Читать книгу Dark Awakenings: Volume 2 of the Little Girl Lost Trilogy - Cindy Hanna - Страница 13

C HAPTER E IGHT

Pre-class Jitters

Huh? What is that? The circuits in my groggy brain attempt to connect. The clock. My stupid alarm clock. Who the hell invented them? He should be shot, brought back to life and then shot again! Without opening my eyes, I reach over and slam my hand against it. The annoying machine skitters across the nightstand and crashes against the wall. With a satisfied grin, I listen as it pathetically beeps out its last wakeup call. It manages only a half dozen or so before it falls forever silent. Excellent!

Perhaps I should keep track of how many of these contraptions I’ve destroyed over the years. Images of alarm clocks, their intricate wires and circuit boards spilling from their shattered cases come to mind. I can’t help but smile at the pretty picture it paints.

Eyes still closed, I begin my getting out of bed routine. Some might call it stalling. I prefer to think of it as making sure that I’m fully prepared to face whatever the day might throw at me. My regimen begins with a leisurely cat-like stretch. Still lying in bed, I reach my arms overhead and interlace my fingers. Facing the palms of my hands outward, I push them away from my head, grunting. Several joints crack in the process. Geez, when did that start? Used to be able to stretch and work out without anything aching or popping. Now I creak in the morning. Great! I’m sure a walker isn’t far behind. I slowly allow the stretch to work its way down the entire length of my body, wiggling this way and that as more joints crack into position. Finally the stretch reaches my feet, and my toes curl.

I throw the covers back, attempting to convince myself that I will soon get up. I open my eyes and try to focus. Who am I kidding? I slam my eyes shut and roll over, covering up in the process. My body melts against the mattress once more.

Feel like I didn’t sleep at all last night. And based on the snarled sheets, it’s clear I tossed and turned—a lot. Can’t stop thinking about it. The class. Is this a good idea? A stupid one? One that’ll help? Or hurt? No wonder I’m so tired.

My need to pee becomes incessant. I try to ignore it. No use. Reluctantly, I open my eyes and peek over the edge of the bed. Princess, determined to eke out every possible moment of rest, is still asleep. Good girl. Stepping over her, I pad my way to the restroom, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and combing my fingers through my hair.

I sit on the toilet and rest my face in my hands while thoughts plague my mind. Today’s the day! No turning back. Am I gonna be able to provide what I want for these women? Or am I just setting us all up for failure?

Getting up, I flush and go to wash my hands and face, and brush my teeth. As I reach for a towel, Princess comes in and sits beside me. “Wanna go out?”

She springs to attention and wags her tail, several barks escaping. I grab my robe from behind the bathroom door. Slipping in an arm, I smile at its plush softness. Not like those skimpy lingerie robes I used to wear.

Here’s the thing. A robe is a robe. Right? By definition it’s supposed to cover you up and offer warmth. Well, the ultra sheer, damn-you-look-hot “robes” I used to wear offer none of the above. They’re just for show. Pretty packaging for what lies underneath.

I nuzzle my chin against the plush shoulder of my robe. Now this is what a robe should be. Sensible. Warm. And revealing just enough to entice onlookers without the wearer freezing to death in the process. What they say is true. Age really is accompanied by wisdom.

I head downstairs with Princess bounding down the stairs ahead of me. When she gets to the bottom, she turns and barks at me to hurry. “I’m coming, girl.” I let her out, then pour myself a cup of coffee. By the time I’ve fetched a yogurt from the fridge and added cream and sugar to my mug, Princess is at the door.

I open it, and she bounds in. Acting as if she hasn’t seen me in weeks, she circles, barks and rubs against my legs. I have to steady myself against her weight so she won’t knock me over. She calms down, giving me the opportunity to prepare a bowl of food for her.

We eat our breakfast in silence. Well, not exactly in silence. Princess is an enthusiastic eater who smacks, licks and pushes her dish from one end of the kitchen to the other before she’s done eating. I find myself staring at her as she licks every square inch of her bowl, making it spin like a noisy top against the tile floor.

