Page 11

TEN

After a month and a half working at the Church, it was the end of September, and I had enough money saved to rent an apartment. The problem was, the motel was closer to the club, and I didn’t have a car so what I would save on renting an apartment, I would spend on transportation because walking wasn’t an option with that news reporting another girl had gone missing. I needed a car and I didn’t have enough to buy one at the used car dealership and or credit to get a loan. I also had to factor in, car insurance, gas, food, and utilities.

Rachel offered me a couple of her regulars to have sex with to earn extra cash, but I declined. Having sex with strangers for money was my hard limit. It was also illegal.

Every night, I’d dance, shake my ass, but I wouldn’t let a stranger touch my pussy. I never had sex before and didn’t plan on telling anyone at Church, or that I’ve never had a boyfriend or kissed a guy.

“Are you sure, Trix?” Rachael asks, looking at me through the reflection of the mirror. “I can refer you to one of the nice ones. You know, until you make what you need for a car.”

“Thanks, Rachel, but I’m sure.”

Rachel doesn’t see me as a threat and is one of the few that has been nice to me. Unlike Gina, who is giving me a dirty look sitting next to Rachel as she cakes on more foundation to hide the dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and too much cocaine.

After that first night at the motel, I never saw Gina again with that good-looking college boy. Sure, she’s been there with other guys. It’s how most girls make ends meet around here on slower days since college started.

I quickly learned that the motel was the preferred destination for drug addicts and men who frequently frequented The Church. The motel was also a stop for truckers, married men living in town, and college kids who were starting school and waiting for their dorm assignments.

One of the girls pops her head in from the dressing room door and calls out, “Hey, Trix?” I look up. “You’re up, baby.”

I sigh and take one last look at my clown outfit. It’s the same outfit I wore on the first night. I rub my lips together, feeling the smooth black lipstick on them. My six-inch red platform heels force me to bend as I check my clown makeup in the vanity mirror, black tears streaming down my cheeks. I look like I belong in a circus, but the crowd seems to like it.

“Go get ‘em, Trix,” Rachael says with a bright smile.

It’s my third time on stage. The first two times, I danced on days when there weren’t many people seated at the tables, and I surprised everyone. Even myself.

The girls said I was good. Rachel still thinks I’m jerking her chain when I told her I’ve never danced on stage before. She said there was no way I didn’t pay for professional lessons, but I didn’t. When I walked on stage under the bright neon lights and the music started to play, it’s like my body knew what to do and my mind checked out.

Pushing through the curtains at the back of the stage, I catch Jules through the curtains wiping down the pole before she walks toward me.

“They’re here,” she says, her eyes glittering with excitement.

“Who’s here?” I ask.

“The guys that dress up like it’s Halloween,” she says, then lowers her voice. “The ones that work at the haunted carnival.” I try to look behind her, but she blocks my view and continues, “It’s five of them. They show up this time of year when the circus arrives in town. You can always find them in the crowd. They stand out from the other guys who wear masks. They tip well, and if they like a girl on stage, they tip really well,” she says, like winning a lottery ticket. “They’re loaded, Trix. Hot. Mysterious. Beautiful. The best part is they appreciate girls like us. There are no filthy men or women who have a crush on girls at a strip club that give you the shivers, and tonight, it is a full house on a Friday night.”

I step to the side and peer out through the curtain, making sure no one can see me. She isn’t wrong. There are about two hundred people—some with masks, others not caring to wear one. The group seated at the front of the stage, with costumes and painted faces, draws my attention. She was referring to the group of five people. My eyes are drawn to the man seated in the center with a black top hat and painted face resembling a horror clown, making it difficult for me to see him clearly. My gaze dips to his long legs. He is so tall, the chair he is sitting on looks like he borrowed it from a kiddie table.

“Do they have names?”

She leans close behind me, peering over my shoulder. “No one knows, and no one asks.”

“How come?” I ask softly.

“Why mess up a beneficial thing by asking too many questions? Some believe they’re also part of the circus, because when the circus leaves, so do they.”

“They don’t come back?” I ask curiously.

