“You’ve known me for less than three hours.”
“And in that time, you’ve done nothing but challenge me. You’re not even trying.”
“Not trying?” I dug my fingernails into my palms and counted to five before continuing. “My entire world has flipped upside-down in the past forty-eight hours. I found out my ex was using my house as a sex pad. A video of me falling on my butt went viral. I lost my job. Some total stranger is trying to stop me from teaching. I’ve never done anything to this guy. I’m not hurting anyone, but he wants to take the one thing I love most in this world. Turns out, the only way to stop him is to run for office myself. Fine. Let’s do it. Then I find out that running means changing everything. Okay, whatever. I want to do this. I want to protect my livelihood, protect other people in the same situation. I don’t want some rich dude to sweep in and take away everyone’s freedom of expression just because he’s a total prude. I don’t want anyone else to lose their income the way Helen and I did.” Even though Helen screwed me in the end.
“There! That’s it.”
I blinked at her. “What?”
“That’s the passion and fire you need to win. We have to make people root for you, make them believe in you. Curtis is practically a cardboard cutout of a politician. I’m going to clean up your image, but you’ve still got to bring the personality. When you’re acting like this whole thing is a big inconvenience, it doesn’t make anyone believe in you.”
Her words touched a nerve. She was right. I’d intentionally put on workout clothes for our first meeting, even though I knew she was fixing my image. I’d fought her on removing the pole, even though it was a stark reminder not only of what I did for a living but also that disastrous video. I’d even ordered the most obnoxious drink I could think of just to see her reaction.
All because I was mad that Curtis came after me in the first place, and that Daniel wanted me to change my image. Also that she and Daniel were dating, when I wanted him for myself. None of which was Erica’s fault, and it wasn’t fair to take my frustrations out on her.
“Sorry,” I finally said. “I want to do this. Please help me.”
She didn’t reply at first. She contemplated the inside of her mug for so long, I almost asked her to read my future in the grounds.
Finally, she chugged the rest of her cappuccino and stood. “Come on. We don’t have to like each other, but we do have to work together for the next several weeks. We might as well get to it. The sooner I can make you into a politician, the sooner you can start writing me that glowing recommendation.”
Grabbing a lid for my latte, I followed her.
“By the way,” she said. “The name ‘Mel’ doesn’t fit the image we’re going for. From now on, you’re Melody.”
“Melody Martin? That sounds like a cartoon character.”
“And Mel Martin sounds like a crotchety cartoon character,” she pointed out. “We need to soften your image. Melody is friendly, approachable. A problem solver.”
“No way. Only my mother calls me that.” I hated being called Melody. After decades of people pointing out the irony of my mother giving such a name to someone who couldn’t carry a tune, I’d be happy to never hear it again. It’s not like babies can sing, anyway.
“Great. Then she won’t have to make a change.” Erica’s tone made it clear the subject was closed. She held the door open and gestured with her free hand. “Let’s go.”
I groaned inwardly, wondering once again what I’d gotten myself into.
Most of my clothes came from the sales section of Athleta or lululemon, the same brands used from Poshmark, or specialty pole stores online. It had been ages since I’d set foot in a department store, and certainly not one this posh. Erica, however, apparently had plenty of experience, as she navigated straight to the section housing rows of evening gowns.
“Oh, this is nice!” I zeroed in on a floor-length, silky green dress with a sweetheart neckline and gorgeous strappy back. The bottom pooled in a slight train.
“You’re not a sixteen-year-old girl trying to lose her virginity on prom night. Put that back.”
My cheeks burned. The dress looked simple yet elegant to me. But what to wear was one argument Erica would always win. It was literally her job. Instead of responding, I ducked my head and returned the dress to the rack.
“Politics is a conservative business,” she said. “Neutral colors. Blacks, beiges, navy blues.”
“You mean, politics is boring,” I corrected her. “Why does everyone have to look the same?”
“It’s classic,” she said, handing me a bunch of dresses that looked more or less identical to me. “Classy. Try these on.”
There didn’t seem to be any point in trying to pick out my own clothes, so I trailed her to the dressing room. She sat on a bench outside and pulled out her phone. “Show me each one when you’re done. And leave your purse out here.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you in there texting pictures to other people, getting conflicting opinions. No one’s thoughts or impressions matter except mine.”
“Whatever.” It wasn’t worth arguing, so I rolled my eyes but handed her my bag before heading into the dressing room to see what she’d come up with.
The first dress was dark beige, with puffed sleeves and buttons halfway up my neck. It looked like something my great-grandmother would’ve worn if she’d had no taste at all. Erica had to be trolling me. I didn’t even bother to try it on before throwing it on the “no” hook.
The second dress was lighter beige, exactly the same shade as my skin tone. Holding it up to my reflection, I realized I’d look naked in it. Erica might know image, but she apparently wasn’t a fashion expert. Or, she put it in the stack as some sort of test. It went on the “no” hook as well, unworn.
