Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

The thought of how poorly I treated my body for years makes my stomach turn. I force it all to settle with a deep breath that I hold for a five-count before letting it out slowly, counting the good things I have in my life as I do so. I repeat the process twice more, just as I learned, counting out the beat to maximize my lung capacity before I feel re-centered.

I head to the lobby to see Eileen on the phone. She’s one of the dance moms, but thankfully, not like the drama-mamas on television. She just works at the studio, answering phones and doing paperwork to help offset the cost of her daughter Sydney’s lessons.

I admire that about her. Actually, there’s a lot to admire about Eileen in general. She’s a single mom doing whatever it takes to support her child, and though she’s not a dancer herself, she doesn’t harbor any desire to live vicariously through Sydney’s journey. She kind of reminds me of my own mother, though my parents are still happily married and act more like newlyweds than a couple going on thirty years of wedded work. That’s what my mom calls it, ‘wedded work,’ and she maintains that people who call it ‘wedded bliss’ are just lying to make it seem easy.

Eileen told me once that she’d put in all kinds of work to make her marriage last, but it’d been one-sided then, and now she basically parents alone. I hate that for her, but Sydney is a happy kid, so Eileen must be doing something right.

“Hey, Ei—” I start, but she holds up one finger, telling me to wait a second.

I stand for approximately two seconds before lifting my right leg up to the counter and stretching. It’s a dancer thing. Any free moment is spent stretching, bending, lifting, tilting, always working somehow.

Even if I’m in a position where I can’t physically move, my brain is constantly dancing, practicing choreography or considering new combinations. It makes the line at Starbucks seem to move much faster.

I’ve barely begun when Eileen hangs up and squeals, “Are you ready for tonight?”

“You mean they didn’t cancel? I swore they would.” I feign shock, knowing that my private class tonight definitely wouldn’t cancel, considering they paid extra to rent the studio for this lesson. And considering just how much extra, it’d take an emergency for them to break the deal.

“Shut up, you know the ladies are excited. This is a good thing, girl.”

She’s right and I know it. I’m just nervous, which seems silly considering how many times I’ve performed on stage and how many classes I’ve taught.

But this class is different. This class isn’t people of all walks of life, toddlers to adults, wanting to add a bit of ballet to their life.

No, this class is a bachelorette party where I’m teaching the bride and her bridesmaids a little routine to use . . . in private.

I’d automatically refused when Donna, the studio owner, had asked me to teach this class. I’ve always kept the other side of my dance life separate from the studio. It’s like I’m two women, two dancers.

But when Donna promised it’d be just the one time and told me she’d share the rental fee with me fifty-fifty, I’d reconsidered. The money is . . . good.

And now, Stripper 101, as I’ve been jokingly calling it, is almost in session. Eileen, of course, doesn’t understand.

“I hear you, Eileen,” I reply, sighing. “I just thought that I’d left the sequins and body glitter at the other place. But it’s following me.”

I glance over my shoulder like there’s somebody there, and she laughs as I intended.

“You act like it’s a bad thing. You can be Ballerina Barbie and Stripper Suzy at the same damn time. There’s no shame in dancing, however and wherever you do it, if you enjoy it and it supports you.”

I smile, glad for her lack of judgment. I can’t say that I would’ve ever dreamed I’d be making a living as a stripper, but alas, here I am.

At least I’m fortunate enough that Petals from Heaven, the club where I work, is top quality, VIP only. I’m one of their star performers, able to set my own hours and prices.

It’s a far cry from the ballerina I thought I’d be, but at least now, I get to live both sides of the coin, stripper and ballerina. And still pay my bills.

“I still can’t believe you don’t care about that,” I tell Eileen. “I honestly figured that if the dance moms here found out, they’d yank their kids out of my classes faster than you can say ‘hell to the no.’ ”

Eileen’s smile is sad but at the same time mischievous. “Honestly, there are some moms who would, so we just don’t tell them. All I care about is your ability to teach the kids proper technique, something you are excellent with. You connect with the kids and never, ever make them feel like they’re wasting their time or not doing fantastically.”