Tonight will be my first shift at Penthouse as a go-go dancer, and despite my experience with performing in front of an audience, I’m anxious. It runs through my limbs like electric pulses, snapping and zapping as the hours countdown. But I can’t sit around waiting, so I pull on some tights and use the living room to practice the routines Tina helped me choreograph. 

After a while, my father shuffles in and relaxes in his Lazy-Boy recliner to watch TV. His memory is spottier than usual today, and he’s snarled at my mom a few times. The doctor says it will happen and not to take it personally—his mind is confused. Yet, it doesn’t change how hard it is for my mother to see the love of her life become someone else as he battles a disease none of us can control.

He clicks through channels and stops when he gets to the news, then sets the remote down and folds his hands over his little pot belly. He’s adorable sometimes. I continue dancing but come to a halt when the news anchor says the holidays are over, but the murders aren’t.

The broadcast cuts to a scene in an alleyway with flashing police lights as the anchor proceeds with the update.

“Did they just say a body was found?” I ask my dad.

“That’s five since November, and all with similar markings.” 

“Similar markings?” I quirk my brow.

“Each time they find one, the victim is in her twenties, and they have marks around their wrists and ankles like they were tied up. All strangled, too.”

“Oh, my God…” my hands go to my chest, and I swallow the bile rising in my throat. 

“I think it’s a serial killer. Someone is always trying to be the new Zodiac, and I’m worried.”

“Why are you worried?”

 “Because this world can be such an awful place, and I have two daughters. I want them to be safe. You know?”

“Yeah, I know…”

“My oldest daughter, Lydia, is married, so her husband can protect her, but my youngest, Mara.” His brows crease with concern. “She’s still in high school, and she walks home from school. Maybe I should buy her pepper spray.” 

“I think she’d appreciate that,” I sigh and resume dancing. 

My father rubs his forehead, his eyes searching the carpet like he’s digging for memories that he knows are there but can’t pluck from the depths of his foggy mind. I twirl, and it catches his attention.

“Are you a ballerina?” His eyes light up.

“Yes, I am, but I lost my job.”

“Why?”

“I was let go.”

“Well, that’s absurd. You’re a star.”

“Far from it,” I laugh softly, but it turns into a sob, so I wipe my eyes and turn away.

There have been so many occasions where I’ve had entire conversations with my dad before realizing he has no idea who I am. At least this time, I caught on quicker before pouring my heart out about the fears I have about tonight. My father’s recliner squeaks, and then his rough hands smooth over my shoulders. 

“What’s wrong, mijita?”

I spin around, wiping the snot from my runny nose. “Dad?”

“Ay, Mara! You’re crying.” He pulls me into a hug and rubs circles into my back. “What’s wrong, mi niña?” 

“Nothing. I guess the tragic news broadcast got to me.”

“What tragic news?”

“About the woman who was killed.” I point to the TV.

“Oh…” He looks at the screen like he’s trying to remember, then shakes his head and kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry, mijita. Lucas and I will always protect you.”

“I know.” I try to smile.

“No more tears.” He wipes my cheeks. “Your papa would wrestle a bear for you.” 

“I bet you would,” I chuckle and hug him tightly.

No one understands how precious memory is until we witness a loved one slowly lose theirs. So I cherish the times my dad is just my dad, not the stranger married to my mom. I breathe in this moment and hold him for as long as possible.

It’s a moment where I get to be his favorite again.

∆∆∆

There’s something about walking into Penthouse as an employee that removes the fantasy and strips it down to a paycheck. Taking a deep breath, I walk into the employee lounge, where I find other dancers chatting like girlfriends, their laughter filling the air, but some rubberneck in curiosity. I flash a smile and head for an empty locker to put my things away near Bianca. She’s fluffing her hair and winks at me through her compact mirror. The black booty shorts and sheer black tights we’re required to wear look like they were designed for her body. 

I'm a bit jealous.

Compared to the Brazillian babe, I look like a noodle as I take a deep breath and peel off my joggers and hoodie with trembling fingers.

“Hi. I’m Jillian.” One of the dancers approaches, her hand out for me to shake. She’s gorgeous with raven black hair and eyes like a cat’s. 

“I’m Mara.”

“Lucas’s sister?” 

“Yes...”

“He’s so hot.”

Another girl eyes me. “Lucas, is your brother? Interesting.”

“Nepotism,” someone huffs under their breath, and my heart sinks.

Great. They’re all going to think I got this gig because of my brother, not because I was one of the best. This won’t go over well, but I can’t focus on that now. Instead, I adjust my black corset tank top that says Penthouse across the bust in gold print.

“Here. Let me help,” Jillian chuckles. “You want the twins to look sexy in this thing. Turn around.” She gives the corset strings a few tugs, practically smooshing my boobs toward my chin. “Perfect! But these shorts...” she tuts and hikes them further up my ass crack, making me yelp. “There we go. Gotta show off that cute tushy.”

“If these shorts go any higher, they’ll be a thong.”

“Exactly.” Jillian bobs her brow.

“Alright, ladies!” Tina walks in, holding a box, and all the dancers stand at attention like she's a drill sergeant. “Tonight’s theme is Welcome to the Jungle, so these cute banana leaf crowns are part of your uniform today. We also have makeup artists arriving shortly, and I swear to God, if one of you tries to deviate from the color theme, I will fire you. Our event coordinator goes to a lot of trouble to organize everything. Do not disrespect her.” She eyes one of the girls, and the others tease her, so Tina claps. “Let’s get back on track! The doors open at ten, and you must take your positions no later than ten-thirty. Got it?”

