Craved (Twisted Book 2) (2 page)

Like slot machine businesses, the clubs try to price the dances fairly. It keeps the product affordable to a wider range of clients and helps to host them for longer. It also allows the dancers to trade with considerable honesty and dignity, without fooling the clients with their financial desperation and promising them the world in an attempt to justify higher prices.

The classic way of spending money in a strip club is the lap dance. It costs between R250 and R400. This dance has an unsophisticated nickname – a cock-teaser dance. You get to take a girl you've picked to the private room, where she will rub her naked body all over you, trying to be as sexy and seductive as possible. You, in return, have limited options for action – keep your clothes on, sit still, and hold on to the couch.

Ha ha! Quite often, the clients call it a torture.

The next item on the menu is the table dance, which lasts for two songs and usually costs about R200. The best way of describing this graceful and captivating pastime is gynecology. The dancer takes off her clothes on the table, while you play the ‘doctor’ who gets to observe the ‘patient’ without tactile exploration – usually an awesome option for bachelor parties and other group nights out.

Over time, these clubs evolved to add a new product – a fantasy dance often christened the ‘touch dance’ or a ‘boobie dance’. The duration and price of the performance varies according to the establishment, but it’s normally a few times the price of a lap dance. In this case, as a client, you get freedom for your hands. You are allowed to inspect most of the dancer’s body parts. The pussy area is usually excluded.

Last, but not least, is the book-out. If the client’s leisure time has become a steamy agony, he can pick an off-the-record item. Regardless of its unofficial status, it has a price range and protocol that’s very much prescribed. The client can invite the girl out in exchange for a negotiable fee paid in advance. Of course, in this case, the club will receive compensation of about R1 500 for the absence of the dancer. Not all the girls choose to grab this brass ring. Some even get offended by the proposal, and often patiently explain to such clients that showing their bodies for money and fucking for money are completely different jobs.

And yet, as they say, there is nothing that can’t be sold when the price is right.

At first glance, when one walks into an American-style strip club, it looks like the party has got out of control. Tipsy clients, sexily dressed girls browsing the floor, here and there some naked dancing on the tables or the stages, waitresses rushing with full trays, the DJ rocking the place with lights and music, all boosted by widespread flirting and laughter. Nevertheless, behind this crazy chaos is a thorough organization and strict control.

How is this possible?

Rules, rules and more rules.

Every new dancer, on arrival, gets introduced to an extensive list of rules and regulations. Among the requirements are the dancers’ appearance, the number of shows she has to perform, as well as the things she should and shouldn’t do or say. It can be anything from, ‘Dancers are required to be dressed elegantly and sexily at all times’, ‘Dancers are not allowed to use their cell phones while on duty’ to ‘Anyone caught with drugs will have their contract terminated immediately’ and ‘Dancers may not hit customers’.

Clearly, if there are rules, there have to be consequences for breaking them too. Just like in the army – except, instead of guardrooms and forced marches, management uses more mercantile, but no less efficient, methods.

Fines, fines and more fines.

For this reason, a printout of the fine system is attached to the ‘Articles of War’. Each misconduct is accompanied by a number with more zeros. Thus, for example, for chewing gum on duty, the dancer will pay R200. The same amount will penalize ‘Handling a client’s cell phone’. More serious violations, like ‘Being with a guest in a public toilet’ or ‘Sleeping on duty’, could cost the dancer between R2 000 and R2 500, respectively.

Not bad for the club’s revenue.

Another difference in these clubs is that the girls do not receive a salary. On the contrary, every week the dancers pay a levy to the club. It’s almost like rent. But the money the girls make from the dances, they keep for themselves.

Anyway, enough of the boring stuff. Let’s set in motion this other adventure I was so sure I would never be a part of.

3

After Irina’s New Year’s Eve call, back in Ukraine, inviting us to join her in a ‘faraway
paradise’, Natalia made a decision on the spot. All she had to do was convince Lena and me – a difficult task for any other person, because both of us had very good reasons to think this trip was a very bad idea, but not for Natalia. She worked methodically, nailing us one at a time, using the right words and arguments. Turning the festive season into a war zone.

