Indebted to the Mafia King
Two of the other dancers, Sabrina and Crystal, sit at the mirrors already in costume.
“Hey guys,” I say.
“Hi, Eleni,” they chorus.
Crystal turns to face me and jiggles her chest. “What do you think of the new top?”
I study it. She tends to lean into the literal interpretation of her name, coating herself in what look like real jewels, and the tiny bra she has on tonight is no exception. Glittering strings of red faux-stones drip from the bottom and catch the light when she moves.
“Cute,” I say. “With the black dress?”
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