Ignite (The Disciples 4)

“If you change your mind, we’re across the street.” She motions with her hand.

“I won’t.” It sounds rude and I make it worse when I smooth my tight bun, which is already perfect, and don’t even acknowledge her as she leaves. I let out a sigh. My body does need a cheeseburger or ten. I’m thin, even for a dancer, and that’s saying something. I have to get another job. This is ridiculous. Waiting tables is not cutting it.

I need cash, and I need it fast.

Slipping on my gray sweatshirt in case it’s cold outside, I turn to see if anyone is still around and make my way over to the large board that holds all the pamphlets and cards. Thankfully, the studio is empty, so I can take a good look at everything. Maybe I can find some free dance classes. My eyes scan the many postcards and advertisements for dance apparel and personal coaching.

If only my parents were alive. If only my dad hadn’t done the horror that he did.

In one second, one awful night, my life, career, everything was over and today I’m feeling it.

My eyes take everything in. I stand on my toes to zero in on the one flyer that has been taunting me all day.

Exotic Dancers wanted. Must be serious dancers. Willing and not shy about showing their bodies. Must come prepared to use a pole and have a routine.

Please contact Crystal or Derrick.

213-682-8852 or 818-387-9966

The Pussycat.

Taking a quick look to make sure I’m still alone, I rip the flyer down and stuff it into my bag. I race down the steps and into the night.

I’m kind of excited. Never in a million years did I dream I’d consider doing this. But that was the old Antoinette. The new one needs money, so if swinging on a pole can pay my bills…

“Oh my God.” I stop for a second. Maybe I’ll even have time to audition. It’s like my luck might finally be changing. I saw this flyer as soon as I walked into the studio today. It’s weird and I don’t know why. It’s nothing special—just plain white paper and bold black letters. But I saw it, and somehow, that means something.

My arms pebble with goose bumps. I’m being silly. It’s only a job, but for some reason I feel like this is my moment. Like something wonderful might happen.

Switching my bag to the other shoulder, I cross the street and stand in front of my dump of an apartment. I’ve been so caught up in my thoughts, I don’t even remember walking the last couple of blocks.

My excitement dims as I enter and start to climb the stairs. I have two roommates. Well, as of a day ago, I did.

One is my only friend, Bella, another dancer. She’s an actual working dancer and on tour right now with P!nk. And the other one is Heather. As of late, she’s fallen madly in love with an out-of-work musician, a complete loser, and she’s moving in with him to help him follow his dream.

Basically, she’s screwing both Bella and me, but that’s Heather, the most selfish person alive, so I’m not surprised.

“Good Lord,” I grumble as sirens and screams and dogs barking echo in the background. Pretty much just another night in Hollywood. When Bella and I first moved in with Heather, we loved it. Now I’m tired and bitter.

Tired at nineteen. How’s that possible?

Maybe it’s because I work six to seven days a week. All day shifts, and then I go straight to the studios to dance. My work schedule does not allow me the option to audition. The one time I asked if I could have a day off when J Lo was looking for some dancers who had ballet experience, they informed me sure, if I never wanted to come back.

It forced me to be honest with myself. My personality rubs people the wrong way. I couldn’t risk losing a job that pays for a chance at being a backup dancer.

I step over my neighbor who either passed out before he made it to his door, or his wife locked him out. Either way, this is not the first time I’ve stepped over his fat ass.

I’m freakin’ dreading Bella’s weekly phone call to check in. Last week she mentioned that P!nk had extended her tour. I’m terrified she’ll say, “Why bother.” She’s on tour—why continue to pay rent when you’re never home?

It’s hard to find good-paying jobs period. But finding a job that pays and allows you to chase a dream… well, that’s almost nonexistent.

A dream.

I snort in disgust at myself. I should have let that die that night. But much like all dreams, when the nightmares fade, dreams seem to reappear. And you find that even though you’ve lost years of training, you still have the talent and drive to try again.