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I hurry to pull the phone free from my purse and see Luna’s name flash across the screen. “Sorry, it’s a work client. I need to take this,” I say, excusing myself. As I exit through the doors, I swipe my phone and bring it to my ear.

“Hello.”

“Finally, girl, I’ve been calling you all day,” Luna’s voice wails through the phone.

“Sorry, I’m at lunch with my mom. What’s up?”

“Just checking you’ll be there tonight. I’m heading early today.”

“Oh crap, I forgot.” I rub my forehead feeling a headache coming on.

“Please, Gabs.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be there.”

“Yessss. Thank you, thank you,” Luna yells so loudly that I have to pull the phone away from my ear as I chuckle.

“Okay, see you later. Bring your best moves. It’s going to be a busy night.”

I wait in anticipation for my cue to start spinning in the hoop. My skin tingles with nervous energy.

Every time I do this, I remind myself they can see me, but I can’t see them. I always open the nights I work. I never venture off the stage. I never give private dances. It’s been my little secret for two years. Luna started here for some extra cash. She hates living off her parents, and she asked me along. I did one night and I’ve worked one to two nights a week for the past two years. I don’t do it for the money. No, I do it for the buzz, for the thrill of being wanted, desired, to have all eyes on me, but with no expectations, no judgment. I feel powerful, in control, things I have lacked all my life, and it makes it all the more enjoyable knowing no one knows it’s me hidden behind my mask.

The men cheer as the hoop spins, and I contort my body.

The beat changes, and that’s my cue, along with four other girls, to enter through the curtain. The heat of the stage lights and the smell of liquor hit me as soon as I release the hoop, and it disappears up into the air. The roar of men’s voices booms over the music, and my blood starts pumping.

I make my way over to my usual spot, swaying my hips as I saunter to the opposite side of the stage. I reach up and grip the pole and slowly walk around it, lifting my other hand and wrap it around the cool steel, then pressing my back and butt against it, sliding down and then working my way back up. Whistles and cheers filter through the air, and I continue with my routine and with every passing beat and each turn and sway of my body, I grow more comfortable and thrive off the atmosphere.

The track changes. It’s slower and sultrier, and this is when most girls descend the stage and make their way through the audience, tempting men and encouraging them to request a private dance. A moment of bravery flickers through me, and my feet carry me down the steps in front of me, and I walk around the tables next to my side of the stage. I run a hand along the back of a man with light brown hair wearing a dark blue shirt.

“Yess, baby, you can come over here and sit on my lap…” one man from the group calls. I ignore his advances and move to the next table, where a large group of men sit. I spy Luna’s auburn hair flash under the lights, and I make my way over to her, swaying my hips seductively.

“Yes, honey… bring that sweet ass over here,” another man calls. It should repulse me, and in any other setting, it would, but here, I feel safe. A thrill zaps through me, and I lean into Luna, who’s wearing an emerald green leotard and a gold mask. We move our bodies as one, earning more attention from the men at the table, and I feel high from the thrill of it.

The song starts to fade out, and Luna takes my hand and guides us both back up on stage to end. Two girls spin in hoopsthat hang above us. They look so elegant and ethereal and for just a second, I am so caught up watching them, that I forget I need to find my position on stage.

Spinning and dragging hands up and down my body, I turn and grip the pole, leaning my head back, my long, dark hair sweeping the floor as I arch my back. I rotate my body so I am against the pole just as the song ends, the lights fade and cheers and whistles fill the room. My breathing is ragged, my body on fire from exertion, but the feeling pulsing through me is euphoric.

We make our way backstage, everyone cheering and high fiving the successful performance. Only a few girls are due to go back out for another routine before the private dances go ahead in the side rooms.

Jessica, the stage manager, hands out bottles of water, and I take one gratefully. I press the bottle to my burning forehead and welcome the chill and cooling effects it offers.

Luna pushes her way through the crowd of girls and throws her arms around me. “Aaaah, Gabs, you were hot out there.”

I wrap my arms around her. “Thanks. I actually had fun out there in the crowd.”

“Well, that’s good to hear because you have been requested for a private dance.”

I almost choke on my own saliva. “Sorry, what?” I spit out.

“Someone has requested to have you in one of the rooms.”

I freeze, my eyes widening to saucers behind my mask. “I… I... I can’t do that. No, Luna, no.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t,” I protest.