The next few moments were a blur. I pushed past the other performers who
were busily smearing lipstick over their mouths, and making seductive pouts
in the mirror.
I stumbled into the bathroom to wash my face off. The cold water felt rejuvenating. I wiped my face on the sleeve of my coat.
I went into the dressing room and slipped into a Gold sparkly top that was cut off just an inch above my navel. Terry's boyfriend, Kirk, had originally designed the outfits so that there was barely anything at all, but Terry convinced him to change it, claiming it was 'TOO revealing."
I'd gotten so thin lately that my stomach was beginning to resemble a hollowed-out cave. I quickly pulled on a tiny matching skirt. I didn't bother to put any make-up one.
"Meems!" Terry called from the front, "Get your ass out here- you're on!"
I ignored the quizzical looks on the other dancers' faces, wondering why the famous Mimi Marquez looked like shit. God. I FELT like shit. I felt a stabbing pain at my temple.
I found myself onstage, along with Eden, who I occasionally danced with, and usually set off a riot with the guys.
"GO." Terry hissed.
I refused to meet anyone's eyes in the crowd. I shakily placed my hand on the pole, preparing to do my usual routine.
But instead of doing that stupid slutty 'dance' that Terry had choreographed for us, I kept clutching the pole, feeling like if I let go, I would never be able to get back up.
I moved clumsily, trying to get in rhythm with Eden. But I was just too tired.
I stumbled around the pole, very aware that all the usual Man-Whores that were in the audience were starting to grumble and complain.
I forced a wobbly smile, unable to think straight.
Eden flashed me a 'What the HELL are you doing?!' look, but I ignored it.
My head hurt like a bitch, and I felt dizzy.
I must have blacked out for a moment, because one moment I was up on stage, with those cheap florescent lights blinding my eyes, and the next everything was dark, and when I opened my eyes, I found myself on the ground, with about a hundred sleazy disgusting men gazing upon me, wondering if this was all part of the act.
I could hear Terry saying ''Scuse me. EXCUSE me!" as he pushed through the crowd.
I stared up at him groggily, trying to place what happened. Terry pulled me up by my upper arms and got me on my feet, yanking me backstage, sitting me down on a lumpy old sofa, stained with beer and reeking of smoke.
"Jeez Mimi, are you alright? Did you hit your head?"
The room stopped spinning, and finally settled.
"I'm alright." I said, meekly. "I'm cold." I wrapped my arms around my bare stomach and shivered.
Terry left the room for a second, and returned with my coat. I wrapped it around my shoulders, burying my face into the worn material.
"I'm taking you to a hospital," he said. "You're really sick, aren't you?"
"Terry, you can't just leave the club. Besides, why make a fuss over me?"
"Meems, you know you're more than just one of my dancers to me. I first hired you when you were fifteen.
That brought a slight smile to my lips. When I'd first run away and had no money and nowhere to sleep, Terry had offered me a job at the Cat Scratch. He was like a brother to me now.
"I was really messed up, wasn't I?"
"Let's just say you've improved. Anyway, Mimi, I've got to get you to a hospital; you're really pale and you just practically fell into some guy's lap up there. Haven't you been taking your AZT?"
I nodded, pulling my knees up to my chest.
"Well, alright, I'll be right back. I'm going to phone the hospital. Be right back." He gave me a peck on my clammy forehead and walked into the next room.
I could hear him talking on the other line, barely making out what he was saying.
"Yeah, it looks really bad.she's H.I.V positive.yes."
I sighed.
I couldn't stay here and be a burden on Terry.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I rose from the sofa, and quietly stepped out of the room. I snuck out the back door, closing it gently behind me.
My eyes lingered on the neon light-up sign in the front window.
'THE CAT SCRATCH CLUB,' it read, 'We'll have you YOWLING for more!"
Underneath it was a claw. It'd never occurred to me how corny and lame it was before.
Taking one final look behind me, I turned and started to walk down the street. I knew I was getting weaker every day.
I wondered if Roger was wondering where I was right now.
Well, pretty soon I'd no longer be part of his baggage, I thought, trudging along, with tears streaming down my face.
