“Give them
show,” she says. “Give them something they will never forget, give them
something they’ll desire. Give them love, give them a kiss, give them lust.
Then give them jealousy and passion. Allow them to forget their little pathetic
lives and live yours for an hour or so. Go out there and be their star, be
their idol. Let them adore you, my precious.”
She fixes my make-up for a millionth time and
looks critically at my costume again. The corset is too tight and it is hard to
breathe in it, my thighs are literally nude and the hat that rests upon my head
is as heavy as a hammer. She knows it is difficult for me to walk like that and
enjoys it. To make things even worse, she hands me a pair of high red heels and
orders, “Wear them!”
I
have no choice but to do what I am told. I am a simple, I’d even say an average
actress who is given a script she has to learn by heart and obey every
director’s decision. And I have to be grateful of course, because I’m from the
few lucky girls who managed to find a job. An actress I call myself, but they
don’t pay me to act. What I’m paid for is to be a… well, to be a courtesan, a
fancy-lady. My job is to give pleasure, to fulfill both eye and imagination.
So
I go on the stage every night dressed in hardly anything and I act as if I
enjoy it.
And
she’s our boss – our director, our choreographer, and manager. She says she’s
created us, that without her we’re nothing, we couldn’t handle ourselves… she’s
probably right. But she takes odd pleasure in torturing us every evening, in
pushing us to go further, show more…
It’s
like she envies our youth and beauty, for she’s just an old woman bond to stay
alone till the rest of her days.
She
holds me backstage every evening until he comes. Then, while tightening the
corset she gives me all that beautiful talk about the stage, and the lights,
and the show, and me being a star. And afterwards she kicks me out and goes to
tell the exact same things to another girl.
I
know my job and I don’t need further instructions. Every evening I go to his
table, walking slowly and gracefully, I sit beside him, I light a cigar and
laying a hand upon his hip I ask him, “Is this the night?” he looks at me then,
every evening with the same look on his face and says NO. Then he takes out a
newspaper and starts reading it while I enjoy the show the other girls carry
out.
I
don’t know why he does it. Every given night. And I don’t know why he always
asks to see me – it’s not like I’m any different from the other “actresses”.
I’m not prettier, nor more talented, nor more seductive. I just do what I have
to do for the living. What I do know, however, is that every evening, at eleven
sharp, he rises from his chair and hands me an envelope full of money – lots of
it. Then he leaves.
Maybe
that’s why she’s still keeping me – because he pays best and wants just me. And
she hates me for that, for she’s about his age and he’s the kind of man she’d
call handsome. She’d take him if she could, if he wanted her. But he doesn’t.
He pays to see me. He buys a small piece of me every night so as no one else
could – he’d pay less if I’ve been with anyone else.
So
tonight again has come the time for me to “shine”. I walk toward him almost
naked, sit down and light a cigar. I rest my hand on his hip and ask him if
it’s the night, secretly looking for his newspaper. But there’s no paper
tonight. He takes his hat off, looks me in the eye and in a deep voice answers
YES. I’m confused. The pattern’s changed, the pattern’s gone. He’s destroyed
it. I don’t know what to expect now. It’s the first time since I started
working here that he’s changed his reply. It’s the first night I’ll have to
actually earn my money by being what I am – a fancy-lady.
He’s
old and the very thought of touching him, of him touching me disgusts me. I
open my mouth to ask for help, but realize there’s nobody to offer it.
“How
are you feeling?” he asks, piercing me with his green eyes. It’s almost scary
to look at them given mine are almost the same. “Do they pay you well here?”
I’m nodding. “And they treat you right?” I’m nodding again.
He
looks worried and looks down as he asks his next question, “Am I your only
customer?” I don’t know how to answer. Have I been with a customer before? No. But I’ve taken parts in other
girls’ shows.
“Yes,”
I say after a moment of hesitation.
“Good,”
he smiles and stretches his arms to hug me. “Then maybe after all I could help
you somehow, couldn’t I? Happy birthday…, my little angel! It’s sad we meet
like this, but it’s high time you found out I’m your father. I’m sorry for not
being there for you all these years, but I discovered you existed just a few
months ago. I wanted to tell you right away, but I feared you wouldn’t accept
me. The least I could do was to keep you away from those men who come here to
taste the sin. Now, will you come with me, my child, to celebrate your
birthday? Will you come, Rosalie?”
“Give
them show,” she had said. I remember the curve of her rose-red lips when she
said it. “Give them show.”
I’m
an actress and my job is to make people believe what they want to believe.
It’s
not my birthday today. And my father’s dead. My name is Bethany, but I can be
Rose, Rosalie, or Rosalyn if he wishes… as long as he can pay.
