by Karen Bell
‘Has it happened to you before? I mean getting stuck in a lift or something like that?’
‘It’s not that kind of claustrophobia, I just can’t handle the idea of not being able to breathe or move, of not being able to shift someone’s weight.’ Mila had said too much already.
‘I’ll have to remember that, next time I go to fall asleep on top of you.’
‘Please do,’ she said with feeling.
Some minutes later seeing Mila stifle a yawn, Ryan jumped up. Come on, let’s get you into bed. He bent to pick her up and she protested.
‘Come on, enough already. You’re forgiven – not that it was your fault – and I need to walk, to make sure I can.’
Lying in bed a few minutes later, cosy in the spoon position, Mila again thought of the first part of their night. Her body ached but she rolled over under the weight of his arm so that they were nose to nose. She lay there drinking him in, observing the way his nostrils flared slightly as he breathed, and how the finest smile lines had imprinted themselves permanently in the outer corners of his eyes. She lifted the sheet, looking down at his body in the half-light, naked but for cotton boxer shorts, and she knew that her longing was not going away on its own.
He was already drifting off, but the tickle of her lips, nibbling his, her sweet breath and the softness of her limbs now wrapping themselves around him, had his body aroused before his brain could drag itself from impending slumber. She was naked, having slipped off her underwear and he wrapped his arms around her silky smooth body, taking her with him as he rolled onto his back. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her pelvis hard against him and her legs tangled with his. He loved this realm, somewhere between complete relaxation and sleep. He felt his arms lifted over his head, pinning them there, entwining her fingers with his as she kissed him sensuously, lingeringly and he returned the exchange with mounting passion.
Mila’s fingers ran down the insides of his arms, as she kissed and licked her way down his body. After a couple of detours, she eventually reached the band at the top of his boxers and paused, slipping a hand inside. He moaned deeply as she reached beyond his outstretched penis and found his balls, gripping them firmly while her fingers teased the delicate skin beneath.
His hands found her, fingers slipping into her silky hair and gently tugging at the roots as she slipped lower and brought her knees under her, straddling his thighs. She shushed him when he told her through caught breaths that she didn’t have to do…what she was about to. Her further answer, her other hand closing in on the base of his erection guiding it through the gates of heaven, over a pillowy tongue and deep into the recesses of her mouth.
Ryan sat up as he felt himself close to release, his mind was about to desert him and he needed to be inside her, and around her, to possess her with an urgency he could barely contain. He lifted her easily, under both arms, drawing her body along his, delighting again in the sensation of her skin pressed to his and he entered her as though the act might allow him to absorb her every morsel.
Mila felt his desire, coursing through her veins and whatever power she had held over him was surrendered as he took charge of the momentum, effortlessly guiding their timing, and the intensity of the act until she gave up all inhibition they climaxed together in unmuffled cries.
Lying spent on top of him, Mila could feel and hear his heart beating rhythmically boom, boom, boom as he recovered. She felt his presence flowing through her and he was still inside her as he rolled her easily over him and onto the bed so that she ended up lying on her back with him, propped on his elbows above her. He was looking down at her in the moonlight with an expression that spoke equally of incredulousness and total bliss. Her energy levels were too spent to feel any anxiety, even though his weight was pressed against her hips, and the lower part of his body still pinning hers as she felt the last aftershocks of her orgasm around him.
They didn’t speak but he continued to look into her eyes, stroking her face, her hair, the side of her body from her thighs to underarms and all the way to the tips of her fingers. She felt him stir inside her, hardening and pressing again. She was engorged and slick around him and he moaned as he pushed deeper into her, sharing the exquisite sensation. His eyes never left Mila’s as he made love to her once more, and they closed only momentarily when after some minutes he came again, his pleasure triggering her own, even though she had thought herself completely spent.
Some time later, they found sleep; back in the same position they had started. Ryan fell off in seconds, while Mila lay in his moon-cast shadow trying not to let sordid images of her past or fears about her future crowd her brain and spoil the rapture before sleep overcame her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The following day, Mila hurried along George Street, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her bruised foot that made it almost impossible not to limp. She’d swapped heels for flats sandals regardless of the need to make a good appearance on her first real day of work. She would rehearse in bare feet and the heels would have to wait until the eleventh hour if she was to make it through the night.
She couldn’t believe how quickly the day had gone after Ryan dropped her home at ten a.m. Between packing her make-up kit and triple checking that she had every item of her costume, she’d left the house thirty minutes later than planned. Then, she had stopped in to Siren’s store to pay for everything and got thoroughly caught up in conversation as she had demanded to know every detail of Mila’s previous thirty-six hours. Now, she realized with a twinge of panic, she had just a few precious hours to fill out whatever paperwork was required and rehearse her routine to performance perfect. To make matters worse, she’d had to buy a pancake body makeup from Siren to cover several bruises that were appearing on her back and shoulders, that Siren had aptly renamed her tramp stamps. That would take further time to apply.