I didn't look back.
I stumbled into the bathroom to wash my face off. The cold water felt rejuvenating. I wiped my face on the sleeve of my coat.
I went into the dressing room and slipped into a Gold sparkly top that was cut off just an inch above my navel. Terry's boyfriend, Kirk, had originally designed the outfits so that there was barely anything at all, but Terry convinced him to change it, claiming it was 'TOO revealing."
I'd gotten so thin lately that my stomach was beginning to resemble a hollowed-out cave. I quickly pulled on a tiny matching skirt. I didn't bother to put any make-up one.
"Meems!" Terry called from the front, "Get your ass out here- you're on!"
I ignored the quizzical looks on the other dancers' faces, wondering why the famous Mimi Marquez looked like shit. God. I FELT like shit. I felt a stabbing pain at my temple.
I found myself onstage, along with Eden, who I occasionally danced with, and usually set off a riot with the guys.
"GO." Terry hissed.
I refused to meet anyone's eyes in the crowd. I shakily placed my hand on the pole, preparing to do my usual routine.
But instead of doing that stupid slutty 'dance' that Terry had choreographed for us, I kept clutching the pole, feeling like if I let go, I would never be able to get back up.
I moved clumsily, trying to get in rhythm with Eden. But I was just too tired.
I stumbled around the pole, very aware that all the usual Man-Whores that were in the audience were starting to grumble and complain.
I forced a wobbly smile, unable to think straight.
Eden flashed me a 'What the HELL are you doing?!' look, but I ignored it.
My head hurt like a bitch, and I felt dizzy.
I must have blacked out for a moment, because one moment I was up on stage, with those cheap florescent lights blinding my eyes, and the next everything was dark, and when I opened my eyes, I found myself on the ground, with about a hundred sleazy disgusting men gazing upon me, wondering if this was all part of the act.
I could hear Terry saying ''Scuse me. EXCUSE me!" as he pushed through the crowd.
I stared up at him groggily, trying to place what happened. Terry pulled me up by my upper arms and got me on my feet, yanking me backstage, sitting me down on a lumpy old sofa, stained with beer and reeking of smoke.
"Jeez Mimi, are you alright? Did you hit your head?"
The room stopped spinning, and finally settled.
"I'm alright." I said, meekly. "I'm cold." I wrapped my arms around my bare stomach and shivered.
Terry left the room for a second, and returned with my coat. I wrapped it around my shoulders, burying my face into the worn material.
"I'm taking you to a hospital," he said. "You're really sick, aren't you?"
"Terry, you can't just leave the club. Besides, why make a fuss over me?"
"Meems, you know you're more than just one of my dancers to me. I first hired you when you were fifteen.
That brought a slight smile to my lips. When I'd first run away and had no money and nowhere to sleep, Terry had offered me a job at the Cat Scratch. He was like a brother to me now.
"I was really messed up, wasn't I?"
"Let's just say you've improved. Anyway, Mimi, I've got to get you to a hospital; you're really pale and you just practically fell into some guy's lap up there. Haven't you been taking your AZT?"
I nodded, pulling my knees up to my chest.
"Well, alright, I'll be right back. I'm going to phone the hospital. Be right back." He gave me a peck on my clammy forehead and walked into the next room.
I could hear him talking on the other line, barely making out what he was saying.
"Yeah, it looks really bad.she's H.I.V positive.yes."
I sighed.
I couldn't stay here and be a burden on Terry.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I rose from the sofa, and quietly stepped out of the room. I snuck out the back door, closing it gently behind me.
My eyes lingered on the neon light-up sign in the front window.
'THE CAT SCRATCH CLUB,' it read, 'We'll have you YOWLING for more!"
Underneath it was a claw. It'd never occurred to me how corny and lame it was before.
Taking one final look behind me, I turned and started to walk down the street. I knew I was getting weaker every day.
I wondered if Roger was wondering where I was right now.
Well, pretty soon I'd no longer be part of his baggage, I thought, trudging along, with tears streaming down my face.
I didn't look back.
