Poll Dancer Read online

  POLL DANCER

  By

  Laura Heffernan

  The attached novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is merely a coincidence.

  Copyright © 2020 by Laura Heffernan. Cover image copyright © 2020 by Kirsty McManus.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Printed in the United States of America

  To Kerry,

  one of the strongest people I’ve ever known

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  THE ACCIDENTAL SENATOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY LAURA HEFFERNAN

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  Gold Rush: This is actually one of my favorite moves, although for the longest time, I thought it was called “the Face Plant.” With a name like that, it looks pretty much as you’d expect…

  - Push and Pole Fitness Tutorials, Vol. 2

  Hair braided neatly out of my face? Yup. Sports bra holding my girls in place? Got it. Hairspray to keep my booty shorts from riding up? Always.

  After re-applying my lipstick a second time and double-checking the view from my phone’s video camera, I was ready. Although I’d done half a dozen of these videos over the past few months to promote my new pole fitness classes at the local dance studio, I still got nervous every time. But social media brought in business. The only way to get over the nerves was to do the thing, so I wiped my palms against my shorts, adjusted my top one more time, and took a deep breath.

  Finally, I hit “record” and moved into position. “Hey, everyone, I’m Mel from Push and Pole Fitness. I’m going to do one of my favorite short routines to give you a hint of what we do. If you like what you see, come on down to my studio. We teach classes five nights a week. The number’s in my bio. And don’t forget to follow me for more videos. I put out new tutorials each week, so you can practice at home between classes.”

  Gripping the cold metal bar with one hand, I walked in a circle, then spun around, flashing a smile at the camera. “Don’t worry. This isn’t first class stuff. Just a taste of what you can achieve one day if you put your mind to it.”

  After a word to my phone, music blared from the Bluetooth speakers in the corners.

  Every dancer has favorite songs for different moods. When I did exhibitions or contests, I preferred something with fast and slow sections to show off a variety of talents. But live streams were short, quick. The purpose was to wow the audience, flaunt my best moves.

  To blow off steam, nothing beat Whitney Houston circa 1987. Even though she was before my time, my mom used to listen to her when she’d work out. Wherever we lived, the two of us would dance together, making each new place feel like home. Whitney’s songs brought me fond memories—and gave me a much-needed jolt of enthusiasm. Blasting “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” I started my routine.

  Step, step, dip, twirl, down, up. Spin, climb, twirl, flip. Down to the floor, ending in a split. After the second chorus, I climbed, scooting my way to the top before clamping my legs around the pole, wrapping my torso around to the front and balancing in a seated position. I paused for dramatic effect, looking directly at the camera.

  My legs parted, and I dropped.

  The ground shrieked toward me. Seconds from the bottom, my legs snapped together, my hands tightened their grip, and I halted.

  At least, that’s how it was supposed to work. How it did work, the last two hundred times I exhibited the move.

  Not today, though.

  I fell, as planned. Then the front door of my condo flew open. The condo where I lived alone, where the door had been locked thirty seconds ago. No one else should have a key.

  My head snapped involuntarily toward the sound. Time froze. My ex-boyfriend Gary stumbled across the threshold. I couldn’t for the life of me think what he was doing in my home. He never lived here.

  Then I realized he wasn’t alone. Wrapped around him was his coworker, Lindsay. I’d never liked her. Her shirt flew through the air, hitting me in the face.

  My mouth fell open. They crashed up against the wall next to the door, not even noticing my presence. At the same moment, I finished my drop. Unfortunately, I closed my legs a split second too late. My ass slammed into the ground. Ow.

  Before I’d even finished registering the pain—much less processing everything else that happened—my phone started to ring. My best friend’s ringtone.

  “Not a good time, Lana,” I muttered.

  Finally, Gary and Lindsay realized they weren’t alone. They looked over at me, still entwined. I couldn’t stop staring at them. Couldn’t speak. The room shrank until it contained nothing but them and me. And the incessant blaring of my ringtone. Lindsay’s face.

  Gary’s voice broke into my stupor. “What are you doing here?”

  “Me? What are you doing? And with her?” I jabbed a finger in Lindsay’s direction. Last time we spoke, they were just friends. Although friends didn’t text in the middle of the night.

  “We thought you were at work,” she said.

  “Oh, well, that makes everything okay, doesn’t it?” My voice rose with each word, reaching a pitch I’d never heard before. “How did you get in?”

  “I used my key.”

  Something he certainly didn’t get from me. “Why do you have a key?”

  “I made a copy awhile back, in case I needed it for an emergency.”

  Closing my eyes, I forced myself to count to twenty before I answered. “Okay, Gary. Let’s pretend that makes sense, although you should’ve told me. Why did you keep it after we broke up?”

  He stuttered. Nothing he could say would make things better. My phone rang again. The sound pierced my brain like needles. Near hysteria, I grabbed the device from the tripod where I’d set it up.

