“You sucked,” he says without preamble.
Until he opens his mouth. “Thanks,” I mumble.
“I’m only letting you work today because I got paid to, but for fuck’s sake. You don’t do another set, got it? We don’t want to drive customers away with that kind of…” He pauses for a quick inhale. “What the hell was that anyway? I’ve seen robots with better moves.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I was bad. Can I go home now?”
“Please. Go home. And don’t come back.”
“Okay, fine,” I mutter under my breath. I’m not going to beg him to keep me or anything ridiculous like that. It isn’t like this is my dream job. Mr. Grayson will just have to get a little more creative about convincing Mystery Guy that he really wants to marry me.
I take off my stage makeup, put on my street clothes and climb into the used Honda that my parents bought me when I got my driver’s license. Someone back home keyed the sides. Since I never bothered to patch them up, the lines have rusted over. I didn’t report the vandalism to the police either, since they weren’t going to side with me. They won’t side with anybody related to Dad.
The interior of the car gives me a sense of privacy, and I let myself deflate. Tears bead in the corners of my eyes, and I shove a fist against my mouth and bite on my knuckles until they hurt.
This isn’t how my life was supposed to be. I was supposed to go to college, graduate, get a job with real career prospects…marry a nice guy from the same socioeconomic background. But instead, I only got to do four semesters. Given my lack of education and job skills, I’m never going to find gainful employment…at least, nothing that will lead to a real career. And I’m beholden to Mr. Grayson, whose motives I do not understand.
I can’t give up, no matter how much I want to. My younger sister Nonny depends on me. She’s only fifteen, and she has no one else. I feel shaky with terror, just imagining what Mr. Grayson could ask her to do if she didn’t have me by her side to keep her safe. He showed up a year ago, and he’s been a lifesaver. But we can’t keep accepting his gifts, especially now that I know he can demand anything at any time. At least he hasn’t wanted sex.
Somehow I have to find a way to pay back every penny he’s given us. I may be alone, but I’m not helpless. I can figure things out as long as I keep calm.
I tilt my head back until it hits the seat. I would give anything to be able to talk things over with my best friend—former best friend—Traci Burton. She always had great ideas and knew exactly what to say to cheer people up. But after what Dad did to her family, she wants nothing to do with me. The last time I saw her…
I waited until she was home alone before going over to her house—her parents couldn’t stand the sight of me. Traci and I grew up together in Lincoln City, inseparable since kindergarten. She was the only one I could talk to when people started saying all those awful things about my father. She was my best friend. Surely she wouldn’t turn her back on me.
When she saw me on the steps, her face flushed, anger flashing in her eyes. She jutted her sharp chin out, the only thing that kept her face from being as round as the moon.
“I can’t talk to you,” she spat. “I’m too angry and hurt and… Your dad ruined my family! How could he?”
I had no answer because I didn’t know how he could’ve done it either. I still don’t.
Now my eyes in the rearview mirror look tired. It’s more or less a constant condition these days.
Once I compose myself, I drive home. Nonny and I live in a small two-bedroom apartment in a not-so-nice section of the city. But it’s cheap, especially when split two ways. We have a roommate, even though Mr. Grayson offered to provide a nicer unit for just the two of us. I’m glad I never asked for much. Otherwise who knows what he might feel entitled to?
My roommate, Caroline Wiseman, is supposedly a college student, but I’ve never seen her study. I have seen her party hard and bring a lot of guys over. I worry about her effect on Nonny, but it is not easy to find someone who doesn’t mind living with an underage sibling of their roommate. And honestly, the parade of men coming to see my roommate is nothing compared to the trauma that Nonny and I both went through at the shelter.
Caroline is still up, sitting on the couch with her feet on the coffee table, a tablet clutched in her manicured hands. She doesn’t go to bed until at least four a.m. Her hair is red—like mine, but hers comes from a bottle. For once she doesn’t have any makeup on, although she’s wearing green contacts that turn her eyes a strange shade of hazel. She bounces up, tablet still in her hands, and gives me a wide grin. “So! How’d your job go?”
“Horribly.”
She cringes. “Oh no! So you’re back to square one?”
“Something like that.” She has no idea.
“Well… That sucks.” She taps her lower lip. “But I may have something for you.”
“What is it?” I say, suppressing a groan. Knowing her, it’s probably really bad.
“It’s a pretty decent gig. Pays really well.”
My radar’s beeping. “What kind of ‘gig’?”
“It’s actually this Friday thing I have, but my parents said they’re coming over, so I can’t do it. I always tell them not to show up on such short notice, but they just don’t listen. It’s so frustrating. Ugh!”
I manage a pat smile of sympathy for her. I wish I had parents who came over, unannounced or not.
“So anyway, I need somebody who can, you know, sub for me. Madame G. gets furious when her girls don’t show. And the client paid a lot of money.”
“What is this job?” The way Caroline calls her boss “Madame G.” is not reassuring.
“Oh, it’s super easy. Just be a birthday girl.”
“A birthday girl.”
She sighs and looks at me like I’m four. “Okay. It’s this guy’s birthday, right? You basically get inside a big fake cake and jump out when it’s time. And you scream ‘happy birthday’ and maybe even kiss him on the cheek if you want. That’ll get you an extra big tip. And you just put on a good show for everyone at the party. It shouldn’t be that hard. The kind of people who can afford the service tend to be rich, and they pay really well. Totally different from a club, with all those annoying drunks.”
After tonight, I don’t ever want to do a strip show, private or otherwise. “Yeah…I don’t think—”
“But the money’s really good! Like, enough for your half of the rent.”
My jaw drops. “One night’s work is going to net me enough to pay the rent?” I put a hand on my chest. “My half?”
“Yup.”
I cross my arms. “Caroline, do you have to…you know…sleep with those men?”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Of course not, silly. You don’t have to. But you can, if you want. They tip really well for that. Most of the time they just want a blow job, nothing serious. Really doesn’t take that long, if you know what you’re doing.”
My skin crawls at the casual way she talks about it. I want to turn the work down. I doubt this client’s house has a bouncer who’ll protect me from overeager friends of the birthday boy.