I can do this. I will do this. What other choice do I have?
I went to five places and applied, and only Hooligans—that’s what the sign said it was called—would give me a chance. The place has been undergoing construction, so I am not sure if it is still named that or not. Honestly, I don’t care what I have to call it.
After the one slick looking guy in the suit agreed to let me work there just for Thursday night, I practically ran out of the building, afraid it was a joke, or they would change their minds.
Oh, goodness, don’t let this be a joke. I cannot afford for this to not pay off. It is only a temporary solution to my problems, but it is the one I can get myself through.
Once at home, I kneel in front of my entertainment stand and open the drawer where I keep my movies. Cable is a luxury, one I cannot afford, so I rotate movies.
Starting with Roadhouse, I begin my own version of training. Certainly, I can learn a few tips from Hollywood. Roadhouse is followed up with Cocktail as my marathon continues.
When the movie finishes, I am more than intimidated about what I am getting myself into. I rub my hand over my ass, tracing the letters blindly, and remind myself, girl power, today’s underwear quote. Silly, I know.
However, since I was a little girl and my mom bought me days of the week panties, I have had a small obsession with panties that have sayings. Call it undercover inspiration. Victoria does have her own secrets, after all.
Going back to my entertainment center, my fingers run over the movie cases. One by one, I pass them all by until my hand lands on the one. Coyote Ugly. Perfect!
The hours pass by as I replay the movie over and over, pausing and perfecting my own version of the dances
By the end of the night, I don’t know if I feel completely overwhelmed by my new job or like a sex kitten on steroids. This dancing on the bar is hot. Well, it’s hot when I can manage to dance and not fall.
Grace has never been a word used to describe me. I may have been voted most likely to fall off the graduation stage in my high school.
Bills are coming regardless of my physical well-being, though. I only have days to prepare, and this is not something I can mess up. Sleep can wait for when I’m dead.
...
Work comes far too early for my liking after trying to bring my inner barmaid to life. I make my way to the office I share with Toni and immediately start un-layering my clothes, getting close to the small space heater I have hidden under my desk.
Making my way to the coffee pot after I warm up some, I suppress a grunt as I try to get something warm inside me.
“Girl, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you limping?”
“I’m sore. Who knew dancing around used so many muscles?” I woke up aching in places I didn’t know it was possible to ache in. Add my walk to work, to say my thighs are on fire would be an understatement.
She laughs loudly at me as she sits in the chair by my desk. “I gotta hear this. Why were you dancing?” She pauses, and then her eyes grow big. “No, no, no! Oh, no, you didn’t. Please tell me you aren’t stripping to pay for your car.”
My eyes must be as big as saucers. The thought never crossed my mind. After everything I have been through, I am far from being comfortable in my own skin. No way could I take my clothes off in front of strangers. I don’t even know if I can manage showing off my midriff like the movies showed. Plus, strippers are gorgeous. They have well-toned bodies, and more than that, they have grace. If I tried to dance on a pole, I would most certainly fall on my head.
“Heck no, I’m not stripping. I got a part time job at Hooligans. In fact, I need a favor. I’m supposed to bring friends on Thursday night—that’s what one of the guys said. Please, please, please come and hang out. I need this job, and I need the comfort of my friends.”
“Tabby and I’ll be there. You know we got you, girl.”
Whew. Bring some friends, check the box done. Now, to show up, work my butt off, make some tips, and land the job.
I rub my ass, reminding me that today’s panties say, ‘You got this. Now rock this.’
I got this.
I am going to rock this.
...
Thursday night comes all too quickly. I don’t know why people say they get butterflies in their bellies, like their nerves are light tickles. No, I have birds in my belly, heavy things pecking at my insides, begging to be free. I think for sure I am going to puke.
I enter Hooligans, ready to turn and bolt back out into the freezing Detroit evening. What have I gotten myself into? The place is packed—wall to wall people with a line out the door—and it’s just barely opening.