Dark red and black velvet on walls and cushions, VIP booth seating and even tables for two packed around the stage. Warm lights and old-school curtains, even a 1950s style microphone waiting on the black stage. I’ve been introduced to the Burlesque club around 3 years ago by my mother. She herself isn’t a burlesque artist but were it not for the fact she couldn’t sing, she would have been an amazing dancer on this stage.

I learned all the numbers the girls do here over the seasons, so sadly I have nothing else to do to distract myself but to be affectionate towards our clients. A good smile and a light touch on their arms after they made the most stupid joke or remark about my pheromones makes me on average $60. If I do a twirl, that’s $100. Sex work has never been a topic of embarrassment and for that I thank Cynthia and mom. The idea of “everyone does what they need to do to survive” rubs me the wrong way. This job is not what needs to be done. For some is what they want to do.

For whatever reason, however, today I’m not feeling well. I checked today and my heat cycle is not approaching. The music vibrates so hard it disrupts my heartbeat and the alcohol smell mixed with thousands of fragrances or pheromones and damp heavy air wears me down. I haven’t felt like this since the middle of November. I thought I was getting better. As I walk towards backstage to have a smoke break, Leyla runs around taking off her stage costume.

„Cynthia, do you have $50 to give me? I need to pay the stage fee!”

„I thought you were leaving at 1 today?! What’s going on?”

„I have to pick up my son. My nanny says he has food poisoning. Come ‘on girl! Throw me $50!”

„Take ‘em and leave right now!”

„Love you! See y’all on Thursday!”

Maybe coming back here was also a mistake. The girls are hectic, putting on a second layer of make-up for the next number, changing shoes, throwing around wigs and corsets and spraying perfume. I should have gotten iced water to cool down; however, I’m not turning back and walking past the bar filled with drunkards. I took my cigarette pack and walked towards the back exit.

“Kento, wait! Take my coat honey! It’s too damn cold outside. Looking at your legs makes me freeze!”

I was going to take my own jacket, but Cynthia already threw hers at me. Not thinking much of what I was holding, I went outside.

“Thanks! I’ll be right back.”

Ughhh… Finally, fresh air. The back door exit was not an official exit. It was an emergency door. The alarm broke down and disconnected from the main emergency system. Management swore up and down to fix it but here we are 1 year later. Still using it as an exit for outdoor smoking breaks. Next to the club is an Italian restaurant with whom we share the outdoor space. It’s mostly just a plain old ugly backyard that holds the garbage bins. It’s around 11:40 pm I think, so the kitchen and restaurant have long closed. The kitchen shares the space outside with us. Sometimes, they have their side door open, and I can hear them scream “Yes Chef!”, “Sorry Chef!”, “No Chef!” all the time. It makes me laugh each time, because whoever is talking to them is hard to hear, yet the ones responding in unison are always so loud.

“Fuck…”

I struggle to light my cigarette, and the cold air is freezing my fingers. The wind is not strong but so cold that my hand trembles and cannot hold still to shield my fire. Cynthia, how do you run around in the December cold wearing this thin coat?! She’s getting cold by looking at my half naked legs? Is her coat supposed to help? It doesn’t pass my belly button! And most of all, it’s denim! A denim jacket in winter! I might bite out my snake bite if my teeth keep on chattering so hard. My flimsy outfit is also not helping the cause. My leggings are made of thin velvet and lace interchangeably and I have a loose white shirt, with cutout and large sleeves, topped with a short spaghetti strapped black dress. I have more accessories around my neck than pieces of clothes on.

Suddenly, I heard someone walking in the snow, so I looked up. I don’t know if he’s restaurant staff or club patron. I’ve glanced at some staff before, but I’ve never seen him around. He’s a big guy, I don’t know if it’s because of the thick, puffed winter jacket though. His scarf is tied twice and high around his neck, reaching the tip of his nose and he has a beanie on, pushing his hair over his eyebrows. It’s also 11:45 PM during winter and the streetlight is behind him, so I cannot see him well. Something red is hanging over his shoulder, reaching his hip front and back. He waves at me briefly and from a distance, a low deep voice reaches out.

“Hey, are you not cold out here?”

I chuckled, still shaking from the cold, my shoulders moving up and down.

“A bit.” I responded. “I wanted to smoke one quick, but my lighter is being difficult.”

“Oh, you have a metal rotator one? I hate those. May I come closer to you?”

He’s asking permission to approach? Usually, when you speak to someone or want to have a conversation, you approach them on instinct. What an interesting guy. However, he was still not moving, not even a step.

“Yes, you may.”

“I’m not going to bother you long, I just saw you while locking up the place out here and I knew you must be cold. Here.”

He takes the red object hanging around his shoulder and puts his arm out towards me. It’s a blanket. As he puts his arm out, the smell of garlic and butter appears and disappears depending on how strong the wind is. I took the blanket and put it around myself. The blanket smells like detergent, so it must be his hands that smell of garlic.

“Thank you.”

As I thanked him, looked up at him. I wanted to see his face better, but the light didn’t reach him enough. He took a step back and looked away. I noticed he didn’t want to look directly at me and put distance between us again. Interesting.

