Little Swan
676 Words
The music began to play, and the hall dimmed, leaving only a single white spotlight shining on the stage.
I gracefully leaped onto the stage, spinning and jumping, imagining myself as a noble swan gliding across the romantic Swan Lake.
When the performance ended, I made sure it was perfectly timed under ten minutes.
I heard applause from the audience and bowed politely, regardless of whether they understood the dance.
On the nearest couch sat a chubby man, watching me with interest. He said something to the server beside him.
The server approached with a tray, on which two stacks of cash were neatly placed on a black velvet cloth.
From experience, I guessed it was around $3,000.
The server said, "Miss Wilson, Mr. Turner invites you to join him for a drink later." I looked at the chubby man, who raised his glass to me, his face jiggling with the motion.
Three thousand dollars for a drink seemed like a good deal.
Without hesitation, I reached out my hand. Just as my fingers touched the money, I noticed a familiar figure in the booth directly opposite the stage on the second floor.
Orlando Bennett. I never expected to see him in a place like this.
But then again, it wasn't surprising. He had both money and time, and this kind of place suited him perfectly.
He was sitting on the couch in the booth, smoking, with a haze of blue smoke swirling around his face.
And his gaze, piercing through the smoke, felt like an arrow that struck me straight in the heart.
A shiver ran through my body, and my fingers trembled slightly.
But that didn't stop me from picking up the money. I needed to make money; that was my only goal right now.
Under Orlando Bennett's watchful eyes, I stuffed the money into my bag and walked off the stage.
I told the waiter that I needed to change clothes and would be back soon.
The waiter replied, "Mr. Turner likes you best in your swan costume."
Mr. Turner's lecherous gaze was like a hook, eager to tear off the thin dance outfit I was wearing.
Before going on stage, Josephine had already given me a pep talk: if I wanted to make money, I had to let go of my pride.
I followed the waiter to the fat man. He patted the sofa next to him, signaling for me to sit down.
I didn't sit. I knew if I did, his grubby hands would be all over me.
There was a full glass of liquor on the table. I picked it up and said to the fat man, "Thank you for the tip, President Turner. I'll drink this in your honor." With that, I tilted my head back and downed the drink in one gulp.
It was my first time drinking hard liquor, and I hadn't expected it to burn so much. I nearly choked.
The fat man squinted his eyes in satisfaction. Suddenly, a thick hand landed on my backside. "Bold and straightforward. I like girls who are direct."
As he spoke, he squeezed a few times, making his intentions clear.
The liquor felt like fire igniting in my stomach, burning fiercely.
It also ignited my anger.
Without thinking, I slapped his hand away. Maybe I used too much force because the fat man's face instantly fell.
I turned to leave, but he stretched out his arm to block my path. "Hey, girl, drinking alone is no fun."
He tilted his head toward someone nearby, and immediately, a stack of red bills was pulled out from a bag and neatly placed on the coffee table. The fat man sat back down, comfortably crossing his legs, and nodded his chin at me. "A hundred grand for a striptease. I want to see what it looks like."
As he spoke, he laughed heartily, and the people around him joined in.
I knew Orlando Bennett was watching me from upstairs, his gaze like an invisible net enveloping me.
It made my skin crawl.
- Writer
