Broken

CHAPTER EIGHT: Unbearable, Beautiful Torment

"It hurts to breathe because every breath I take proves I can't live without you."

Anonymous

The club where I danced was in the most unlikely of places. It was nestled in a quiet area of town composed of older homes refitted for businesses. The building was a historic mansion situated between an optometrist and a hippie restaurant. The inside of the building was stripped of anything resembling its original purpose. The ambiance of the antique structure somehow complemented its new role as a gentlemen's club.

I'm not sure what I was expecting but the other girls took me in and taught me what I needed to know. They showed me how to dance on the pole but for the first couple of months, I was terrible. I came home bruised, my feet covered in blisters from wearing five-inch high heels. I tried each night to fling myself around a pole in a way that men found sexy. I usually found myself in an ungainly heap at the bottom. I was ridiculous.

At the end of the night, I would sink into bed for a few hours before it was time to drag my ass into work waiting tables. I would daydream about the time when I would make enough money to quit.

I found a book with a video that explained pole dancing in simple steps. I had discovered there was a book for everything if I searched hard enough, even stripping. My already healthy body became stronger as I practiced religiously.

Eventually, I could whip and whirl around the stripper pole with ease. Wearing five-inch heels and doing gymnastics is no easy feat but I could do a tumbling routine in them. I learned the art of teasing and seduction without touching a person. The trick was to conceal almost as much as you revealed.

Keeping to myself and reading instead of hustling customers gave me a mysterious air that drew men to me. I didn't ignore them for that reason. I despised most of the customers and preferred to be left alone. This only made them want me more. Sarah was right; men are the dumbest creatures on Earth.

I would get off the stage and immediately find myself besieged by customers wanting private dances, champagne rooms, and to buy me drinks. I made money without even trying.

I moved Sarah to a private nursing home. I found an apartment in a good neighborhood close to work and paid all the bills with the money I earned dancing. We were both safe and that was all that mattered.

My apartment had hardwood floors throughout. I had furnished it with antiques that I collected from second-hand shops. Art adorned all the walls. Copies of Renoir, Monet, Manet, Degas, Klimt, Van Gogh, and even an early Picasso were all in attendance. Books lined the shelves built into the walls by the hundreds.

The living room had a soft, second-hand cream-colored sofa. I bought it because I could melt into it and read for hours without ever having to move. An enormous bouquet of roses in a Waterford vase adorned the simple sofa table behind it. Both were gifts from my friend, Clark.

I met Clark as a customer but we had become the best of friends. His wife was dying of cancer and the loneliness overwhelmed him sometimes. He was a gentleman and never wanted me to take off my clothes. We talked, read books aloud to each other, and listened to his favorite operas for the hour he purchased from me.

Clark discovered I needed a new apartment. He offered me one in the building that he owned a few blocks from the club. I insisted on paying the full amount of rent but asked him to keep everything in his name. I didn’t want anyone to know where I lived. He saw the haunted look in my eyes and did it without question. He understood how grateful I was to have my first real home. Clark didn't bother me there but weekly he left me roses and a new book.

I had made friends with some of the other girls. We went out dancing together almost every Sunday night after I spent the day with Sarah. We never waited in line anywhere or paid for drinks. The bar tab was paid at the end of the night by someone else.

I lost myself in the music and the other girls watched out for me. We pretended to be lesbians to keep men away from us. Our charade always worked. All of us were so used to each other's naked bodies that for us, touching each other wasn't a big deal. None of us were there to find dates. We were there to dance without having to be anything for anyone.

At the end of the night, we got a cab and slept over at one of the other girl's apartments, but never mine. I never invited people to my apartment. It wasn't safe for people to know where I lived.