by Dia Cole
Pity.
Even if he wasn’t wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit, Javier would be one amazing-looking man. He wasn’t as large as some of the men seated around him, but he radiated power. Tonight, his shoulder-length hair was tied back, emphasizing high cheekbones, full lips, and startling amber eyes. Those incredible eyes studied my body as I danced.
I shivered, feeling caught in the stare of a predator. Trying to ignore the striking man, I focused on the professor. Based on the flush in his cheeks, he’d had more than the two-drink minimum.
Good for me. Bad for his bank account. I cupped my bare breasts and lifted them for his perusal.
He licked his lips and handed me a wad of bills.
I tucked them into my G-string as I undulated my hips. What was it about guys and breasts? They seemed to lose all reason when a pair was flashed their way.
It was the same with the professor. His pupils dilated, and he swallowed hard. He rubbed his mouth with one trembling hand while reaching for his wallet with the other.
Excellent. I purred my approval. I caressed my inner thighs, making seductive promises with my heavy-lidded gaze. For this moment, I’ll be your woman.
Of course, it was just an act, I’d never belong to any man. But he didn’t need to know that. I slipped my fingers into my G-string and snapped the elastic band.
He gasped, his eyes glazed with lust.
Donna sidled up next to him, adjusting the crooked Santa hat clipped to her badly dyed blonde hair. “Want another drink?”
The professor tore his gaze from me.
The spell was broken.
I glared at Donna.
As if realizing her mistake, she gave me an apologetic look and mouthed “Sorry, Lee.” Given the dark shadows under her eyes, she probably hadn’t slept in weeks. And no wonder. She’d lost her son to the canine flu a few months back and had never really recovered. I forgave her immediately. I knew all too well the pain of losing loved ones.
The song ended. Max, clutching a mic in his thick hands, hoofed it to the stage. “Give it up for our gorgeous heavenly creature. You can get a taste of Heaven every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night. Up next, Mistress Robin will whip you into shape.”
Uncle Duncan tipped his hat, motioned to the parking lot, and limped out the door. Sly slumped over his table. Javier raised his cognac glass in my direction while his men continued to ignore me. At least the professor clapped wildly.
Another piss-poor night.
Trying to hide my disappointment, I blew a kiss to the professor, gathered up the lingerie I’d scattered around the stage, and exited through the back curtains.
Havana, encased in silver-studded black latex, was preparing to go on. “Is it dead out there?”
“Stone-cold. Damn holidays.” I couldn’t wait for Christmas to be over. Not only did it hurt business, but the holiday season always reminded me of dark times I’d rather forget.
She sighed. “It’s been bad since the canine flu hit.”
No argument there. Not only had the worldwide pandemic killed off a quarter of the population, it’d also wreaked havoc on businesses everywhere. “Things will get better with the vaccine.” All anyone talked about were the free shots that had just been rolled out to the public. I hadn’t had time to wait in the huge lines to get mine yet.
“Took ‘em long enough. Damn, if things around here don’t pick up soon, I might have to start nannying again.”
I smiled at the image of the BDSM queen looking after kids.
She adjusted one of the straps on her thigh-high stiletto boots. “What will you do?”
My mind blanked.
What will I do? I had to take care of my family. My waitressing gig wasn’t paying much these days, and it wasn’t as if high school dropouts had a lot of options. I still had a little money stashed away from better times.
But that won’t get us far.
Techno music blared from the speakers out front.
Havana uncoiled her whip. “That’s my cue.”
Nodding goodbye, I headed to the dressing area. A thick cloud of coconut-scented body spray hung over the narrow room. Six makeup vanity mirrors competed for space with the rows of lockers behind them. I waved to Cami, who was doing her makeup in the back, and made my way to my chair.
I started to sit but thankfully remembered to unstrap my wings before I crushed them. Those damn things cost a pretty penny, not that I didn’t have a backup pair. I glanced in the mirror at the black tattoo of angel wings that covered my back from the tops of my shoulders to the base of my spine. Getting inked hurt like a bitch, but it was a fitting tribute to the older sister I’d lost.
I hung the fluffy white wings on a nearby hook and collapsed into my chair. After kicking off my stilettos, I rubbed my feet and tried to remember a time when they didn’t ache.
A naked pair of double Ds brushed my cheek.
Seriously? I glared up at the tiny blonde woman standing over me. “Get your tits out of my face, Cami.”
She laughed and took a step back. “Jealous?”
I raised a brow.
“Okay. I’m the jealous one. You have a better rack and you didn’t even have to pay for it.”
I reached into my G-string, pulled out the crumpled one-dollar bills, and slapped them on the counter. “Fat lot of good they did me tonight. Twenty bucks, and I didn’t pull in much more at my shift at Hooters. At this rate, I won’t make rent.”
Her forehead furrowed. “You know, you could always join me doing escort work. You’d make great money.”
Not this again. I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t give me that look. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s not like we’re hookers or anything.”
I raised my brow again.
“Fine. If you want to make the good money, you do a few… things. Men would pay top dollar to pop that cherry of yours. I’m talking four or five Gs, baby girl.”