‘The only thing keeping you here is your relationship with Michel. Which is ridiculous because he isn’t even here.’ Natalia started with my middle sister, making sure I wasn’t around to help Lena to hold her line.

‘You’ve got to wake up. You know it’s a not-going-to-happen Cinderella story, which you’ve been stuck in for more than a year. It’s time to move on.’ She was cutting Lena to the quick. ‘Besides, if Irina’s telling us the truth, South Africa is crammed with tall and handsome men who dream about marriage and kids and women like you.’

‘Okay, but why would we go? We are doing fine with the salon.’ Lena couldn’t understand why Natalia had changed her mind all of a sudden; or, more likely, she simply wasn’t ready to admit the truth about her happily-ever-after hopes for Michel. ‘Aren’t you the one who said we couldn’t wander forever? And that this job is too dangerous?’

‘Yes, I did.’ Natalia was not planning to give up. ‘But we both know that with the shameless corruption here, the salon will never do better than fine. Just yesterday we had a guest with a badge again. Apparently, there is a new regional tax inspection chief, so they’re looking for bribes for the chief to make back the bribes he had paid for his appointment to the new position. You know how things are done here. They’re not even afraid to talk about it openly. The complicity between these corrupt fuckers is unbreakable. All of them – the police, judges, fire and tax inspectors – are one big freaking mafia that won’t let our business survive. They’ll milk us like there is no tomorrow, until we’ll simply have to close down.’

‘Bloodsuckers,’ sighed Lena. ‘It will never end…’

‘I don’t see a future. No business opportunities. Not even a chance of finding a decent man. What if Michel never proposes? You’ll wait until it’s too late.’ A skillful pause to let Lena take the bait. ‘I know it’s a risk, but I have a feeling we’ll never regret it. It’s time to move on.’

Lena bit her bottom lip, but couldn’t find anything to say.

‘Look,’ Natalia played her last trump card. ‘If you still believe in the seriousness of Michel’s intentions, let’s check. Send him a text explaining that you’ve received an offer to work in South Africa and that you are considering it. It’s simple. If he loves you and is afraid to lose you, he will try to talk you out of it. If not – your dedication is unfortunately
ex parte
and you’ll end up an old maid forever.’

What a crafty bitch! She knew which pressure points would win Lena over. Bloody acupuncturist!

Shortly after Michel failed the test with his ‘Wow! Good for you!’ answer, Natalia moved on to converting me, making sure Lena and I would not have a chance to strengthen our positions.

The minute I heard her, ‘Jul? We need to talk’, I tried to leave the kitchen. ‘No, no, and no! I am not going anywhere. Don’t even start with me.’ But Natalia stepped into the doorway, cutting off my only retreat. ‘Just think of it as another chance, a chance to make things right, to make good money and to enjoy it, unlike the previous times.’

Argh… her drama pause, with annoying concern on her face.

I rolled my eyes, and turned towards the window. My gaze fell on the dismal playground, covered with grey, melting snow, where a boy was pulling two others on a sled. Despite the greyness of the surroundings, and the puller failing to move the sled, falling onto his knees in the wet snow, all three of them were laughing like crazy. I focused on the boys in my childish ostrich game of hiding my mind from Natalia’s reasoning.

‘Besides, it’s a different system. No drinking required to make money, only dancing,’ she exclaimed, as if she’d finally answered the question of whether the chicken or the egg came first.

‘You don’t think Irina is just bullshitting you? She was the one who introduced us to paradise in Luxembourg! I don’t believe in these “come, there are no drugs or prostitution, and you’ll make millions” stories. Istanbul was another proof of this…’

I sat at the kitchen table, rubbing my neck.

‘You’re right, Jul, but if you’d come with us to France you’d know that places like that exist.’ She sat next to me and leaned forward, making sure I couldn’t avoid her face. ‘Do you think I trust Irina? Hell no! But I’ve done some research on the internet and found a forum where girls from all over the world discuss the places they’ve worked. The comments about this club confirm what Irina says. It’s all legitimate.’

