Craved (Twisted Book 2) (3 page)

Agitated, Irina is waiting for us at arrivals. She has put on a few kilograms since I last saw her, but it hasn’t spoiled her. Her rounded ass still looks hot in her linen knee-length pencil skirt, while her light-blue linen jacket with three-quarter sleeves makes her look like a real lady.

‘Oh my God, girls! So happy to see you again!’ she shouts genuinely, but hugs only Natalia.

‘So good to see you too! You…’ Natalia lifts one eyebrow in surprise, ‘look great.’ Lena and I nod in agreement – the compliment is well placed, considering that the motto for Irina’s previous dress style would always be ‘many-sizes-too-small-animal-print’.

She pays for parking and walks us to her car. The silver Mini Cooper with automatic transmission draws a silent ‘Wow’ that freezes our faces.

‘Well done, it’s beautiful!’ Natalia caresses the shiny hood and fakes a smile.

‘Thanks, a wedding gift from my hubby.’ Irina swings the car’s key in the air. ‘Isn’t he a sweetheart?’

‘You must tell us where they sell those…’ I pause and pull my bag into the trunk, ‘those husbands.’

The girls giggle. We get into the car. Irina puts on her huge Prada sunglasses, lights a long, extra thin cigarette and steers out of the airport.

‘Who told you this nonsense?’ Irina laughs out loud as soon as she hears the sailors’ story. ‘Cape Town is wonderful. South African people are friendly.’

‘But someone told us about outbreaks of violence because of racial discrimination?’ Lena frowns, her voice is suspicious.

‘Yeah.’ Irina knits her brows. ‘Something happened a long time ago. I don’t remember if it was a civil war or some kind of revolution.’

‘Yeah, it was a struggle of the black youth movements against apartheid.’ Natalia glues on another smile, this time without much effort to camouflage the fakeness. ‘We know that. And it didn’t happen that long ago, some twenty years? We heard that the violence is still out there… on the streets.’

‘Girls, there is no violence on the streets. All in the past.’ Irina blows the smoke and shakes her head. ‘I promise you – Cape Town is a beautiful and peaceful place.’

She continues her praise-singing of all the benefits of life in the Mother City even when we drive past shockingly poor areas. We fall silent. Thousands of shacks, built of sheets of metal, cover the land like the inflammation on the skin of a leprosy sufferer. People walking here and there reflect the poverty of all poverty.
This hopelessness hits us harder than the tipsy sailors’ warning in Heathrow.

At last, Irina stops her tour guide oration and glances at us.

‘Don’t worry, girls. You will be living in a good area.’ She smiles without taking her eyes off the road. ‘But never visit these places. They can be very dangerous,’ she jibes, adding conspiracy notes that ridicule the scene, transforming the people’s tragic living conditions into a surreal, ugly wallpaper.

Our faces relax as, further on, the view becomes more beautiful and the conversation returns to unconcerned chit-chat. The second we drive into the residence, and the tall, wrought-iron double gates close importantly behind the car, our worry about the poverty of Khayelitsha evaporates completely.

Yeah… what can I say? Selfish and shallow bitches!

My first thought is that Irina has brought us to her house. It simply can’t be true. Strippers don’t get to stay in huge, double-storey residences with gardens and pools.

We walk slowly, holding our breath, fearing that the house will turn ugly and dirty just like the places we’ve stayed at before. But unlike Cinderella’s carriage, our mansion doesn’t turn into a pumpkin.

Inside, it’s deadly quiet. Only the maid mopping the floor in the hallway, and the drying rack, draped with multicolored G-strings, suggest that the house is inhabited.

‘The girls are still sleeping,’ Irina whispers, and tiptoes in her trendy high-heeled sandals towards the passage to the right. ‘The kitchen and dining room are that way,’ she waves in the opposite direction. ‘All the bedrooms except for yours are upstairs.’

We drag our bags into a bright, fair-sized bedroom with three single beds and a white built-in cupboard.

‘It’s amazing!’ Lena flings the cupboard doors open, with an expression as if behind them hides a miracle cure to all the sicknesses in the world. ‘I love this place!’

‘Hmmm,’ Irina looks at our suitcases, ‘it’ll be a bit tight, but don’t worry – I’ll get you a free-standing rail as well.’ She turns and heads for the door.

