Falling for the wrong memory

The bass echoes through the room as I sway my hips under the spotlight. It is another Friday night, with another round of hungry eyes undressing every inch of me. But I don’t do this for them. I do it for survival. “Damn, Blythe. You are on fire tonight,” Mandy cheers as I move from under the lights, heading to the table in the corner. My jacket catches the light. "Rent's due," I respond. It sounds like the typical thing any girl in my situation will say just to get the others laughing. But that is my reality, and I still have zero clue how I am going to pay it. I resist the urge to cringe in disgust when the guys at the table lick their lips upon my arrival. Instead, I arch my back low enough to earn another round of cheers. Rich boys, probably bored and horny. “Blythe!” The manager’s sing-song voice cuts through the air. “You’ve got a caller!” “I hate that word,” I say under my breath, turning around with a feigned smile. “Who is it?” "I heard you," she says in a deadpan tone, coming to stop in front of me. "Do you think you are better than all the girls who attend to my clients?" “Caramel…” "I would have tossed you out of this building a long time ago if you were not the best dancer in here," she continues, ignoring my weak protest. "I will call you whatever I want to call you, dancer or hooker. Understand?" “Yes, Caramel.” "And make sure you please him. I don't care if he asks you to strip. Bloody do it!" I recoil from Caramel’s snarl, getting myself out of her face before she can find something else to scold me for. It is not news that I am not the most wanted dancer around here, but I can dance. And that’s all that matters. I take the lift to the second floor, my mind wondering who my first caller is for the night. Will he be like the last one who got mad because I didn’t let him grope me? But when I lift the curtains and walk in, all of those thoughts dissipate into nothing. I know I have never seen him before here. I know the faces of every single person who visits our club, especially the VIP section, since this is where I work most of the time. He leans back in the leather seat, an air of confidence about him. His eyes are on his phone, but I don't know if he is actually looking at it or watching me. As I move closer, I notice the person sitting next to him. His friend waves me over. “You boys want a little distraction?” I purr, sitting on the edge of the table, one leg crossed over the other. The smile on my face is schooled because it is what pays my bills. "Not me," he says, pointing to the new guy. "Him. I hear you're the best around here. It took everything to get him to come with me, so make it worth his time." "I always do." I pull my face to Mr. Stiff-spine, who is still staring at his phone. His face looks…familiar? Maybe not his face. There is just something about him. His friend walks out of the room just as I get off the table. I don't speak to him. I never do. Instead, I take off the little jacket I have on, letting it drop to the ground in a silent whisper. And then, I move slowly towards the pole standing in the middle of the room, in nothing but a two-piece lingerie. His eyes leave his phone, just as I hook a leg around the pole, bringing my lithe frame with me. The music makes it easier to drown in the moment, rather than think about all the bills that are waiting for me back at home. Dancing in a club does little more than nothing for me, but it’s all I’ve got. My phone rings from my jacket just as the music reaches its peak. Sliding off the pole, I dash for my phone, nestled in my jacket’s pocket. “s**t!”I mutter, already hitting the receive button. “Sorry! It’s an emergency. Give me a sec.” Moving behind the screen, I place the phone against my ears, waiting for my landlord’s usual yelling. “This is the last time I will be calling you, Miss Brown,” he starts, his voice strangely low. “The next time we talk about this, it will be with your things tossed out onto the streets. I’ll be changing the locks.” “I’ll pay the rent,” I whisper, pressing the phone closer to me. “I promise. I am just in a really tight spot now, but I am going to …” “That’s all I’ve heard for the past six months, Blythe. Someone else has paid for your space. Get your things out of my house.” “Sir? No! I don’t have anywhere else to go.” I suddenly feel dizzy, the world spinning all around me. “Just give me one more week.” I will need at least a month to gather the money for the rent from my dances. Maybe I should ask Caramel for help. I don't know how obliged she will be to give me a response. “I’ll get it.” He hangs up. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and clutch the phone in one hand, moving back into the room. An apology is on my lips when he speaks. “You okay?” his voice is low, his eyes curious. “What?” “Rent issues aren’t particularly pleasant.” My blood runs cold immediately. “Were you eavesdropping?” He still has that calm look on his face that makes me want to shake it away. Does he know what infringement of privacy means? “I won’t call that eavesdropping,” he finally says, angling his head. “You weren’t exactly whispering.” “I don’t know who you are, but you have no right to talk to me about my personal stuff.” “Then don’t pick calls like that when you are at work.” He rises to his feet and saunters over to me, slipping a card out of his coat. “Come by my office tomorrow. Noon. I have a job for you.” And then, he’s gone. I stare at the card in my hand. Mateo Brent. Why does the sound of a stranger’s name make my heart squeeze in fear?