Never having worked, Mila had grossly underestimated the thoroughness of the induction. One hour into it, and she was seriously stressing. It had been a cursory OH&S run through: how to stay safe, both on stage and in the private rooms; the expectations of behaviour between workers and clientele; the use of drugs - strictly prohibited (but, off the record, don’t get caught in possession); and the alcohol protocol - only to accept drinks served directly by a barman or cocktail waitress and never from a patron. It went on, but to Mila it all seemed like common sense and she wished they could have just given her the reading to take home instead of eating into precious preparation time now. Then there were the payroll and taxfile forms to fill in and Mila was told to get herself an ABN as soon as possible to avoid paying tax at a higher rate. She made a mental note to find out what that meant and was grateful that at least she had the required tax file number to get her started.
The manager walked her through to the weekly entertainment roster board that made Filofax look like child’s play. She was assured that it was regularly updated online and that she should expect last minute changes. Mila was already pencilled in for three shows that day and two the following and was told that if she could learn any of the group choreography she could be included on the list of swings or take up a more permanent spot in the line-up if another dancer left.
She had only heard the term ‘swing’ used in two contexts before, and she was pretty sure that it wasn’t the garden-variety play equipment that was being referred to now. The other use of the term she’d learnt through being forced to participate in Robert’s vast and ever growing sexual repertoire. He’d more than once brought other couples into their bedroom persuading her that swinging was a common and harmless activity that added spice to many marriages.
Mila, alarmed by the use of the term now, and was much relieved when the manager explained that a swing was a substitute dancer that stepped in when the scheduled performer was off sick. On hearing that the swings significantly supplemented their incomes, Mila resolved to come in at every opportunity to learn the choreography and make herself available as often as possible.
> She was whisked away to do a quick tour of backstage, sound and lighting and by now, was glancing furtively at her watch, wondering how much longer it would be before she could start rehearsing.
Finally, she was shown to the communal dressing room, which was vast and sleekly lined on one side with full-length lockers and on the other with dressing tables and mirrors. There was a gaggle of girls sitting and standing around, going about their business while exchanging stories from the night before. They regarded Mila with a range of responses from disinterest to mild curiosity and she was relieved when one young girl actually stopped their conversation to introduce herself.
Mila’s locker was way down the other end of the room and after coding a new combination, and stowing her clothes, she was finally able to start preparations. Adjacent to the dressing room was a warm-up room with a dozen poles. She quickly changed into workout gear and got started. Her body ached from her injuries the night before but she ignored the pain because in forty-five minutes time, she was expected to do a sound check and lighting set-up and in two hours, a full dress run-through.
Mila’s head was spinning, trying to schedule herself in the allotted time and she was finding it almost impossible to concentrate on what she was meant to be doing now. Just breathe and focus, she kept telling herself and stop mouthing the words!
The time went in a blur and she was gripped by panic as she finally sat down at a dressing table to apply her makeup. By now the room was all but full and minutes after she sat, she was approached by a tough looking girl who stood directly behind her, inches from her chair.
‘You’re in my seat.’ The girl said it as though there had been a sign on each of the chairs.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mila stammered ‘I didn’t realize any of them were reserved.’
‘Well now you do, so move.’ Mila had no trouble recognizing the voice of a top dog and even if she hadn’t spent decades at the bottom of the food chain, she wouldn’t have dreamt of taking her on.
She haphazardly gathered up all the makeup she’d just laid out so carefully and stood to vacate the space. Top dog hardly moved a muscle to let her pass, and she squared off as they came face to face. Avoiding eye contact, Mila was quick to duck out of the space and look for another spot further down the line. It would have been nice if someone had warned me when I first sat down.
‘Is this seat taken?’ Mila felt like she was back in the playground, the new girl, the wog from the Ukraine.
‘No it’s yours. Pull up a pew.’
Mila was relieved. Finally, someone who seemed friendly. She recognized her as the same young girl, who had introduced herself earlier and Mila could see her watching on peripherally as she re-laid out her makeup with shaking hands.
‘Don’t let Taz get to you; she’s like that with almost everyone. It’s a left over from payin’ her dues and maybe from workin’ the streets too. She’s come up in the world but she’s not forgettin’ her roots – so to speak,’ she added with a giggle.
‘Thanks,’ Mila answered quietly. ‘Kelly, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. You’re good wiv names.’
Kelly looked about twelve. She had that kittenish Lolita look that men eighteen to eighty got off on: a combination of pale skin, wide eyes, and emerging sexuality. In Mila’s opinion, her body was bordering on skinny, and her neck looked fragile enough to snap if someone were to blow on her.
‘You been strippin’ for long?’
Mila thought it was best to come clean straight up. It would be pretty obvious anyway, if Kelly was to see her on stage. She took a deep breath.
‘First time,’ she admitted.
‘What? But you gotta be like, twenty six, twenty eight?’
‘It’s a late start, I know,’ Mila said, ignoring part two of the question, ‘but I didn’t need the money until now and I don’t have the education to do much else.’ She was relieved to hear that even to a baby like Kelly, she looked well younger than her true age. Younger people tended to think everyone over twenty-five looked like ancient history.
‘You sound pretty edjucaded. Just saying.’
‘Thanks, but I left school at fifteen.’
