Prologue
“Here, Puss Puss.”
I cringe. And when I say cringe, I mean more like recoil. The vomit rising from the pit of my stomach is about to spew uncontrollably from within me, like a volcano ready to erupt. Having previously felt a sharp tug on the synthetic tail that swung between my legs, I’d spun around rapidly to see who the culprit was.
A balding, middle-aged man stands before me. Well, he’s not exactly standing, no, to put it bluntly, he’s hanging from the stairwell bannister, like the lobotomised baboon he is.
In the hand that isn’t welded to the glossy mahogany wood, he holds a tall glass. Judging from his current state, I’m guessing it’s some wild concoction of strong alcohol.
His seedy eyes burrow into mine, undressing me, like any second now he’ll be able to strip what little clothes I’m wearing from my body with telekinesis mind power. Clumps of vomit cling from an unkempt beard, which, unbeknownst to him, are gradually rolling down his chin and landing in his drink with a disgusting ’plop ’sound.
What a charmer.
I won’t lie, I’m feeling rather uneasy clad in just black leather. A halter-neck top and matching mini Ra-Ra skirt. I shift awkwardly from one foot to the other, distributing my weight just in case I have to ‘do a runner.’ My legs, thankfully, are shielded by a pair of fluffy black leg warmers that, after much deliberation, the boss had been considerate enough to let me wear. Even if he had only agreed because I’m a newbie.
Otherwise, I am all but naked.
“What can I do for you, Sir?” I enquire sweetly, through gritted teeth.
Gripping the tail between my fingers, I swing it absently in a circle. Maybe I’ll be able to use it as a weapon if needed. If I get that desperate. Failing that, I’ll just use the six-inch heels I’m wearing...
“Don’t you mean what can I do for you Pussy-cat?”
Even in his drunken stupor, he manages to put emphasis on the ‘I’...Impressive. When he finally releases his hold on the bannister, he stumbles over to where I’m standing, stopping far too close for my liking. The stench of his foul, alcohol and vomit soaked breath on my face sends bile rising in my throat again. To be honest, I’m just amazed that he can stand unaided at this point.
Feeling incredibly uncomfortable, I avert my eyes in hopes that the man will shift his unwanted attention to one of the other girls, or better still, leave the venue entirely.
Unfortunately for me, the universe appears to be against me.
Like a starving lion, his paw-like hand reaches out and snakes around my waist, forcing me up against his sweaty body.
His jagged, filthy fingernails dig into the soft skin of my midriff, causing me to gasp in shock. I shove my hands against his chest, desperately trying to pry myself from his grip, but he’s strong, despite his current state. A ghoulish laugh leaves his mouth in victory. “I love it when you girls put up a fight.”
My eyes dart around in every direction, and I quickly realise there’s no one in view to save me. I have to do something, anything to get out of this. In sheer desperation, I lift my knee, high above my chest and plunge my foot down onto his foot, the pointed heel of my black stilettos piercing cleanly through the thick black leather shoe.
His anguish scream is music to my ears, and he immediately releases me. With my hands still firmly on his chest, I thrust backwards with all my strength. He plummets to the floor, clutching his wounded foot. I lunge away from him, putting as much distance between us as possible. I’ve been in enough situations like this to know never to stay within reach.
“Kitty!”
A wave of relief floods over me at the deep, familiar tone of Ivan, my boss.
“Get him the fuck out of here!” He bellows, muscles tensing as two of his guys haul the man off the floor. “You lay a hand on my girls again, and I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your miserable life! You’re banned!”
He watches them drag the man from the building, then turns to me.
“Are you OK?” He places a gentle hand on my bare arm, and I shudder under his touch.
I manage a nod, eyes wide and panting hard. My heart hammers against my ribcage, as if it’s trying to break free. I kick off my heels, staring in horror at the blood smeared on the heel.
“Come with me upstairs, Kitty. I need to talk to you anyway.” He says.
I nod in confirmation and allow him to lead me up the red-carpeted stairs at the rear of the room. The soft carpet feels wonderful against the bare skin of my aching feet. I can’t pretend I’m not aware of the number of eyes on my back as we ascend higher, but I try my best to ignore them.
