Night Time Lies

“I’m off”! 

“Okay see you tomorrow, have a good shift” my housemate yells from her room.

“Yeah thank you, have a good rest of your day” I yell back and step out the front gate. 

It’s six thirty in the evening and Annika thinks I’m headed off to the Coppersmith Hotel for my night shift. 

“Night shift, in a hotel in the south bank, the Coppersmith” I remember reciting to Annika a few weeks earlier when she moved in.  

“Night shift? I could never, I’m such a morning person. What do you do in the hotel”?

“A bit of everything, reception, checking guests in and out, a bit of room service, setting up for breakfast the next day, general customer service. I’m a bit of an allrounder because not so much goes on during the day. Have you found a job yet? I’m guessing you’d prefer a cafe or restaurant”.

“Sounds cool, not as boring as only doing one task like only reception, I guess”.

“Yeah exactly, that’s also why I like it”.

“This cafe down the street offered me a trial shift for tomorrow morning” she replies to my earlier question. 

“That’s great congrats! I hope it works out” I remember her nodding and smiling. This was a couple of weeks ago. Annika got the job at the cafe. Now I rarely see her. 

I’m standing at the bus stop, waiting. It makes me sad to think that I lied to her. A nice american girl in her twenties, from Utah. I hate lying. The bus stops, I climb on and don’t scan my PTV card. I have the money but I’d rather spend it on something else. 

This is the same bus I would have to take to go to the Coppersmith Hotel, I checked. Scared somebody would see me get onto a bus that goes into a completely different direction and figure out I don’t work there at all. It’s a completely irrational thought. I don’t even know anyone in Melbourne. Except for Annika and she doesn’t have a reason not to trust me. Why would she. I’m like her. A twenty three year old from Germany, coming to Melbourne with the dream of escaping the cold winter raging in the northern hemisphere, to escape family and life back home, and to make more money than possible back home. I’m trustworthy. 

The bus stops and I get off. It’s October and the sun is slowly setting behind the CBD skyscrapers. One more street to cross, then I’m there. I already scan the street, making sure no one will recognize me. The streetlight makes the ‘okay to go’ sound. In my sneakers, sweatpants and oversized shirt, hair pinned up, no make up on yet I quickly walk across the street. 

When I reach the club I stop looking around and duck my head slightly, as if I am embarrassed. I’m not, I’m actually proud, I love my job. Walking up the stairs to reception, a large sign, ‘Welcome to The Men’s Gallery’ flashes at me. Walking past it, I take a right and walk down to the changing rooms. 

It’s Saturday, the biggest night of the week. Roughly fifteen girls are already spread out across the changing room, pulling out their makeup, heels, lingerie. A blond girl walks towards the back where the showers are. I don’t know her name, I only know two girls until now. It’s been nearly a month but nights get wild and many girls like to keep to themselves, focussed on the hustle rather than making friends. 

As I sign in my name, Blair and pay tonight's house fee, 150 dollars. I scan the room. Nobody I know is here yet. I recognize some faces but nobody looks up or says hi. Frankie will come in later, she likes to come in around eight. Eight is a bit late for me, I try to come as early as possible because it means you get to go home earlier, if you want. 

Getting in at seven will probably get you out by 3:30 or 4 AM on a Saturday. Only coming in an hour later, at eight, could already push that to 5:30 or even 6 AM. In reality I could come in at eight. On the weekend I usually stay until at least five. 

Sitting down, I try to smile at a few faces I recognize. My attempt at making friends, not very strong but I’m saving my energy for later. 

Emptying my backpack onto the space on the long table, in front of a lit mirror that will be my space for the night, I start going through the motions to get ready. At the back of the room near the bathroom I grab a towel. I already showered at home but this is for later and for now something clean to cover my chair with to sit on. 

Pulling out all the makeup brushes I’ve acquired over the past weeks, I get that imposter feeling people talk about on talk shows these days. Never having done my makeup in the past, I’ve had to adapt to the club rules. Every dancer has to have a full face of makeup for every shift. 

With youtube videos I have tried to learn what type of an eyelid I have. I think it’s hooded. but it doesn’t really matter because I do the same thing every night anyways. A light color of eyeshadow brushed on in circular motions with my new blending brush the way youtube taught me. Then a darker color at the edge, up until last week I used the same brush for my eye makeup. Now I also have a smudging eyeliner brush which I have never used but felt I needed and a round shadow brush which is a smaller version of my blending brush for more precision. 

Tonight is the night I want to try out that one for the first time. Together with my new eyeshadow pallet. Shades of pink and light red. Frankie told me that would bring out my green eyes. 

Trying to ignore the other girls in the background I brush on the pinks and reds, add some maskara to my lashes, and highlighter to my cheekbones. Finally I paint my lips red and cover them with some clear lip gloss. 

Undressing I check in the mirror if there are any bruises I need to cover with my concealer. Not tonight. My pink checkered lingerie set is already laid out on the table in front of me. A simple lace bra with a thin, matching g-string. 

Lastly I slip into my plastic pleasers. As always I bought the clear plastic ones. They’re meant for beginners but they go with every outfit and are not as painful as walking in any of the others. 

Half an hour has gone by and it’s almost time for my first stage. I take the stairs up to the club to see if I can get one dance in before my stage. The club is empty. That’s okay as the night goes by it will fill up. 

Although there are only four guys sitting or standing around the bar I manage to sell one of them a dance. Fifty dollars, for ten minutes. I finish the private dance just in time for my stage at 8. 

When I climb down from the stage after 15 minutes Frankie is waiting for me at the bar. Now our night can really start. The next nine hours we walk up to groups of two or more guys and sell them sexy the tall blond double trouble duo. 

On some it works, others shake their heads no, and a couple want to take us for dances separately. In that time the other roams the club on her own and singles out men alone. 

At five, long after my last stage I stumble down the stairs and go through the motions to take off my makeup, shower, wash my lingerie, brush my teeth and pack my backpack. It was a good night. My Uber arrives. I wave the bouncers good night and drive home. 

Quietly I turn the key in the lock and tiptoe to my room. After getting undressed for the last time that night I put on my pajamas and count the money I made tonight cross legged on my bed. In the background I watch Friends on Netflix. The clock on my nightstand tells me it’s six in the morning. 

Next door I hear Annika’s alarm clock go off. She’s a light sleeper. She probably heard me come in twenty minutes ago. The walls are thin. She moves in her bed, ready to get up. She hears my Netflix show. 

We don’t say good morning or good night. The sun is going up. I’m too tired to close my curtains. As Annika gets dressed for her morning run, I close my laptop and drift off to sleep.