Page 11 of Chasing Danger

“Yep. If your family asks, you were with me all night.”

“Thanks again. You’re the best.”

“You know it. Stay safe. Call me in the morning.”

The phone disconnected with a beep just as my bus arrived. I got on, but there weren’t any seats open. So, I leaned against a pole and tried to catch my breath as the bus started heading in the opposite direction from Ashes’ place.

My friend’s full name was Ashley Sanger, but no one called them that. They preferred the gender-neutral adaptation of their name, Ashes.

I’d met Ashes shortly after the fire, and we’d been best friends ever since. I supported them when they came out as non-binary and helped them find a place to live when their family kicked them out. Because of this, Ashes’ loyalty was unwavering. When I asked them to lie for me, they did, without question.

I hated using my friend as a cover story, but I didn’t have much choice. My family would never let me leave the house again if they knew where I was going.

Most nights, when I came home from the coffee house, I took care of my brother so the at home nurse could leave. However, my mother didn’t work on Thursday and Friday nights, so I was free to do whatever I wanted without fear of leaving Rowan helpless.

If given the choice, I would have much rather stayed home.

Another half hour bus ride dropped me off in the center of downtown Baltimore, right outside a gay club called theErodance. It was more upscale than your average strip club, but it still catered to desires of the flesh all the same.

I avoided the front door, and went in through the back like the rest of the employees.

When I was asked as a child what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said the same thing. I wanted to be an artist. Well, in a way, I was. As an exotic dancer, I created art of a sort, although I used my body instead of a brush.

The backstage area of the club was a chaotic mix of red velvet couches that were so old they were practically threadbare, and dozens of dressing tables lined up for the dancer’s use. I found my usual table, off to the side where I preferred it, and started getting ready.

The first thing I put on was my mask. In the club, I was never seen without it. Even my fellow dancers barely knew what I looked like. It covered the left side of my face, which not only hid my scars, but also kept my identity a secret. I had several different masks to match the different outfits hanging on my personal clothing rack.

Well, the costumes barely counted as outfits. Really, they were just bits of fabric and string that seemed to be more glitter than substance. Technically, they covered what needed to be covered so I was not completely naked, but little was left to the imagination.

Because of the mask, I’d been given the stage name Phantom. As soon as I arrived, I checked the schedule to see what routines I’d be performing in, and which costumes would be needed.

Tonight, I was assigned to wear a delicate silver creation that reminded me of something from a fairytale.

Everything at the club was fast-paced. There was barely twenty minutes between my arrival and my first performance.

As I approached the stage from the wings, I tuned out everything around me. I didn’t see the club or the patrons waiting just past the curtain. I didn’t even see my fellow dancers. There was just me, and the silver pole on stage about a dozen feet away that I would be performing on.

The only thought in my head was the choreography.

And the fact that I was cold.

For a place where the employees walked around with ninety-five percent of their skin on display, one would think they could turn the heat up a little. I had goosebumps everywhere, and my nipples felt hard enough to cut diamonds.

Maybe that was the point.

There were a few performances before mine, which I watched with disinterested attention.

Genie in a Bottle.

She Wolf.

I Need a Hero.

The club was definitely having a fantasy theme that night.

After each performance, I watched the back door on the other side of the stage. Each time, the performer disappeared through it, along with at least one of the club’s patrons.

Unlike a typical strip club, guests did not throw money on stage. Each performer was given a standard paycheck, and they could leave it at that if they wanted.

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