I rested my head on my hands.
Is this what it has come to? Bartering my virginity?
I felt Cami’s hand on my shoulder. “You look tired. Forget I said anything.” She paused. “Have you seen the news?”
“No. Why?”
The fact that she didn’t say anything right away was clue enough that something was up. I lifted my gaze to meet her cornflower blue eyes in the mirror. “Why, Cami?”
She fiddled with the tiny plaid skirt she wore. “Best Friends staged a rally earlier tonight.”
At the mention of my sister’s animal rights group, my stomach tightened. “Eden said they were just meeting for coffee.”
Cami set her bubblegum-pink, gem-encrusted cell phone down on the counter in front of me. A video from the local news station played.
I peered into the tiny screen.
A distinguished-looking male reporter cleared his throat. “Around the country reports of canine flu vaccine reactions are emerging. At least twenty deaths have been linked to the long-awaited vaccine, and several hospitals, including our own Saguaro Valley General, have reported bizarre cannibalistic behavior among a subset of recently vaccinated. The Food and Drug Administration along with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention have denied the vaccine has played any role in these—”
Cami snatched her phone. “Holy crap. I got my vaccine earlier today. Oh, my God. I thought the injection site looked weird. Does it look strange to you?” She held up her left arm. Colorful tattoos covered it from shoulder to wrist.
I scoffed. “Like I can see anything under all that ink.”
She poked at her skin. “It feels numb, and I swear there are a bunch of black veins there. I never should’ve let my sister blackmail me into getting that vaccine. Everyone knows vaccines are full of toxic chemicals. Just the other day I saw a post that said—”
“Enough with your conspiracy theories.” I tugged the phone back and pressed the play button. The video continued.
“And in local news, an animal rights group clashed w
ith police at the Canine Memorial Fountain in Heritage Square earlier this evening. The group, Best Friends for Life, has been vocal in protesting Order 1537—the law requiring all dogs be euthanized to stop the spread of the deadly canine flu.”
Behind the reporter, footage played of police in riot gear closing in on a group of screaming people.
Something in the corner of the screen caught my eye.
I paused the video and stared at the image of my sister standing on the edge of the fountain.
Dammit. The brat is even wearing my jacket.
Eden’s dark brown hair flew around her oval face as she held up a sign that read ‘Don’t Kill Our Fur Babies.’
I felt the blood drain out of my face. “She promised she wouldn’t do this again.”
I’d spent more money bailing her out of jail over the past few months than I had on our grocery bills. My thumb must’ve brushed the play button because the reporter continued, “All protesters were arrested, and no injuries were reported. Only ten more shopping days left until Christm—”
I ended the video and looked into Cami’s sympathetic gaze. “Goddamn it. I’m going to kill her.”
“Give her a break. She’s young.”
“She’s only two years younger than we are. I’m so tired of her bullshit. She spends all her time on this stupid animal rights crap and hasn’t bothered to go on even one of the job interviews I’ve set up for her. Not that she’s likely to get any offers with her growing rap sheet.” I let out a deep breath. “Can I make a call?”
“Didn’t you finally get your own phone?”
I felt my cheeks flush. “I don’t know where it is.”
Likely my kleptomaniac of a sister helped herself to it like she did all my stuff.
Not that I’d really cared. It’d taken both Cami and Reed begging me to get with the twenty-first century before I’d agreed to get a cell phone in the first place. As a self-proclaimed technophobe, I just didn’t see the point.
“Sure. I gotta finish my face or I’ll scare the men off.”
I scoffed. “Shut up. You know you’re gorgeous.” I wasn’t exaggerating. The petite woman was a walking Barbie doll. Her light skin and blonde hair were a stark contrast to my dark coloring.
“That’s why you’re my best friend, sugar. You’re great for the ego.” Smiling, she sashayed over to her chair.
Having long ago memorized the non-emergency line, I quickly dialed the police station.
The line was busy.
That’s odd.
Deciding that finding my sister was an emergency, I called 9-1-1.
It was busy too.
What the hell? Don’t dispatchers answer all emergency calls?
Ending the call, I dialed Reed’s cell phone.
“Yaaallo,” said the voice on the other line.
“Reed?” I asked, momentarily taken aback.
“Nah. This is the Ron Meister, baby. You sound hot. You should come over and party with us.”
I could barely hear him over the sound of raucous laughter and music. My blood simmered. “Ronnie, this is Lee. Put Reed on now.”
It sounded as if the phone dropped.
“Ronnie,” I shouted.
I heard him curse and yell, “Turn the music down.”
“Oh. Ah. Sorry about that, Lee. I’ll get him right now.”
My spiking blood pressure didn’t allow me to enjoy the nervousness in his tone.
“Lee,” said a deep, velvety voice a moment later.
“Reed, tell me you didn’t let your stupid band friends throw another party at our house.”
I heard him catch his breath. “It’s just a small shindig.”
Small, my ass.
