Page 12 of Everest

I knock on his door. “Hey, Tony. Journey said you wanted to see me?”

Tony looks up from the stack of invoices on his desk. “Hiya, darlin’. Come in and have a seat.”

“Everything okay?’ I ask, sitting in the chair across from him.

“There’s somethin’ I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Okay,” I say, confused.

“Listen.” Tony rubs the back of his neck. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t come to you with this shit. I respect that you want to keep this part of your life private, considering what you do for a living. You have your reason, and I’d never say shit to a soul.”

Another thing about Tony is that he knows everything about everyone who steps foot into his club. I don’t know how or where he gets his information, and I’ve never asked. All I know is he knows who I am, what I do for a living, where I live, and he knows about my mom. And it might sound crazy because I’ve only known Tony for less than two months, but I trust him. I’ve seen firsthand how he cares about his girls and all his employees. When I say he looks out for everyone here, I mean it.

“I know you wouldn’t, Tony. I appreciate that. Really.”

“I got your back, sweetheart. Which is why I wouldn’t be askin’ this of you if I had another choice.”

“Ask me what?”

Tony runs his hand over the top of his head. “Amara has gotten herself in some trouble with that new fella.”

Suddenly, I’m on alert. Amara is one of the dancers here. She’s twenty-two and the sweetest girl—way too sweet and shy for this place. Everyone here, especially Tony, looks out for her. “What about her? Is she okay?”

Tony shakes his head. “Showed up tonight with a black eye, busted lip, and a sprained wrist. She tried to hide it under makeup, but the bruises were clear as day.”

My hands ball into fists. “Was it that son of a bitch boyfriend of hers?”

Tony’s face turns hard. “After some coaxing, she admitted it was. I wanted to go after the son of a bitch myself, but you know Amara, she got scared.”

“That bastard can’t get away with putting his hands on her,” I fume.

“I agree. I had Journey take her to the hospital, and she was able to talk Amara into pressing charges. Amara said this dude has money and connections. She’s terrified. I’m not sure if that’s true or if the fucker has been blowin’ smoke up her ass to make her think he’s somebody. I’m on the case and gonna find out what I can.”

“What do you need from me?” I ask.

“If Amara is willing to go the distance, I want to hire you as her lawyer. It’s not really my style to go by the books, but this is the hand I’m playing for now. If I look into this guy and shit looks too dangerous, I’ll pull you back. I’m asking you because Amara will trust you. Also, because I know your reputation.”

I smirk. “My reputation?”

Tony leans back in his chair. “Don’t you make grown men cry?”

I roll my eyes. "I guess I do have a reputation.”

After talking with Tony, I head back to the dressing room to prepare for my set. I keep this part of my life separate from my everyday life. I know I shouldn’t feel ashamed, but I do. I take my clothes off for money to care for my mother.

What would my mom think of me if she knew?

What would my friends think?

Unfortunately, I feel shame due to society's portrayal of women. The judgment should actually fall on everyone else. I mean, I look at Journey and see a single mom who works her ass off to take care of her two kids. Her youngest son has a disability, and she started working at the club two years ago to afford sending him to a private school. Then you have Kimmy, whose parents kicked her out when she turned eighteen. She didn’t let her shitty parents stop her from making something of herself. She works at the club three nights a week to pay for her tuition. Those who genuinely know these women, the sacrifices they have made, and know their hearts could only sing praises. Nobody chooses dancing as their first option. I know I didn’t. It was the only option where I could make enough to keep my mother in Golden Hills.

Who would have thought those pole dancing exercise classes I took back in college would be helpful? At first, Promise and I signed up for the classes on a dare. Back then, pole dancing was not as popular as it is now. Promise made it through three classes before ultimately deciding it wasn’t for her. To be fair, my best friend is not very coordinated. However, I loved it. I kept at it, attending class at least three times a week for about two years. I gave it up when life got busy, and school kept me in the trenches. It turns out that all these years later, working the pole is like riding a bike.

I'm securing my wig when Lucas, one of the bouncers, walks by and raps his knuckles against the dressing room door. “You’re up, London.”

“Okay.” I stand and give myself one last look in the floor-length mirror. The long, wavy red wig I wear to cover my natural black hair makes my amber eyes pop. The wig, coupled with the heavy makeup, makes me look like a different person, which was my main goal when I started working here.

“Knock 'em dead," Journey sings songs as I strut to the stage. This is the part of my night where I mentally turn off all emotion and block out the fact that dozens of eyes will be on my body. Each person in the crowd becomes a blur, a nameless face, a means to an end. I’ve gotten good at getting lost in the music and ignoring the shame and humiliation that comes with the job. I’d do anything to ensure my mother is taken care of. That includes taking my clothes off for strangers.

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