A pink spotlight illuminated the sidewalk and led the crowd away from the endless strip clubs to a brick building with no windows. There it was: Pink Cherrie. A bouncer stood at the entrance and selectively waved people through the large doors with no interest in anything anyone said to him.
I took a deep breath and squirmed my way to the front of the line, standing right in front of him so he’d have to take notice.
My mother always told me how there was nothing to fear but fear itself, her being the notorious quote thief, but it stuck with me while I struggled to pluck up the courage to address the bouncer.
The way I saw it, there were two choices. Either I demonstrate a little bravery or start packing my bags for the trip down to Florida.
And like hell was I going to do the latter.
“Hey,” I choked out beside the bouncer. My drama teacher’s nagging voice clawed its way into my head.Project your voice,Tara.You’ll never be a successful performer.
Mr. McNabb turned out to be right, but I wouldn’t stop trying to prove him wrong four years later.
I cleared my throat and added, “I’m here to apply for the open position.” I had reached shouting level by the time I got the bouncer to turn his head in my direction.
“There’s a lot of those.” My eyes darted over the faces in the crowd while I tried to put together what he said. His eyes were hidden under a pair of shades that had no purpose other than intimidating people. “Name?”
“Tara,” I supplied, and he cocked his head.
“Do you have a last name?”
“Holloway.” I fiddled with the ends of my hair and forced myself to stand up straight. “I spoke on the phone with someone named Kat.”
He waved me in, and I stepped hesitantly past the threshold, following the trail of pulsing blue lights that snaked along the floor like an electric current. The large doors closed behind me with a soft thud, sealing me inside a porn star’s technicolor fever dream.
The more I looked, the more penises I saw.
Shelves of dildos and straps were pushed against the walls. My eyes widened when I saw the stage lit up with black lights in the center of everything. Dozens of people danced around covered objects on the floor with a drink already in their hands.
I located the bar in the farthest corner of the room with a line even longer than the one to get in. I swallowed down theurge to drink away the nerves twisting my stomach into knots. My singular experience with sex clubs was from the movieStriptease, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I avoided making eye contact with the customers, worried that I’d recognize them from work or worse, that they’d recognizeme.
Once I absorbed my surroundings and remembered what I needed to do, I started looking for the blue pathway under the feet of the crowd. Neon posters of half-naked girls highlighted the wall above the main desk. No one stood behind it to answer the questions bouncing through my mind. Like what is this place? Where is the manager? And what the hell is going on?
A mixture of awe and a considerable amount of confusion rushed through me when I realized just how little I knew about a job so vital to my adult life.
Without a consistent paycheck, I’d eat through my savings and end up back where I started. My brother, Tristan, would be sympathetic but with a new pregnant wife would be unable to help. So, it didn’t matter what I was signing on for, not really.
I propelled myself forward and followed the traces of the blue lights that marked my path.
The lights stopped in front of a dark red door with a sign posted on the wood. Big red letters declared only ‘Cherries’were allowed any further.
I furrowed my brows, scanning the room to look for someone to explain what Cherries were in this context and what the punishment would be if I ignored the sign. No one wore a uniform or carried a badge. As far as I could tell, no one actually worked in the building at all.
I took the lack of information as a reasonable enough excuse if caught and asked why I trespassed. Taking a deep breath, I tentatively pushed open the red door.
“Has anyone seen my green thong?” a redheaded girl shouted from across the room while I stood in the doorway.
I quickly came to the conclusion that I somehow managed to stumble into a harem. When someone pushed past me to enter the room, I decided to get out of the doorway. I watched over a dozen girls bustling around in sheer lingerie.
Two of the four walls were painted the same hot pink my mother forced me to wear on every holiday or family event until I turned twelve. The room reminded me of a Victoria’s Secret, a darker and sexier one at that.
On instinct, I felt self-conscious. I fought the urge to wrap my arms around my own waist.
“Who’s the prude?” one of the girls yelled. I frowned, still standing by the door looking as lost as I was. The girl stood by the vanities along the wall, spraying enough hairspray to freeze that bitchy expression on her face forever.
It took me a minute to realize I stuck out like a fully dressed woman in a crowd of naked ones, literally. I had decided to wear my job interview outfit to look professional, but in light of all this new information, I realized I could have dressed down.Way down.
