Free Beautiful Failure by Mariah Cole

customers . Rule number three—”
    “Don’t fuck the customers?”
    “ No . If you choose to break rules one and two, I’m not responsible. Understood?”
    “Understood.”
    “What would you like me to call you?”
    “What do you mean call me?”
    He smiles. “No one here goes by a real name. While the majority of my clients are businessmen and high level executives who fly in from bigger cities, we do get a few strangers here or there and we don’t need anyone knowing who you really are. If I offer you this job, and you choose to take it, the day you bring your license and social security card will be the only time your real name is welcome here.”
    “Does that mean I’m temporarily hired?”
    “No,” he says flatly. “It means it’s time for me to take you on a tour.”
    He slips an arm around my waist and leads me down another hallway and through a small metal door. Behind that door are two short flights of steps, and the sound of thumping music which is becoming louder and louder.
    As we approach a velvet curtain, I can smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke. And sweat. 
    “Stay close,” he orders as he pulls it open and pushes me into a dark room. “I want you to leave the very second any of this feels uncomfortable.”
    My eyes take several seconds to adjust to the darkness and the haze, but when they do, I have to literally pinch myself to make sure I’m not hallucinating. 
    There are five huge poles in the room—each one surrounded by its own circular platform stage. The one in the middle stands a little higher than the rest and is clearly the main draw, but all of them feature the same pretty prize: a half-naked woman clad in only lace panties, swirling around in confidence.
    “We’ll come back to the standard things...” Michael shows me into a dimly lit hallway. There are doors on each side, and their windows are all tinted.
    Despite the privacy, I’m pretty sure there are moans coming from the other side of those doors. And not the fake kind.
    “We fulfill fantasies here,” he says calmly. “A man divorces his wife and wants to relive his glory days? Fine. Someone gets off by being beaten and tied up? Done. And if some of my girls choose to break rules one and two to earn triple of what they would make on stage?”
    He doesn’t say anything further.
    He simply leads me back out into the main room where a new group of girls have taken their places on the poles.
    I’d thought that coming to a strip club in the daytime would mean the place would be empty, but it’s not. Far from it. 
    There are several men—all dressed in designer suits, sitting at the base of the stages. They’re lounging in the luxury booths that line the far wall, and I see a couple of them walking out of what appears to be a private lounge.
    “Hello, Michael.” A woman steps in front of us and extends a tray of shot glasses. “Is your new friend enjoying the show? Does she need a drink?” She smirks, and I realize she’s wearing nothing but a white thong and matching pasties.
    I don’t answer her. I let my eyes continue to roam the room, watching as the women gracefully contort their bodies around the poles—as they make the men squirm and lose control over what they’re able to do.
    One man who’s sitting in front of the center pole suddenly stands up and approaches it. He reaches into his breast-pocket and pulls out his wallet.
    The dancer wraps her legs around the pole and tilts her upper body backward so he’s standing right above her face.
    My vision isn’t the best, but I’m pretty sure he inserts two hundred dollar bills into her mouth.
    While still hanging from the pole, she extends her arms and touches him, running her hands against the large tent that’s formed in his pants.
    “You can touch them, but they can’t touch you.” The shot glass woman follows my gaze, and then she whispers into my ear, “Unless you want them to that is...It’s more money if you do.”
    I swallow and