06

“That's a unique name,” he tells me, but I don't miss the humour in his tone. I've been getting shit for my name since I was little so I'm unbothered, there's nothing I've not heard before about it.

“Of course it is.” I nod, the only other Stars I've met are those in the sky.

“How long have you been working here?” he asks, kissing his teeth.

“three years,” I instantly reply.

He shifts in his head, suddenly more intrigued. “And before that?”

“I worked at a club offshore for about three years, and before that, I was a failed ballerina.” I giggle, the memory bittersweet. I loved ballet, I was supposed to be a classical ballet dancer but then my brother fucked up his life, and I fucked mine over trying to save him, after all that, the idiot couldn't even live.

“How old are you, Starr?” Mr Moretti asks, stealing me from my memories.

“Twenty-seven, " I blurt out, shocking myself. I usually lie and say I'm twenty-three or twenty-five. “Why are you asking me those things?”

“I want to get to know you.”

“Why?” I counter, the excuse not convincing enough. No man just wants to know me, men want fun with strippers, not their biography.

“Because I feel bad about last night,” he casually shrugs. This man is awfully calm, too calm, it's suspicious.

“All forgotten,” I sigh, pressing my lips together.

He leans forward, making me squirm inside. “Well, I can't forget you. Ever since I saw you, you've been on my mind.”

I let out a laugh, relief filling me as I look at him. He could have just said so, there was no need to pretend to be interested in who I am when he came for Medusa and not the woman behind her. “I see, well the fantasy usually dies out when you realize I'm not what I claim to be.” I smile, this time genuinely. “Medusa is an act, it's my job. I can pretend to be anyone, make you feel special and still go and cuddle up next to my boyfriend.”

Something flickers in his gaze, “You have a boyfriend?”

“Yes,” I frown. “why do you sound surprised, can strippers have no boyfriends?”

“Of course they can,” he smirks. “I'm just wondering what man is stupid enough to share you.”

Okay, consider me flattered, that's a first for me, for Medusa not but for Starr it is. “He's an ex,” I confess, now thinking of my boyfriend who dumped me because I play Medusa too well. “We broke up because he couldn't stomach the fact that I was a sex worker and now we just meet, fight, kiss, and fight again.”

“This may be a little personal, but can I ask why you're in this profession?”

I keep my answer short, simple and half-true. “Because to I love to dance, it pays well and I owe someone a shitload of money.” I wince, that last bit is always on my mind. Even when I try to pretend to be someone else, I can't forget I owe Kade Money because I go home to him every night.

“How much?”

“A lot,” I seethe. “The kind of money the devil uses to buy souls.”

Mr Moretti nods, watching me still. He's good at eye contact, it's like he stares into souls. “Now suppose this devil debt was paid off, what would you do?”

That one makes me think.

I've not really thought much about it, because it's very unlikely the debt gets cleared, I'm more than ready to work my entire life because I have no choice. The money I owe Kade isn't the problem, the problem is the way the interest rises with each day. I know, horrible deal, but I was desperate then, I just wanted my brother to be okay, he was my only family.

“Um, go on vacation?” my head tilts, unsure of my response.

“That's it?” Mr Moretti scoffs, seemingly disappointed. “I would expect something big.”

I chew on my bottom lip, biting on my biggest desire but I wind up mumbling it, grabbing his attention. “I can't believe I'm telling you this,” I sigh. “In that impossible scenery, I would start over. I don't like that I've been sleeping with men for money since I was twenty, stripping my clothes for money since eighteen.” I swallow, but he watches me unphased, awaiting my response. “I would go somewhere nobody knows me and hopefully fall for a non-judgemental chill guy.”

“Any guy?” his eyebrow lifts.

“A rich one, obviously.” I snicker, I thought that went without saying. “I've had enough money problems for one lifetime.”

“I'm rich, would you fall for me?”

“Hey, what are you saying.” I laugh, my eyes widening when I don't see him laughing with me. “Oh, you're serious.”

