Her laptop had become her favorite item in the world with her search history containing the same entries in different ways.
"How do you make fast money?"
"Online jobs that will bring fast money"
"How do you make thousands of dollars online within 24 hours?
"How do you make fast money?"
"Philanthropist helping people online."
Weeks creeped in and out till she had counted 21 wasted days. Twenty and one days of touring the entirety of Savlong's small and big restaurants for a job. Twenty days of returning to the house with nothing else but a "Thank you. We will get back to you later." Summer's pressure mounted by the minute. All the calls she had put through to the few people in her mother's circle had proved abortive. Her finances grew leaner and leaner with weekly deposits for the tanks of oxygen that her mother consumed.
Armed with a prestigious degree in hotel management, she hoped to earn a position even as lowly as a waiter. Yet, to her utter dismay, it appeared that every establishment she graced with her presence had mysteriously filled their quota of servers for the millennium.
She had spent many days and nights holed up in the tiny apartment, sometimes working on the laptop and at some other times, reaching out to recruitment agencies who had after taking an arm and a leg refused to get back to her.
The walk home from her fruitless job hunt that afternoon was longer than normal, with her throat parched and dry. She branched at the mall to get a pack of water. The water in Jenny's place ran only in the early hours of the morning and at night because the entire unit was hellbent on "managing" their resources.
As she waited to checkout, her attention was drawn to a group of girls who were also waiting to also check out. However, they were squealing at something as all of them were gaping at something on a phone.
"You mean you have never heard of the strippers club down the road?"
"Thank God it's Friday!"
"Hey ladies, could you please keep your voices down?" The attendant was clearly irritated by the loud girls but had to mask her original intention to avoid losing their customers.
She didn't either club, drink, or party. Her mom's religion had so influenced her morally that her conscience would prick her heart in a million different ways if she tried. While her mates partied and "achieved" boyfriends, she stayed at home, waiting for her return from one of her numerous jobs while either reading a book or getting lost in the world of fantasy.
As soon as she stepped in, the room seemed to welcome her sullen presence. It was a single-room apartment with a bathroom and a toilet that had a distinct musty smell. With each passing day, she hated herself, hated her life, hated that the twenty four hours in a day seemed like they had been slashed in half and was too little to achieve so much, hated all the people and organizations who had promised to get back to her, hated Jenny's ugly apartment,, the chipping paint, the weird patterned tiles, the molded cabinets that seemed like they had been soaked in rain, the squeaky bed, the empty fridge that reminded her that she could never eat her cake and still have it. She hated everything!
That night, as she lay in Jenny's bed, her head threatening to explode if one more cricket joined in the discordant chirp of the catastrophic choir, she reminisced on her encounter with the person with whom she had earlier boarded a cab. She had peeped into his phone and to her utter dismay had seen the prompt in the search bar, "How to make a weed cake."
"Selling some weeded cake wouldn't be a bad idea?" she muttered to herself. Her shadow was cast on the wall adjacent to the bed as she turned. She took it to be a bad omen. It seemed to indicate the dead end that awaited her if she decided to head down that road.
With only the chirps of the crickets for company, she began to toss. Restlessly, she tossed and turned, the faint strains of music drifting in from across the street. It was Friday. Everyone but she was outside: partying, loving up or being loved up, having the time of their lives. That must be a club? Why not
She started to pace the room. Picking up a pair of socks from one end of the room and underwear from under the bed. Her frustration had been so intense that she barely noticed her surroundings.
She proceeded to scrub the toilet so ferociously that her palms ached. She cleaned the dresser, rearranged Jenny's makeup items, and rearranged the documents in the wardrobe.
As the music continued to waft through the window, its infectious beat seeped into her bones, prompting her to bob her head in rhythm. Before she knew it, she was swaying and twirling, mimicking the movements of the dancers she had admired in music videos. For a fleeting moment, she felt a sense of liberation, the weight of her worries momentarily lifted.
But as she danced, a nagging thought wormed its way into her consciousness. "What if I…" she began, her voice trailing off as she hesitated to give voice to her wild idea. With a shake of her head, she tried to dismiss the idea, but it lingered stubbornly, refusing to be silenced. In a moment of desperation, she turned to her laptop, fingers trembling as she typed into the search bar: "How much does a stripper make in a night?"
The results flashed before her eyes, each figure more tantalizing than the last. It was a gamble, a leap into the unknown, but the promise of financial freedom beckoned tantalizingly. She didn't know how to strip. She had never before. However, she believed that she could pull anything off. She made a quick calculation that in less than a week, she would be done with it and never return to stripping again.
Without hesitation, she rushed to Jenny's table, her hands moving with practiced precision as she transformed her appearance. With a flick of her wrist, she applied makeup, masking her features with a sultry allure; smokey eyeshadow and red, the color of bell peppers for her lips. A wig concealed her hair, and Jenny's ID provided the final piece of the puzzle. A pair of contacts disguised her color and a black old wig soon hid her hair beneath. Jenny's ID was the last pawn on the board.
Heart pounding, she presented herself to the manager, her stomach churning with nerves. But to her relief, he barely glanced at the ID before ushering her inside, handing her a mask as he did. That night was a mask-on party for the anonymity of some "important" people who would be visiting that club tonight. She thought it was her lucky day since she wanted more than to remain entirely anonymous at that club although she suspected that the manager was equally as desperate as she was for more entertainers at his party.
A mixture of fear and anxiety trolled her night. What if she met someone she knew, what if they realized that she was using a fake identity? What if her mom finds it?