Done, she looks up as if asking for more. “No more,” I say. “We girls gotta watch our figures.” She lies down and begins grooming herself. Meanwhile, I finish my yogurt, pour myself another cup of coffee and head upstairs with Princess hot on my heels. Who needs a shadow when they’ve got a dog like mine?

Heading toward my closet, I shoot a quick glance at the clock. Two hours before class begins. This is really happening. My stomach fills with spasmodic butterflies, and I begin to lose my focus. Shaking off the nervous feeling, I set about choosing what I’ll wear.

First I pull out a pair of jeans and a camisole top. Standing before the full-length mirror set in the corner, I hold the items against me. Ach! These won’t work. I toss them on the bed and try again. Every outfit seems wrong. Before long, my bed is covered with a mountain of rejected clothing. I look at the clock again. Geez! Half an hour gone. How did that happen?

I go to the closet, near desperation. Aha! I know. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? I put on an outfit and stand before the mirror, admiring my selection. My feet are strapped into my new come-fuck-me stripper heels. And the mini-skirt I’ve chosen accentuates my trim legs. The camisole I first chose and then rejected complements the outfit. Nodding my approval, I hear the phone ring and answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl,” comes Angel’s voice. “Wanted to wish you good luck today.”

“Thanks.”

“How you doing?”

“Better now. Had a wardrobe dilemma but figured it out.”

“You ready?”

I draw in a deep breath and exhale. “As ready as I’m gonna be.”

“You’ll do great.”

“Thanks. Hey, don’t mean to cut you off, but that whole wardrobe thing has me running late. Call you after class?”

“Sure. Break a leg.”

I hang up, then finish getting ready. It’s amazing how easily I slip back into wearing five-inch heels. Seems like just yesterday I was stripping in them. Putting the finishing touches on my makeup, I look at the clock. Only fifteen minutes till show time.

I head to the studio, flip on the lights, open a few windows and make sure the music is cued up. Next, I set a pot of coffee to brewing and check the mini-fridge to make sure there are enough waters and creamer. I pull several mugs out of the overhead cupboard and set them on the counter, double-checking the basket of sweeteners. With each new act and ticking of the wall clock, my heart beats faster. It’s almost time. I step up on the main stage and run my fingers up and down the pole. Maybe just one or two moves…. It’ll help calm me.

Just as I’m getting into position, the doorbell rings. Oh, God! This is it! They’re here. Take a deep breath. You know. Breathe in, now out, and in again. Steady….

I take a final look around the room, then head down to answer the door. For the moment, I forget how to breathe. How stupid is that? I’ve been doing it since I was a baby. It’s supposed to be involuntary. And now I forget how to breathe. What the hell? I close my eyes and try to calm myself before opening the door.

The bell chimes a second time. I reach for the handle and pull the door open. Standing before me is a pleasant though nervous-looking woman dressed in a black leotard and matching top, with a bag slung over her shoulder. “Hi, my name is Carol. Is this where the pole-dancing class is?”

I muster my most reassuring smile. “Sure is. My name’s Sally. Come in, please.” I step aside to grant the woman passage and note her meticulous appearance as she enters. Not a hair is out of place, and her outfit is flawless.

She turns to face me. “I hope it’s all right that I’m a few minutes early. Always am. Bothers some of my friends. Makes them uncomfortable. My being early isn’t making you uneasy, is it?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing with her rapid monologue. “What was I thinking? Of course it’ll make you uncomfortable. Here, let me wait out in the car until the others arrive.” She suddenly looks grave. “There are others. Right?”

I’m so stunned by her incessant speech that it takes me a second to process that she’s paused so I can answer. “No. I mean, yes, there are others. No need for you to wait in the car. I’m sure the others will be here any minute. Why don’t I take you up and show you the studio?”

“Are you sure? Only if it’s no bother.”

