pretty.”
Trish spits out, “Yeah? My heart breaks for you.”
Inwardly, I recoil from her verbal attack but hide my reaction, knowing that it’ll only embolden her. I let go of the pole and look at Trish. I emit no anger or judgment. Instead, when I speak, it’s with compassion and understanding. “The thing that turned my life around was when I began to like my Self. The day I could finally look at my reflection in the mirror without turning away was the day I knew I was on the right track. That’s what I want to give each of you. The opportunity to lose a few pounds, build your self-confidence and self-esteem and learn to accept who you are.”
“Wow!” Trish says. “You act all uppity for someone who was such a mess.”
“Why would you say that?”
Trish sniffs. “All educated…put together. Like you’re better than us.”
“My experience brought me to my knees,” I say as I begin pacing before my students, making eye contact with each. “It taught me to look to myself for the strength I needed to gain a better life. I’m humbled by each of you showing up here and giving me the chance to—”
“To what? Turn us into little…yous? Ha! Thank you, no. Like myself just the way I am.”
I note Trish’s tough-girl in-control appearance punctuated by her hair pulled back into a stern ponytail. She’s perfectly chiseled. Wouldn’t doubt that she’s sporting an eight-pack under her cropped T-shirt. And I can see the defined musculature of her thighs through her leggings. Her fresh minimalistic makeup tells me she likes to keep things simple. I bet her life is anything but. I realize that now is the time for me to take control. If I push too hard, Trish will spin on her heels and bolt. I can see it in her eyes. I approach her and say, “Then why did you respond to my ad?”
“Thought it might be fun.”
“That’s it?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
Her bluff called, Trish says, “Mostly….”
I smile at her. “All I’m asking is that we each give the other a chance.” Without taking my eyes from her, I continue, “I’ve told you a bit about myself. What’s your story?”
“Ex-stripper. Like you.”
“How long?”
“Five years.”
I see an opening. “Tough work, isn’t it?”
In between noisily smacking her gum, Trish answers, “You can say that.”
Good, we’re forming a connection. She’s realizing that I’m not the enemy. Maybe there’s hope for her…. “Would you like to demonstrate a move or two for us?” I say.
Trish sizes me up, probably in an attempt to see if I’m mocking her. Deciding I’m not, she says, “All right,” as she heads to the pole I’ve been circling.
She rests her back against it and leans her head back as if connecting with it brings her comfort. Slowly, she rocks her head from side to side and then spins herself so that she’s facing the pole. Reaching high above her, she grabs hold and, hand-over-hand, inches her way up, her feet wrapped around it beneath her. Once up a distance, she lets go with her feet and pushes her body out perpendicular to the pole.
It’s then that I see her true strength. Her muscles don’t shake or strain. In fact, she seems perfectly at ease. Our eyes lock. She holds the pose a minute longer and then releases herself, returning to the floor with grace.
Alicia says, “That was amazing!”
I turn my gaze from Trish to Alicia. “Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”
“Well, I’m not sure I can ever do that,” she says, pointing at the pole. “But I’m looking to do something that will make me feel better about myself.”
There’s an awkward long pause where I don’t know if she’s going to continue or not. I wait. We all do. Alicia stands there, voiceless. I take in her faded looks. Bet she used to be real pretty. But now she appears…used up. I recognize that look. Her black eye shadow, eyeliner and dark-toned glossy lipstick complement her black drastic short haircut. Her black clothing adds to her macabre look but with a hint of sexuality. Well, maybe more than a hint. Her low-cut sexy dress is short enough to reveal the tops of her gartered stockings. I’d bet anything that she’s wearing a black g-string to match. Surprised she’s not wearing lingerie as her clothing. Where did that come from? That was just catty. I shake my head and say, “Anything else you want to share with us?”
“Not really.”
All righty then. Isn’t she the little talker? I look at Carol. If ever we needed some enthusiasm, now’s the time. “What brings you here?”
“Well, aren’t we all looking to improve upon ourselves?”
“What are you hoping to gain?” I ask.
Carol tilts her head, lost in thought, before answering, “I guess I want to learn how to have fun. You know. Let my hair down.” A nervous laugh escapes her. “I’m always so in control. Everything in its place. Everything perfect. Spend a lot of time attending to those things. But no one ever seems to notice. Feel like I’m missing life…like it’s passing me by. I’m tired of fussing over insignificant things like making sure the house could pass a white-glove inspection. I flit from one meaningless task to another. By the end of each day I wonder where the time’s gone, and what I have gained.” She stops and views our stunned faces. “Oh, was that too much to share all at once?”
“I find your enthusiasm refreshing,” I reply. “Too many never get up the courage to reveal themselves to others.”
I turn my attention to Molly, who looks as if she’s been the victim of a pink explosion. Her T-shirt and short skirt are complementing shades of pink. Her nails, both finger and toes, are painted Barbie pink. She looks like a girly-girl. Hell, even her make-up is done in subtle shades of pink. Well, all except her false lashes that are jet black and so thick they resemble two caterpillars crawling across her lids. Her vibrant attention-drawing pink selections contradict her wallflower behavior. She’s barely spoken three words since arriving. What’s her story?
“So, Molly, what brings you here?” I ask.
“I signed up.”
Was that sarcastic? Hmmm…. “Actually, I was wondering if you could tell us a bit about yourself.”
“No.”
“No, you can’t tell us, or no, you don’t want to?”
“Don’t want to.”
Wow! This is going great! How the hell am I ever going to get her to dance on a pole? She won’t utter more than a few words. Can’t tell if she’s messing with me or if she’s the most uptight person on the planet. Realizing our exchange has ended, I turn my attention toward Pam. Her vibrant personality draws me in.
Her lips, body and hair shimmer with glitter as if Tinkerbell herself has sprinkled pixy dust on her. I sense a bit of boldness to her. Her curls bounce enticingly with every move of her head. As if her glittered self
