Page 12 of Find Me

“I’m Evi,” I say, as she keeps talking while I busy myself getting everything she requested.

She winks at me as I hand her the drinks she ordered before disappearing into the throng of men sitting by the stage. She seems as friendly as everyone else I’ve met tonight, and my anxiety starts to become a distant memory as my confidence slowly bubbles to the surface.

I approach Alex as she hands an older man a whiskey on the rocks. “What did that dancer mean when she said her stage name is Red?” I ask quizzically.

Alex looks at me with an expression that makes me feel like a little kid again, unaware of the inner workings of the real world.

“A lot of the girls don’t want clients knowing their real names. It makes it easier for them to differentiate work from home life, and it’s also safer for them if they use an alias,” she explains kindly.

Oh. That makes perfect sense. I think to myself, nodding to Alex in thanks for the explanation.

“So, I take it you’ve never worked at a strip club?” she asks curiously.

“Nope, this is my first time. It’s actually pretty different than I thought it would be, to be honest.” Noticing her arched eyebrow, I continue, “Most of the guys have been easygoing, and I barely notice the girls dancing. It honestly feels similar to waitressing at my other job.”

“The guys can be nice here, and we get some regulars who are amazing, but just keep your wits about you and keep close to one of us or the security team and you’ll be fine.” She takes a breath and continues, “I guess no one has explained to you how the dancers work?”

I shake my head no in response.

Alex picks up two glasses, quickly filling them with water before handing one to me. She takes a sip before explaining the finer details of how everything works here. I’m surprised to learn that each dancer has three songs on stage to flaunt their stuff, trying to get customers interested enough to ask for a private dance behind the frosted glass doors, where they make most of their money for the night.

She continues talking, and I listen intently as I slowly sip on my water, the cool drink soothing my throat after straining my voice to be heard over the music.

“So, think you’ll last here?” she asks after she’s done explaining everything to me.

“I hope so,” I tell her honestly.

“You’ll find your groove!” she says encouragingly. “Just don’t get too involved with the dancers, and don’t spend too much time chatting to their clients. They hate it when they think they’re not getting all the attention in the room.” She winks at me, and we share a smile. It seems like the dancers are friendly enough, but I keep all of Alex’s advice tucked away for later use.

By 3 a.m. I’m exhausted, but the money I made in tips alone is worth missing out on sleep, and I smile at the idea of being able to afford a cab ride home and pay back Rhett. I retrieve my purse quickly, shoving my tips inside, and call a cab as I walk to the front of the club, now empty except for some staff members milling about. When I get to the entrance Toni is there.

“How was your night?” I ask him, the exhaustion in my voice betraying me.

“Pretty easy as far as it goes,” he says. “Only one scuffle out front, and an argument over a fake ID. How about yours? Make some nice tips?” he asks, and I think his interest is genuine.

“It was good,” I say earnestly. “I’m shocked by the tips, to be honest… it seems as though people are pretty generous here!”

Toni gives me a wide smile. “Look at you, jumping in the deep end and learning to swim.” He laughs. “Also, I think your thigh-highs helped with the tips.” He winks in my direction and shines his bright smile.

“Guess it did!” I say, my exhaustion temporarily forgotten as I smile back at him. I make a mental note to thank Sam for choosing my outfit.

We chat for a few more minutes until my cab arrives, and Toni waves goodbye as I slide into the back seat, kicking off my heels before we even start to pull away.

The car drives through the vacant streets, and I find myself lost in thought, and the events of the past seven hours feel surreal. Relief still lingers in my veins at how well my first shift went. Everyone was nice enough, and while I’m out of my comfort zone, I already feel confident thanks to Alex’s training. But even though this job pays well, and I enjoyed my first shift, I can’t help but feel a flicker of shame and guilt deep within me, knowing exactly what my parents would say if they found out about this. If they are disappointed about me pursuing art instead of law, they would be horrified at the idea of me bartending, especially at a strip club. I try to ignore the unsettling thoughts swirling in my head as the cab turns onto my street, hoping that this job is a step in the right direction when it comes to finally making it on my own.

CHAPTER 7

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The excitement of my first day of work must have caught up with me; my body and mind so tired from a busy shift that I don’t even remember drifting off to sleep.

I dream I’m lost in the woods, following a trail but unsure of the direction it’s headed. I look around me, trying to find my bearings, but there are no distinguishable markers around me, only poison ivy as far as the eye can see. For some unknown reason, instead of staying on the path in front of me, I decide to step into the green foliage, walking further and further away from the trail as the dark green leaves brush up against my legs, my skin burning under its touch. Time is irrelevant, and I keep walking until I snap out of the daze that I’m in, looking back to see the trail is nothing but a tiny speck in the distance. I try to walk back towards it, but it keeps getting further and further away, the vines now wrapping around my ankles, making it harder and harder to move towards the path. The more I fight against it, the faster it grows, traveling up my body and tightening around me until I feel as though I cannot breathe, my body on fire and overwhelmed with fear. I start to panic, trying to scream but unable to speak with the vines around my neck.

The noise of a distant siren startles me from my dream, and I bolt upright, already wide awake and willing my eyes to adjust to the brightness of my surroundings. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my heartbeat, and realize my sheets are tangled around me and my skin is damp with sweat. I must have been thrashing around, I think to myself. I untangle myself, reaching for my phone, and notice a dozen text messages waiting for me, most of them from Sam. It’s ten in the morning, and despite the hour, I still don’t feel fully rested. I text Sam back, my fingers tapping the phone at a rapid pace, and fill her in quickly about my first shift. I open a new message, addressing it to my brother Garrett, but delete it before I even start typing. I ignore the tears welling in my eyes as it dawns on me that not one of my three brothers has reached out since my parents cut me off. While I’m not surprised about the others, Garrett and I were always close growing up, and I instinctively want to tell him about the things happening in my life. I take a deep breath as I put my phone down, the hurt of not talking to him cutting into me like a knife.

I slip out of bed and go downstairs, grabbing a blank canvas on my way. It doesn’t take long for me to set myself up in front of my favorite window, my brush strokes caressing the canvas as I try to create something from nothing, as I deal with these feelings the only way I know how. That’s what all my paintings are, and what they always have been. They’re my innermost thoughts and feelings, taken from deep within and made into something tangible. Any event I struggle with, I can paint. When I was little, I painted the things I wasn’t able to, or wasn’t allowed to, talk about. Now, while some people go to therapy, I pick up a paintbrush to better understand what I’m feeling.

CHAPTER 8

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