Author entry: Possible opening for the actual book

Aspiring dancers move to New York, aspiring actresses move to Los Angeles.  Candy Cain moved to the latter, yet worked as the former.  Many people would refer her type of dance as an illegitimate form of dance.  At this point, she didn't care if it was or wasn't an artsy respected form of dancing.  All she cared was that it paid the bills.

The lack of customers indicated the weather outside: cold and rainy.  Candy received a small wage, but most of her income came from tips customer's would give her.  Not the tips from dancing - that would only pay the rest of her rent - the rest of her bills and any savings would come from tips customers would give her by keeping them company - not the way most people stereotyped the dancers - but literally, to keep company with the customer with conversation.

It was hard to be motivated when the customer pool was slim; and the cold wet air roaring in from the outside.  She went through her motions.  She didn't notice a tall shadowy man come in and stand near the corner of the room - nor did anyone else.  Her mind was focused on a problem customer sitting in front of her.

"Shake it, baby! Come on! What am I paying you for," he said as he shook a lone dollar bill in front of his face.

Candy ignored him, but he was relentless.  No use being nice to this guy - he was an obnoxious drunk.  Probably cheap, too.

The man, a short, thin, middle-aged balding man in his fifties, continued to verbally harass Candy, until he jumped on stage and grabbed her.  She punched him in the groin, and ran off stage.  This amused the strange man standing in the corner. 

"Never changes - the relationship between dancers and their customers - whatever the culture, whatever the time," he thought.

Leave a comment

Add comment