Love In Hidden View

She stepped out of the black cab she had ordered from her apartment, which halted at her address. Her destination was a small, three-story building illuminated with bright lights, dispelling the darkness of the night. With a stylish stride, she walked, swaying her hips seductively with each step, a display of her confidence. She was grateful for this opportunity. Her black coat, sleek and elegant, concealed her scanty attire. Matching stilettos clicked on the polished floor as she moved.

Tonight's job would earn her five thousand dollars, a windfall that would go a long way in covering her mother's bills at the elderly home. Her mother, suffering from dementia, needed constant care. Rebecca was her sole support, the only family she had left, and she struggled daily to make ends meet.

Balancing three jobs was exhausting. By day, she was a waitress, by night, she was a stripper, and she also babysat whenever couples needed a night out. She always wore a mask when she danced in clubs, determined to keep her double life a secret. Parents will not be thrilled to discover their child's babysitter was also a stripper.

But tonight felt different. The cold air seemed to whisper promises of a significant payout. She pushed open the door to the Private club, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and nerves. Her friend, Naomi, had handed her this opportunity, having double booked herself. Naomi knew Rebecca could fill in seamlessly. Rebecca was about the same height and body size as her, and she had witnessed Rebecca grow and become confident in her dancing. Naomi had been the one to introduce Rebecca to the dance industry, and despite Naomi having numerous clients, Rebecca was still in the process of learning the ropes.

Excitement had coursed through Rebecca when Naomi called. "Thank you so much," she had said, unable to hide her gratitude.

Now, standing at the front desk, she gave her stage name, "Lily." It was a name rich with personal attachments. It was what her mother called her and sadly it was the name her mother still remembered. Tears had welled up in her eyes the first time her mother held her face close, with eyes that gleamed with excitement, and spoke, "Lily you came." Rebecca would take that. Sometimes she remembered her as Rebecca but often she called her Lily like the flower, symbolizing purity and innocence. Dancing under that name made Rebecca feel connected to a past she cherished and a present that seemed to have become her new identity.

The attendant behind the counter frowned as he scanned his system. "Sorry, there's no Lily here. This is an invite-only event."

Rebecca's heart sank. Perhaps she should have used Naomi's name. She considered her options: leave or try to persuade the attendant. Just then, a commanding voice broke through her thoughts.

"Let her in. I want her."

She turned to the speaker. He was tall and muscular, his dark shades covering his eyes, making it difficult for her to recognize him. He scanned her from head to toe before smirking, "Send her to my room."

He walked away, flanked by a group of men, exuding an aura of authority. Rebecca stepped aside to let them pass.

"You are Lily, right?" The attendant asked. His voice sounded angry or annoyed. Rebecca could not tell it apart but whatever his feelings were, it did not matter to her.

She smiled, "Yes, Lily."

"You're in luck. Not everyone gets invited to Greg's private party," the attendant remarked.

Rebecca wasn't there for a party. She needed the money. She was here to work. Leaning over the counter, she flashed her best smile, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Can you check which client Naomi was supposed to dance for?" She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, her eyes pleading.

The attendant's smile turned sly. "You should be glad Greg wants you." He glanced at his screen again. "He's in lounge two zero five."

She met the attendant eyes, batting her eyelids lovely at him. The attendant seemed to be unmoved by her actions. It was something he had seen often during his job. "He will be waiting for you. The changing room is the first room on your left."

Defeated, Rebecca adjusted her coat and forced a smile before heading towards the changing room.

She approached the changing room, where other women were already busy swapping outfits. Rebecca's mind was occupied with thoughts of her pay. She knew what she had to do: start in the lounge, dance for a few hours, and then move to Naomi's client's room. If only she knew the room or the name of her client.

She pulled out her phone and texted Naomi, "What is the name of the client?"

As she waited for a response, none came. Rebecca sighed softly, resigning herself to the silence. With a graceful movement, she removed her coat and began to touch up her makeup. The other women in the room seemed similarly absorbed in their own preparations, creating an atmosphere of quiet concentration. Rebecca assumed it was the unspoken rule of the place and decided to follow suit, immersing herself completely in her own tasks.

A woman entered the changing room and called out, "Lily."

Rebecca looked up. "That's me."

The woman glared at her, clearly annoyed. "You're keeping our client waiting."

"I'm sorry," Rebecca apologized softly. She glanced at her phone once more, but there was still no message from Naomi. With a resigned sigh, she tucked her phone into the pocket of her black boots, having swapped the stilettos for them.

Rebecca adjusted her outfit, giving herself one last look in the mirror. She wore a black satin bodysuit that clung to her curves, accentuating her figure. The bodysuit had a plunging neckline adorned with delicate lace trim, adding a hint of sophistication and femininity. It matched her black boots.

She picked up her black mask and placed it over her dramatic makeup; smoky eyes and bold red lips. As she approached the door, the woman grabbed her hand, stopping her from taking any other step.

"Greg doesn't like his dancers masked."