She shakes her head. “Nope. Mid-September to the third of November. After that, they’re gone. No names, no numbers, but they leave alotta dough.”

“Do they…” I trail off.

She knows, I mean, if they fuck the girls who work here.

“Some of them. Like the two seated next to the tall one in the center. Sometimes, they fuck Gina and Jade. But when you ask them about it, they get defensive and bitchy. Like they don’t want us to know something we shouldn’t. Maybe they are afraid they will lose interest in them or something.”

“How about him?” I nudged my head at the tall one who has my attention. “Who does…”

“He touches but doesn’t fuck.” She interrupts, squinting when the overhead lights shift. She interrupts, squinting as the overhead lights shift.

One woman has fire engine red hair, and the other has white hair the color of snow. They are both exotic and beautiful. Their costume makeup is flawless.

“What makes you guys think that?” It wouldn’t make sense. Why come here at all?

“Why pay to fuck us when he can have them?”

My stomach flips, and my nipples harden under the small pieces of black-and-white fabric covering my nipples; I imagine how his strong, powerful thighs beneath mine would feel if I straddled his lap. I wonder if he would let me.

The overhead lights shift again, giving me a glimpse of his arms and chest and how, underneath, they fill his long black coat. I can tell he is fit. His biceps fill out the black sleeves, his chest bare and tattooed to the top of his right arm, holding a staff with a gold tip at the end.

“Has anyone given him a lap dance?” Hoping for some reason he hasn’t.

“I don’t think any of us have the courage to ask. I mean, look at him. Something about him makes him beautiful and scary, not his costume. His height and the way his thighs fill out his pants. Powerful arms. All those tattoos. There is no question he’s pure muscle and strength underneath. Hmm, not to mention the way his crotch is stretched so tight when he widens his legs.”

I laugh through my nose and play dumb. “What do you mean by his crotch?”

“Girl, he’s packing a monster in those pants.”

I stifle a laugh and then ask, “How would you know?”

She gives me a sidelong glance, the corner of her mouth lifting in a grin. “Girl, I know. That man will rip a pussy to shreds. It’s probably why he needs two women to get him off and comes in here to find his next victim.”

I am relieved that she hasn’t slept with him for some reason, but it’s obvious she wants to fuck him, and for some reason, I hate her for it. I think I would have a hate relationship with every woman who has.

“And the others?” I ask quizzically, trying not to sound interested in just him.

“They’re entertaining and generous. To them, it’s a game. But the one with the top hat seems unaffected by anything. I would be scared to try. My guess is, if he wants you, you’ll know.”

“Maybe someone should,” I say with determination, “dance for him.”

She shakes her head, as if I’ve lost my mind. “Be careful. No one knows who they really are, but we all assume they’re with the Circle of Freaks.”

“Don’t worry, Jules. You know I don’t take doggy bags home.”

She laughs. Then the overhead lights shift to yellow, it’s time for me to go out on stage, and I’m nervous. The crowd is bigger and for the first time, I want to make an impression.

As I make my way onto the stage, the neon light shifts, the DJ knowing what to play. The opening strains of Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” shiver through my body. The classic song pulses through the darkly illuminated club. I can feel the audience staring at me, but I can’t take my gaze off him.

The spotlight shines on the pole as I step boldly underneath, feeling the cool metal as I find my grip.

My dance outfit glistens and sparkles with each twirl. When I land firmly on the sleek floor, a surge of strength washes over me, and my body moves like I’ve done this countless times. I look over at the throng of people, but my eyes are only for him. When his gaze locks with mine, the world around us temporarily disappears, and it’s like I’m going back in time. The effervescence of the lights mixed with the heat of his gaze plays with mine. A swell of excitement coats my skin, tightening my hold on the pole once again before I start to spin. A small smile plays on my lips as I spin faster; the lights swiftly pass by. The crowd changes to people without masks or costumes. The stage changes to mirrors underneath, reflecting the orange and red glow of fire, causing a wave of heat to flow between my legs.

The whisper of a man’s voice in my ear makes my heart race faster. “I would die for you.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, but I don’t recognize the sound. I don’t recognize my voice when I reply, “Would you?”

