Pittsburgh was beautiful in the autumn, trees were blooming in yellow, orange, and fiery red. The air was warm enough to be out in a T-shirt, yet cool enough to put on one's favorite jacket or overcoat. But all that could turn bone-chilling cold with just one fall of rain.
Hurried out of the studio, Brooke held her big tote bag over her head, hopping over the puddles.
"Fuck!"
She stomped into one, and it wasn't shallow. Water soon soaked up her socks like icy claws, but that was the least of her worries now.
The night bus was arriving in four minutes, and she has two blocks to cover. Her jacket was wet and so was her beanie, but she kept running, because she couldn't afford to be late again.
Coming around the corner she could see the 84 shutting its door and ready to leave. Brooke darted across rushing traffic, ignoring the honking from moving vehicles, jumped into the middle of the road in a spread-eagle posture, blocking the moving bus with her flesh and bones.
The bus driver stomped on the brakes, throwing all passengers off their seats, pulling to a stop so close its windshield was pressing against the girl's face.
"ARE YOU NUT??" the driver yelled so loud it was audible behind the glass.
Brooke went around the side of the vehicle, banging on the door like it was the last hope of her life. The door swung open, let out a thick air of cursing from both the driver and passengers. She ignored them all and paid the fare.
"Yeah! Yeah! Shut the fuck up!" she barked at the crowd, waved her bus pass and quickly scrambled to the rear.
Avoiding all the hostile eyes, she found the only vacant seat on the bus, half occupied by a snoring fat man, whose volume was taking more than he paid for.
The man was as soaked as she was, and releasing a stench from his breath, but she had no choice, she worked all day and her feet were killing her. She needed to rest before her second job started.
As the bus got moving again, she put on her earplugs and shut her eyes, played the music and began working on her choreography. It was the only thing that could take her away from this stinking world.
She sank into her music, let the notes flow through her system, imagining them guiding her movements. Dancing is the only thing that sets her free, so she could shut her eyes and put her mind at rest, letting her body do all the work. Then those eyes popped open again.
Shit!
She was so hurrying to get on the bus she forgot to grab a muffin from the convenience store. Now she has to go to her second job with an empty stomach.
No matter! I can improvise! I always do! She told herself.
She wished her life could be more organized, that things could just stop for a moment, so she could think, and plan ahead for once. But that was never the case, she had been running as soon as she learned how to walk, and kept running into obstacles.
* * *
She was already banging at the door like a crazy person when the bus approached her stop, again stirring up curses from the passengers.
"Yeah! Yeah! Shut up!" she barked back, squeezed out of the gap before the doors could fully open, freeing herself from the suffocating complaints.
She took in a deep breath of fresh air. The rain has stopped but the air was cold. Her stomach was screaming food but her mind was screaming work.
Running in her soaking sneakers for another block, she turned into a dark alley, stepping on more puddles over the poorly maintained path, holding onto her tote bag and making her final dash into a door.
"Blaze! You're late!" Harish was already at the door, tapping at his gold wristwatch while puffing his cigarette.
"I know! I know!"
Dodging her manager's cloud of smoke, she ran into the changing room, dumped her bag on a dressing table, turned it upside down, and poured out everything to find her costume and wig.
"Second time this week! Late again and you're fired!" Harish growled as he chased into the room.
"I know! I know! I'm here, aren't I?" Brooke stripped to her skin and pulled up her golden bra.
Dancers at the Red Rocket grew accustomed to male staffs hanging in the changing room, they were the least of their problems.
"You're not wearing that again. Are you?" one dancer teased.
"I'm sure you can find something better at Target!" another snickered.
"If I can afford time I will!"
Brooke kicked away her wet sneakers, peeled off her baggy pants and underwear in a single move, then yanked a matching gold bikini-bottom to her waist.
She pulled the fake golden polyester over her long brunette hair, grunting in pain as she hid the last of her dark hair under the cheap wig.
Finally, she put on her performing footwear, a pair of six-inch heels that puts her in the same place as other dancers in this place - someone who sells their dignity to make a living.
"Blaze! You're up!" a bouncer popped his head over the door.
"Damn it! I just got here!"
She barely had enough time to check the mirror when she heard her music start.
"Fuck!"
She quickly dashed out of the changing room, pushed through a black velvet curtain and out in the spotlight, so hurried she tripped those heels on the edge of the stage. But she managed to improvise, caught the pole and made a spin, acting like it was part of her entrance.
She started to dance in a luring fashion, shaking her breasts and buttocks, it was what customers paying to see, and hopefully she could get some private lap dances for extra income.
She always has a passion for dancing, but growing up a farm girl that was never a choice, there was nothing but cornfields and livestock back home, and she was very lucky to find two jobs that relate to her passion - being an assistant choreographer at a dance studio, and an erotic dancer in a nightclub. The last thing she needs is for some little girl's father to find out their dance teacher is a stripper.
