Bonding

Bonding

It was Spice’s first night at the new club. She was dancing with new dancers and she wasn’t sure about them. Her experiences had shown that, in general, she should not expect much. And so she kept to herself. She made sure her costume bag was zipped while she was on stage, she kept her purse with her for her tips, and she didn’t say much to the other dancers. She didn’t want to get involved in any politics or squabbles, or be in a competition. She was there to dance and, hopefully, to make some money.

It was near the end of her shift. She changed into some new shoes to break them in. She went on stage and danced to a set of very hard rock… Ozzie Ozborne, Primus, and Godsmack. Hard rock inspired her, and put her into another zone. It was a sex-zone, a music-zone, a sense-zone, a sensual zone. When she was in this zone, she felt no pain, no sadness. There were no memories, and no troubles. Life was just about the moment during those times. She danced hard.

She finished her set and stepped into the dingy back room to change into her next outfit. She stood waiting for one of the dancers to move, to give her room to change. They were letting the jukebox run—an “intermission song” they called it—while they packed a bowl and smoked it down. One of the dancers glanced down at Spice’s feet and jumped in surprise. “Oh my GOSH! Look at your feet!” She looked down in alarm. On both feet, the broad, clear, plastic toe-strap across the top of her foot had sliced into the tops of the first three toes. It was red with blood. She shrieked in surprise. “Oh my gosh! Look! Look at my feet! Shit!”

Raven set the bowl down and grabbed her purse. “Here! Wait! I have some band-aids in here. Somewhere…. I just saw them yesterday.” She began rummaging through her purse. “Spice… go get your alcohol from the stage! Bring your rag, too.”

Spice stepped back onto the stage and grabbed the alcohol spray bottle and rag she used for cleaning the pole between sets. She came back in and kicked off her shoes, and began dabbing at her toes, spraying them with alcohol and wiping the blood off. The alcohol stung in the cuts.

Raven looked up from digging through her purse, clutching a handful of band-aids. “Here you are! I found them! Here Spice!” Spice tried to open one, but her hands were still shaking from exertion and she couldn’t grab the red tabs. Lula grabbed them from her and turned in her chair to face her. She crossed one leg over the other and patted her knee. “Here!” she ordered. “Put your foot up here!” And one by one she bandaged each cut toe, taking care to wrap the band-aid around the toes so they would not rub off during the next set. Spice stood, balanced on one foot, watching Lula work on her, first one foot and then the other. Tears welled in her eyes. Nobody had done something like that for her since she was a very small child back in Ohio.

When Lula finished, she glanced up at Spice. She stood and gave her a hug. “There you are, sweetie,” she said softly. “That should last until you’re off. When are you done? Don’t you just have one more set?”

And with that she slipped through the curtain and onto the stage, stripper-heels clunking. Intermission was over.

June 4, 2008