  Oh, no.

  As soon as I got my hands on the phone, everything made sense. With a start, I realized exactly why my best friend kept calling me. The video was still recording. Posting on Facebook Live.

  My routine.

  Gary’s entry. Making out with Lindsay.

  My fall.

  The revelation that my ex kept a copy of my key to use my house for sex. Ew. Ew. Ew. I needed a shower. And to change my locks.

  But first, I needed to turn off my phone. Because as I stood frozen in horror, with all these thoughts reeling through my head, the reactions kept rolling by. Thumbs up. Laughing. Heart. Laughing.

  ~ I ~

  The video went viral. Someone had managed to grab it from their screen before I turned off the recording and deleted the file. Whoever it was posted on their own page. So did everyone else in the world, apparently. My friends were so used to sharing every pole fitness video they found with me that eleven of them posted it to my own wall with some version of “Haha! ZOMG this is hilarious!” before I shut down my page.

  What a nightmare.

  While waiting for the emergency all-night locksmith, I called my boss.

  “
Helen, I’m so sorry,” I began before she could even say anything. “Hold on. Are you laughing?”

  “Oh, Mel, you’re brilliant!”

  “I am?”

  “Absolutely! That video is hilarious. Do you see how many views it’s gotten?”

  No, I did not. Because after I’d finally gotten Gary and Lindsay out of my house and deleted the post, I’d texted Lana to thank her for letting me know what was happening. She convinced me not to look at the numbers. Easy enough, since I didn’t want to know how many strangers witnessed my humiliation.

  “Um, a lot?”

  “Thousands at least. I’ve watched it twelve times myself. I can’t help it.” Helen laughed, a high-pitched girlish sound that seemed foreign coming from a seventy-year-old woman. “This is amazing! The phones are ringing off the hook. I’m so glad you remembered to put the pitch for the studio at the beginning of the tape instead of waiting until the end.”

  “Yeah, you know Helen, that ending wasn’t exactly what I’d planned—”

  “Pfft. Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t. But there’s no such thing as bad publicity, dear. This is going to be amazing for the studio.”

  “You’re not mad? Embarrassed for me?”

  “Oh, I’m completely embarrassed for you. You must be horrified. What a way to get dumped.”

  “Actually, I dumped Gary six months ago.”

  “Shh, that’s not what the viewers see. It’s okay, dear. If people feel sorry for you, they’ll spend money on more classes. This is such a brilliant marketing ploy, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself. Well done!”

  I sighed. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Helen was the one to copy and share the video. She certainly seemed delighted about my public humiliation. But she also called Facebook Live “a tape” and couldn’t reset the password on her smartphone. “Well, I’m glad I could help. I think.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Come by the studio early tomorrow, and we can talk strategy. I know you’re humiliated. But time heals all wounds. And so does extra pay. Everything will be fine.”

  “I guess that’s good, then. I’ll see you later.”

  We hung up. Despite my better judgment, I opened my laptop. The video didn’t take long to find. Three more people had attempted to share it with me, and ten others tried to tag me. Some “friends” they were. I blocked the taggers, paused to greet the locksmith who knocked on my front door, then pulled the video up again.

  I didn’t want to see it. Even knowing that I needed to know to mitigate the damage—ignorance is truly bliss sometimes. The longer I hesitated, the less I wanted to see it.

  Finally, with a deep breath, I forced my fingers to the “play” button.

  There I was, dancing. Talking about how great pole was. And…Thud! Slamming into the floor. Oh, man. It was just as bad as I thought. Cringing, I covered my face with my hands. A soft moan escaped my lips.

  “Hilarious, isn’t it?” The locksmith’s voice jolted me out of my self-pity.

  “What?”

  He gestured at the screen. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but hear what you were listening to. That video. A friend sent it to me earlier. So funny. That woman sure got some surprise, didn’t she?”

  Yeah. Some surprise indeed.

  “They’re calling her The Fall Girl.” The man leaned closer, peering at my face. “Hold on a sec…”

  I stood and slammed the computer shut, then spun away from him. “I need to get some water. Is the lock almost done?”

  “There’s a pole in your living room…and that door. The locks!” If I’d listened any harder, I’ve had heard the light bulb going on in his head. “You’re the Fall Girl! Dude, that rocks. I can’t wait to tell my friends.”

  “You know, I’d really prefer you didn’t.”

  Chortling, he banged his palms on my kitchen island. “Oh, the guys are never gonna believe this! Come on. Can I get a selfie with you?”

  He wasn’t going to let it go. He wasn’t going to leave. Helen’s words flashed through my head. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.

  After a minute, I sighed. “Fine. After the locks are changed.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Hood Ornament: You can get into this move from a basic or side climb. I prefer the side. Hook your inside knee around the pole and pull upward with your inside arm. Wrap your outside foot around the bottom of the pole and tuck the pole into your armpit. Put your arms straight out and tilt your head back. Don’t point your toes until you’ve got the move down!