That's why she chose to work at the Red Rocket, a low-profile joint located on the outskirts of the city, run by an Indian boss and his relatives. Its customers were foreign too, mostly Asian tourists, all coming for a glimpse of their fake fantasies toward American beauty, thus the blonde wig.
Her eyes swiped around the floor as she danced, checking on tonight's customers. On a rainy night hangs the usual dead crowd, just a few lonely souls drinking into the night, or on occasion, finding an excuse to blow off steam. Men don't visit strip joints if they have a happy life.
She spotted Ticking Todd, one of the few local customers. The staffs gave him that name because he always sits alone, but his silence would snap into explosive rage should things don't go his way, like a ticking time bomb.
None of the girls like to serve Todd due to his uncontrollable rage, even though he's a big tipper, one could only guess the loner has little else to spend in his life. Still, money is money, and tonight Brooke decided to try her luck.
The rules for a lap dance are: a dancer can touch the customer, but the customer cannot touch the dancer. The exchange takes place in a private room, its door was replaced by a beaded curtain for security reasons. A bouncer is constantly patrolling outside the corridor, part to provide security for the girls.
Todd was unusually aggressive tonight, his breath smelled of whiskey, and his hands were all over Brooke.
"Hey! You know the rules! No touching!" she slapped his hands away, repeatedly.
"This ain't a fair game! You're all over me!" Todd gave his nasty smirk.
After several attempts to stop the man, Brooke called in the bouncer and had Todd removed. The man was obviously looking for a fight, he shoved Brooke off his laps, jumped to his feet and swung out a left hook to the incoming bouncer. But under heavy intoxication, Todd missed his target far off, throwing himself into a spin.
The bouncer took the opportunity, caught Todd from behind, wrapped one arm around his neck, and placed his other hand behind Todd's head, securing him in a headlock. By that time two more staffs rushed in to support, taking the drunken man down instantly.
"Are you all right?" Bouncer Rahul asked.
"I'm fine!" Brooke fixed her blonde wig.
"You shouldn't lead him on like that, that's how things get out of hand."
"Hey! I was the one getting harassed here!" Brooke protested.
"And don't even think about doing your business here either."
"I wasn't doing anything!!"
The other part of a bouncer's job was to look out for private businesses. The local law prohibits any sex and drug trade, in consequence of losing their license, so bouncers keep their watchful eyes on the customers as well as the girls, so no one could run their side businesses under their noses.
Frustrated, Brooke went to the changing room as the bouncers carried the drunken man out of the room. Her night was far from over, and she wished to work comfortably. She took a minute to adjust her wig and fix her clothes in the mirror, getting ready for her next round.
The night improved as tourist groups arriving, all came to visit the nightlife of the west. Half a dozen Japanese men in business suits cramped around a small table, probably celebrating some deal. They were the most popular, men away from their uptight culture, displaying money to show off their successes, almost like a competition, and almost laughable if not for the profit of the club.
* * *
Brooke finished her last round and collected her money. She counted them carefully, twice, before packing up her bag and out the backdoor without giving another look.
The clock on her phone said she just missed the last bus, and was now stranded in the dead city of night. The sky began to rain again, dropping light showers around the air, but being alone on a dark empty street felt even colder.
"Hey little slut!" a voice called from behind.
Ticking Todd was driving a beat-up sedan, his face bruised, work of the bouncers no doubt.
"Where're you going? I'll take you!"
"No!" Brooke increased her pace.
"You think you're playing hard to get, don't you?"
"Leave me alone!" she reached into her bag for the can of mace.
Todd pulled his car up the pedestrian, blocking her path. On instinct she broke out the mace and sprayed him a face full.
"You Fucking Bitch!!" the big man cried as his face burned.
She broke into a run in the opposite direction, but Todd recovered quickly, got out of the car and chased after. He was six-foot-two and Brooke was five-seven, it only took half a block to catch up and tackle her, taking her down the wet pavement with all his weight, so hard the can of mace knocked out of her hand.
"Where are your bouncers now? Little Shit?"
"Get off me! You sicko!" she struggled, trying to kick but her legs were under the heavy man. "HELP! HELP!"
She just had a rough day, and decided not to get any worse. She made her hand into a claw and swung, cutting her fingernails deep across his face, but Todd did not back away, he grew more furious.
"Ouch! You little shit!" Todd slapped across her face, so hard it slammed the back of her head on the concrete. "I'm gonna take you home and make you my private little bitch!"
Even with the girl unconscious, Todd couldn't pick her up in his drunken state, so instead he decided to undress her on the spot, until a sound of siren startled him.
"Police! Hands in the air!"
The warning showed no threat to the drunken madman, instead it triggered him to charge forward like a raging bull. The officer repeated his warning, then fired the taser between his hands, sending fifty kilovolts into the furious beast.