Wherever the Dandelion Falls (17 page)

"Yep."

Kimi made some sputtering noises on the other end of the line.

I continued with my easy, gentle response to her concerns. "Having sex for money doesn't make me a bad person."

"Why aren't you doing something with your Master's degree?"

"Because it's not exciting to me," I said, trying to be patient with her. Talking about my degree brought up all the anxiety I had about not wanting to work in neuroscience.

"Yes, but think about your future! Who's gonna want to-"

She stopped abruptly, realizing she was about to say no one would ever want to date me, let alone marry me or have children with me. I was stunned she had actually started to say something like that. I thought she at least cared about me enough not to insult me.

"So I should be miserable cooped up in a lab so someday I can retire to the suburbs?"

"No, just- I want you to
think
about what you're doing."

"I have thought about it. It's not like I tripped and fell into this by accident." My mind flickered back to that first night and the wad of bills lying threateningly on Dr. Turner's duvet.
That
had been an accident. But everything I'd done since then was a choice I made with care and deliberation. "I know this is a lot of information at once, but I promise I'm being safe."

There was silence and for the first time in our conversation, I grew nervous.

"Say something," I said.

Kimi paused. "I don't know what to say... I don't want you to get hurt."

"I know. I'm careful."

Kimi sighed, dejected. "It's just weird to think that you're sleeping with someone for
money
. I care about you so much... You're my little sister."

I hadn't expected Kimi to pull the caring sister card. She was usually too busy to do much besides criticize me in her underhanded way. I knew she meant well by it, but it had never felt like affection until now.

I softened. It was rare that Kimi dropped her defenses. "Don't worry, Kimi," I said with surprising softness. "I have a clear boundary with him. I don't ever have emotional or spiritual sex."

"Spiritual sex?"

"Yeah, where you just feel that connection to the person? It's like your bodies don't even matter, because there's that intensity… You know?"

Kimi hummed, uncertain. That little noise made me realize that Kimi didn't know what I was talking about. That made me so sad for my big sister.

It also made me realize how
difficult
it was for Kimi and I to talk about sex, even when we tried. It wasn't just because we never had before; there was something about it that made her uncomfortable. Maybe she felt it was improper to talk about things that went on behind closed doors with anyone but her partner, just like our parents. I began to wonder if that was part of what had driven me to venture into the industry in the first place; I needed an outlet for everything that had suffocated under the oppressive attitude toward sexuality I'd grown up with. Kimi was still living in that place.

"So...," Kimi said, daring the ask questions, "do you have a pimp or something?"

"No," I said, smiling at her effort to learn more about my work. "I only have one client. Other girls I chat with online work independently too. We don't have a union, since it's not legal yet, so having a third party managing things can be risky and cost a lot of our profits."

"A hooker
union
?" she said, and I heard her wrinkle her nose.

"Kimi," I warned.

"Sorry."

"I know what I'm doing. Someone's even interviewing me about my work. We're meeting for lunch next week."

Kimi sounded suddenly protective. "Who?"

"I don't know, Justine set it up."

"Justine knows?"

"Yeah."

"
Please
be careful, Riley. You could go to jail if that journalist has it out for people who... do what you do."

“I won’t tell her my real name, dummy. I use a pseudonym."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I use it at the club too."

"You work in a strip club
too
?" Kimi asked, her voice becoming panicked again.

"It's just a peep show. The customers are behind glass, so there's no contact."

I heard Kimi groan on the other end of the line. "Oh my god... I can't even imagine..."

"Most people don't imagine their little sister taking off her clothes for money," I said with a giggle. "But it's not
me
doing that. I mean, it's my body, but I play a character. It's all acting."

"Oh god, Riley, this isn't making me feel any better…"

I looked at the clock, grateful that I had to leave now, giving me an excuse to end our conversation.

"I have to go, but don't worry, okay? I can take care of myself and I'm good with my boundaries. I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay…" Kimi's voice was still wrought with worry. I knew it was a lot for her to digest. I imagined what I'd feel if the tables were turned. Discovering someone you care about has a big secret is unsettling no matter what the secret is.

Then I remembered I had to make sure she
kept
my secret. "Hey, don't tell mom and dad, okay?"

"They would
die
," Kimi said, as though the prospect of our parents finding out was worse than the fact that I was stripping at all.

Suddenly I felt guilt pile onto me, as though Kimi was trying to make me feel like I was shaming my family. I wasn't shaming them. I was just doing what I needed to do for myself. Now all the independence I had gained came not only with the burden of secrecy, but the threat of bringing shame to my family.

"I'll talk to you soon," she said.

Grasping for anything that would convince her I was okay, I blurted out, "I'm happy, Kimi."

There was a pause that allowed me to set down some of the guilt she had given me.

"You are?"

It wasn't judgmental or challenging. It only sought confirmation that I was telling the truth.

"Yeah. Really happy," I said. "I hope you're as happy in your job as I am."

Kimi gave a wincing chuckle that told me she wasn't. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Talk to you soon."

I hung up, surprised at my bravery and how well the conversation had gone. It hadn't been perfect, but she hadn't yelled or told me I disgusted her. I couldn't believe I'd actually told her! It felt like loosening a corset that was drawn too tightly.

A few days later, I waited for the girl who would be interviewing me in the coffee shop we had arranged to meet via email. I sat in the corner, drinking an overpriced fair trade organic vegan cup of self-righteousness.

