The water crept over her toes as she adjusted the tap. Anna eased her body into the tub, and the warmth lapped soothingly at her skin.
“Finally,” she muttered to the empty room. The busy evening melted into the rising bubbles and she began to tap her toes on the contrastingly cool faucet.
Anna hummed under her breath as she rewound her performance in her mind. She nailed the tricky choreography and the audience roared in appreciation. A pile of cash waited for her to count on the bed; mostly fives, but she saw a few Andrew Jackson’s peering up at her when she dumped her purse out. Fairly lucrative for doing what she loved.
Anna’s hair was still drawn up tight in the bun; a style her mother taught her how to create. It made for easy wig changes now, but it was also the signature of a well schooled ballerina. She remembers squalling as her mother knotted her hair high atop her head for yet another dance lesson. Anna hated the monotony of barre work, and craved the freedom to bound like a gazelle across the floor. The repetition and exercise built her now lean and lithe body, but her heart wasn’t in the classical trappings of that style of dance.
Anna was drawn to fast and sexy choreography, which she highlighted with her ability to whirl around a bar in next to nothing. She could also grab a dollar bill with her booty cheeks, a skill the ballet prudes never taught in dance school. She felt powerful when she was in the spotlight and commanded a room like no other woman on the stage. Men fell all over themselves to get her attention. She liked the control.
A muffled thump from the bedroom made her eyes snap open and broke her reverie.
“Someone is impatient tonight,” she sang out loud enough to be heard in the other room. The thumps ceased and she chuckled. He can wait, and he will be punished for shortening her tub time. She fiddled the tub drain open with her toes and rose out of the now lukewarm water. She wrapped herself in a huge fluffy towel and peered into the partially steamed mirror. Her lipstick needed touching up but she was otherwise refreshed by a quick swipe of powder. She tucked the dainty aged bobby-pin that ended in a jeweled star back into her bun.
“Momma’s little super star,” she laughed at the mirror. Her mother always said that the pin would bring her luck on the stage. Her mother had worn it during her years as a principal dancer. It was now Anna’s turn to live her dream and reach for her own kind of fame. The thrill of being the center of attention was no less even with an adoring audience of one. She slipped out of the towel and slid on a long black satin robe and cherry red stilettos. She considered his punishment. She chose a slender cane from her wall of tools and strode into the bedroom. Her grin lit up the room. Showtime.