Code of Ethics

My breathing was loud in my ears as I entered my flat. I buried my hand in my shirt and brought the bottom hem up to my forehead, trying desperately to mop of the droplets of salty sweat that raced toward my eyes, wanting desperately to blind me. I just needed to shower more than anything in the world. I had no idea how far I’d run, but considering my muscles were already aching, I could guess that it had been much farther than I usually did.

I was ready to throw open my door, gather up as many clothes as possible, and disappear into the shower for a good ten years, when I heard her voice for the first time in days. “Tara, we need to talk.”

I turned slowly, biting my lower lip anxiously. “Um, can it wait? I just have to-”

“No, it can’t wait. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and I finally have the words I want to say to you.”

So she knew, and she wasn’t happy about it. She was probably going to kick me out, and I’d be stuck living on the streets, a beggar.

I used my arm to wipe off some more of the sweat and put my clean sleeping shorts, pants, and V-neck t-shirt on the table next to me. “What did you want to say?”

“I read about those things in the magazines. Are they true?”

“Depends on what you’re talking about.” But I knew what she meant. Why I didn’t want to admit to it, I had no idea. Really, I was probably just digging myself into an increasingly bigger hole that would be so much harder to escape from.

“Are you a stripper? Is that how you’ve been getting the money to stay here?” The disgust was evident in her tone, and it was clear that she was unable to distinguish between a stripper and a prostitute. Though, to be fair, many of the girls in the club couldn’t make that distinction, either.

“Yes, I’m a stripper.” My voice sounded distant and cold, like I was struggling to keep from getting emotionally invested in the discussion. “Which means that I dance, and then I walk away. Sometimes I do private parties, but I still just dance.”

“Do you do lap dances?”

I winced. “It’s rare that someone asks me for one, since they don’t think that I’ll be willing, but I will if I’m requested.”

She swallowed audibly, her lips turning down in the corners. She was absolutely horrified by the sight of me, and it was clear that out months of friendship was being thrown in the rubbish. “I don’t understand how you can do that to yourself.”

That sentence, as well as the tone of condescension that came with it, set me over the edge. “Of course you don’t understand!” I yelled, feeling the blood rush to my already flushed face. “You’re fucking rich, Marie! You’re rolling in money! I don’t have that luxury. My mother was a useless crack whore, and I’ve had to work so hard to get to where I am. And if that means that I have to be a stripper to get the money to get me through law school, then so be it! And if that’s what I want to do, then I’m not sure it should be any of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business!” Marie’s voice skyrocketed to reach the volume of mine, and I hoped that the neighbors were enjoying the bit of drama. “You live in my home.”

“What does that have to do with my job?! Have I ever brought anything here that has been even remotely inappropriate? Like I said, I’m a stripper. I don’t know why everyone assumes that means I must be a hooker, too.”

She still looked horrified. “I just don’t want that kind of person around me, someone who cares so little for their body that they’d dance around on a stage and exploit themselves for a few dollars.”

“It pays fairly well.” My tone had somewhat settled, though the adrenaline still pounded through my body, alerting me that I could go off again at any second. “And are you sure you’re offended by my body image, or are you insecure that you could never feel comfortable enough with the way you look to do the same thing?”

That was one thing I’d noticed about people. Many of the women that had problems with strippers, that found us disgusting, were actually just worried that we were more attractive to their husbands, that they would never be able to compete with us. Of course, that wasn’t the case. Guys that came to watch the strippers were going for a quick jolly; for long term relationships, they wanted something more broadly appealing. A pretty face could only go so far, and men, no matter how dumb they were, at least acknowledged that fact.

And although I’d meant the words I said to Marie to be the end of the argument, where she accepted that my job had nothing to do with her, she just looked deeply offended. “Why the fuck,” she started slowly, her eyes narrowing into slits, looking scarier than I’d ever seen her before, “do you think I’d ever want to be as low as you? The kind of person you are is so incredibly below me, and I would never want to be on that level.”

I felt sick. For whatever reason, I hadn’t thought she’d sink there, to telling me that I was basically a walking nothing. That I wasn’t worth anything.

But I couldn’t let her know that she hurt me. “If you think I’m so below you,” I hissed, “then find someone who’s up to your incredibly high level when you’re looking for someone to edit your shit essays for school. I wouldn’t want to ruin them with my poverty.”

I started to walk away, going back toward the bathroom, figuring the argument was over. But I heard footsteps running after me, and then Marie screeched, “GET OUT. Get out of my flat.”

I turned around, scared, but forcing my face look threatening instead. “And where do you expect me to go, princess? I don’t have Daddy to take me in and make sure that I have three meals a day.”

“I don’t fucking care, but you’re not staying here. I don’t need rubbish like you stinking up where I live.”

Pompous priss. I wanted more than anything to reach out and slap her, to rip out her perfect hair, anything. Time and time again, I found myself getting my trust and friendliness thrown back in my face. I should have stayed the way I was in high school, where I tried to focus on just myself, depending on my own creativity to get me out of scuffles without needing to wait for anyone else’s approval. Because other people were selfish and cruel, and they never looked out for anyone.

“Fine.” Without another word, I stormed into my room and packed up all my belongings. Because I had so little, I was able to fit all of it in a couple of duffel bags.

When I moved to my pants drawer, my breath caught when I saw the wads of money I’d tucked in there, what seemed like a hundred years previously. Finally, it was going to get put to good use. “Thank you, Harry,” I whispered, fighting back the tears.

And without another word to Marie, or without so much as a passing glance, I stormed out of the flat and slammed the door shut behind me, stinking sweat and all.