The third dress was a grey sheath. It wasn’t awful as long as I ignored the boxy matching suit jacket. Has anyone worn shoulder pads since the ‘80s? Still, it was the best one so far, so I slipped it on and looked at myself in the mirror. Then I turned around and burst out laughing.
I stuck my head out the door. “You do not want to see this.”
“Show me,” Erica said without looking up from her phone.
“It’s obscenely short. I’ll be flashing my junk all over the party.”
Her serious brown eyes met my laughing ones. “Right. That was a test. You passed.”
Heh. Yeah, right. Without answering, I pulled my head back in and shut the door. The two remaining dresses in the stack were fine. Boring, but they covered all the important parts and weren’t hideous. Assuming I’d be required to attend more than one dressy function in the next couple of weeks, I handed both through the door to Erica and sent her to wait in line while I changed back into my regular clothes.
When I came out, I scanned the line leading to the cash register, but Erica was nowhere in sight. Since I couldn’t stand in line without the dresses, I grumbled under my breath while scanning the store.
There. Clear over by Housewares, she was talking to a woman with silvery-white hair, chatting like old friends. I started to call her name but didn’t want a reprimand about how senators didn’t shout across public spaces. And I couldn’t use my phone, because Erica still had my purse.
By the time I reached her side, the other woman had vanished. “Who was that?”
Erica jumped and spun around. “Remind me to teach you not to sneak up on people.”
“I didn't sneak. You weren’t paying attention, talking to that woman. She a friend of yours?”
“What? No. I’ve never seen that woman before.” She paused. “She was looking for the restroom. Sorry, let’s go.”
The rest of the shopping trip was more of the same: Erica picking out stuff that covered most of my skin, washed me out, and made me look hideous, while I sifted through for the least objectionable pieces and thought about how to accessorize in a way that might add some personality. At lea
st I had plenty of shoes at home.
Once I gave up arguing, we finished the excursion a little more than an hour later. She made a list of my sizes and let me know that I’d get an email with links to other items to buy online.
“I can’t wait,” I said. “Can we go now?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. The clothes are only step one. I’ve made an appointment at a salon. You need a cut, style, and waxing.”
My hands went instantly to my hips. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothing, if you’re a twenty-two-year-old student. You want people to take you seriously as an adult. That means looking the part. If people think you’re playing dress-up, they’re less likely to take you seriously.”
I refrained from pointing out that a little girl playing dress-up was exactly the way I felt in most of the clothes she’d picked out. One hand went to my hair, which I’d yanked back when we started shopping. A few random locks hung out of the ponytail, tucked behind my ears. It had been ages since I got a cut. And after the past couple of days, a scalp massage would feel amazing.
My credit card protested, but for once, I kept my mouth shut and followed Erica back to the car. After getting in, I couldn’t resist making one more comment.
“Did Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez have to put up with all this to run for Congress?”
“I doubt it. She worked for Senator Kennedy’s office during college, then for the first Bernie Sanders campaign. I expect she knew how to comport herself before running for office. Everyone harps on her past as a bartender, but she took that job because she needed the money.”
“That’s why I started teaching pole.”
“I believe Ms. Ocasio-Cortez didn’t dance in her underwear in public.”
“Well, I believe, of all people, AOC would support my right to wear as much or as little as I want.”
Erica glanced up sharply. There it was again, the smallest, most begrudging moment of almost respect. She quirked an eyebrow at me, and I knew I’d scored some points.
“By the way, Daniel told me everything about you,” she said. “No more pole videos.”
Okay, maybe I’d been too hasty about that whole “winning her over” thing. Nothing seemed to be enough for her.
“What are you talking about? The fitness tutorials? That’s how I bring in new business to the studio.”
“Yes, I realize what they’re for. You’re done with them. No more posting.”
Inside, I seethed, but I gritted my teeth and nodded. No way I would stop making the videos. Eventually, I hoped to be in a position to launch them, especially if I lost this thing and had to take my teaching online because I wasn’t allowed to work in this county. She didn’t need to know that. I could simply stockpile the files, and upload one a day when this was all over. Preferably from a beach, while holding a drink with an umbrella in it. I suspected I would earn it.
“That’s not all,” Erica continued. “I’ve taken a look into this Gary person from that viral video. He’s not someone that I want to see you associating with anymore.”
A chuckle escaped me. “No worries there. I haven’t seen him since that day. You can probably guess why.”
She smiled briefly. “Um, yes, I have some thoughts. Good. That’s it for now then. Any questions?”
One obvious question jumped to mind, but there was no way I could ask her: what on earth had I gotten into?
CHAPTER 9
Figurehead: Make sure you’re comfortable with a side climb before you try this move. Then wait for the bruises to heal. You’ll get into it from a basic climb, but you need a good knee grip.
- Push and Pole Fitness Tutorials, Vol. 2
Later that night, Erica dropped me back at my condo with a scathing glance at my pole and a reminder to “remove that thing” before she returned. It took all of my composure to refrain from giving her the finger as she drove away.
Okay, fine, I did it, but behind my back.
Before even making it through the front door, I was scrolling through my contacts to find Daniel’s number. He answered on the first ring.
“I’m surprised you made it this long without calling.”
