Chapter 1 Dancing With Despair

• "Amaia, Richard wants to see you," Jessie whispers, poking her head through the door of my dressing room.
• Sitting in my comfortable chair, facing the mirror, I sigh and roll my eyes. Every night it's the same, by now I should know that I'm not interested in what he has to offer.
• "Did he say what he wanted?"
• "You know he didn't," she shrugs.
• I sigh. Both Jessie and I know what he's after, what he wants from me. It's a constant annoyance that I have to endure, even though I'm tired of making it clear that I'm not interested.
• "Don't take too long, Amaia, you know how he gets," she says, looking at me through the mirror. She smiles and raises her hands in surrender. "Well, don't take too long."
• I give her a half smile before she leaves, and I continue to observe my reflection in the mirror.
• I hate what I see. I'm still wearing my show clothes, if you can call them clothes, the scant pieces of fabric that cover some parts of me. My skin is too shiny. My hair feels stiff from all the products to keep it tamed. My aggressive makeup, in line with the lights and shadows that cover my face while I'm on stage. And my eyes. The dull green that stares back at me makes me want to cry.
• But Amaia Leyva doesn't cry, not anymore. At least, not for things that aren't worth it.
• I start removing my makeup with a damp napkin. As I do, I can see the true expression of my face that I hide every night. Pale skin, despite being tan, dark circles under my eyes, making me look sick. Nothing to be proud of.
• I sigh one last time and get up from the chair to change clothes and get out of here once and for all. I walk to the dressing room door and close it, so I can do it in peace, I don't want any mishaps like at the beginning. Tired and with no energy, I undress completely, I put on my usual ripped jeans and plain t-shirt. I put on my simple sneakers and tie my hair in a high ponytail. I gather my things, making sure nothing is left behind, and put them in my bag before putting the clothes I took off back in their usual place.
• Before leaving, I check how I left everything and turn off the light, then I close the door. It's a routine I always do, this last one, because there are days when I've arrived and it's evident that someone has been rummaging through who knows what. It's better to know what to expect.
• I walk down the hallway, where each door belongs to a different girl's dressing room, or several girls, in most cases. Only Jessie and I have what could be called a VIP dressing room, a place just for us. The usual guard is stationed at the door that leads to the interior area of the club and greets me as I pass by.
• "Amaia, Richard is waiting for you," he says, with his deep voice and absent gaze. Because yes, he's one of those who wears sunglasses even though it's night and he's indoors.
• "I'm coming, Johnny. I don't need a babysitter," I reply, rolling my eyes, I never know if it really bothers him, because he doesn't even flinch.
• I enter the main hall, which is already closed to the public. Every night, after the last performance, which is mine, the venue closes. By this time, everything is clean and tidy, the tables are organized and the chairs in place. The lights are on and reveal the beautiful decoration that looks even better when everything is dim.
• I walk among the dance floors that are detailed and panoramic throughout the hall, so that we can be seen from any distance. The silver poles shine under the intense lights and are a reminder of what my life is here. Not just a waitress, not even a service worker.
• No. I am the main attraction.
• And all to get ahead, to survive.
• Every time I look around, every time I remember the grim situation that brought me here, my body boils and I want to scream. But then I think about the main reason why, four years later, I am still here. My daughter. Audrey deserves everything I can give her, she is the only one I have in life and I will give everything, even what I don't have, for her happiness. Even if it costs me mine.
• I pass by the bar and Mateo, the bartender on duty, offers me a drink. I don't usually drink, like the other girls, I prefer to stay focused on what's happening around me and not give in to disorientation. I don't blame those who do it to gather strength and be less aware of what they do to make a living. It's a valid reason, if you ask me. However, today I accept the invitation, because I like Mateo and I need an extra boost of energy to face that damn face of that damn Richard again.
• "Today I'll accept it, because I need it," I reply with a smile, as I sit on one of the high stools at the bar.
• Mateo nods and winks at me, returning my smile and getting to work. He doesn't tell me what he's preparing, but I can't help but watch his hands as he does it. Call me paranoid or whatever, but in this world, even in a luxurious and elegant world, there is more crap than anywhere else. Here money buys everything, even those who don't want to be bought.
• I observe the whole process and when Mateo finally places the dark pink drink in front of me, I sigh with relief. Now I can enjoy my Manhattan.
• "I hope you like it," he murmurs, drying some wide-mouthed glass with a towel he carries in his hands, barely looking at them.
• I try the delicious cocktail and can't help but moan with pleasure.
• "Delicious," I declare, with a whisper and my eyes closed to enjoy it a little more.
• "Enjoy it, beautiful," he mutters and goes back to his work.
