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Rossi Giraldo. 

My green eyes looked like a coriander vine around a black lake, or at least that's what I imagined when the woman in the mirror looked back at me, I avoided blinking, because otherwise the mascara I was applying just at that moment would rub off. 

 I would have showered myself in less appropriate places and it was not convenient for me to walk around there like a street hussy waking up after a night of strong liquor; My job was superior and of a higher rank, in a more presentable, luxurious and well-known place, where only wealthy people, businessmen, politicians and drug traffickers came. Pure elite people, dangerous men and others not so dangerous, but yes, men with a lot of money, men with whom just one hour could cost what is spent during a week of vacation in Cancun.

 I placed the little brush inside the container and turned the lid a few times, vaguely noting that my nails looked beautiful that night, with a frosty silver shine, showing what my soul was, something that shone in freedom and desire for economic power. My hands might seem pale, small, and weak, but I was very good at counting bills, and my slender arms had enough strength to hold me on the pole like one of the best teiboleras in Colombia.

 I then slid the red lipstick over the right places and imagined that that night, because it was Saturday, possibly better clients would arrive or they would ask my boss to send girls to the farms of those drug traffickers who wanted to have a good time during their stay in the country. 

 "Are you ready yet?" Asks Marcela, a co-worker, while she stands next to me in front of that mirror and she proceeds to touch up the makeup that she was already carrying. “Viviana and the others' turn is almost over, the fourteen tubes will remain available for the girls that remain; As always, they will take their two-hour break and then we will proceed to the same after doing our part, unless we are quickly chosen by clients. The club is full today, I think we will win a good ticket tonight.”

 My lips were red, the color of passion and the color of my lingerie; I got up from the seat and turned around then, turning my face to see how the thong fit me well in its place, making sure after that the garters were well balanced to the middle of my thighs. That night I saw myself, like every night, grandiose, diva, provocative and willing to capture the public's attention without losing my class or style.

 "Today we'll do well, Marcela," I said then, looking down at the little table where I had scattered all my makeup, beginning to rearrange it inside my bag. “We will do excellent because we are goddesses.”

 I sensed that she smiled, she was sweet, kind and honest, she almost didn't even believe that she actually worked as a companion, it could be very easy for her to be a kindergarten teacher; but hey, we had her there, as part of the dolls in the most expensive club in Bogotá.

 I took one last look in the mirror, the dark eye shadow made me look sensual; some of the girls had commented to me that my look, with the makeup I normally wore, was something that made me look a bit menacing. But since that never affected my performance at work, then I had no problem with continuing to look that way.

 "Come on, Rossi," she said, and from somewhere inside our dressing rooms the other girls came out.

 We went out then, the sound of the music playing in that disco increasing in my ears, my eyes getting used to the incessant flashing of the strobe lights, with the furtive look that I gave to the whole place without moving my face but my eyes, capturing for this that yes, the club was actually quite full of people, familiar and unknown faces. Meanwhile my heels kept taking me towards the tube that corresponded to me.

 Then the girl who left her post passed by my side, just as the others moved and the corresponding places were left empty, although other places on the catwalk had also been left empty since before, I suppose because they had been requested by a client. 

 An electronic song began to play, something dragged and sensual, I started with mine, moving my body in the way I knew how to do it, focusing on my ability, standing out in one of my talents, which was climbing the tube and doing flashy, erotic, artistic contortions.

 Of course there were men nearby, looking at me from their seats located a little lower than the height of the catwalk where the employees of that place acted; their raised chins, their eyes fixed on my pale skin, my long straight hair caressing my shoulders and back— everything was going on like a normal night, until, without stopping doing my thing, I let go a glance towards the entrance of the club.

 At that moment my stable heels kissed the catwalk, because I made my movements to the floor and lay on it, trying not to forget the choreography when finding the face that met my intrepid gaze. The perfect pale face with dark eyes of that person who had been arriving along with others, the black eyes and mildly Asian features of that man with abundant black hair and a lip ring. The same one who, —after throwing away anywhere with ease— the butt of the cigarette he had been smoking, looked around all the girls who were now dancing.

 This man had to be tough, influential, because he could be seen in his bearing, in his gestures, in his seriousness, in his attitude when walking and in all that aura that he spread when around him; the one that inspires fear because you quickly realize that it is one of the bad ones. I only hoped that he didn't have an enemy in that place, that he didn't find a rival by chance and that the night would end with scattered bullets and corpses that were guilty, as well as the corpses of people who had only been in that place only in passing.

 And of course, he had to be one of the strongest and most powerful, because I quickly checked that this somewhat formal clothing, although not exactly tight and dark in color, must cost a lot. I have always been someone who follows information on the latest trends in women's and men's fashion in certain famous brands on social networks; and those clothes that our new visitor was carrying would undoubtedly have to be Balenciaga, Praga or Gucci.

 But his clothes were not the only thing that could show how powerful he would undoubtedly be, but the number of men who arrived with him, all dressed in black, with rude faces, with the expression of hungry animals and on guard, he being the The only one who acted like he just wanted to spend a quiet night in some exclusive part of the joint.

I had a feeling the night was going to get pretty interesting.