LITMIR.BIZ

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and water….

      Molly seems to be almost in physical pain when asked a question and literally shrinks back from the others. Alicia and Trish seem to hit it off for no apparent reason. I sense a common thread, not all that dissimilar to my own past.

      By this time, Carol is on her second cup and Trish has almost finished her water. Pam helps herself to a mug of coffee. Alicia takes a water. And Molly refrains from treating herself to anything.

      I allow them to finish their beverages and mingle for a few minutes. All the while, thoughts tumble their way through my mind. Man! What have I gotten myself into? I mean, look at them. Each is a train wreck of despair and a hard life. Who am I to think that I can make a difference? With every fiber of my psyche protesting and telling me to abort, I begin my first pole-dancing class.

C HAPTER N INE

       Class Has Begun

      Looking at my merry bunch of misfits, I realize that I’ll have to draw upon my people skills if I’m to succeed, and I say, “I thought we’d begin by introducing ourselves.” I can’t help but notice the apprehensive looks that mask my students’ faces, suggesting that they hide their feelings. “Some of you appear a little skeptical.” A little? More like jumping out of their skins. “How about if I begin? My name’s Sally Whitmore. I’m thirty-two. My life used to be really messed up. I was a prostitute, crack addict and a stripper.” I grab hold of the pole beside me and circle it. “Spent a lot of years hating myself, having no self-confidence and loathing what I allowed others to do to me. And then I hit rock bottom.” I pause to notice how the women are entranced and have relaxed as if hearing my story has allowed each of them to connect with me. “I imagine that each of you has your own tale to tell. Like mine, some might not be so pretty.”

      Trish spits out, “Yeah? My heart breaks for you.”

      Inwardly, I recoil from her verbal attack but hide my reaction, knowing that it’ll only embolden her. I let go of the pole and look at Trish. I emit no anger or judgment. Instead, when I speak, it’s with compassion and understanding. “The thing that turned my life around was when I began to like my Self. The day I could finally look at my reflection in the mirror without turning away was the day I knew I was on the right track. That’s what I want to give each of you. The opportunity to lose a few pounds, build your self-confidence and self-esteem and learn to accept who you are.”

      “Wow!” Trish says. “You act all uppity for someone who was such a mess.”

      “Why would you say that?”

      Trish sniffs. “All educated…put together. Like you’re better than us.”

      “My experience brought me to my knees,” I say as I begin pacing before my students, making eye contact with each. “It taught me to look to myself for the strength I needed to gain a better life. I’m humbled by each of you showing up here and giving me the chance to—”

      “To what? Turn us into little…yous? Ha! Thank you, no. Like myself just the way I am.”

      I note Trish’s tough-girl in-control appearance punctuated by her hair pulled back into a stern ponytail. She’s perfectly chiseled. Wouldn’t doubt that she’s sporting an eight-pack under her cropped T-shirt. And I can see the defined musculature of her thighs through her leggings. Her fresh minimalistic makeup tells me she likes to keep things simple. I bet her life is anything but. I realize that now is the time for me to take control. If I push too hard, Trish will spin on her heels and bolt. I can see it in her eyes. I approach her and say, “Then why did you respond to my ad?”

      “Thought it might be fun.”

      “That’s it?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

      Her bluff called, Trish says, “Mostly….”

      I smile at her. “All I’m asking is that we each give the other a chance.” Without taking my eyes from her, I continue, “I’ve told you a bit about myself. What’s your story?”

      “Ex-stripper. Like you.”

      “How long?”

      “Five years.”

      I see an opening. “Tough work, isn’t it?”

      In between noisily smacking her gum, Trish answers, “You can say that.”

      Good, we’re forming a connection. She’s realizing that I’m not the enemy. Maybe there’s hope for her…. “Would you like to demonstrate a move or two for us?” I say.

      Trish sizes me up, probably in an attempt to see if I’m mocking her. Deciding I’m not, she says, “All right,” as she heads to the pole I’ve been circling.

      She rests her back against it and leans her head back as if connecting with it brings her comfort. Slowly, she rocks her head from side to side and then spins herself so that she’s facing the pole. Reaching high above her, she grabs hold and, hand-over-hand, inches her way up, her feet wrapped around it beneath her. Once up a distance, she lets go with her feet and pushes her body out perpendicular to the pole.

      It’s then that I see her true strength. Her muscles don’t shake or strain. In fact, she seems perfectly at ease. Our eyes lock. She holds the pose a minute longer and then releases herself, returning to the floor with grace.

      Alicia says, “That was amazing!”

      I turn my gaze from Trish to Alicia. “Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”

      “Well, I’m not sure I can ever do that,” she says, pointing at the pole. “But I’m looking to do something that will make me feel better about myself.”

      There’s an awkward long pause where I don’t know if she’s going to continue or not. I wait. We all do. Alicia stands there, voiceless. I take in her faded looks. Bet she used to be real pretty. But now she appears…used up. I recognize that look. Her black eye shadow, eyeliner and dark-toned glossy lipstick complement her black drastic short haircut. Her black clothing adds to her macabre look but with a hint of sexuality. Well, maybe more than a hint. Her low-cut sexy dress is short enough to reveal the tops of her gartered stockings. I’d bet anything that she’s wearing a black g-string to match. Surprised she’s not wearing lingerie as her clothing. Where did that come from? That was just catty. I shake my head and say, “Anything else you want to share with us?”

      “Not really.”

      All righty then. Isn’t she the little talker? I look at Carol. If ever we needed some enthusiasm, now’s the time. “What brings you here?”

      “Well, aren’t we all looking to improve upon ourselves?”

      “What are you hoping to gain?” I ask.

      Carol tilts her head, lost in thought, before answering, “I guess I want to learn how to have fun. You know. Let my hair down.” A nervous laugh escapes her. “I’m always so in control. Everything in its place. Everything perfect. Spend a lot of time attending to those things. But no one ever seems to notice. Feel like I’m missing life…like it’s passing me by. I’m tired of fussing over insignificant things like making sure the house could pass a white-glove inspection. I flit from one meaningless task to another. By the end of each day I wonder where the time’s gone, and what I have gained.” She stops and views our stunned faces. “Oh, was that too much to share all at once?”

      “I find your enthusiasm refreshing,” I reply. “Too many never get up the courage to reveal themselves to others.”

      I turn my attention to Molly, who looks as if she’s been the victim of a pink explosion. Her T-shirt and short skirt are complementing shades of pink. Her nails, both finger and toes, are painted Barbie pink. She looks like a girly-girl. Hell, even her make-up is done in subtle shades of pink. Well, all except her false lashes that are

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