The sensation of heat skims my neck, followed by soft kisses. “You’re lovely when you dance. Of course I would,” the man says, his mouth ghosting my ear.

I blink and refocus on the crown to find obsidian eyes watching me from the crowd. My eyes fall to his lips that lift in a knowing smile. “When I look at you, it reminds me of the flames from a fire,” the man whispers “Beautiful. Dangerous. Deadly when touched.”

I keep my gaze fixed on the man as I spin. Everything else is spinning, except him. The man with the top grins. His makeup causes his mouth to appear wider than usual. I must be imagining it. There is no way he is talking to me. That’s simply not possible. Crazy.

The room spins, and the scene changes.

“I dance for you,” I say, moving my lips, but there is no sound.

Then moans escape my throat. I blink, only to find myself face down, chained to a table. The slapping of skin causes me to arch my neck.

“You’re so pretty filled with my cum,” a man’s voice says behind me.

I should be able to identify his voice. I feel familiarity on my skin, but my mind doesn’t know who it belongs to. It’s like I’m watching a movie play, but no one can see or hear me.

“He says, ‘You are so beautiful. Do you know what I would do to anyone if they touched you?”

A moan escapes my lips. “I have an idea.”

I don’t, but whoever this woman is, does. It’s like she is supposed to be me with a different personality in a different body.

“I think I need to remind you what I’d do to their eyes if they did,” he continues, “how I’m going to erase the memory of you when they thought about fucking you.”

“You’ll be killing all our fans, baby,” the woman says with a smile in her voice.

“For you,” he says, his voice echoing around me. “I would.”

The stage comes back into focus like a broken trance. The man wearing the top hat continues to fix his gaze on me.

I dance effortlessly to the beat, allowing my body to move in sync with the music. When the chorus begins, I give it my all, adding intricate dance moves that I’ve never done before while gracefully arching and twisting my body.

The audience’s applause is inaudible compared to my heart’s drumbeat. I can sense his undivided attention when I step closer, causing my heart to race. His features change from satisfaction to conflicted.

Excitement surges through my veins like a drug. I catch the movement of his hands moving between his thighs, adjusting himself. Any other man, I would feel disgusted by the action but not him. I walk off stage and stop in front of him between his legs.

I smile playfully, ignoring everyone else in the room.

He leans forward, I’m completely engrossed with his eyes, caught in the bottomless pools of darkness.The corner of his lips painted in black lift in a grin, causing the smile painted on his cheeks to stretch wide when he smiles.

As the final notes of the song fade, I boldly place the palms of my hands on his thighs, feeling the powerful muscles underneath. Tilting my head close enough to his ear, I ask softly, “What’s your name?”

His gaze hardens like I asked for something forbidden. “How much do you need?” His deep voice causing every nerve in my body to rise in warning to move away.

I lower my gaze in embarrassment. I swallow the bitter taste of his rejection. He’s offering me money so I can go away, and like every man who walks in here and watches me dance, he assumes I do more than that.

Jule’s words cross my mind. He isn’t interested.

He shifts in his seat, causing me to push off his thighs. I briefly glance at the woman sitting next to him. A sense of insecurity washes over me. They’re beautiful and everything I’m not. One has gorgeous red hair, while the other has white hair, both with perfectly painted porcelain faces and gorgeous, toned bodies beneath tailored costumes.

My eyes lift, insecurity replaced by rejection and anger. I smile before the next song starts to play and reply softly, “Well, I’m not dancing for change. Upon reflection, I believe you should save your singles for the next girl.”

He grips his staff and squares his shoulders. “And why is that?”

I rub my lips and run my gaze over his face, ignoring the hammering beat of my heart. “Because I’m bored.” My bottom lip juts out playfully. “You’re no fun.” I look over at the two ladies watching me. “He’s all yours, ladies.”

I step back and bow. The crowd erupts in whistles and catcalls.

As I pick up the money from the stage, I ignore the tremble in my hands and sting from his rejection.

I stand with my arms full of money, a chill tightening my skin in awareness. A large shadow looms over me. I turn around, and he’s standing, tall and commanding, at the end of the stage.

