Page 2 of Bratva Queen

Taking a long sip of my water—which was much cheaper than any other drink on the menu—I sat on the hard, cracked seats of the vinyl booth. Inessa, my friend from the apartment building, sat across from me and dug into her stack of pancakes with butter and syrup dripping over the edge of the plate. Glancing down, I stared at the unappetizing dried-up toast andvarenyewaiting for me.

Eyeing my food, Inessa raised her eyebrows and leaned in. “What is that pathetic meal?” She plopped a pancake onto my plate.

“Don’t judge,” I said, attempting to slide the pancake back, but she insisted otherwise. “It’s all I can afford right now.”

“Which is why I keep saying that you should come and work with me,” she said, scooping a big bite into her mouth. “You’ve definitely got the body for it,kukla. Those hips?Yebat’!” Fuck! Her voice sang the cuss word out, and she set the back of her hand to her forehead as though she would faint.

I laughed, glancing around the dingy diner. “Yeah, right. You know I’m not interested in…thatline of work.”

Inessa rolled her eyes. “You can say it, you know. It’s not a forbidden concept.Exotic dancer.”

“Well, it’s not for me,” I answered, giving in and cutting into the deliciously sweet and syrupy pancakes.

“It’s good money.” She had a smirk pulled at the corner of her red-lined lips. Pulling out a stack of cash, she waved it around for me to see, just low enough not to attract the attention of other, less fortunate patrons in the establishment. “This is from one week of work. Even after paying my rent and electricity, I’ll have more than enough left over.”

My eyes followed the money as she tucked it back into her bag. Shaking my head, I pulled away my gaze. “That’s a lot of money, but I don’t think I could be a dancer, Essa.”

That night after work, I came home to see my mother sitting at the kitchen table, her back heaving as she sobbed into her arms.

“Mama?” My voice was quiet and concerned, my thoughts instantly going to my father. Jerking my head around, I didn’t see him. “What happened, Mama? Did Papa hurt you?”

She shook her head, pulling her face from her arms. Her cheeks were puffy and red, stained with streaks of tears.

“He left us.”

That was all she said in a tiny, broken voice.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She bit her trembling lip and clutched a small vase on the table housing a wilted flower she’d picked last week. “I mean he’s gone!” she shouted, throwing the vase against the wall. The glass shattered, scattering across the floor. “He ran off with ashlyukha!” A whore.

My heart ached for her, though a piece of me was relieved to know my papa was gone. Past the relief was a much harsher reality. How would we afford rent without his money? Once that realization sank in, I slumped into the chair next to her.

“That’s not all,” she said, as if reading my thoughts. “Turns out, he hasn’t paid rent for the last three months and he cleared the savings account before he left.”

My eyes quickly lifted. “Does that mean…”

“We don’t have any money, and we’re facing eviction.”

She buried her face in her hands, crying into her palms. Her voice trembled as she croaked out, “What are we going to do?” She sobbed, choking on her spit. “Thesvoloch’didn’t say a damn word about the unpaid rent! If we don’t find a way to pay up, we’ll be out on the street. How can we ever come up with three months’ worth of rent in time? We can barely afford one month!”

I knew that Inessa had the answer to my problems, and I would need to swallow my pride for the sake of my family. To keep the three of us from becoming homeless. To keep my brother in school. To keep us alive.

Miraculously, I didn’t even need to interview to get a job at the club. All I needed was one look from Boris, the club manager, with his black eyes traveling down along the contours of my body, to land the job. I had the pure white skin of a Russian woman, still young and untainted by hard work and harsh climates. Along with my deep brown eyes and black, silky hair that flowed down to my waist, it was a contrasting, but pleasing image, I could admit.

“You start tomorrow. Bring your own makeup. The girls will find you something to wear.”

Before my first shift, I spoke with our landlord one-on-one about paying the rent. I explained the situation regarding my father, hoping he’d pity us enough to cut us some slack. He didn’t pity us but gave us the chance to pay everything—three months’ back rent and one month’s current—on the next due date. And if we couldn’t, we were out.

I had one month to get four months’ worth of rent. How in the hell was that supposed to happen? Needless to say, there was a tremendous amount of pressure weighing me down on my first night at the club. And because my mind was troubled, I messed up…a lot. I was too shy, too nervous. My moves were jerky and had no flow.

Boris had me on the stage in the quietest corner of the club to start out. I was relieved I wouldn’t yet need to give a lap dance like the other girls were doing out on the floor, but that didn’t settle my nerves much. My ankles wobbled in the tall heels I borrowed from Inessa, and my thighs burned from the constant squats and stretches. I wasn’t really able to lift myself onto the pole yet, not expertly anyway. When I got home in the early hours of the morning, I had to hold my palms under a stream of cold water in the kitchen sink to calm the bright red friction burns.

“I understand,” Boris said after that first shift. “I’ve seen a lot of newbies and nearly every one of them is terrified on their first night. But you need to get over that fear if you want to work here. The clients expect a certain type of woman, and if you can’t be that, then you won’t make it in this business.”

I spent half of the next day practicing in my room in front of the mirror, twisting and rolling my hips, finding my inner seductress. Of course, I was a virgin, and it showed. I needed to become more sensual and move slower, with more strength in my muscles so there would be no more wobbling or shaking in my limbs. It would take a while, but I was determined.

Mama wasn’t thrilled about this career direction, but what choice did we have? I could’ve tried out for a scholarship—which was what she wanted me to do—but thenshewould be left with the rent and the bills. Not to mention, taking care of my brother. Though he was near graduating from school and planned to join the Russian military when he was done, he still had a few months left before then.

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