She pushed the questions to the bottom of her mind and tried to
Heart pounding, she approached the manager with trepidation, her nerves coiling like a tightly wound spring. As she handed over Jenny's ID, her stomach churned with anxiety, fearing that her disguise would be exposed with a single glance. But to her immense relief, the manager merely cast a cursory glance at the ID before ushering her inside, his attention already drifting elsewhere.
With a quick nod of gratitude, she slipped past him, her heart still racing with the adrenaline of her close call. As he handed her a mask, she felt a surge of gratitude toward fate for granting her this unexpected reprieve. Tonight was a masquerade party, a perfect opportunity for her to blend into the crowd and evade detection.
The prospect of anonymity offered a comforting veil of protection in the unfamiliar environment.
As she stepped into the dimly lit club, the pulsating music enveloped her in its rhythmic embrace, drowning out the doubts and fears swirling in her mind. Her confidence soon left when she saw a colleague performing a pole dance. She quietly left the stage, pretending to need some time alone with the ladies.
"Care for a dance? A deep husky voice a little slurred from alcohol whispered above her.
She adjusted her mask and cleared her throat.
"Uhm… Yes."
Skeptically, she held out her hand to him and let him lead her back to the dance floor.
She was surprised at the hold he still still had on himself even though his breath reeked of alcohol. Thoughts of her mother filled her mind as she swayed with the towering figure. She definitely did not come to the stripper's club to dance. She was there to make money.
She began to distract herself from the uncomfortable feeling that welled up inside of her as the man grabbed her waist and pressed against her.
"Is something on your mind?" The stranger shouted above the din of the music.
She disengaged from his hold and took a step backward. She could neither make a head nor tail from his facial features even though she tried hard.
"I'm just… distracted?"
As Summer stood there, her heart racing and her mind a whirlwind of confusion, she couldn't shake the feeling that the masked man beside her was studying her intently, despite the concealment of his features.
"Uhm... can we have a drink, maybe? I'm not feeling too well," she stammered, her fingers twisting nervously.
"Let's have a drink then," he replied smoothly, leading her towards the bar amidst the pulsating music and swirling lights.
"What would you like me to offer you?" the bartender shouted above the din, his voice barely audible over the thumping bass.
"What is a Zombie?" she shouted back, struggling to be heard over the cacophony of noise.
"It will help you feel better. The restaurant only offers two of these per night. It is reserved for just me whenever I'm around," he explained loudly into her ear.
As she glanced around, taking in the surreal scene around her, she noticed the eclectic mix of patrons, each lost in their world of intoxication and revelry. A couple stumbled past, giggling uncontrollably, while others swayed to the music with glazed eyes.
"Here," the bartender called out, placing two glasses of the mysterious cocktail in front of them.
"I... I don't drink alcohol," she shouted back, feeling increasingly out of place amid the chaos.
Before she could react, a drunken man stumbled towards their table, his hands reaching for one of the glasses. With a surge of anger, the masked man rose to confront him, but the drunken intruder lost his balance and the glass shattered in his grasp.
As the commotion unfolded, Summer felt a wave of overwhelming sadness wash over her. Unable to bear the chaos any longer, she fled to the balcony, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Mom... I wouldn't be here but for you. Yet, I know you would be disappointed to find out what I have become. Please forgive me, Mom. Forgive me," she sobbed, her voice choked with emotion.
Despite the throngs of people milling about, Summer felt utterly alone, her sorrow engulfing her in its suffocating embrace. Unbeknownst to her, someone stepped away from the shadows, his heart heavy with compassion for her.
She stayed there a little longer even after she was done sobbing. She weighed her options, wondering if she should return to the club or go home. She knew that going home would only spell doom for her as she was meant to deposit her mother's mastectomy the next day.
Would you like to go somewhere quieter?
She nodded without caution.
They stepped outside of the club and the man ordered a cab.
"I'll be paying you in cash." He said to the driver over the blues that wafted from the side speakers.
Soon, they were at a small inn where they ate some traditional soups
and he whipped out an exquisite leather purse.
"Your purse is really fine." She complimented and averted her gaze just as quickly as she blurted it. She didn't want him to think she was one of those flirty girls who followed men for money. Yet, she was in that same situation for money.
They soon found themselves at a nice little inn and were served some alcohol. Soon, they both got tipsy and began to kiss.
Deep down in her consciousness, she was aware of what was going on. But would it be bad to want an escape from all the frustration that had threatened to sweep her in the flood?
She had never been that intimate with a man and she liked what she was feeling.
Soon, they made their way to the room which he had paid for.
His tongue roamed her mouth like he was searching for something. Not knowing how to respond, she just did what he did, receiving his tongue, and giving hers out too.
He proceeded to kiss her neck, whispering sweet nothings, biting her ear and gradually proceeding to the parts that made her tickle. She could feel herself tingling with excitement down there. The alcohol was not helping matters as her mind reeled and experienced a succession of emotions that she could not put a tag to.
She was sure that she would need to take a long rest after the encounter to allow her mind to recover from the myriad of experiences it had had in the last forty-eight hours.
As they retreated to the privacy of their room, they shed their masks, choosing to remain anonymous to each other in the dim light. The air crackled with anticipation as they moved closer, their desire palpable in the darkness.
But just as things began to escalate, Summer felt a sudden weight pressing down on her, startling her out of the moment. With a surge of panic, she realized that her companion had passed out, his body slack and unresponsive.
Heart racing, she pushed him away, her mind reeling with a mixture of relief and disappointment. As she fumbled for the light switch in the darkness, a loud snore echoed through the room, halting her frantic search.
A wave of relief washed over her, and she sank back onto the bed, her emotions in turmoil. Disappointment mingled with gratitude as she lay there in the darkness, waiting for the first light of dawn to break through the night.