A brief silence washes over the room. My breath hitches in my throat. He tilts his head, but the top hat doesn’t fall. I can’t lie. He looks magnificent in his costume, like it was handmade.

Hard muscles ripple with patterns of ink on his skin underneath his black overcoat. When he dips his hand inside his coat pocket, he produces a red rose and delicately places it on the floor of the stage.

I’ve never received a flower before, much less a rose.

Don’t read too much into it, Athena.He doesn’t want you.

I step forward, clutching the money to my chest with one arm, bend slowly, and hold the thornless rose between my fingers. For some reason, a rose from him feels like it’s worth more than all the money I made tonight. The delicate red petals feel soft against the pads of my fingers.

When I look up, he’s gone. I glance at his friends. The woman with the red hair is glaring at me with hatred. She abruptly gets up, grabbing her friend, pulling her out of her chair, and stumbling toward the exit.

The other guys with him dressed in costumes stare at me with their faces painted in different designs. A skeleton, a clown, and one in a devil’s costume with red paint on his face and horns on his forehead. The one behind him is dressed like a mime. One thing these guys have in common is that they all wear black robes.

The person with the mime face paint, who has a black heart painted on his white lips, waves with his fingers as if we’re best friends.

I feel a tug on my tights. I look down and pull my leg away when a man skims his hand over my calves, making my skin crawl.

“Don’t touch me,” I say with a sinister smile.

“Oh, come on, baby,” the man says with a fierce smile. “I saw the way you were grinding your hips. Hoping to get lucky with the man with the hat. He may not want you, but I do. It looks like you need a decent fuck.” He pulls out a wad of cash, wanting to throw up.

“I’m not interested,” I say sternly.

He holds up a wad of hundreds. “Oh, come on, gorgeous, I have something better than a rose and those dollar bills you’re holding to your chest.”

I’ve seen him around here before. He’s one of Rachel’s regulars. I’m almost positive this is the kind of guy she is offering me to make extra cash. Looking at his bald, shiny head and stomach hanging over his belt has me tempted to slice his throat to see how much he bleeds.

I shake my head, trying to push the crazy thought away, but I keep thinking of ways the skin in his throat would split open.

“I’m not interested,” I repeat.

He chuckles. “That’s what all the girls say until they need something. You’ll cave just like the rest of ‘em.”

When he turns his face to the side, I recognize him. When I was fourteen, my mother and I first moved here, and she took me to the strip mall. His name is Charles. Married, I think he has two kids. At the time, he owned a tax preparation office. He looks older since I last saw him; it’s probably why I didn’t recognize him at first. He’s lost all of his hair since then and gained weight.

I squat so I’m eye level with him, looking directly into his blue eyes. Something triggers me inside. A tick. A madness. His neck vein is pulsing, calling out to me like a boiling kettle.

“Let’s get one thing right, mister,” I warn in a little girl voice. “I’m not like the rest of them.”

His grin widens, as if I’m playing a game. “You’re one of those girls who likes to role-play.” He licks his lips, and the stench of cheap whiskey rolls off his breath. “I got a lollipop for you.”

“Do you,” I say dramatically with wide eyes. “Is it big?”

His eyes fill with lust. “I would love to show you, baby girl.”

I pout. Tilt my head sideways like a coiled spring. “Does it fill with blood?” I ask the words to come out slowly.

“Come. It fills with cum when I look at you.”

Pathetic. He’s too easy. I smile wide and then laugh.

His face falters a bit. He doesn’t know whether I’m playing with him or laughing at him. “You should see what I did to the last man who touched me with his cock full of cum.” I lean close and whisper, “It was bloody, Charlie.”

Sweat coats his forehead. His throat bobs when he swallows. “I don’t know how you know my name, but I’ll do anything,” he says desperately.

“Think about me with your hand.” I’m on the verge of standing up, but something stops me. “Make sure you scream when you do it.”

His gaze drops to my crotch. He licks his fat, pudgy lips. “I’ll pay you four thousand.” I walk away. “Five,” he calls out before I walk through the curtain.