It was only a few days before Christmas, and Mimi, with her shift over at one in the morning, stepped out of the Catscratch club. Behind her, one could catch a glimpse of the lobby, simple looking enough, though merely a deviant mask, concealing the raunchy desires and lurid behavior that could be found deeper inside. The men had been a lot rougher with her this particular night, probably letting out their aggression, bottled-up during their day of shopping for holiday gifts. Not that they were gentle any other night, but the way they had torn at her clothing (the few articles she had donned) this evening especially seemed more violent then she had expected from them. And she expected quite a lot.
But however severe their groping became, she was used to it; this had been her job, her life, for the past three years, after all. She could barely recall her earliest days at the club, and when she did reminisce about them, she did so with humiliation. In those days she was a quivering neurotic mess, insecure financially and mentally. Her lack of a college education prohibited her from landing a job anywhere. Not even the dingiest fast-food places within three miles of her apartment would hire her. So she had no choice but to turn to the Catscratch, where intelligence was actually considered a turn-off and the only thing mandatory was looks. Luckily she had a bountiful supply of the latter, and her looks, body, and charisma had gotten her a job that helped her through these past years, making them less difficult than they would have originally turned out to be.
At first she was frightened of the men, but after a while she grew accustomed to their touch. After living alone for so long, she realized that she yearned for physical human contact. The Catscratch became her home, the piggish men her family, and her fellow dancers and strippers her friends and rivals. She began to climb the ranks, becoming one of the main attractions, the woman that married men left their wives alone in empty beds to catch a glimpse of.
Mimi stifled a yawn as she cocked her hat over one eye, stepping out into the street. It felt weird to be layered in clothing after dancing around for so long, scantily clad. The contrast between the frosty air out here and the sweltering heat of sexual arousal within the club was somewhat alarming as well. Mimi adjusted her scarf as the wind picked up, jostling the hat on her head but not blowing it off. She gripped at the scarf with one hand, preventing it from being torn from her person in the rushing gusts of wind, and dug around in her pockets for the key to the apartment building with the other. Producing the key, she unlocked the door, her hand already numb after having been exposed to the chilly air for only a few seconds.
Once inside, she sighed with relief; though it wasn't much warmer in here, she was at least protected now from the wind outside. She shuffled up the steps, suddenly tired, heavily placing one foot after the other and grabbing onto the railing for support. Her long coat dragged behind her, catching bits of lint and dirt and pulling them up the stairs with her. She heard the vague sound of a guitar playing, bored and unenthusiastic, just belting out notes and rhythms without organization. She knew that the guitarist lived in a studio just above her own flat, and though she never really saw much of the reclusive young man, she heard him every night.
The music he made (if you could call it that) seemed disheartened, but however irking or discordant others thought the noise to be, Mimi found it soothing. It was the last thing she'd hear every night before finally drifting off to sleep, and as she pulled back the beads that hung around her mattress, she thought she heard something pretty, an actual song, being played. The tune sounded familiar, from an old opera or musical perhaps, but when she closed her eyes and listened, a sour note was struck, followed by a cacophony of frustrated chords. Something thumped on the floor above her head and everything went silent, remaining that way. Mimi opened an eye, then opened the other and sighed. "I guess I won't be serenaded to sleep tonight," she joked dryly, falling onto her bed with exhaustion.