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She huffs in annoyance. “Clearly, you can’t! Over the last few weeks, I’ve seen a perfectly healthy woman start to waste away.”
My annoyance resurges, and I’ve got to bite my tongue to keep from snapping at her again. “You’re being dramatic. I don’t look that bad.”
“You don’t look great either. At least promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight. You’re not working tomorrow, and I want you to take full advantage.”
Sleep sounds wonderful, and since I really can’t argue with the idea of staying in bed all day, I concede with a nod. “Done. I promise.” It will also help that I finished sewing my costume and will be purchasing the next ones, even if that means more spending and less savings for my studio.
That seems to satisfy Pippa, and she gives me another hug. “All right, good.”
It takes me a lot longer to get ready for work than usual. By the time I reach the club, I’m alert with nervous, twitchy energy. The second cup of coffee had likely been a mistake because I can’t sit still. Of course, nerves also have something to do with it.
I got this, I tell myself as I put my stuff down at my changing station. I’ve practiced for weeks. I know all the moves. And my costume is killing it.
I’m wearing a knee-length, fringed sequin dress that I’ve attached with snaps so I can remove it with a single flick of the wrist. Black hold-ups, French knickers (instead of a thong like most dancers would wear), and pasties for my nipples are the basic equipment. There are also black gloves that reach above my elbows, a half mask, and a wig. It’s the striking statement piece I’ve been searching for: The red bob is the perfect 1920s hairstyle and burns like fire in the stage lights. It not only brings a touch of theatricality to my burlesque costume but also serves as my secret weapon. It grabs attention, frames my face, and will make the whole performance pop. Ha! Lots of eyeliner and heavy makeup hide the shadows of tiredness under my eyes.
The first time I look at myself in the mirror, fully styled, I hardly recognize myself. Not only is my appearance dramatic and sexy as hell, it’s also fairly unique.
I’m going to do great.
I’ve never had so much riding on a dance competition before. Five thousand dollars is a hell of a lot of money and would go such a long way. I’d be able to afford the security deposit on a studio without having to dip into my savings. Not to mention it’d give me some measure of job security.
The dressing room is filled with nervous, excited energy as the other girls start to arrive. Alexis and Lori are on either side of me, and though we typically get along, today is filled with tense silence. Normally, we’re all incredibly supportive and encouraging to each other (apart from Bella), but today feels different. Today, there’s a lot of money at stake.
Bella is unusually upbeat and chipper when she strolls in. Unfortunately, her natural smugness is also amped up. “Hello, ladies. You ready for today?” she asks.
There are grumbles and greetings, but I ignore her completely, too focused on working on the finishing touches of my wardrobe.
I scan the room, proud that my costume choice is different to the others.
“Isn’t the point of this to show skin?” Bella asks with a haughty sneer as she passes my station.
“Actually, no.” Explaining to Bella, a former stripper, that burlesque isn’t the same as stripping feels like teaching advanced calculus to someone struggling with basic addition. Clearly, she hasn’t quite figured it out yet. “And, Bella, just this once, how about you mind your own business?”
Typically, I never engage in her pettiness, but today is not the day to cross me. I’m running on nerves, caffeine, and very little sleep. If I can barely contain my snippiness with Pippa, I sure as hell won’t be able to with Bella.
She seems delighted that I’ve taken the bait. With a predatory grin, she pauses and directs her attention to me. “Oh, does the newbie have something to say?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” I set down my mask and whirl to face her. “Do you really have nothing better to do than to try and put all of us down all the time? Are you really so self-conscious that you can’t stomach the thought of other people having the spotlight? If so, here’s a tip: fucking knock it off. We’re all tense. We’re all tired of hearing your bullshit. We’ve got better things to do than be dragged into your selfish insecurities.”
Boom. Take that, Bella.
I don’t know what she expected me to say, but it clearly wasn’t that. Her smug smile drops, and her mouth falls open slightly in surprise. It’s so quiet in the room that you can hear a pin drop as the other ladies either stop to see what’s happening or continue about their business as if they hadn’t heard.
“Selfish? Insecure?” she repeats, her voice rising several octaves. “I’ll have you know, Elizabeth, that I’m perfectly confident, thank you very much.”
“Cool. Good for you. How about you shut up then and leave us alone?”
I purposefully turn away from her, done with the conversation. My stomach has begun to churn again. I hate conflict and confrontation—both make me physically ill. In fact, snapping at Bella is entirely out of character for me. Between that and my grumpiness with Pippa, my tolerance for bullshit is incredibly low at the moment. Deep down, I hope and pray Bella will move on, and for once, luck seems to be on my side because Marlene, the club’s manager, enters the room.
She must have heard what’s going on because all she says is, “Bella, move along and get ready for the competition. We don’t have time for arguing.”
Marlene is one of the few people Bella listens to, and I let out a small exhale of relief as she follows our supervisor’s instructions. I half-expect Marlene to pull me aside and talk to me, but she apparently doesn’t find it necessary. All she does is pat me on the shoulder as she walks past, giving me a reassuring smile.
Once she’s out of earshot, Alexis leans toward me and whispers, “That was awesome. You’re totally my hero.”
I laugh for the first time in days, guilt and anxiety melting away.
After that little squabble, the energy seems to lighten a bit. The girls start talking to each other again, offering tips and suggestions to one another. Except Bella, of course. She remains at her own station, ignoring everyone else.