• For a few seconds, he meets my gaze again, he smiles and winks at me. I just give him a condescending and somewhat plastic smile, because I know what he wants, but I won't give it to him either. Mateo is one of those men who can seduce you with just a look, as dark as the night and as expressive. With a killer body under that fine black shirt he wears as a uniform and pants of the same color hanging so low that it makes you want to look down, one can imagine how many good things could happen if we give in to sin, but I mustn't.
• I have an image to maintain in this place.
• Always out of reach. Because that's what I am now.
• I finish my drink and thank him for the gesture before getting up from the chair and heading to Richard's office. With slow steps, I climb the stairs and reach the second floor, where two other gorillas are part of the security of the place. I don't understand why the fat Richard needs security, when this place operates legally and has the privilege of belonging to the exclusive circle of places considered VIP for the wealthy of the city and its surroundings. Here you pay for luxury, you pay for quality, you pay for security. But oh well, my boss is so pretentious that he needs his moments of importance.
• "Good evening, gentlemen," I greet and the two big guys just nod with their bald heads. "Can I come in?"
• They both move out of the way of the door at the same time, which amuses me, seeing the coordination in their gestures.
• "They must be proud of that," I think and want to laugh, but it would look strange.
• For now, I'll save the laughs for when I remember and knock on the door to let Richard know I'm here.
• "Come in, Amaia," a hoarse voice responds.
• I take a deep breath before opening the door and entering.
• "Jessie told me you wanted to see me," I say, without even greeting and just two steps away from the door I left open.
• The office smells musty, of tobacco and whiskey. What used to be a majestic place ended up being the den of this perverted fat boss I have. Although I understand that he is not the boss of all this, actually.
• "Yes, I also told her to hurry you up," he declares, with the same tone as always, arrogant and bossy, which I usually ignore. "Close the door and come in at once."
• He looks at me, sitting behind an immense desk, so short that his arms fall short in front of the ostentatious dark precious wood furniture. His potato face and bald head. A tailor-made suit, which does not even improve his appearance. An immense watch, which completely covers his wrist and, contrary to what he intends, makes him look smaller than he is.
• "I can't stay any longer, it's already too late and my daughter is waiting for me," I assure, with no doubt in my voice, without hesitation.
• "I know, but it's your fault for wasting your time on nonsense," he scoffs, referring to the drink earlier.
• I should be worried that he is watching me, but that is no longer a surprise. Precisely because I know his sick ways of approaching, I am so cautious in this place, I trust no one.
• "My head hurts, Richard, tell me what you need," I impose my character because that is how I must present myself to him. I must not give him an ounce of trust, everything here is misinterpreted.
• "I'll get straight to the point, as every night, Amaia," he settles into his chair and lights a cigarette. "You know that I can help you improve your way of life, you just need to accept the proposal."
• I sigh and with one hand I rub my face, tired of receiving the same sick and depraved offer every night.
• "I already told you no, Richard, don't insist," I declare, with a strong voice.
• "Think about it, Amaia. You will earn much more than you do on the stage every night. Double, even triple," he continues, insistent. He moves the chair back and I tense up, because he intends to get closer. "There are many clients waiting for you."
• I am outraged to hear his words, but long ago I understood that he likes to play with my emotions. Anger, rage, he imagines that my world revolves around that. And although he is absolutely right, I learned some time ago to channel that negative energy at key moments. So, whatever he is trying to achieve in me now, he doesn't stand a chance.
• "Well, tell those clients not to waste their time waiting. You already know my decision," I murmur, with the calmest demeanor I can muster. I pretend to look at my nails and on my face, an expression of total indifference. "Are you done, or is there something else you want to inform me?"
• Richard looks at me, chews the disgusting tobacco, and observes me, measuring me. I maintain my nonchalant attitude, although I don't like the way he looks at me at all. When he gets tired of trying to intimidate me, he goes to his desk and picks up an envelope, which he then hands to me. I take it carefully, making sure not to touch him, and without even opening the envelope or saying thank you, I turn around, ready to leave.
• "Amaia..." he calls, and I turn my head slightly to see him. "Someday, I will get what I want. Get used to it."
• His words send shivers down my spine, but I disguise them. However, I look him up and down with disdain, as if looking at someone of no importance. I return my gaze to his face and raise an inquisitive eyebrow.
• "Get over it, Richard," I declare and leave the office without looking back.
• Before I can get far enough, I hear his reaction.
• "You will regret it."
• I must be honest with myself and admit that it worries me, but I cannot pretend to be a sheep among so many wolves. In this world, it is very easy to fall into disgrace and, although I hate it, every day I go out to dance with despair, because it is the only thing that, so far, gets me out of trouble.