‘Me too!’ she squealed. ‘We’re like sisters.’ Mila wasn’t about to tell Kelly that she had a daughter who was possibly older than her.
‘How old are you?’ Mila enquired casually.
‘I’m twenny-one but I been doing this for years now. No one asked me age when I first come to Sydney. I was seveneen when Mr Arnett seen me at Dirty Harry’s and I’d already been gettin’ me gear off for two.’
‘Did he give you a job then?’ Mila asked with barely disguised revulsion.
‘Yeah, he gave me a job, walkin’ his dogs twice a day, but I told him I could make five times that strippin’ so he took me into his home and told me I was savin’ on rent and smack and he got me on a methadone program. I ain’t never looked back since then.’
Had this wealthy Mr Arnett been really interested in looking out for the girl, he would have sent her back to school instead of allowing her to come back to the strip club when she’d turned eighteen.
‘Now I’m in me last year of dress design at Whitehouse Institute. I just do this ‘cause I love it. I’ve always fuckin’ loved it. Oh and cause I’m saving to buy a shop on Crown St, where I can sell me own designs.’
Wow, that’ll teach me to jump to conclusions, thought Mila.
‘Which shows are you in?’ Mila was hoping that Kelly might be able to teach her some of the choreography to become a swing.
‘They don’t want me in the Burlesque show cause I ain’t got no tits, so I just do me Sailor Moon anime for the early crowd and a scene from the movie Lolita for the late comers. You ever seen them shows?’
‘I’ve read Lolita,’ Mila answered ‘but I don’t know Sailor Moon.
‘It’s Anime,’ she answered. ‘You know Japanese cartoons for men who get off on lolis. Sailor moon isn’t normally hard-core but she’s well known and fits the theme of the club like.’
Mila was thoroughly confused, and as fascinating as it all was, she elected to ask no more questions because she was seriously needing to concentrate on her make-up and go through her routine once or twice more in her head.
As the door of the dressing room opened and shut, Mila could hear the background sound of cheering and wolf whistles coming from the main auditorium. She looked at the time. It was six fifteen and still broad daylight outside, but here in the club it could have been the middle of the night. Mila had an hour before her first performance and was beginning to feel less and less confident.
Her make-up was now finished, and while her efforts were nowhere near as deft as Siren’s, the result was adequate, and considering how her hands had been shaking and her palms sweating, it was a small miracle that the liquid eyeliner had made it onto her eyelids at all. Mila hoped that putting on the wig would somehow allow her to shake off enough of her insecurity to make it through the first performance.
She was in the process of pinning her wig to the cap beneath when the door once again opened and Top Dog Taz sashayed in, calling out ‘Mama’s got treats.’ The call was answered by a generalized cheer around the room and closely followed by a Mexican wave.
‘What’s that all about?’ she asked Kelly.
‘Taz is our supplier of Molly.’ Mila looked at her blankly. ‘You know, pingers, MDMA?’
Mila had heard those names and knew how popular and common Ecstasy was amongst teens and adults these days. She’d been to more than one parent talk at Holly’s school on the very subject and had been horrified to learn that more than sixty percent of school kids would try it before finishing. Even Holly had admitted to trying it after her first year of uni when she’d learned her father was dying.
‘Aren’t drugs banned here? Aren’t you worried to have a bad trip?’
‘Chill out sister, Molly isn’t a drug, well not like real drugs. Anyhow, that’s why we get ‘em frew Taz, she’s got the best contacts and s
he tests each batch before she sells ’em to us.’ Kelly gave a cheeky grin that was far less innocent than the waif she’d be portraying on stage. ‘She buys ’em by the shitload so we get a good deal and she makes the diff’rence. It’s win-win.’
Mila was impressed by Kelly’s debating skills and thought she could have been quite the union boss if she wasn’t so busy multi-tasking and conquering the world.
Taz was moving along the row of dressing tables and Mila noted that almost without exception, the girls were buying. Some were taking twenties out of their purses and others were buying three caps for fifty.
‘Go on, you should try it. Your hands ‘aven’t stopped shaking since we been ‘ere. It’s perfectly safe an’all.’ She said it as though it were the simplest of logic - Drug-Taking 101.
‘Do you take it?’ Mila asked, naively imagining that a reformed heroin addict might refrain from taking other drugs too.
‘Yeah, of course. I been rollin’ for four years and I ain’t never ‘ad a bad one yet. If you’re shit-scared of somfin’ it’s the best, and you’ll dance like you never done before. Trust me.’
Mila couldn’t believe she was seriously beginning to take notice of what Kelly was saying. She had the wig on now and was feeling no more Marilyn than she had an hour earlier. She was, in Kelly’s words ‘shit-scared’. There was a room full of men out there waiting to watch her take her clothes off. What other way would she be?
Taz was heading towards them now. What if she didn’t want to sell one to Mila? She’d been pretty aggressive earlier.
Kelly was reaching into her purse and taking out a fifty when Mila threw caution to the wind and jumped up to retrieve her bag from her locker. She had both a fifty and a twenty in her purse and hesitated for the shortest time before taking out the latter. She sat back down and pretended to be concentrating hard on finishing her lip-line.