“Oh, and here…” He says suddenly, rummaging inside his jacket. “Take this. Have a good one!”

He gives me an electronic lighter, then turns around and walks away between the buildings. The garlic and butter smell dissipated, before he got too far away, I got a pleasant whiff of eucalyptus and oregano. I finished my cigarette and returned inside.

Backstage was empty and only faint music was protruding through the door. I walked on the floor and glanced at the girls on stage. Black knee-high tights with vertical stripes, deep blue miniskirts with ruffles and big peacock feathers sticking out from the back of the skirts like a long tail. One of the most visually stunning numbers was unfolding on the stage. In a formation of 5, they were singing harmonically and strongly, smiling and flirting with their eyes. Bold ones would throw their lace glove at the public to entice more tips. Bold ones, also known as Cynthia.

I knew I could make more money on the side working here, since I have a rather outgoing personality and can hold my own with the patrons. Other than serving alcohol bottles and light snacks that are on the menu, I have nothing to complain about. The management may have neglected the emergency exit door, but when it came to clients touching or harassing the staff, they were very hands-on. Although this club is not a fancy one like those in Las Vegas or Paris, it gathered a good reputation in Manhattan. It’s clean and comfy, security is attentive, even women come to the shows.

Because it’s Thursday, we only keep open until 2 am. Seeing as the clock turned 1:43 am, I started cleaning the back of the bar and some open tables. Everyone wanted to go home on time, so even the dancers helped.

After all the patrons left and the front door was locked, everyone counted the tips. It was not a slow night, but I’ve seen better. The reason the club was not very high end was the stage fee. It reminds me more of a strip club, rather than a burlesque club. Of course, the conditions here are not to be compared, and management does do good things with the money. However, why must the servers also pay the stage fee? The fee was not too bad, so no one complained. My mom had to pay up to $200 for the stage fee and tip-outs sometimes when she worked. Maybe that’s why Cynthia reminds everyone how good the conditions here are, since she and mom used to help each other out. At least after the fees, everyone gets to keep the rest.

“Okay, my lovely doves! All done! Let’s get home.”

“Wait, I didn’t see this before. Who does this belong to? Should I put it somewhere else?”

Cynthia was holding the red blanket I received from the kitchen staff.

“Oh, that’s mine… Well technically it’s not mine. I received it from one of the chefs over at Toscana. I was cold and the guy closing gave it to me.”

“Who was it?” Mary asked.

“I don’t know him. He was rather big...”

“Be careful. I know we see them often smoking back here and share the place, but the security camera does not reach their space. We don’t know them well. Should I put this somewhere?”

“Leave it there, I have to give it back next time I come in. Bye everyone! Get home safe and text the group chat! I’m talking to you Min.”

Min rolled her eyes at me jokingly and said in a baby voice.

“Ugh, it was only one time. Could you let it goooo?”

“Hahaha! Bye! Good night!”

The walk to the subway was excruciating. My jacket was a winter jacket; however, cold air entered through the neckline. I wished I took that red blanket with me home. The cold air was whipping me in the face. I could not feel my ears or nose. After riding the subway for almost an hour and walking for another 8 minutes, I finally got home.

Before I could unlock the door myself, the door swung open.

“My baby! I made you soup. Come, come inside!”

My lovely mother was still awake, as she usually was the days I would work at the club. She smiles every time I see her open the door, however I recognize anxiety lingering. That’s the reason she doesn’t wait to see who tries to open the door or even think to peep through the peep hole. She’s afraid something might happen to me walking so late at night.

“Mom, please stop waiting for me. You should have already been sleeping.”

“Don’t start again. Come, eat. You need to wake up in a couple of hours. Go to bed immediately!”

I sat down in the kitchen and ate my soup. My mom asked the same question every day when I came back. And the question was:

“How was work?”

“It was not a slow night, but it was also not packed. It was rather mundane. I might have made a friend today.” I said ironically, raising my eyebrows and looking at her while pursing my lips. It was obviously a joke, I don’t know who that guy is, but I wanted to talk about it with her.

“Oooh! Who is so lucky to have my beautiful son as a friend?” She raised her chin and answered sarcastically back, smiling.

“I don’t know. Some guy gave me a blanket today. Apparently, he saw me freezing and wanted to do something about it. Nice, right?”

“Yeah. Remember to give it back. I lend you my top once and ever since it’s in your wardrobe, little thief!”

It’s not like I forgot to give it back to her. I liked it very much and feigned ignorance in order to keep it.

“I still don’t understand why you swapped Thursday with Friday. Now your sleep schedule is all messed up!”

“I told you. Jay had an emergency and I managed to reschedule. It’s alright.”

“Oh, I forgot. Right, right… So, does your heat approach? November was the last time you nested.”

“I don’t know. But if it does, I need to call Teressa.”

“Stop calling her by her first name. She might be your therapist, but she’s older.”

“She asked me to. And I like it. I feel more comfortable during therapy.”

“Alright, then. I am going to sleep. Good night. Let the dishes on the table, I’ll clean up.”

“Good night, mom.”

After taking a shower, preparing my work clothes and relaxing for a bit, I set my alarm. “Alarm set for 4 hours and 30 minutes.” I could cry. Jay, you owe me big time.