Long auburn curls surged and wound around her head and shoulders as she twirled. The knee-high fuck-me-boots carved a perfect curve around her calf. Six inches above, a black miniskirt stretched across her thighs and hips, shaping and shaped by her narrow, though shapely, hips. She let the tight red leather jacket slide off her shoulders and down her arms as she leaned back, arms stretched back and down, head thrown back, eyes closed. Stopping the slow spin, she arched herself upright and stood to her full 5’8” height, the boots helping her near six feet.

As the song changed, and the loud, heavy techno music switched to something more industrial, she turned and made her way across the dance floor. She brushed past dancers grinding and sweating, bodies charged with static, clinging through the sheer electricity of the tension and the sounds. The DJ’s switched off, Dizzy heading to the bar for a bottle. Slice held a pen light in his teeth and flipped through a crate of 12 inch singles. She waved, a twinkling cascade of fingers, to Dizz as he passed and blew her a kiss. She finally crossed the dancefloor and made it to the back door.

She walked through, into the small dressing room behind the risers. The thump of the bass was all that remained of the music, but it offered a comforting drone through the wall. She headed to her locker, stepped up on a chair, unzipped first one boot, then the other, and stowed them in the bottom. A tiny pair of 6-eye Dr. Martens boots waited for her on the top shelf, and she sighed as she slipped them on. The air sole cushioned her aching feet; she’d been dancing since 8, and it was nearly 12:30. Once the club switched over at midnight, she didn’t have to keep working the pole. The clubkids and goth crowd came in to listen to Dizzy and Slice, and she would mingle with them and enjoy the tunes. But today she just wanted to head home, and take a long hot bath.

She tied the second boot, and slammed the locker shut. She’d just head home in this gear… it wasn’t that different from what she’d wear out and about anyway. Catch a cab, grab a gyro, walk a block back to her studio. The place on the corner made them just right, without too much tziki. All she needed was to pick up her check and pay the bar from her tips. She turned and walked over to the door on the east wall. She pushed it open and went inside. Another door was on the perpendicular wall, leading out to a hallway off to the right.

The room was small, with a desk, a couch, a chair, and a recliner.The lamp on the desk cast the only light in the room, giving it an almost sepia glow. Behind the desk, a large man with a sweaty forehead was looking at a stack of cash, counting some out into stacks. In the background, behind him, a radio crackled with sports scores and weather reports. She handed the man a stack of twenties—it had been a good night, for just four hours work. He flipped through the cash, nodded with an approving expression, and reached into the lap drawer of the desk. He handed her an envelope, which she folded and stuffed into the interior pocket of her jacket. She smiled and nodded with a low “thanks,” and turned and strode from the room.

Her legs were long, and she placed one foot in front of the other proudly. In a good mood, her catlike walk was sassy and had a skip in the step. Lucy looked back over her shoulder at the man before she walked out the back door and down the hallway to the alleyway out back. She winked and blew him a kiss, then left. She walked up the cracked pavement toward a nearby streetlamp. As she passed the dumpsters, trashcans, and grafitti splattered walls, a startled cat hissed and ran away.