We approach a wooden door. Ivan pulls a small silver key from his pocket and slowly turns it in the lock. The door groans, and he waves me in with his hand.
Exhausted, I slump down onto the leather chair that sits behind Ivan’s temporary desk. He sits himself on the chair opposite, watching me deep in thought.
Is it just me, or is everything in this club made of leather?
Either that or covered in animal print.
Makes sense though, with a name like ‘On Safari’. I wasn’t sure at first, but I must say I’m warming to the theme of the club. Every woman who works here has their own animalistic identity. Victoria Vixen and Rogue Raven happen to be my personal favourites. When I had told Ivan my name during the interview, he’d practically handed the job to me on a plate, based on my name alone.
“So,” he begins. “Honestly, that kind of thing really doesn’t happen often.”
Well, that’s reassuring to hear, isn’t it?
“But you do seem pretty shook up. Are you going to be alright?” He asks, eyebrows raised toward the ceiling.
I nod simply.
“Wonderful!” He claps his hands, rubbing them together as though nothing ever happened. “So we need to discuss your debut, Sweetie. If you remember, we talked about it at the interview.”
" I remember,” I say, avoiding eye contact.
How could I forget? I’ve been dreading it every day since. The debut was a solo performance that must be done by each member of the performance team, after a four-week period of working at the club. Ivan basically uses it as a way of testing his employees’ confidence, to see if we suit the role. It’s also an excellent way to increase publicity, apparently, to get ourselves known within the club.
I’d heard from Victoria that Raven had covered herself in whipped cream and chocolate sauce. It’s sort of like an initiation, I guess. I’ve heard they do similar things when you go to University.
“Have you had a think about what you want to do for yours?” He asks, leaning his chin on his hand, genuinely curious.
I glance back at Ivan.
He’s in his early thirties, I’d guess, with short jet-black hair that sticks up in spikes all over his head. Currently, his biceps are attempting to burst out of his short-sleeved fitted shirt, and it’s difficult to find an area of his skin that isn’t inked with tattoos. I lose myself, gazing at the ornate lettering of one in particular, located on his left arm. It reads ‘Raven.’
“Kitty?” He says, waving a hand in front of my face.
I shake myself out of my trance.
“Can I sing?” The words are out of my mouth before my brain has even had the chance to contemplate how stupid I sound.
“Sing?” He repeats, eyebrows raised, peering up at me from under his lashes.
I nod, watching him anxiously as he bites his bottom lip in contemplation.
“Raven turned herself into a human dessert. Victoria put on a burlesque show, and you,” he raises a finger at me at this point. “Want to sing?”
I stare down at my hands, twitching nervously in my lap. It sounds tame, in comparison to what the other girls had done, but there is no way in hell I would have the confidence to do something so risqué. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I hear the distinct creak of his chair. He leans back in the chair rubbing his stubbly chin with the end of a ball-point pen.
“One condition,” he replies, his voice so sharp it makes me jump.
He’s watching me out of the corner of his dark eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“I get to pick your outfit.”
I gulp, “Sure,” I agree, forcing a smile onto my lips.
It doesn’t sound like I have a choice.
Ivan chews his pen for a moment longer, then rises to his feet behind the desk.
“Fantastic. Now that’s sorted, we need to arrange for you to take part in the team photoshoot.”
I stand out of courtesy. There’s a significant difference between our heights, especially as I’m not wearing any shoes, and I suddenly feel rather small.
“I’ll call you when I’ve arranged it. Until then, you’re a free woman,” he grins, giving me a wink.
I nod for the final time tonight and flee the room without a word. Once I’m back in the safety of the changing rooms, I remove my ‘uniform,’ much happier in my own clothes.
I exit the building, heading out into the night. It’s a lovely, clear evening, and from here I can see the stars for miles. A small smile creeps onto my face as I leap into my beat-up old hatchback, waiting patiently for me where I left it in the car park. The engine kicks into life with a groan. I shove my fingers in front of the heater, desperate for the warmth.
Can I do this?
With a heavy sigh, I steer towards the exit and down the long, empty road.
Once again, I don’t have a choice.