Rebecca paused. What? The mask was her shield.

The woman extended her hand for the mask. Rebecca reluctantly handed it over, feeling exposed as she made her way to his room.

Entering the dimly lit room, she was relieved to see another dancer on the pole.

The woman was performing gracefully, and music blared through hidden speakers. Rebecca felt eyes on her as she approached the pole and began to dance. At first, no one seemed to notice her. She moved her hips, sidled up to the other dancer, and whispered, "How much is he paying?"

The dancer smiled, pulling Rebecca's face close in a seductive way. "He pays handsomely."

Vague, but somewhat reassuring.

The room was filled with a sense of controlled chaos. Men in expensive suits lounged on plush sofas, their eyes lazily following the dancers. Rebecca focused on her movements, letting the music guide her. The beat pulsed through her, giving her rhythm and confidence. She twirled around the pole, her body flowing with practiced grace.

The other dancer, a seasoned performer named Crystal, moved with a fluid elegance that captivated the room. Rebecca tried to match her rhythm, pushing herself to keep up. Crystal noticed Rebecca's efforts and gave her a nod of encouragement.

"Do you know Naomi?" Rebecca asked as soon as Crystal joined her on the floor. Crystal rose with evident irritation, but she concealed it behind a forced smile, wary of attracting their client's attention. Maintaining her distance from Rebecca, she resumed dancing without engaging further.

Someone entered the room, and one of the men asked Rebecca and Crystal to step aside briefly. Crystal immediately returned to the changing room before Rebecca could engage her in conversation. Seizing the opportunity, Rebecca checked her phone for a message from Naomi but found none. She felt an urgent need to use the bathroom and decided to take care of it before returning.

Navigating through the dimly lit corridors, Rebecca finally found the restroom. She locked herself in a stall, desperately trying to collect her thoughts. Without her mask, she felt exposed. It wasn't just a physical cover; it was her shield against the world, her way of keeping her nightlife separate from her day life. Greg had not looked their way throughout the time she had danced. Rebecca hoped someone would tip generously. It was her first time dancing at a private club, and she didn't know what to expect. Her rent was due, her mother's rent was due, and her mother's nurse had informed her that her medication had run out. Rebecca was convinced that tonight's earnings could cover these bills. She tapped her phone's screen again, but still, no message.

Lost in her thoughts, she was jolted back to reality by hurried footsteps approaching the bathroom. The door was forcefully shut, echoing through the small space.

"Check if anyone's in there," a male voice commanded, sending a shiver down Rebecca's spine. Panic surged through her. Quickly, she stepped onto the toilet seat, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound almost deafening in the confined space.

She heard the footsteps moving methodically through the bathroom, checking the first stall, then the second, drawing closer to the third stall where she hid. Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut, her breath shallow and rapid. Silently, she prayed for safety, hoping against hope that she wouldn't be discovered.

The footsteps stopped right outside her stall. Rebecca could hear the faint rustling of clothes and the creak of shoes on the tiled floor. She held her breath, every muscle in her body tense.

Before the person could open the door, the commanding voice called out again, "Stink, come here."

The person hesitated, then turned back and exited the restroom. Rebecca remained frozen for a moment, barely daring to breathe. Voices drifted in from outside, followed by the muffled sounds of an argument.

One of the voices belonged to the person who had called out "Stink." Then, there was someone groaning in pain.

She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for it all to end without discovery. Minutes passed, and the tension thickened in the air. Finally, everything quieted down. She heard the door open and then shut. Waiting until she was certain they were gone, Rebecca slowly stepped down from the toilet seat, her legs shaky, her heart still racing.

She slowly opened the stall door and cautiously peered out, her mind still reeling from the close call. The restroom was eerily quiet. As she stepped out, she heard the muffled sounds of voices and music from the lounge, a stark contrast to the fear she felt.

Just as she was about to leave the stall, a gunshot echoed through the room. Rebecca didn't know when she screamed, but the sound left her mouth before she could realize what was happening. Panic surged through her, and she ducked instinctively, her heart pounding in her chest.

Breathing heavily, she crouched low, trying to make sense of the chaos that seemed to erupt inside the restroom.

There was a pause before a large figure approached and stood before her, pointing a gun at her. Rebecca's eyes darted to the blood pooling on the floor behind him, thick and red. Swallowing hard, she tried to steady her breath. She looked around her, she was surrounded by men who were undoubtedly angry at her.

"You said it was clear." The man with the gun said. Rebecca looked up at him, it was the same voice that had called out "Stink". Rebecca knew it wasn't her he was speaking to. Yet she felt the need to respond.

Her phone screen flashed with a new message, momentarily catching the man's attention. He glanced at it, "His name is Greg" was boldly displayed.

The man's eyes widened in shock, and he cocked the gun again, aiming it squarely at her face. Rebecca's heart pounded, the reality of her situation crashed down on her. She bent her head, trying to shield herself, "Please don't shoot."