“That first night, was one of the worse nights of my life.” I have to stop for a moment, swallowing down the shame that comes with the memory. “I had no idea what I was doing and, I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t know the rules and… when some of the customers touched me, I – I didn’t know that I could say no. So I just let them. It wasn’t until some of the bouncers caught on and kicked them out, that I realized I’d fucked up. Some of the other girls thought I’d let them do it on purpose for better tips and none of them would talk to me. That night I went back to the motel and cried in the shower for about three hours. And that’s when I sat down and wrote you that letter, Xavier. I thought I could never face you again. I never ever wanted you to know the things that had happened to me, and the things that I’d done. I wrote you so many letters. Somewhere I told you everything and begged you to come to New York as soon as possible. But I threw them all away. I couldn’t do it to you. I couldn’t do it to myself. Because even though the thought of never seeing you again was worse than death, it was better than you knowing what I’d become. What had happened to me. I never wanted you to know, Xavier, I never ever wanted you to know. So, I wrote what I thought would be the only thing that would keep you away. That I was happy. And to let me go.”
“Oh, Malynda,” I hear him whisper my name. And already, it sounds different.
I just look at him and shrug.
“After I sent the letter, I felt like my life was ending so I just went back to the club. The manager agreed to keep me on a week by week basis. It got… a little bit better after that first night. They didn’t expect too much from the new girl, and there were one or two girls who were nice to me once they realized what position I was in. They taught me to dance… the way they did. And the tips were good. And what else was I going to do with my life? I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t go back to school. I couldn’t go back to you.”
He doesn’t say anything, just sits there, frozen. So I just go on.
“But anything can happen… bad things, at any given night. And I might’ve been lucky, but not everyone was. It eats at you. Leeches on your soul. And your self-worth. Not the dancing itself. That was the best and worst part about it. On a good night, I could get up on the stage and pretend I was doing exactly what I wanted to do. I was dancing. Maybe not ballet or jazz, but it was still moving to music. On a good night, I could ignore the eyes. More, always wanting more. And telling myself, I had nothing left to give.”
“It’s not what you think it is. There’s nothing sexy or glamorous about it, at least where I worked. You don’t know, until you’ve been there. Some girls love it. And some girls don’t care. But I wasn’t one of them. I… wish I could’ve been, but I just wasn’t one of them. And I hated myself. I… knew, I could never go back to you. There was no chance I could ever look you in the eye after what I’d done.” I feel myself sob and my hands come up to cover my face. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see that look in his eyes, that look I’ve been running from for twelve long years. That look of disgust and disappointment. I would’ve gone my whole life not seeing him again to not have to see it. But it’s too late now. I’ll never be that sweet girl to him anymore.
“So, that’s it. That’s… what happened. Everything.”
He clears his throat, I brace myself for his first question since I started talking. “How… how long…?”
“Um, not too long. Long enough, but not too long. There was… there was this one guy. He came in for a drink or two a few times a week. He was different. He wasn’t a sleaze, he never bought private lap dances, he always tipped well and was polite. We never could figure out what he was doing there. We wondered if it was just the closest place to get a drink on his way home from work. He’d sit and talk with us sometimes when it was quiet. He was nice. To all of us. He actually knew a lot about art, which was a bit of a change from the other guys, so we shared that. I hadn’t talked to anyone about how much I’d loved color except for you, everyone was so used to just looking at me the dancer. Anyway, one night… um, a fight broke out in the club, and I was there, um, on stage. He… er, he pulled me off the stage and made sure I was okay. I was a little shaken up and he offered to take me home. Normally, I probably wouldn’t have, he was still a patron, even though I never really saw him that way. He felt more like a friend. He took me home and he spent the night.”
There’s a flicker of something, jealousy maybe, across Xavier’s face, and for a moment, I feel a jolt of hope. That maybe, just maybe, there is hope for us. But it passes and he bites his lip and stared straight ahead, waiting for the end of my story.
“We stayed up talking, and I told him… everything. It was such a relief to get it off my chest. He didn’t know anything about my past here in Maine, or anyone that I knew. And I really needed a friend. So I told him. Everything. And when I woke up the next morning he was gone. But when I went by the club that night, he was waiting outside and told me that he had a proposition for me. He would help me get back on my feet, if I helped him start his interior design business. I told him I knew nothing about interior design, and he said all I needed was an eye for color and shapes, and I had that. So… I agreed. I couldn’t stand doing what I was doing for much longer. And that was my last night.”
“Cameron,” he says, his lips tight against his teeth.
“Yes, that was Cameron. He saved me, Xavier.”
“I get it.”
“I know you do.”
He gets up, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looks at the mess around us.
“And… the…”
He can’t bring himself to say it. I can barely say it either.
“The guy who attacked me? I don’t know. I didn’t keep in touch with anyone at the school. As far as they know, ‘Malynda’ dropped off the face of the planet. But… I read somewhere that he left the school shortly after I did. Opened up a studio or something upstate. I haven’t heard anything about him since.” Except for in my dreams, my head reminds me. “Until now.”
Xavier’s head whips around.
“The slipper,” I gesture to the shoe I’d thrown across the room. “That’s the shoe I threw at him that night. He’s the only one who could’ve had it.”
“How…? How does he know where you live?”