I automatically glanced down at the tattoo covering the top of my left arm. The dark, swirling lines were decorative but meaningless, unless you knew how to read them.
The tattoo was just something else that my dad hated about me. To older people like him, tattoos were seen in terms of permanence and regret, but to me it was a map of my life and experiences; memories inked into skin.
I’d be adding to it soon. I didn’t know what yet, but when I did, yeah . . .
Changing into a clean t-shirt and cheap sweatpants, I sat on the bed, wondering what the day would bring.
I looked up to find Gary staring at me, an odd expression on his face.
“How’s the jetlag?”
I shrugged. “Won’t stop me dancing.”
Gary grinned. “I hear ya! I danced the whole of the Harlequin in the Nutcracker with a metatarsal fracture.”
“You dance ballet?”
Gary’s chest inflated. “Since I was four years old. I’m just waiting for my genius to be recognized,” and he sighed.
I dropped my gaze. Gary was the wrong side of 30—there was no big break around the corner for him now. A dancer’s life was short—ballet dancers especially. Like top athletes, optimum potential was reached early. After that, you could coach, teach, or go do something else and dream about your glory days. Gary knew this.
“And you’re a ballroom boy,” Gary continued.
I nodded.
“How did a guy like you get into that?”
“A guy like me?”
“You know? All brooding alpha; all dark looks and oozing testosterone—which is a total turn on, by the way, especially with your bubble butt.”
I blinked, still a little slow at catching Gary’s rapid fire words, then a grin spread across my face.
“You’re crazy, man.”
“Crazy for you!” Gary screeched, clutching his chest. “You have no idea what a relief it is to have a hunk to look at,” his voice dropping back an octave. “Erik had a face that said ‘spank me’ . . . you know, total butt face.”
“I thought I was a showboating prima donna?” I reminded him.
“Psh! I’m over it. Come on, let’s eat—I’m starving.”
I hadn’t eaten for nearly two days, but I didn’t mention that.
The hotel’s staff dining room was the place I’d been taken to the night before. It was small and basic, with narrow benches under metal tables. But the food looked and smelled fantastic, with piles of bacon, scrambled eggs and the weird stuff Americans called ‘biscuits’, bowls of fresh fruit and yogurt.
I was tempted to eat everything in sight, but I knew that was a sure way to end up puking during rehearsals.
Reluctantly, I made up a small plate with two pieces of bacon and a spoonful of eggs, as well as some fresh fruit and a glass of water.
I also took a couple of bananas for fuel later.
Gary introduced me to two other showgirls who were living at the hotel: Grace and Honey, friends from California. Both were attractive, with the same build—very tall and thin with medium-size tits that looked natural.
I was enjoying some low-level flirting until Yveta and Galina arrived, staking a claim by sliding into the empty places either side and kissing both cheeks in the European way.
“Dobroe utro! Sleep good?”
I nodded and smiled. “Hey, Yveta, Galina! This is my roommate, Gary.”
“We’ve met,” Gary said waspishly.
Yveta nodded curtly and Galina ignored him altogether. I wondered what the story was between them. They hardly knew each other.
The girls left the table briefly to grab some fruit to eat later, but their breakfast was a glass of hot water with a slice of lemon in it.
They were already thin and I wondered if they were anorexic—it was common in the dance world for men and women.
Instead, Yveta watched everyone else eat, her eyes hungry, while she sipped her hot water.
There were other hotel staff eating at the same time, but they kept to themselves.
After many coffees, we all headed to the theater for rehearsals.
The other showgirls arrived, the ones who didn’t live in the hotel, complaining about the early hour. Gary told me that most of them had more than one job, and worked until two or three in the morning. A 10AM start was almost unheard of in Vegas.
Elaine’s assistant ran us through some basic warm-up exercises until our muscles were loose. I was surprised to learn that I was one of only two people in the troupe who didn’t have a background in ballet. It didn’t bother me, but it made me think that someone other than Elaine had initiated my travel here.
The warm-ups weren’t that different from ones I was used to, and I was confident that I could do the job I’d been hired for. I’d nailed my audition, I knew that much.