The Only Thing
Hands grabbing, drinks spilling, girls dancing, men groaning. She spins around, her hair swinging around her shoulders and her hips shaking to the beat. He feels dirty for being there, so he's tucked away into a dark corner of room as punishment. The bass from the speakers is practically deafening him, but he can't bring himself to step outside. He doesn't think that she realizes he's there, and he's grateful for that. He comes here every night, just for her, and not for the obvious reasons. It's because he feels like someone should be there for her, even though she doesn't know it. Because maybe if he's there, she can feel it, and she won't be so sad anymore.
The lights are going out, and the girls go backstage. Men stand up from their seats, disappointed the show is over. The bouncer picks three of them up by the handful, plucking them like flowers and kicks them out the door. One, two, three. People are staggering towards the exits, trying to keep their drinks down, because to hell if they throw up their twenty-dollar scotch and water. He stays in his seat, eyes searching for her. A few moments, and then she's there: dark wavy hair a mess, sad little face. He can't stand to see her like this, but it's all she ever looks like these days. The bouncer gives him a look of understanding, and he's confused for a second but then realizes that maybe the bouncer can't stand to see her like this either.
He slides out of his chair and gives the doorman a tight smile, exiting the club and walking briskly towards the side of the building. The door to the dressing room is locked, so he waits outside until she comes out. A couple of the dancers come out before her, and they probably think that he's a pervert, so he tries to look as innocent as possible.
"Marky?" She sounds surprised to see him standing there, and she crosses her arms over her chest because of the cold. "Did Roger send you down here?"
"No, I…I just…" He hadn't thought this through; what he would say when he met up with her. "I wanted to pick you up, because…I saw a weird guy hanging out around this alleyway earlier."
"That's like every alleyway in New York, Mark," she smiles.
He shrugs. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe, Mimi."
"Aw," she coos, and makes him feel like a little kid. "That's so sweet, Marky."
"Yeah, well, I just don't want that guy to kidnap you and have to deal with Roger's wrath."
Mimi's grin grows wider. "So, are you going to walk me home, or not? Because I'm freezing, and my legs feel like Popsicles."
She starts walking along the icy sidewalk, a puff of vapor escaping from between her lips.
"Wait, Mimi." He closes his eyes and regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. "I have to talk to you."
Mark watches as she turns around slowly, as if she knows what he's about to say. She smiles anyways, and Mark wonders if she just starting using smiles as a defense mechanism, or if he'd just never noticed it. "What's up?"
He doesn't waste time. "I don't like your job."
"Well," she hesitates, that ersatz smile never leaving her lips. "I guess it's a good thing that you're not doing it. I mean, can you imagine if you were shaking your ass up there in leather boots?"
"Mimi."
She moves like a cat, but not gracefully. She moves like a cat that's just been in a fight; shaky and stiff and shuddering. There's a harsh quiet for a few moments, and Mark doesn't know what to do but shift his weight back and forth.
"It the only thing I'm good at." Mimi's raspy voice is barely above a whisper. "You have your camera, Roger has his songs. I have dancing."
"Yeah, but not…not that kind, Mimi," Mark says softly, trying to avoid any further conflict. "I mean, when you were a little kid, did you dream of being a ballerina or a stripper?"
Her eyes look glassy, like a porcelain doll. "I don't want to talk about this right now, Mark."
He falters, and then nods his head. "That's okay. Let's just go home."
He wonders if she would mind it if he came again tomorrow.