It’s not my personality to be rowdy like the other guys, constantly working each other up and trying to outdo one another. When Chad, Romeo as he was known on the stage, retired, I became the oldest and most experienced guy on the revue. At thirty, they give me shit about being the old man, but to some of these young twenty somethings, I am.
Since I started dancing with Rainin’ Men, I’ve had a singular goal. To put my little sister through school. The cliché of women pole dancing to pay for college comes to mind. I would never in a million years let Sophie near a strip club or any other profession that would require her to take off her clothes for money. Maybe it’s a double standard, but I’d rather be the one doing it.
With the guys busy giving Ken shit about his new haircut, I grab my phone and dial Sophie. She picks up on the fourth ring.
“Hey.” She’s breathless and there’s shuffling in the background.
“Hey, sis.” I duck my head closer into the quiet of my locker to drown out the guy’s shenanigans. “How’s studying going?”
“Griffin, it’s Saturday night.”
“I’m aware. Aren’t finals in two weeks?”
“Yes.” Her tone is patronizing. This is the part I hate most about our situation. We’re eight years apart, but it feels like twenty. I’d loved to have been the fun-loving big bro that snuck her into bars or covered for her when she was late for curfew, but instead I’ve had to be Grouchy Griffin, as she used to call me in high school, enforcing curfew and thwarting her dating efforts. Not because she was a trouble maker, the opposite in fact, but because I was terrified, and still am, that something might happen to her. “But, I can’t study every minute of every day. Besides, most of my exams are practical and I could only do a mock presentation in the mirror a certain number of times before I started to feel like a deranged person. I already have my final event board complete and I have one budget to edit.”
I think about the hard work Sophie has put into her Hospitality and Event Planning degree. How having her graduate will take a small weight off my back and allow me to focus on something other than dancing to provide for us.
She continues. “And, it’s my last two weeks of college. Now that I know I’m going to graduate, I’m allowed to have some fun, right?”
“Fine. But not too much fun. You need to stay focused on your exams.”
“Yes, sir.” I think I can hear her saluting me through the phone. “How’s the strip tonight?”
“Busy. Lots of bachelorette parties as usual. Should be a good night.” My eyes slide across the room to the guys horsing around. They’ve got Ken in a headlock trying to make him eat some weird looking substance from Dallas’s bag.
“Maybe you’ll loosen up and have some fun yourself?” Sophie teases.
“Doubt it.” I mutter. It’s impossible to not feel like a grandpa around these buffoons. “I gotta go. The guys are acting like a bunch of animals.”
“So, the usual?” She laughs. “Love you, G.”
“I love you, Soph. See you in the morning.”
I end the call with Sophie just as Rita, our choreographer, bounds through the door.
“All right, guys, listen up. Jackson pulled his groin last night,” Rita’s words are interrupted by several hoots and hollers, whoo, shit and yeah he did, “and he won’t be dancing tonight.” Rita finishes, her eyes narrowed on the interrupters. “I know you’re excited for your friend that he had a fun night, but now he’s missing the bonus that goes with tonight’s shows.”
“Griffin.” Rita’s eyes find me. “You’ll take point on the closer. Dallas, I need you to take Jackson’s construction worker routine. Make sure Vince knows your music so we don’t have an issue like last time.”
Low chuckles fill the room until Dallas heads them off with a glare.
After the group disbands, Rita pulls me aside.
“How are you feeling tonight?”
“Same as always.” I roll my shoulders out to loosen up.
She shakes her head and laughs. “Try to have fun out there.”
Five minutes later, the curtain lifts on our opening number. The theater is dark, the audience cast out by the blinding stage lights, but I can still hear them. The women, and men, that are paying my bills, Sophie’s college tuition, and keeping my aspirations for a different life alive. When the music starts, a loud thumping bass that pulses like a sexual climax, my body takes over. The dance moves rehearsed and performed a thousand times. I don’t have to think about it anymore. My shirt comes off and the hours in the gym are immediately recognized by the crowd of screaming females donning sashes and tiaras, and sipping on their overpriced cocktails. My hips roll and thrust suggestively, one hand snakes down my bare chest eliciting cat calls. I’ve learned over the years I can look past them, not seeing anyone in particular, yet look like I’m giving them each a personal caress with my eyes. It’s a learned skill. One that Chad taught me. His ability to be aloof, just out of anyone’s reach, is a honed skill. One that has served me well over the years. Not making any personal connections, in the audience or elsewhere, that was a life lesson courtesy of my parents.