‘Let’s go to the kitchen,’ she adds, ‘grab a cup of tea and run through your questions. I’m sure you’ve got plenty by now. Then I’ll leave you to rest. You have a long night ahead of you.’

As we sit down in the spacious dining room with scalding cups, Irina takes a dark leather A4 folder out of her bag, unzips it, pulls out a file and begins, businesslike.

‘Here are the basics, which, knowing you girls,’ she glances with approval at Natalia, ‘it goes without saying that you will follow. Mainly – be polite, dress well, be on the floor in time, etc.’ Her voice takes on bossier notes and she shakes the file over the table. ‘Go through this first. I’ll be in the club tonight and will answer your questions if you have any. What I wanted to discuss is…’

The door slams and we all turn. A naked blonde walks in and disappears into the kitchen. We stay silent, listening to the fridge door and other kitchen noises. She comes back with a pinkish bottle of some sort of drinkable yogurt and finally notices us.

‘Hi,’ she waves, and her sleepy face warms with a smile.

‘Hi,’ we reply in chorus, awkward, trying not to stare.

Irina shakes her head. ‘God, Misty! It’s the kitchen. Can’t you cover up where people eat, at least?’

‘The new girls?’ It seems Misty doesn’t give a shit about Irina’s appreciation of good manners. ‘When you’re done here,’ she points at Irina without looking at her and then turns to leave, ‘come out to the pool. It’s going to be a hot day.’

Lena beckons with her head towards the door, ‘What was that about?’

‘Whatever she is on,’ I lean forward and whisper, ‘it works!’

My sisters grin.

‘Never mind.’ Irina stays serious and fidgets in her chair. ‘Where were we?’ She pauses, making sure she has our full attention.

‘The club opens at seven. Every night the taxi fetches you here at quarter past six. There is usually no traffic. At quarter to seven you should be in the club. Just enough time to change so I suggest you do your make-up here.’

Doors slam more frequently, and the voices and laughter get louder. Another two girls walk in talking to each other. Both are naked, just like Misty, but have beach towels in their hands.

‘Okay, I need to run, girls.’ Irina bites her lip and gets up. ‘We’ll discuss the rest at the club tonight.’

We walk her outside and stop on the porch. There are at least a dozen girls… each one more impressive than the other… all naked. Some drift in the water, others tan while reading or checking their phones.

‘The Playboy Mansion pales in comparison!’ I look at the pool area, dazed.

‘Unbelievable…’ Lena waves to Irina, who is steering out of the gates, but her gaze is pinned to the pool area too.

‘Hey!’ Natalia snaps her fingers in front of our faces. ‘Stop looking like that.’ She pokes our shoulders playfully. ‘Seriously… you are like some freaking
sapıklar
!’
[1]

We stay a little longer, exchanging observations and jokes, then Natalia yawns. ‘While that pool looks so tempting, I am going to pass and get some sleep.’ She turns and heads inside.

‘I’ll pass too.’ Lena turns to me. ‘You?’

‘I’ll join the girls,’ I say, taking a long look around, still in disbelief that we’ll be living in this place. My eyes stop at the neighbor’s balcony.

‘Len? Do you see what I see?’ I point.

‘Holy crap!’ she exclaims as soon as she follows my finger.

‘Is he holding binoculars?’ Lena’s half-question, half-statement is high-pitched.

‘Yeah… and he is naked too!’ I shake my head. ‘Do you think they have problems with the clothing industry here in South Africa?’

Lena ignores my joke. ‘Shall we warn the girls?’

‘Good morning neighbor!’ We both turn towards the vibrant greeting. One of the girls waves at the stalker, then all of them look up and wave at him too. Then they all giggle and return to what they were doing without bothering to cover themselves up. The stalker licks his smiling lips and waves back, without lowering the binoculars.

‘Well…’ Lena looks at me, amused, ‘are you still planning to sunbathe?’

‘Yeah,’ I wrinkle my nose and head inside the house, ‘but first let me unpack my bikini.’

5

I freeze in front of the wall-sized mirror placed usefully at the dressing room exit. I let the girls, who stop for a final check or touch-up of their make-up before they hit the floor, pass me. The shift is about to start and I can’t make myself walk out of this door.

How am I going to do it sober? I know nothing about being sexy and funny if I am not charged with something.

I know the first days are always shaky. But before, I’d swallow a few tequilas and the world didn’t seem so harsh any more. What am I going to do now? I’ve never been a good actress. How am I going to play cool and confident when I’m shaking inside?

