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Madison

CHAPTER SIX

About forty-five minutes ago, I left the hospital, and as always, I feel torn after visiting my sister. One part of me thanks God that Brooklyn is alive, but the other, the part that knows the sleeping girl so well, suffers seeing someone so naturally happy lost in that deep sleep that has lasted over four months.

I shake my head, trying to push away the image of her in bed and recalling her smile and energy before that wretched man entered her life.

I'm standing in front of the back entrance of SIN. The doormen greet me, and shortly after, they pass the metal detector over me and collect my cell phone. Neither customers nor dancers are allowed to enter with devices that could record activities within the establishment.

It's my third day here, and I can confidently say that they are paranoid about security and privacy.

I haven't danced yet. Today will be my debut. Until now, it's all been rehearsals, mostly on the pole.

Speaking of which, I need to share something. I never imagined that performing acrobatics on the pole would be so difficult. The strength required in both legs and arms is ridiculous, and when I mentioned this to the choreographer, he said that the job includes a gym membership so I can strengthen myself.

I've been putting in a lot of effort, but I can only do the basics for now. I’m even thinking that if things go well, I should consider installing a pole at home for extra practice. But how would I explain that to Eleanor? She's not na?ve.

I walk through the nightclub, greeting the people I pass by. The girls who work here range from almost friendly to indifferent, but none of them has made any move to approach me. The only interaction has been during rehearsals, and even then, just a few words are exchanged.

"Early arrival, girl," says Adriel, the Costa Rican choreographer with beautiful blue eyes.

"I'm a bit nervous."

"A bit ?"

"Very. Making my debut at the boss's birthday is scary."

"Ares is scary, as are his brothers, but keep your mind focused. This is just a job like any other, and everything will be fine."

I stand still, looking at him, because there's something I want to ask, but I don't know how.

"Go ahead," he says, as if he’s guessed I have a question.

"I know about all the rules, even though I haven't officially participated in a performance here yet, but does it ever happen that a client gets carried away and tries something more with a dancer?"

"Are you talking about verbal or physical harassment?"

"Both."

He stops fiddling with the bag that’s on the stage and looks at me. "You're not the fragile flower type, Madison, otherwise you wouldn't have confronted Ares, as you told me you did."

I smile, agreeing. I told him everything that happened in Mr. Kostanidis's office on the day of my hiring.

I'm naturally suspicious, but Adriel is the kind of person you instantly fall for. He's intelligent, sassy, and very straightforward. On the first day he saw me, he said that no matter my current bank account situation, the clothes I was wearing weren't even suitable for getting to the club every night.

"I'm not. Of course, in a physical confrontation with a man, I'd be at a disadvantage, but in a verbal one, I doubt it. The problem is, I can't afford to lose this job, so I'd like to know how to handle it if any of them gets inappropriate."

"Are you afraid of losing the job because of your niece and nephew?"

"Yes, and because of my stepmother too. She stopped working to take care of the babies."

"Look, I've been at SIN since it opened, and I can tell you that the chances of experiencing physical harassment are very slim. There's not a club-goer here whose annual income is less than eight digits, which means they have a lot to lose if any scandal erupts. As for verbal harassment, smile, play dumb, and keep dancing. Most of these men just want to enjoy the fantasy that a goddess like you might give them a chance, regardless of their bank account. Shake that beautiful body and let them believe they're right."

"You make it all sound so easy."

"One survivor recognizes another. I know you'll succeed simply because you have to. Most of the dancers who work here are more about satisfying a certain lifestyle."

"Mister . . . hum . . . Mister Ares, does he . . .”

"Does he go out with the dancers? No. Not with them or with any company employees. As you know, he comes from a family of bankers, where scandals are unacceptable. Now, enough gossiping," he says, going to a rack and taking out a set of purple lingerie still in its packaging. "Here. Start getting ready because Ares said there can't be any delays. The guest you'll be performing for today is someone he wants to impress."

"What?"

"You'd prefer to dance for the first time on stage? You're pretty lucky, you know. Ten minutes of private performance is great practice. When it's your turn to dance for the audience, you'll breeze through it."

I pick up the lingerie from a famous American brand, still covered in plastic, and take a look just to make sure of what I already suspected: not enough fabric for the curves I have.

"The sandals are in the dressing room. Oh, I know you were told not to interact with the clients, but with this one in particular, you might have to answer a thing or two if asked. And as Ares suggested, you should do it in the man's native language."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"The client you'll be dancing for is a prominent Spanish businessman."

The chocolate bar I ate on the way here churns in my stomach.

I think he sees something on my face because he asks, "What's wrong, Madison?"

"I lied. I was so desperate to get a job that would allow me to pay the bills that I lied about being bilingual. I only know three words, and besides 'gracias,' I don't know how 'fajitas' and 'tacos' would fit into the context of an exotic dance."