Anything But a Wasted Life by Sita Kaylin

Author:Sita Kaylin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Non-Fiction/Memoir
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers India
Published: 2018-03-18T16:00:00+00:00

43

I AUDITIONED AT a new club earlier tonight. A girl at the Bare told me about this place that had just opened and said I should check it out. Apparently, they aren’t charging the girls a stage fee, or taking a portion of the dance price, due to the fact that the club is brand-spanking new. That’s music to my ears. Unfortunately, I loathe auditioning. It’s completely nerve-wracking, no matter how many times I’ve done it. It’s especially distressing at this point in my career (because I’m no longer tween flesh), but it comes with the territory, so I get over myself. One of the things I hate about auditioning is that I have to get dolled up before I leave the house. I prefer doing my make-up in the dressing room as it gives me time to drink, catch up with my friends and settle into work mode. And since I don’t usually drink before I get to the club, I’m extremely sober and hyper-aware of each humiliating moment of these auditions.

I arrive at the new club and it turns out I know the door guy. He used to work at the Bare. He tells me that they have a stack of applications and that I should come back in six months when they have customers. He says it’s been slow. But I’m already there, I’ve psyched myself up for it and look the part, so I decide to go through with it and fill out the application anyway. Should I say how long I’ve been dancing? Do I put down every club I’ve ever worked at? Should I tell them that I worked at Mitchell Brothers for nine years before it turned into a full-blown brothel? Is that an asset or a handicap? The application also asks for my age, and I write down the truth assuming they’ll photocopy my driver’s license like most other clubs. But they don’t. Damn, I could’ve lied. Now they have this piece of paper on file that says I’m a hundred and forty and that I used to work at a whorehouse. Awesome.

The nice door guy tells me that the manager is ready to see me. He takes me on the nickel tour; the club isn’t very big. We sit in the VIP area. It’s a separate room, approximately five feet wide and twenty feet long with a built-in, high-backed bench running along one side. This is where we’re supposed to give sexy, nude dances? Right next to another girl? And I’m not kidding when I say it’s bright enough to study calculus. Anyway, he’s nice enough. He gives me the rundown. I just sit there with a dumb smile, thinking, ‘let’s get this over with’. Throw me up on the stupid stage already. I’ve been stripping for a thousand years. He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. Even better than dancing on the stage, let me take off my clothes and give you a lap dance. I’ll be a shoo-in!

He finishes his spiel and shows me the dressing room.

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