When Faye Nguyen entered the coffee shop, I was surprised by her meek demeanor. As she brushed past someone on her way to the table where I was waiting, she ducked her head and gave the person a sheepish, apologetic smile. That wasn't at all how I imagined a journalism student would be. She had been so persistent in pursuing my story, I thought she'd at least hold her head up high.

She looked around, confused for a minute. I stood and waved to her. She frowned before walking towards me.

"Violet?" she asked.

Although it felt odd to be called Violet when I wasn't in costume or wearing a stitch of makeup, I nodded with a warm smile and stood to shake her hand. "You must be Faye," I said, tilting my head in welcome. "Nice to meet you."

"Hi," Faye said, her voice soft as she looked at my hand. "That's a nice bracelet," she commented.

"Oh, thanks!" I chirped, admiring the tennis bracelet one of my Private Pleasures Booth regulars had given me. "It was a gift."

Faye opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but then closed it, nodding instead. "Is it okay if we just get started?" she asked, sitting down.

I nodded and kept smiling to ease her anxiety. "Fire away."

Faye set up a small recorder.

"Will you state your name for the record please?"

"My stage name is Violet."

"Right," Faye said, seeming to remember she wasn't privy to my real name. "And what's your profession?"

"I'm an exotic dancer at the Jezebel Rose."

"And how long have you worked there?"

"Six months."

Faye paused for a second, unsure where to go. "What made you take that job?"

I suspected Faye had a false idea about what had led me to start stripping. In movies and on TV, strippers were always down-on-their-luck women with daddy issues or junkies who had no other choice but to strip. They were miserable or morally bankrupt and not people that someone sweet and reserved like Faye would associate with.

"Well," I began, patiently beginning the task of informing Faye that my life was far from tragic, "I was in an elevator with someone and I said the right thing."

"And what were you doing in the elevator?" Faye said, looking down at the recorder.

"I was talking to my neuroscience professor."

Faye looked startled. "What?"

I gave her an amused smile. "I have a Master's in neuroscience. I started stripping because it's great exercise and makes me feel good about my body."

"Oh," Faye said, eyebrows lifting. "Can you tell me more about that?"

"I get to spend four hours a day working with the most awesome women I know, exercising, and feeling good about myself. And I get paid well."

"How well?"

I paused, trying not to be too critical of this sweet girl. But her question was out of line. "Would you ask me that if I worked in an office?"

Faye grew more flustered. "Sorry. Are there any negative parts of your job?"

"Of course," I said. "There are negative parts to every job."

"What about in yours?"

I bit my lip. I could talk about the problems with the Box or the slimier customers. I could talk about the trouble finding someone to cover a shift. But I didn't want to highlight anything too much, because I knew Faye and her readers use it to further their belief that strip joints were places of depravity that only sick people worked in.

"Mostly labor stuff. We can't always swap shifts when we want, sometimes we don't get along with our coworkers... You know, the usual. Nothing horrible."

Faye fumbled in her notes for a minute before taking a breath and asking, "Can you tell me anything about the gender politics of where you work?"

I laughed. "It's just a more exaggerated version of any workplace. Except I wouldn't say there's a glass ceiling to go along with our glass floor. We have mostly female managers and union reps."

"Union reps?" Faye asked, looking stunned.

"Yeah, we have a union. Lots of strip joints in the area are creating them. It's good. Unions keep us safe."

Faye nodded, biting her lip. "What would you change about your job, if you could?"

"I'd probably get some better ventilation in the peepshow Box. Maybe bigger dressing rooms and a sauna or something. Oh! An on-staff masseuse," I chuckled. "But nothing major."

"So you
like
your job," Faye said, looking up at me with a pleasant curiosity.

"I love my job," I said.

Faye nodded, contemplating. "Do the other women like it too?"

"They do. We take care of each other, you know? It's kind of a Sisterhood of Taking-Off-Our Pants.”

Faye giggled, but then put her hand to her mouth. I was surprised by the girlish noise that came out.

"Sorry," said Faye. "I didn't mean to laugh."

"You can laugh," I said with a grin. "It was supposed to be funny."

Faye pulled her hand down and rested it in her lap, gazing at me. For a moment she stayed like that and time seemed to stand still. She let down her guard, and I was in awe of her beauty. Faye had to be one of the most beautiful women I'd ever met. And I had met a lot of beautiful women.

Faye seemed to remember where she was and what she was doing. She shook her head, looking down at the recording device and consulted her notes. "So... How does being a sex worker impact your dating life?" Faye asked. "Do men have a problem with it?"

My mind flickered back to my conversation with my sister.
Who's going to want to date you now? Marry you? Have children with you?
I didn't want to talk about any of that with Faye, so I dodged the question with serpentine grace. "I haven't dated much since I started," I said. "But I hear a lot of talk in the dressing rooms. Most of the girls tell the men they date right away, and they're fine with it at first. Down the line it can be problematic. But across the board, the women we date have a harder time with it."

"Oh," Faye said, startled. She looked down at her paper. "Um, okay. Why -- uh, why do you think that is?"

I gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Most women who date women have a hard time reconciling their feminist beliefs with sex work. It's not a feminist industry. The club I work for treats me well, and I consider enjoying my body and using it in whatever way I choose to be a feminist act. Prostitution can be a feminist act if you go into it with those intentions. But not everyone thinks that way."