I closed my eyes and slowly shook my head. Natalia, like a beagle that had scented a trace of a rabbit, jumped in, describing how I could spend all the money I hadn’t made yet, planting appealing images in my weakening resistance, until…

… It’s two months later and we are off on our new adventure.

Or, to put it this way: we are going to the bottom of the world, because we’ve been all around Europe and have gone through every kind of crap possible, but it wasn’t enough! We are looking for new trouble to get into… Yeah, that’s definitely more accurate than ‘new adventure’.

It’s already six in the morning. My ass is burning. In just two hours our plane is going to hit the ground in Cape Town. The flight has been endless. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy… but seriously?

Every time I shift, trying to find a more comfortable position, stretch, or free myself from Lena’s head, which keeps detecting me as some sort of pillow, the light from Natalia’s TV screen hits my eyes. She hasn’t slept – she is watching some comedy with a face that looks like it’s the end of
Titanic
.

Now you are worried sister?

Our journey had started a week ago. First we’d gone to Kiev to apply for visas. Unlike our previous embassy experiences, the South African embassy was a pleasure. The staff were friendly and competent. Five days after our application, we’d received a phone call notifying us that our visas were ready.

Then, we’d confirmed our pre-booked itinerary, and another three days later we’d started the first leg to London. The flight had been smooth and we’d disembarked excited.

Of course, according to Natalia, we were about to kick off a new life full of happiness and wealth!

We’d gone through the shops energetically, eyeballing the Prada and Valentino highway robbery, cheerfully smelling some Armani and Chanel, then coming down for a yummy cappuccino. The café was full, but we’d found a table, ordered and started killing time with sprightly chit-chat until our next flight.

‘Ooh! Such a pleasure to meet beautiful ladies! And our compatriots!’ The tipsy Russian had boomed from the next table. Three men had been relishing a pint of stout, disregarding the early hour. ‘We are sailors from Novorossiysk, heading to Singapore. You?’

Natalia and I had looked at each other, affirming that just because we spoke the same language, there was no way we were going to let these men gatecrash our coffee break. But Lena, in her innocence, had jumped in. ‘We are from Ukraine, and we are going to Cape Town.’

All three of them had fallen silent, drunken smiles frozen on their faces.

Then, ‘Why in hell would you girls go there?’ the one with beer foam on his thick, red moustache had exclaimed. ‘It’s dangerous there!’

The other two had been of the same mind. ‘They shoot on the streets… It’s civil war! The blacks kill the whites!’

What we’d heard had swallowed up our excitement and burped out nervous smiles and growing distress.
Hotel Rwanda
images started shooting through my head even more brightly than they had been on the screen when we’d watched it a few weeks ago.

Here we go... we’ve spent a ton of money on tickets to some we-have-no-idea-where-it-is country, and now we are stuck in London with the news that we are going to die in a war we know nothing about! What the f...?

‘What should we do?’ Lena had whispered as soon as the sailors had left, her voice trembling as she clung to the table.

‘Damn Irina and her second never-never land. Has she set us up?’ Natalia had muttered, stunned, while staring into her empty coffee cup.

‘Girls, calm down!’ I’d tried to reason, not so calm myself. ‘We can always catch the next flight back, if it’s true. It would be very stupid to cancel our,’ I turned my acid stare to Natalia, ‘
life-changing trip
because of a bunch of drunks. Despite truly believing that this whole trip is a big mistake, we’ve spent way too much money on it to quit without even trying.’

Lena let go of the table and nodded, looking more relaxed. ‘Yeah, we don’t even know them. We can’t trust these people!’

‘I agree.’ Natalia finally had spoken. ‘The right thing to do would be to stop worrying and deal with problems as they come.’

The absence of alternatives had simmered our useless hysteria down. Nevertheless, all the rest of the way to Cape Town, Natalia hadn’t lost her nerve-racking expression.

Yeah, Nata. You’re going to be responsible for our deaths on the streets of Cape Town!

4

As we push our trolleys piled with luggage out of the terminal, the heat shrouds us. Yesterday’s -20°C in snowbound Kiev versus today’s 30°C in Cape Town is hard to comprehend.