hair back into a bun for my makeup.
Nevaeh laughed at my remark, knowing full well how cautious I was to avoid those VIPs. But she gave Lenny a sweet smile and shake of her head. “Ah, no. Thanks, but no thanks. Nicky doesn’t want me to take on those bonuses.”
See? He’s controlling you by expecting you to pay for his shit, and he’s more controlling to tell you what you can and can’t do!
Once Lenny shrugged and walked off, Nevaeh lowered the wattage of her smile. “Yeah, right. Nicky wouldn’t have to ever know how I made more money. But I’m not going to risk getting knocked up or sold.”
“Huh?” Confused, I stared at her for a moment. I’d heard—and seen—the dancers who thought they could make some good cash by letting someone fuck them in a private room. And then they’d get pregnant. But sold? “Who’s getting sold around here?”
Nevaeh shrugged as she got busy applying her makeup. “I still know some of the former dancers. The ones who used to work here, but they were sold to VIPs.”
“Like their permanent private dancers?” I got my things out, holding back a yawn at the daunting idea of having to go through all the makeup for another long night.
“No.” Nevaeh huffed. “Sometimes, I forget you used to be an innocent small-town girl.”
I had been. Derick was my high school sweetheart who moved me to the city out of college. But it felt like years ago now.
“They sell them to the VIPs and they sell them.” She shot me a duh look. “Trafficked, Sloane.”
“Seriously? Damn.” I shook my head and began applying the thick cosmetics, watching her reflection in the mirror. With the distant thud of music in the background, I was more aware of my pulse and the intensity of my headache. Lenny’s laughter sounded in the distance, and I sighed heavily.
“Yeah, seriously,” Nevaeh said. “The Bratva men. The Italians. Some of the gangsters. They’re all in on finding dancers here. They get them hooked on drugs and then they can never leave.”
I hid my cringe, not wanting her to see just how naïve I was. Sure, I knew women were sold all the time, but I never witnessed it happening here at Stanley’s.
“So, just a heads up,” she added, meeting my gaze through our reflections. “Be careful who could be listening in when you say you need more money.”
I nodded. “I do, though. My damn rent is going up.”
She huffed. “Again? What the fuck?”
I shrugged, not really knowing what to say. More money was necessary for me to stay afloat, but I wouldn’t broadcast that. Even though I hated this job, I was determined to do it and get out.
But that didn’t stop me from wishing once more that life could be easier than this.
