The Stage Is A Cage

She pretends to be straight so she can afford to live. Though, she enjoys being a stripper, she really does. It is who she dances for that she does not like. Look at them, all dressed in identically drab grey suits. They have the same haircut and watches that are almost as big as their egos. While the way she glistens from sweat underneath the spotlight is sexy, these men look like they have just come out of a deep-fat fryer. They make her feel a bit ill. Yet, here she is, grinding her waist on one of their laps while they tuck twenties into her G-string.

After a few minutes, she is back on the stage, above them. Despite what the salary men may believe, she is the one in control here. She has the power. Though, only if she pretends to be straight. As she twirls around the pole and drops to the floor, she tries her best not to think about the life she ought to be living. Instead of diamond fishnet hold-ups, she would wear a white lace garter. She would be a bride. And, there, on the other side of the aisle, would be her bride, waiting for her happiness.

As the tempo increases, the salary men are throwing their money at her. More, more, more! She gives them more. On her knees now, she flicks her hair and her hips back and forth. All the while, she is dreaming of her wife. Their house would be small, but more than enough. The love contained would overflow each time they opened the door to walk to the beach. To their favourite restaurant for dinner or to the local supermarket to pick up bread and wine. Money is falling onto her face as tears fall down her cheeks. She takes her top off so that the men do not notice.

Once the song is over, she rushes off the stage and into the dressing room. It does not take long for her to pull herself together and remember that she has a job to do. That life was not made for her, she must stop torturing herself by longing for it. Some people are just not born to be happy. She is a stripper, a straight woman, an actress. It is time to go back out there and do what she was born to do.

After wiping away her smudged mascara and adding a bit more glitter, she struts back into the club. Approaching her stage, she sees a woman sitting with the salary men. Her hair is long and dark, unlike the dancer's nylon blonde mane. The clothes the woman wears are not all that different to the men's. Tailored and professional, as if she has just finished working in the high-rise a few blocks away. Now a little bit off-centre, the dancer steps her six-inch stilettos back onto the stage. A roar of applause emerges from the audience, harmonised with a higher tone than before. My God, the dancer thinks, she is beautiful.

This routine feels different. The music is the same, the dancer's moves are identical, but her heart is beating a bit faster. The woman in front of her pays just as much as the men, but she screams far louder. When the dancer bends over to collect herself and her money, the woman has retrieved a tray of shots from the bar. She drinks three and passes the rest to the boys. This woman is a hot summer night, she makes you feel alive – and she makes you feel safe.

After resting the tray of shots on the table, the woman remains standing. Then, she is dancing. Her muted blazer is stripped off and thrown onto the chair behind her. Her colleagues watch her, silenced. Running her manicured fingers through her silky hair, she looks free. Like she does not care what anybody thinks of her. Like she is living her truth. Rolling up a fifty and placing it between her teeth, she gets closer to the dancer. The dancer's eyes are wide, while the woman with cash in her mouth has a spark in her eyes that the dancer likes. Slowly falling to kneel at the edge of the stage, the dancer bends forward and takes the fifty from the woman's mouth – without ever looking away from her.

Neither do the salary men, nor the dancer's manager. Everybody has their gaze transfixed on these two women. The moment feels a bit too real for the dancer, though she does not want it to end. So, she takes the woman by the hand and invites her onto the stage. Animalistic applause erupts from her colleagues, while the dancer's manager's sight remains focused. She should not be doing this, she knows it. But, if she can feel what it is like to be this close to another woman, for just a moment, she is not going to let it go.

When the men are not banging their fists against the edge of the stage, they are frantically searching their pockets for their life's savings to throw. More money than the dancer has ever seen in one night falls at her feet. Suddenly, it all seems worthless. Nothing, in comparison to looking into the eyes of this strange woman. Her manager's irritated expression seems to fade as more money appears. He retreats behind the bar where he whispers something into the DJ's ear. Instantly, the music gets louder and the lights get brighter. If a show is what they want, then a show is what they will get.

The two women dance with each other for what feels like forever. By the end of it, their skin is drenched in each other's sweat. The woman's white shirt is now translucent with a few buttons missing. Her smooth hair is in disarray and her eyes are wild. She has a bit of glitter on them, too. The song finishes and it is time for the dancer to get back to work. She knew it had to end at some point. That this moment of truth could only ever be a fantasy. And, even though she will now have to lose it, she would do it all again. Before the woman breathlessly steps off the stage to join the salary men, the dancer holds her face gently and kisses her cheek. Although the dancer must now return to being dead, she is grateful to have experienced being alive – even if just for one song.