When we entered the club half an hour ago, my heart sank into my stomach. The place was impressive – a huge, factory-type building. The three-storey-high open space has been modernized with two considerably sized loft levels on each side, a massive modern bar, and extravagant furnishings and booths. The round center stage, connected to the back of the club by a long runway, has a shiny, ceiling-high pole and funky lighting that accentuates its significance, even when no dancers are in action.

My sisters have left already. I am still here, staring at myself. I try to convince my inner mess to match the picture I see in the mirror: my smoky eyes with long, flirtatious eyelashes, and the light-pink lips that bring out the glowing blue of my eyes. My long straight hair, which I highlighted just before we left Ukraine, is pumped up in a few places with a zigzag iron. It looks volumized and funky. I decided on black hotpants and a silver see-through top that ties up below my black push-up bra – which has nothing to push up but definitely helps to make my boyish chest more feminine. Although the costume is slightly worn out it’s comfortable, and reveals my perfectly flat tummy, shapely legs and firm thighs. And it will look just fine in the darkness of the club. The twenty-centimeter-heel shoes I bought back in Luxembourg make the whole look work, bringing Barbie from the toyshop shelf to life. It neither gives nor takes – it’s slutty, but not cheap.

‘I look amazing and I will tear apart whoever gets in my way tonight,’ I repeat in my head like a mantra, and take a deep breath. As I slowly breathe out, the panic fights its way back and my heart gets lost in my stomach again...

Oh my God! I am going to faint!

‘Nervous?’

One of the girls with curly, long, blond hair says without looking at me, adding a thick layer of red lipstick to her puffy lips. ‘Have you worked before?’

I wring my hands and nod. ‘In Luxembourg and Turkey.’

The girl tilts her head back and loud, but genuine and pleasant, laughter forces its way out, flashing her white perfect teeth. ‘What’s your name?’ She is still cackling when she asks.

‘Julia,’ I say, waiting for some sort of explanation for her sudden amusement.

‘Nice to meet you, Julia. I am Nikita.’

She turns away from the mirror and looks at me. ‘Well, Julia, you mustn’t worry. This is a playground in comparison. All you need to do is walk around with a smile. Just don’t sit with the clients, unless they pay you for it. It’s not like drinking in Europe, when we had to hatch them like chicks for hours. The movement is the key.’ She smiles and walks out.

‘Thanks,’ I mumble after her.

I take another deep breath and walk out. The place is dark and I wait first for my eyes to adjust. The shivers chain my body right away. The air-cons and my nerves, like accomplices, conspire against me. One more deep breath, drawing the familiar fusion of sweet and sticky perfumes and cigarette fumes.

This place is no different from where I’ve worked before. I can do it.

I see my sisters at the bar and head towards them.

‘Wow, there are at least a hundred girls.’ Lena looks around.

As Natalia opens her mouth to comment, the loud voice of the DJ through the speakers makes all three of us shrug. ‘Hello everyone.’ I check my watch, it’s 7 p.m. sharp.

‘Stella on stage. Stella on stage,’ he calls with a quieter voice, then turns the music up, walks out of the DJ booth and heads towards us.

‘There is not even one client and he’s calling the girls onto the stage already. That’s what I call discipline,’ Natalia wisecracks.

‘The new arrivals?’ The man is very tall and very skinny. ‘How are you, girls? My name is Jeff. I am a DJ.’ He gives us a full smile and shakes our hands. His genuine friendliness seems inappropriate for the sex industry’s usual tough image. ‘Come with me. We need to straighten a few things out.’ He turns around and we follow him.

The DJ booth is a small, dark room that is built on a meter-high square podium, its only window looking at the stage with a massive turntable under it.

‘All I need from you is to listen to what I say into the mic.’ He doesn’t look at us, pressing one earphone between his head and shoulder while moving one of the numerous dials on the turntable.

‘Every two songs, a new girl comes onto the stage. If the place is packed, I call two or three girls at the same time. Now, you hear your name, you leave whatever you are doing and start walking backstage. Your only excuse is if you are in private with a customer or on the loo with the trots.’ All three of us grin, but he remains serious and continues.

‘At the start of every hour, there is a fantasy show. The shows are scheduled the week before, so you know in advance which day and time yours is. This week you are off the hook, so you’ll have a few days to work out which show you would like to do and to give me your signed music CDs.’