  - Push and Pole Fitness Tutorials, Vol. 2

  A block away from the studio the next afternoon, a fire engine passed, sirens blaring. Then another. I watched them head off down the street, wondering if I should call Helen. There could be an emergency near the studio. Not a whiff of smoke in the air, though. Then a police car whizzed by before I even managed to pull back into traffic. That settled it. Time to call and see what was happening. Traffic was only getting worse ahead of me.

  Helen didn’t answer either the studio line or her cell phone. Hopefully everything was okay. The road was blocked ahead, so I turned down a side street and took the back way into the studio’s parking lot. Flashing lights at the other end of the alley made my pulse quicken, but I still didn’t smell any smoke. Maybe something else had gone wrong—a water main break? Cat stuck in a tree?

  Hopefully, whatever it was, the fire trucks wouldn’t stop my students from getting to class. My pay depended on the number of people who showed up each week. The one bright side of that stupid video was the possibility of extra students. If they couldn’t make it to the front door, most newbies wouldn’t come back. Tomorrow, I’d be forgotten news.

  My phone vibrated in my bag. Probably Helen returning my calls. As I dug for the device, my toe caught on something on the ground, and I went reeling forward. I swung my arms, stumbling to catch my balance. How graceful.

  Falling flat on my face in public was exactly what I needed the day after, well—falling on my butt in public. Before I hit the ground, a pair of strong arms caught me. Embarrassed, I looked up into a pair of flawless blue eyes. The owner had narrow, pointed features like someone pinched the dough when molding his face. His brown hair was parted neatly on the side with a line so straight it could’ve been drawn with a ruler. There were all things I saw easily, since I towered over him in my five-inch-heels. He also wore shoes so shiny I could see my face in them, which probably meant he had money. Or too much free time. Who got their shoes shined anymore?

  “Whoa there. Are you okay?” he asked.

  My face grew warm. Way to pay attention to my surroundings. “Sure. Sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “No problem. Happy to help.” He studied my face while I held my breath.

  Please don’t recognize me. Please please please. While I ordinarily loved when people watched my videos, I did not want to be known as The Fall Girl.

  His gaze lingered on my shoes. “Hold on. You’re not going to the studio, are you?”

  Something about the way he asked made me feel like honesty was not the best policy here. I clutched my coat closer around me, as if he could see through the layers of down to the glittery bra top and booty shorts beneath. Then I glanced at the shop adjacent to the parking lot. “Uh, no. I’m just getting a cup of coffee.”

  “Great! In that case, feel free to join us.” He shoved a flyer into my hand before disappearing around the corner in the direction of Dance 4 U.

  Weird, but I’d worry about it after class. My phone rang again, so I shoved the paper in my bag while rooting around to see who kept calling. Before I found the phone, I got to the end of the alley and, for the second time, came to a dead halt.

  A wall of people greeted me. For a split second, I thought some good had come out of my viral video, and everyone showed up to take my beginner pole fitness class. But one glance at the shirts buttoned to the chin and the pinched faces glaring at me told me I ha
d another think coming.

  Quietly, trying not to draw attention to myself, I sidled up to the nearest woman, leaning conspiratorially to whisper in her ear. “What’s going on?”

  “You won’t believe what’s happening,” she said. “Did you know there is a stripper factory right here in our little town?”

  I gasped in fake horror, trying to conceal a laugh. “I’m sorry. A what?”

  “There’s a woman here who teaches young, impressionable minds how to become strippers! Look, there’s even a class for little kids!”

  Of course. The new “mommy and me” class. Far from being a stripper class, the intent was to help women bond with their toddlers while getting into shape. Help the kids burn off some energy (and hopefully sleep after), while the moms rebuilt their core strength.

  I took a deep breath. “That’s not exactly what the classes are—”

  “Hey! You! You’re not welcome here!”

  The man from the alley strode toward us, looking decidedly less friendly than he had a few minutes earlier. The crowd parted around him as if he were the Second Coming.

  “Are you talking to me?” I asked, although the answer seemed rather obvious.

  “I knew you looked familiar,” he said. “I didn’t recognize you with so many clothes on.”

  The dig made me roll my eyes, but I didn’t bother to respond.

  “What’s wrong, Curtis?” the woman asked.

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” the man, presumably Curtis, said. “The woman you’re talking to is exactly who we’re protesting here. She’s the one teaching the stripper classes.”

  Putting my hands on my hips, I glared down at him. “I take it you’re not here to sign up for lessons?”

  “We’re here to shut you down,” he said. “We don’t want your kind in our neighborhood. This is a Christian town, founded on Christian values.”

  “No, it isn’t. This is New York. Saratoga Springs. We’re known for horse racing, not religion. You have no right to shut me down.”