Two

H E R .

Fridays.

A lottery day for the club .

It is always this packed out .

Full of men ready to spend their hard-earned cash just to feel something close to a woman's touch.

To ease their minds.

Silence their own obsessions.

Deflect their loneliness.

Desperation clung to the air within spinning in sync records resting within the hands of the DJ .

Maybe their wives aren't doing enough?

Maybe their girlfriends aren't that accepting of their dirty little fantasies?

Or maybe this is as close as one can get to affection. 

At least , Earl is written proof.

He sits there in the same spot waiting for Jewls like every other night.

He thinks he loves her, but what is love between a loyal-paying customer and a dancer?

The answer, nothing .

"Girls, out on the floor now it's money to be made out there." BJ barks with the authority he prayed would move us.

Chatter still floated throughout the room, but it was surely no reason for me to move. I had the stage tonight and didn't need to be on until another 15 minutes.

"Girl let me go before, BJ pisses me off." Yaris mutters finishing up her eyeliner. "After your set, I'm done for the night."

"I don't blame you. It's night 6 for you isn't it?" I asked putting in my last curl with a pin.

"Yeah, and Im already over it. She says fluffing her hair. "Break a leg out there, chica."

"Yeah." I muttered watching her walk away just to be left in the mirror to face the one thing I could never run away from.

Nana would be turning in her grave if she could see me now.

6 inch heels deep with my bare bottom out for the whole world to see.

A jezebel, she would call me.  Just like she'd call my mother.

It was something about it that gave me life though.

The lights. The music. Their eyes.

All of them were on me, I demanded it.

In those moments, I've never felt so seen in my life.

I could feel it in my core as their gazes followed the lead of my hips, bringing my body its flowers.

The longing the eyes of the crowd washed away all the things that mattered before —insecurities, doubts, feelings of abandonment—it filled me and left me feeling full where my voids made a bed.

Only thing about this thrill I had for dancing is that when the lights were off, I no longer felt this wave of power. I was who I've always been, the girl who sits front of the classroom, hair behind the ear with less than two words to say.

Speaking may have not been my strong suit, but there was no need of talking when my body did it for me.

Seduction was the only thing I mastered with ease. It's easy to learn what you've always known.

In my distant memories, my mother was beautiful she always was. It wasn't too often you'd catch her without her favorite 'Rub Me Ruby' red lipstick on her lips with thin lined eyeliner complimenting her eyes.

I could never do red any justice though, so I went softer.

Her negligees were the gowns in my princess depictions and now I'd have my own princess gown.

Here, I was a princess of the night, rather negligee or skintight body suit. The only difference between my mother and I was the thought of lying next to a man for money never comforted me or my pockets.

"You're on in the next 10 minutes,." Ronnie says to me at the doorway.

I give myself a good once over once more before setting down my lipstick and leaving the dressing room.

•••

Omnipresent POV

Michael continued to follow Mac towards an upper lounge area, he watches as his old friend grabbed a bottle of scotch and a shortcut glass.

"So what do you think?" Mac says arrogantly hoisting up his glass.

"You've always known how to throw a party, I should've known you'd make something out of it." Michael snarls looking down at the speckles of women dancing around like high coordinated nudists.

"Oh, Mike don't flatter me.." Mac smiles taking another swig at his drink.

"Oh trust, it's no compliment." He retorts with no emotion at all.

He knew it was something Mac was a strategic man. More than likely there was something he wanted.

A shift in music drags his eyes toward the stage below. The lighting dims, a single violet spotlight trailing down from above—and then she appears.

She nearly glided on to the stage drenched in glitter, her negligee clung to the curves of her body as her introduction continued.

"We all know there's no need for a real introduction, because when she hits the stage she's a total knockout! Give it up, and I mean give up those pockets, to DOMINOOO!" The DJ announces before playing, "Could It Be", by Tevin Campbell.

The room was covered in hoots and whistles as she removed the coat that hid off the rest of her body.

She doesn't dance like the others. There's a slow control to her movement, not begging for attention, but owning it. Her body moves with elegance, the details of her hips telling a story, not selling one.

Michael's jaw tightens.

She doesn't even look at the crowd. Not once. Not like the others. She keeps her chin high, as if the she didn't owe the room her gaze. That kind of confidence isn't bought. It was already born within her.

"Who is she?" he asks, barely audible, more to himself than to Mac.

Mac leans slightly over the rail, following his line of sight. "Oh, that's Domino. Doesn't do lap dances. Doesn't do extras.."

Domino.

Michael narrows his eyes. There's something familiar in her essence —something haunting. A softness beneath the seduction. She doesn't perform like a woman who wants money. She performs like a woman trying to forget something.

He watches her disappear behind the velvet curtain, as if she were a dream too good for the room.

And just like that... he forgets why he came.