“Yes,” he nods. “I happen to like you. I haven't looked at any woman the way I do you in years.”

Hot.

I can myself with my hand, the room suddenly too small for the both of us. “Okay, in the unlikely scenery that I am free of my chains, sure.” my cheeks heat up. “Why not? You're handsome and when I overlook how strangely you acted I would assume you're a nice man.”

“Nice?” He scoffs, “Carry on.”

“No, I can't.” I shake my head, refusing to feed myself impossible dreams. I'll stick to dreaming of a richer sugar daddy who won't tire of my expenses that much is possible. “Mr Moretti, life isn't the same as my imagination so I can't keep imagining things that won't happen. This was a good talk, forget last night ever happened.” I rise, ready to go back to work because in this reality, that's how things work.

“Can I take you out on a date?” He asks, stops me in my tracks, again I study him for anything that suggests he is joking but his face remains placid.

“No,” I decline. “Men like you don't take women like me to bed, they take us to bed, leave us high and dry and then go back to their perfect spouses until they need someone to fuck again,” I tell, leaving before he gets a chance to speak again, that too nothing but absolute bullshit.

I find Alison on my way out, she's already changed into her performance clothes, and she was up first tonight which means I've been soaked up in a conversation with a handsome creep letting him feed me delusion for more time than I thought.

“Starr, Rocky just sent Mellow up on your number.”

“I know,” I nod. “I'm going home.”

“Why?”

“Because that man from last night seems to have a fascination with me.” I sigh.

“Nothing new there,” Alison laughs.

“No, he gives me chills.” I swallow, and not to forget he feeds my imagination-deluded scenery. “I'll take a cab around Fourth Avenue, you can drive home.”

“Okay, be safe.” she grins.

I smile back at her, less enthusiastic. “Later babes.” I tell her, ducking away through the employee's back door. My body feels cold, my heart aching because how could I be as stupid as to let a stranger get my biggest desire out of me and also have him feed me delusion on a silver spoon?

I'm glad I came to my senses, but now I feel like a failure again, but more than anything I'm inspired to take it out on men like him. Rich fools with money to spend, I had fallen off the wagon for a bit but I'm back now, I'll milk them for whatever I can just to amuse myself.

I'm taking a long way home, the deserted route to avoid cat calls from drunk men but when I get to my favourite twenty-four-hour dinner, I'll grab a meal and an Uber.

“Hello there, beautiful.” a masked man calls out, his voice deep and unsettling. “Care for some fun?”

“No,” I roll my eyes. “leave me alone.”

He laughs, and my pace quickens, the irritation he's causing me making me wish I had chosen an Uber. “I wish could, really but you're just so..” he trails off, grabbing my wrist.

“Let me go,” my breath hitches, the irritation morphing into something more, something alarming. I try to wiggle free but the hold he has on me is too strong, and it stings. I'm left with no other option but to scream, “Help!”

My cry for help turns into a painful one when he hurls me close and twists my arm, shoves me against the wall and puts a very large hand over my mouth. “Ugh,” he groans, “what a loud thing you are.”

I scream against his hand, panic setting in when I realize where I am, a deserted alley where no one can hear me. But there's a street nearby, a busy street I averted, and people will surely hear me, I can scream loud. I bite his palm, my teeth gnawing at the palm of his hand through the gloves he's got on but he doesn't move his hand. If anything, he's getting angrier.

“Stop.” He groans, “If you don't shut up, I'm going to cut this pretty throat open.”

“Please don't,” I whimper, my plea muffled by his hand.

I'm not exactly scared of death but I don't want to die like this, I have a new pair of shoes coming next week and I need to wear them at least once before I die. And that gorgeous new bathing suit I've been saving for the perfect summer day, not to mention the lingerie I'm saving for a real man. God no, I have so much to live for, all material but I'm a materialistic girl, there's no secret there.

“How does it feel to be every man's desire?” he snickers.