“First class tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“How many students?”
“Five.”
“Nervous?”
“A little. This is so strange, yet feels so right. More and more housewives are finding pole dancing is an excellent form of exercise. Builds self-confidence and self-esteem. Breaks them free of their shells and taps into what lies beneath.”
“Nice commercial.” Angel smiles and looks up with her caramel-colored eyes. “What do you have to lose?”
“It’s not what I stand to lose, but them.”
“The women?”
Nodding, I say, “I wanna make their lives better.”
“Like yours?”
“The ones who need it the most are the ones who think the least of themselves. The ones who’ve been broken by their life choices and society. I can relate. After everything that’s happened—losing my son, James dying, falling apart and then getting better—I wanna help other women find their strength so they can heal.” I pause to swirl my coffee before taking a sip. Unable to meet my friend’s eyes, I mumble into my mug, “What if this is a stupid idea?”
“It’s not like you had this crazy thought and jumped right into it. You took your time. Really thought it through…. Give it a chance.”
Can always count on Angel. She’s been my best friend for fifteen years. Can’t believe all the stuff we’ve been through. How she’s always supported me. Heaven knows I’ve tested the limits of our friendship. Can’t recall the number of times she covered for me and helped put the broken parts of my Self back together. All those times I disappeared and kept her worrying while I was off on three-day crack binges. Why’d she stay? Never would have made it through half the stuff I did, if it hadn’t been for her.
Changing the subject, I ask, “Wanna see the room?”
“Sure!”
We top off our mugs. I add cream and sugar to mine and then head for the stairs. As we cross the living room, Angel points at the coffee table. “Did a good job.”
“Sure did.”
We climb the dark staircase. I grin as the eighth step creaks under my weight. One of the many quirks I love about my house. We round a corner at the top. Stretched before us is a wide hallway. To the left is my room. Farther down is a closed door. Arriving in front of it, I rest my hand on the knob. “Promise to give me your honest opinion?”
“I will.”
I swing the door open, revealing a flood of light filtering in through two walls of wrap-around windows. In the center of the large room is a raised stage with a single gleaming brass pole. Five additional poles surround it on a lower level. Rays of sunlight streaming through the tree branches reflect off the poles and create a dappling effect on the light tan walls and floor. As Angel enters, I hear her gasp. “Wow!” she says while rotating slowly. “You and your mom did a great job!”
I beam.
“It’s nicer than any studio I’ve ever seen! They’re gonna love it!”
“What about the mirrors? Too much?”
Angel surveys the floor-to-ceiling mirrors on the two windowless walls. “No. They make it bright.”
“And, if someone is uncomfortable with them, I can always draw these closed,” I say, pointing to curtains.
Angel’s eyes wander to the newly built-in service counter where the closet used to be and says, “Remember when we packed away James Charles, Jr.’s stuff?”
“How could I forget?”
“Never told you how much I admired your strength. How you dove right in. Got the job done.”
I look at Angel. “That wasn’t strength. I couldn’t bear the visual reminder that my baby was gone.”
“You’re healing.”
“Time helps.”
Angel walks to the center of the room, and runs a hand up and down one of the gleaming brass poles. Turning to me, her face displays a devilish grin. “Wow! This brings back memories…. Remember how nervous we were when we auditioned for Luigi at the strip club?”
“Yeah. What was up with that? After tricking, you’d think taking our clothes off would’ve been easy, but….” I look at the wall clock. “Wanna get going?”
We arrive in Hollywood, park the car and stroll Sunset Boulevard. Walking along the strip takes me back. I was such a naive eighteen-year-old. Desperate to escape the pain of my brother’s death, I was lured by the drugs my pimp offered and what I mistook as the exciting life of a prostitute. Thought it’d be fun to get paid for having sex. It wasn’t. Thought I’d feel better about myself. I didn’t. Thought I could stop any time. Impossible with a pimp like Ax.
Seems like yesterday that Angel and I, on rare occasions, used to come here to get slutty outfits to better lure johns. Yup, Hollywood was the place back then.
Based on the window displays, it looks like it still is. Every imaginable sleazy getup is represented here. And the shoes! This is the place to get every variation of jaw-dropping come-fuck-me heels. Bold colors, animal prints and clear acrylic. Such extreme heels that it defies reason that women can walk in them. And the boots…. Where do I begin? There are short, thigh-high, patent leather, ballerina and crotch-height ones.
Today’s shopping spree involves finding a specific item—stripper shoes. Can’t pole dance without the right heels. And, although I’ve instructed my new students on the exact pair to get, I have procrastinated buying them myself. So here I am. Shopping at the last minute.
Navigating several blocks from where we parked, Angel and I enjoy looking in the windows along the way. I point to a mannequin. “Look at her hair.” Pastel pink and cropped to a fashionable bob. “Remember when I wanted my hair that color?”
Angel laughs. “Yeah. Just one of your many crazy ideas.”
“Hey!”
Angel lists them. “The whole pink hair thing, the almost-getting-tattooed phase before they were in fashion—especially for women— and let’s not forget the how-short-can-I-wear-my-skirt-without-getting-arrested period.” Angel pauses.
I shrug. “You know I had damn good-looking legs!” We pass by a nail salon and stop. “Wanna get our nails done?”
Angel looks at her watch. “Is there time?”
Entering the salon, we stand before the limitless display of nail enamels ranging from subtle to neon. Picking up a particularly offensive shade, I hold it up to Angel. “There was a time I would have gone straight for this one.” I replace the bottle. “Thank goodness I acquired some taste.”
We laugh, and then