“Come on. We can have a cup of coffee while we wait.” Hold on! What the hell am I saying? A cup of coffee. Surely, this woman’s already consumed fifteen espressos. “Or perhaps you’d prefer water?” I add.

“Coffee sounds good.”

Great. Of course it does. I’m gonna be the only pole-dancing instructor to kill off her first student with a cup of coffee. I mean, how much more stimulation can this woman’s heart take without checking out? I try another tactic. “Actually, I’m not sure if the coffee’s done brewing yet. Sure you wouldn’t prefer some water?”

“Well, if the coffee’s not done….”

As we enter the room, the sharp acidic aroma of freshly brewed coffee greets us, and I see the woman’s eyes twinkle with delight as she spies the full pot. Damn! I hear the doorbell ring downstairs. I look at Carol and motion toward the carafe. “Feel free to help yourself. There’s creamer in the fridge.” Not giving her a chance to respond, I head downstairs.

As I swing the door wide, a perfectly chiseled, five-foot-nine, alabaster-skinned, redheaded woman on the other side retracts her hand, poised to press the doorbell a second time. “Thought maybe I had the wrong address when you didn’t answer right away,” she says.

Great. I’ve got overly jumpy Carol caffeinating herself upstairs and Miss Judgmental standing before me. “Are you here for the pole-dancing class?” I ask.

“Yep.”

“Then you’re in the right place. Come in. My name’s Sally. And you are…?”

“Trish.”

“Pretty name. Is that short for Patricia?”

“No. Just Trish,” she says while noisily smacking her gum.

Wow! This is going great. Can hardly wait to meet the others. “Why don’t you come in?” I say. “I’ll take you up to the studio. One of the other students has already arrived.”

As we ascend the stairs, I’m concerned about how wired Carol might be. We arrive in the studio moments later where, ironically, I find a much calmer Carol. Hmmm…she must be hyperactive. I’ve heard caffeine calms hyperactive people.

I introduce the two. Trish sizes her up, sniffs and comments, “My, aren’t you the eager beaver.”

Standing slightly off to her side, I read Trish. She uses her tough girl act to cover for her insecurities. Know her type well. Used to be just like her…. I show Trish to the service counter where she helps herself to a bottled water, while I pour myself a cup of coffee. The three of us talk for a few minutes before the doorbell rings again.

I leave Trish and Carol to themselves and head down to greet my next student. Arriving at the door, I’m surprised to see who I presume are the remaining three of my students.

Pam’s in front of the other two and introduces herself. She’s pretty in a Midwest kind of way—not cover girl material. I sense a mystique hidden just below her surface, clamoring to make its way free. Her aura is alluring. To her left, a compact stout woman with dull mousy brown hair and lifeless eyes tells me her name is Molly. To Pam’s right is Alicia. When she offers to shake my hand, I can’t help but notice her nicotine-stained fingertips and the hard edge to her features. It’s evident from the heaviness on her face that hers has not been an easy life.

I welcome them and lead the way up to the studio where I introduce everyone. Trish is instantly put on guard by Pam’s height, just under her own, and her easy buoyant disposition. Of course, I’m sure Pam’s tanned complexion and sassy curls that frame her soft features don’t help. I’m going to have to watch those two. Oil and water….

Molly seems to be almost in physical pain when asked a question and literally shrinks back from the others. Alicia and Trish seem to hit it off for no apparent reason. I sense a common thread, not all that dissimilar to my own past.

By this time, Carol is on her second cup and Trish has almost finished her water. Pam helps herself to a mug of coffee. Alicia takes a water. And Molly refrains from treating herself to anything.

I allow them to finish their beverages and mingle for a few minutes. All the while, thoughts tumble their way through my mind. Man! What have I gotten myself into? I mean, look at them. Each is a train wreck of despair and a hard life. Who am I to think that I can make a difference? With every fiber of my psyche protesting and telling me to abort, I begin my first pole-dancing class.