Hopefully it’ll help me feel like I have some control over my life.
“Welcome to Club Kitten,” a friendly-looking woman says when I walk inside. Kasey is leaning casually against the counter, chatting with another girl who looks like she’s here for class.
“Thanks,” I say.
“First time?” The woman says with a smile.
I just nod. There’s no point in playing in cool. It’s obvious I don’t fit in here. I try not to stare at all the beautiful women in the lobby. I try not to compare myself, but it’s certainly not easy. The women here are all different shapes and sizes, but they all exude this confidence.
Will I get that from dancing?
“I’ll need you to fill these out,” the receptionist hands me a clipboard with some forms. I raise an eyebrow. “The first one just says you won’t record anything that happens in class or take pictures. We take privacy very seriously here at Club Kitten and even though these classes are for women only, we don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable or worry that a picture of them might end up on social media.”
“Got it,” I sign my name. I noticed right away that you can’t see the dance rooms from the lobby. If you want to get to the rooms, you have to talk to the receptionist first. She’s basically the gatekeeper of the club. This is nice since if you don’t want people to know you dance, you don’t have to worry about someone driving by and seeing you shaking your booty in the window.
“There’s a second form,” the receptionist points. “This one says you’ll let us know if you get hurt or injured during class and that you won’t sue us if you accidentally break an arm.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“It’s never happened in the time I’ve been here.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Thirteen months.”
“Thirteen months…” I tap my chin dramatically. “Sounds okay to me.” I think that if someone was going to break their arm, it would have already happened. Then again, I’m Bailey. I basically have the worst luck in the world. If anyone is going to break their arm, it’s definitely going to be me.
I sign my name with a flourish and hand the forms back, pay for my class, and head back to the classroom with Kasey.
We enter a hallway behind the main room that has a large l
ocker room on the right with showers, sofas, and lockers. On the left, a closed door says “OFFICE.”
“That’s Sassy’s office,” Kasey says. “She’s the owner.”
“Sassy?”
“Yeah, Professor Sassy McMittens.”
I raise an eyebrow, but Kasey ignores me and we move on down the hall. That’s definitely a story for another day. I will not be letting her forget that. What kind of name is that? Is that the owner’s real name? It can’t be.
Surely there’s a story behind this.
I take a look around as we walk. There are doors on the right and left and a large spiral staircase directly in front of us. It looks like something out of a made-for-TV movie or a cartoon. Instantly, images of castles and secrets and adventures run through my mind, and I want to see what’s up that staircase. I take a step forward, but Kasey grabs my arm.
“The stairs lead to an apartment. That’s off-limits.” She points at a little sign hanging across the staircase on a chain that says as much. “The room on the left is for dance classes and yoga-type stuff, and the one on the right is for pole.”
“We want pole.”
“We want pole,” Kasey repeats, and pushes the door open.
We walk inside and I try not to gasp. There are nine poles in three tidy rows. The walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors. At the front of the room, there’s a 10th pole set off by itself. I assume that’s where the instructor teaches.
“Yoga mats are back there,” Kasey points to a corner where there are several rolled mats. “You can bring your own if you prefer. Those are for stretching and stuff like that. Sometimes the floor is too hard to just want to plop down on it. Shoes go in the cubbies.” She points to a set of cubbies and we deposit our shoes, then pick a pole.
“Wait,” I say, realizing something. “Why do we dance barefoot? Aren’t we supposed to wear stilettos?”
“Not today. You can wear them once you’re more comfortable with dancing, but your shoes have to have an ankle strap for safety. Some clubs make you have a wide heel, too.”