“You knew we wouldn’t get along?” For some reason, that admission hurt a little bit. Like Daniel didn’t believe that I had what it took to make this work. Or he didn’t like me, so his girlfriend wouldn’t, either.
“Let’s just say, Erica is an acquired taste,” he said. “At least you weren’t texting me from the dressing room at the mall.”
“She took my phone,” I grumbled. “Just got it back.”
Only his deep, rumbling laugh answered me. In other circumstances, it might have been sexy.
“She’s a monster,” I continued, forgetting for a second I spoke to the monster’s boyfriend. Luckily, he didn’t get mad. “I don’t mind cleaning up my public image, but I can’t become a completely different person.”
“Of course not. People have to get to know you, to want to vote for you, or this will never work. You can’t pretend to be a kindergarten teacher and then jump out of a cake at your victory celebration.”
I giggled despite myself. “Can someone tell Erica that? She seems to think I’m going to give everything up. She wants me to take my workout pole out of my living room.”
“Would it be so terrible to have a living room without a pole in the middle of it?”
“Dancing is my life. It’s how I express myself, it’s how I blow off steam,” I said. “When I can’t dance, I get anxious, cranky. I’m more likely to snap at people. More likely to lose my cool, especially in stressful situations. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“If we take away your dancing shoes, we might as well hand the election to Curtis?”
“Pretty much.”
He sighed. “I’ll talk to Erica. She’s pretty conservative in some ways, but she understands needing an outlet as well as anyone. And I’m sure she’d prefer you pole in private rather than in public if those are our only options.”
My spirits rose significantly. Since Erica and Daniel currently comprised my entire campaign staff, the reminder that he was on my side made me feel a lot better. “I hoped you’d say that. I know that we need her, but I can’t give up pole during the most stressful time of my life. I just can’t. I’ll explode.”
“I’ll do my best. Anything else?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah, there is one more thing I need from you.”
“Your wish is my command.” The smile in his voice shone through. “You know, as long as your wish doesn’t require too much money from the budget.”
“Nope. All I need is you.”
“Well, that sounds interesting. I hope you aren’t about to ask what I’m wearing.”
Picturing Daniel at home, dressed in casual clothes sent a little thrill through me, but I quickly quashed it. He wasn’t available to me. Instead, I savored each word, letting him stew on the other end of the line. “One class. You and me. I’m going to show you what pole really is. Be here tomorrow morning at eleven. Wear shorts.”
Before he could respond, I hung up.
The next morning dawned bright and sunny, despite being about four degrees. I kept my condo warm, but not warm enough to walk around in my normal pole dancing clothes in the dead of winter. For my lesson with Daniel, I found my least stripper-like ensemble that still allowed free movement. As soon as he arrived, I led him into the living room, giving a lecture about the physics involved in the different movements. Before I could get into the geometry needed to hold various poses, he interrupted me.
“Wait. You were serious?”
“I never joke about pole, Daniel. If you thought I was kidding, why are you in workout clothes?” He wore a soft-looking gray t-shirt that stretched across the muscular biceps I’d mentioned to Lana. His shorts were too long for advanced pole, really, but fine for what we’d be doing. And they gave me a hint of strong legs, just enough to tantalize whil
e I reminded myself to keep my hands to myself.
“It’s my day off, and they’re comfortable.” He shrugged. “I figured we’d have breakfast, chat. Get to know each other.”
“And we will. Just not by talking,” I said. “If we’re going to be working together you need to know me, but you also need to understand my passions. Curtis has an extremely low opinion of pole, and that’s why he’s come after me. If you’re going to work with me, advocate for me, I need you to see the truth.”
He nodded. “I get that.”
“A lot of thought goes into doing the moves safely. Being successful at pole fitness requires strength, flexibility, and muscle control. It can be incredibly graceful. I suppose it can also be trashy, but anything can be trashy if you want it to be.”
To illustrate my point, I sat on the crash mat I’d set up, my legs splayed on either side of the pole. Before Daniel could ask what I was doing, I reached above my head and grasped the pole with both hands, pulling seamlessly upward. My body rose, and I clamped my legs around the pole. His jaw dropped. I repeated the move, climbing up the pole using only upper body strength until I reached the ceiling.
“That’s impressive. Mind if I try?”
A lot of men thought climbing the pole was as easy as going up a rope in gym class. In some ways, maybe it was, but this wasn’t an easy move. I slid to the ground slowly, then stepped back with a bow. “Not at all. Go for it.”
As he sat on the ground, his t-shirt rippled across his back muscles. He grasped the pole just as I had, then yanked. Nothing happened.
“Your forearms should be on the pole,” I said helpfully.
Taking his hand in mine, I showed him how to place his arms in order to get the needed leverage. A jolt of electricity hit me. Static from the pole. If he felt it, too, he didn’t react.
Our eyes locked, and I resisted the urge to lick my lips. We had to keep this professional. Stepping back, I gestured at the pole and suggested he try again.
This time, Daniel managed to raise himself about three inches off the ground before dropping back onto his butt with a groan.
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