“Yes,” we all answer.

“Good. See you out there, ladies.”

I turn to Jillian. “How do I know which position I’m in?”

“There’s a chart on the wall.” She points. “Your dance platform is upstairs. In the VIP section with the high rollers. Lucky girl.”

When ten PM arrives, I step onto the dance floor with smokey, emerald eyeshadow, the banana leaf crown, and my uniform tucked into crevices I didn’t think were possible. Music starts pulsing as the DJ awakens the atmosphere and guests trickle in. I'm still anxious, so I inhale deeply and take everything in. My brother is here and looks at home behind the bar as he stands on a wooden ladder, doing a quick inventory of the top shelf bottles, with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. 

“We’re allowed one drink,” Jillian says next to me. “I like having mine early to get hyped. Come on!” 

She drags me up to Lucas and drums the bar top with her knuckles to grab his attention. My brother glances over his shoulder.

“What do you need, Jills.”

“Rude. We need a drink.”

“We?” He turns and spots me, then mutters something under his breath while climbing off the ladder. “What’ll it be, ladies?”

Jillian rattles off some fancy drink for us, and he gets to work shaking it up. A couple of other dancers approach and practically salivate while watching him. I hope it’s not like this every time, or I’ll puke. Another bartender joins him, and the girls whistle when he removes his jacket.

“Looking good, Gerard." Jillian blows a kiss.

“Not as good as you.” He winks.

“Such a flirt.”

“I think you have me beat,” he laughs, enhancing the dimples in his tan cheeks.

Jillian bumps my shoulder and whispers, “He's such a lady's man, but I’m the only one who’s seen him naked.”

“Are you dating?”

“No. We fuck, but I'm hoping to get with your brother next.”

One of the girls scoffs. "Get in line, slut. I have dibs."

"I'm not a slut!" Jillian laughs.

"Right." She turns to her. "Let's see. You slept with Gavin, Jude, Miguel—"

"Stop. I did not sleep with Miguel!"

"Oh, my bad. It was Mateo."

They continue bantering, and my eyes grow wider and wider at their list of conquests like it's a competition. I barely know these women, yet they're spilling tea in front of me. Lucas slides our drinks across the bar, and everyone grabs one, but when I reach for mine, he places his hand over mine.

“Hang back a bit.”

“Ok…”

He waits for the dancers to leave, then looks me in the eyes, all serious. So, I know I’m about to get an earful of brotherly talk.

“Be careful," he says. "These girls aren’t your friends. You’re their competition.” 

“I'll be fine. I can take care of myself.” 

“You should have told me you wanted to work here. I could have hooked you up with a waitressing position.”

“I’m sick of waiting tables. I’m a dancer.” 

“But go-go dancing? Mara, come on. This is like a step up from stripping. You’re too good for this.” 

“Again, if I'm too good for this place, why do you work here?”

“It's different for me."

"Right, because you're a guy." I roll my eyes.

“No." He furrows his brows. "It's because I'm your big brother, and I'll always want what's best for you. I don't want you to give up on your dream.”

"I'm not. This is temporary."

"Just..." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Be careful. You can't trust everyone."

“Yeah, yeah, I love you, too.” I grab my drink and walk away.

∆∆∆

It’s getting close to one AM, and my uniform is swamped with sweat, and my leaf crown is wilting. However, I’m having a blast while twisting and twirling on the small platform I was assigned. Guests ignore me as they mingle and groove, except for one man. He’s an older guy. Perhaps late forties, with salt and pepper sideburns, while the rest of his short, thick hair is dark and wavy. He doesn’t precisely stare but glances, frequently between chatting with the people at his booth.

I noticed his eyes first—a piercing turquoise blue like Havasu Falls.

Judging by the men he’s with, it might be a business meeting that spilled into a night of pleasure with Instagram models keeping them company. However, Mr. Blue Eyes doesn’t pay attention to those women—only me. The music changes, and the lights become ivy green while lasers pulse to the beat. I love this song. So, I close my eyes and move my hips to the samba rhythm.

A deep voice shouts something over the music, pulling me out of my dancing trance, and when I open my eyes, it’s the older gentleman.

Standing in front of me.

“What did you say?” I shout back, cupping my ear.

“I like the way you move,” he says louder. “You feel the melody. Like it’s a language, you’re interpreting. It’s…” He rubs his jawline, a smile tugging one corner of his mouth, his blue eyes meeting mine. “It’s different from the other dancers. Refreshing. They dance to show off, but you dance for yourself.”

I laugh softly, “How do you know I’m dancing for myself?”

“I can just tell.” He smiles, and it’s a genuine one that brightens his eyes with little creases. “I’m Enzo Esposito.”

“Mara Santiago.” I shake his hand.

“It was good to meet you, Tiny Dancer.”

He slides his hand out of mine and returns to his table but leaves behind something crisp and folded in my palm. When I glance down, there is not one, but two hundred dollar bills. My jaw drops, and I’m unsure if I’m insulted, grateful, or confused. I look at Enzo, but he's back to chatting with his colleagues.

Is this why Jillian said I was lucky to be assigned the VIP section tonight? 

Lucky me, indeed.

Stuffing the money into my corset, I continue dancing, grinning from ear to ear.

I could get used to this.