Crashing Down Into Flames

Chapter Song: You Put A Spell On Me- Austin Giorgio

Monday- Night

-Evangeline-
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The rest of the day flew by in the wind. August came back to annoy me and to give me lunch, but with all the work I had to do, I only had time to drink a protein shake. I'll regret it later when my stomach's tearing me apart while stripping, but it'll be fine.

Correcting Charlotte's mistakes with the magazine to finish it, within two hours of getting off, took most of my time. I'm just thanking whatever God is listening to me that Mr. W didn't come back with August, and I didn't bump into James again.

When the stars shine in the darkness, and the moon lights up the city, Mystique comes out. Also known as it's seven at night, and it's time to work at the nightclub.

Our club is called Playhouse. I sometimes joke around with Scarlett and call it Dollhouse because our manager (Pimp Daddy Jose) calls us Dolls.

To be straight, we're not Dolls; we're strippers. Our club is a little different than most strip clubs I've ever been to or worked at. We have women who dress to impress, like wearing clothes that you would see in a work field such as: Businesswomen, firefighters, police officers, and surprisingly, a fast food worker.

You'd think a person would think with the amount of people we have every day that a woman dressed in a police officer uniform or as a firefighter would be the most popular, but it's not. It's the strippers dressed as businesswomen who get the crowd cheering and most tips earned at the end of the day.

We also have women who go naked, wearing nothing to the eye. Women who barely cover themselves, using only candies like Skittles, or M&M as clothes. Or the woman who dresses as furries. That's the worst day. Furry Friday. It makes me glad -even though we choose our own days to work- days to work- I'm off on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.

Even if some of us dress in candy or weird shit that attracts some fetishes, we're all doing crazy shit to earn money for our lives. Damn, good money too.

"Two minutes until you're on stage, Mystique," Jose calls to me as he passes while writing on a clipboard.

"Okay," The voice filter in my mask makes my voice pitch higher like a doll as I reply before he disappears.

For my look today, I've decided to go with all black. A pitch black with a different shade of black laced bra, encrusted in grey jewels. For my bottoms, I'm wearing a matching set because everyone loves a bitch that matches. Both sets can be easily ripped off if needed but I never remove my bottoms.

Over my lingerie, I have on a long black trench coat that covers me up, not showing my lingerie yet.

I adjust the white mask on my face, testing the black straps that blend into the back of my dark royal blue wig. I stare into the white-lined oval mirror -with spear-shaped iridescent lightbulbs along the edge- connected to the back of the white vanity.

I double-check my eyes to make sure no skin is showing. Through the eye holes of my full-faced mask, a thick line of eyeliner, black smokey eyeshadow, and mascara with fake eyelashes is set on my eyes. My eye makeup is thickly layered to show no skin, making my green eyes the only sign of color popping out of my white mask.

Life like this would ruin my day life and career if anyone ever found out, so my whole identity relies on the protection from my mask.

Some of the fifteen strippers sit at their mirrors near mine while others wander around the backroom to get ready for opening.