Code of Ethics

I leaned forward and stretched out my eyelid, angling the liquid eyeliner a way that I knew would give me perfect coverage. The black paint-like substance spread along my lash-line, immediately making my green-blue eyes pop through all the darkness.

“Hey, Tara,” Bethany exclaimed as she entered the dressing room that all the girls shared. “There’s a guy out there who wants a private show.”

“Private show as in the literal meaning or a private show as in I turn into a hooker?” I questioned, flicking my eyes over to the reflection of her face in the mirror.

Bethany shrugged as she crossed her arms over her small chest. “Only one way to find out.”

I shook my head and picked up the bright red lipstick sitting in front of me. “I’ll talk to him after I finish dancing. I can’t worry about that right now.”

“If I were you, I’d go for it,” she chuckled. “And he’s actually kind of cute for once.”

“Obviously, he’s a scumbag if he’s here,” I reminded her. “But I guess cute helps.”

She shrugged. “It can’t hurt. Alright, I gotta get home to my daughter, but I’ll see you on Wednesday night.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then. Say hi to Amber for me.”

Bethany agreed before taking her pink bag out of her cubby and throwing it over her shoulder, careful not to trap any of her waist-long straight blonde hair under the strap.

Once she shut the door behind her, I got up and adjusted the little, nearly see-through bra that made my breasts look perky and desirable. Just the way the men in the audience wanted them to be.

Part of me hated dancing for money, but I knew it was my only option. It paid way more than any waitressing job, and I couldn’t get a repair job on my college campus because I knew absolutely nothing about computers or other kinds of engineering. Being a stripper had a decent pay, and when counting the tips I got, it was by far the most reasonable choice.

I glanced up at the clock before getting to my feet, noting that it was almost time for my shift. On stage, even though I was somewhat clothed in a tight top and short-shorts, the men’s eyes wouldn’t leave my body. Some of them looked lustful, like they wanted nothing more than to rip me off the stage and take me somewhere private. But most of them just looked sad. It was clear they were missing something in their lives, and if it were up to them, they wouldn’t be sitting at a table in a strip club. Maybe they just lacked someone special.

Sucking in a deep breath and ignoring my wandering imagination, I let the beat from the music flood through me. I just had to focus wholly and completely on what I was doing. It was just like I was dancing alone in my room with no one watching me. The eyes meant nothing.



“Hi,” a young man, probably a year or so younger than me, intruded as I attempted to get out of the club. My makeup was already off my face, leaving my mocha-colored skin free and fresh, and I was dressed in a pair of low-slung dark gray baggy sweatpants and a purple racerback tank top. My black curly hair was starting to frizz as the mousse I always kept in it wore off, and I knew I looked far from beautiful.

But the man looked expectant as he looked at me. “Hi,” I replied, clearing my throat and turning toward him, putting one hand on my slender waist. “Can I help you?”

“You’re Tara, right?” I nodded. “I asked one of your…co-workers earlier about the possibility of hiring you for a private show, and she said that I had to talk to you about it because they’re booked through the girls, not through the administration.”

“She’s right,” I responded, adjusting my bag on my shoulder before crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Right now’s not really a good time to discuss it, but if you want to meet for coffee tomorrow, then we can go over the details. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he rushed. “I have to go into work at ten, so is it okay if we meet at nine?”

I nodded. “That’ll be fine. I’ll see you then…um…”

“Harry,” he filled in. “My name’s Harry. So I’ll see you at the Starbucks down the street from here at nine in the morning.”

I agreed with a wide smile, using my perfectly straight and white teeth to my advantage, before maneuvering around him to get to my car.

The little Honda wasn’t much, but it was perfect for me. It was small, while still having a large trunk capacity, and it had awesome gas mileage. To top it off, the old sleazebag had sold it to me for virtually nothing because he recognized me from the club.

And society said that being a stripper wouldn’t get a person anywhere in life.

I swallowed and brushed my hair off my shoulder as I sped down the street, the headlights making the yellow lines in the middle of the road glow like a warning. After a long night of work, with how cold it was outside, I wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch and watch chick flicks with a steaming cup of tea.

My flat was dark when I walked inside, a sign that my roommate was still out with her friends, doing whatever she wanted. Although she shared the apartment, she really only placed an ad for a roommate because her mother wanted her to have some kind of college experience. She could easily afford the flat by herself, since her parents were so rich and willing to throw money around, but Mr. and Mrs. Hanson were afraid that their little girl wouldn’t get enough social interaction if she lived alone.

They had been wrong, of course. Marie was almost never home, and when she was, she was doing the college work that she let pile up until the last possible second. She and I got on quite well, which was good, but we were nowhere near best friends or anything of the like. Friends weren’t something that I had much of, since I didn’t want them to find out what I did to make money, and it worked out just fine for me.

As I filled up the kettle and put it on top of a burner, cranking up the heat, I thought about the Harry kid. He looked so young, so innocent. Maybe I should have asked how old he was before I agreed to meet him. What if he was under eighteen?

I got disgusted just thinking about it. If I had to perform for a bunch of sixteen-year-olds who would just watch me with wide, inexperienced eyes, I’d flip a shit. I made a mental note to make it the first thing I asked Harry when we met for coffee the following day.

The kettle on the stove began to screech, so I made a move to drag it over to the granite countertop, readying a mug that had a beach scene on it with the word Florida written in script underneath and grabbing a tea bag from the cabinet.

As the flavor diffused into the water, I threw my hair up into a sloppy ponytail and walked into the living room to find a movie to watch. Chick flicks were always a guilty pleasure of mine; everything always worked out in the end, no matter what the situation was. It was nice to think that people could find everlasting love in some alternate universes.

After slipping Crazy Stupid Love into the DVD player, I finished preparing my tea in the kitchen and let the advertisements roll.

I scrunched up into the corner of the couch, the tea warming my freezing fingers, and tried not to think about the meeting I’d have to do the next day.