Author's note: Just a bit of drabble pertaining to Cath's stripper days. Circa 1978.
*
Catherine was unable to distinguish between the throb of the music and her own heartbeat anymore, the speakers were blaring so loudly. She cast a final look over her shoulder at the black & white photograph of Lily Flynn in full showgirl regalia, taped to the mirror above the vanity that belonged to her now. Cat's corner, they were calling it.
"Sorry, Mom," she said, and passed through the dressing room curtain just as "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner kicked into high gear.
"Hey, kitty cat, better get your sweet little ass out there," said a tall brunette, whisking by in high heels, completely topless. "Revved 'em up for you."
"Thanks, Tiff."
For a split second, she wanted to turn and run. Maybe it wasn't too late to go back home, tell her mother she'd had a change of heart, wanted to be her little girl again.
In the years to come, she would blame the stilettos. Little girls didn't wear those, and you certainly couldn't run in them.
She strode out on stage to the sound of wolf-whistles and cheers.