It sounded as though half the neighborhood was at the house. “Reed. We’ve been over this. The landlord said no more parties. Besides, you know how I feel about Ronnie.” The arrogant lead singer of Reed’s band had tried to hit on me one too many times. The last time he tried to feel me up I’d kicked him in the balls so hard, he’d sung soprano for a week.
“Ronnie thought we should celebrate my birthday,” Reed said in an apologetic tone.
Crap. I’d totally forgotten. My chair seemed to sink two feet into the floor. “Reed, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay. You’ve been pulling double shifts all week. I think you might even forget your name at this point.” His laugh was hollow. “But you won’t have to work so hard soon. I know one of these interviews is going to pan out.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Reed had been desperately trying to find work since being laid off from the coffee shop. With unemployment at record highs, jobs were in short supply these days. “I know you’ll find something soon. How about tomorrow I take you out for a nice birthday dinner?”
Assuming I have any money left after bailing Eden’s ass out of jail.
“You don’t have to do that. It’s not like turning twenty is any big deal. I’ll have everybody out by the time you get home.”
Guilt swamped me. “No. Let them stay. Celebrate with your friends. But don’t go crazy with the drinking. Okay?”
“Really?” His voice brightened.
“Just this once. Hey, have you heard from Eden?”
His silence was damning.
“Reed.”
He let out a sigh. “She got arrested again. She called me from jail to ask if I’d pick her up after her court appearance tomorrow morning. She didn’t want you to find out.”
“That little…” My fingernails curled into the armrest of my chair.
Max strode into the dressing room and motioned at me. The strained look on his sweaty face wasn’t comforting.
My heart pounded. “Reed, I gotta go. Happy birthday.”
I hung up the phone and looked up at my boss. “What is it?”
Please don’t let him fire me. I need this job.
Max rubbed the top of his balding head. “Mr. Diaz wants to see you.”
3
Reed
“Lee?” Trying to filter out the loud music and drunken laughter around me, I pressed my phone into my ear. But she was gone.
The knowledge that I’d once again disappointed the one woman I wanted to impress was a knife twist into my gut. What was I thinking? I knew Lee was exhausted and near her breaking point.
For months she’d been pulling double and sometimes triple shifts, trying to scrape enough money together to keep a roof over our heads.
Through the cloud of cannabis smoke, I zeroed in on Ronnie’s flushed face. Like always, he’d talked me into something I’d regretted. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson from all the other times he’d burned me. Like when I’d let him cheat off my test in chemistry class and we’d both gotten suspended. Or when I’d loaned him my brand-new speaker. I’d worked months of overtime to buy it, and he'd destroyed it in a single night.
Seeming to sense my glare, my drunk friend looked over at me. “What did the ball breaking bitch say?”
I rarely allowed myself to get angry, but I saw red. “Don’t disrespect her.” No one talked about Lee like that in front of me.
Ronnie must’ve sensed the change in my mood because he took a step back. “I meant, what did the beautiful Ms. Walker have to say?”
His change in tone popped my rage balloon. “She’s fine with the party.”
“Woohoo! We’re going to party all night!” Ronnie whirled around in a circle. The quick movement sent his drunk ass off balance and he crashed into a stunning brunette who was talking to our friend Dexter.
“Hey!” she cried. Jungle juice splashed over the top of her cup and ran down her chest as she pushed Ronnie away.
Ronnie leered at her. “Want me to lick that off you?"
She cringed and moved closer to Dexter.
“I’m the lead singer of Panorama.” Ronnie motioned around the room where Morgan and Sam were setting up their musical equipment. “We’re getting signed by a record label this week. Soon we’ll be
famous, and you’ll tell all your friends about me.”
“Right,” she said, rolling her heavily kohled eyes. The sarcasm in her voice made me think of Lee.
Lee also didn’t believe Panorama was ever going to amount to anything. But Ronnie wasn’t lying.
Three days ago, our band met with Topic Records. One of their execs had seen us open for Blue Puppy and he’d sent his people to track us down.
The label was legit offering to sign us. It was only a one-off deal, and the percentage of royalties weren’t anything to cream our jeans over, but it was a motherfucking contract. Our big break. It was everything we’d been dreaming about since we first started jamming together.
But Ronnie had read somewhere never to take a first offer, and in his infinite idiocy had told Topic Records we’d think it over. What the hell is there to think about? Someone wanted to pay us to make music. Up to this point we’d been playing for free drinks and the occasional tip crammed into a collection cup.
So eager to sign so I’d have some money to offer Lee, I’d nearly strangled Ronnie with the strap of my bass guitar. But then Sam and Morgan started saying they were having second thoughts about ‘selling out to the man,’ and I realized it would never happen.
Panorama would never be a household name. We’d never play stadiums. The songs I’d written would never be sung by anyone other than our most devoted fans. And worst of all, I’d never make enough money through music to keep the woman I loved from selling her body on stage every night.
I tightened my fingers around my phone as the familiar feelings of frustration and shame washed over me. What kind of man doesn’t help support his family?
I imagined I could hear the ghostly echo of my mom’s voice in my head saying, “Don’t be like your deadbeat dad.”
My shoulder’s sagged as I struggled to bring to mind the face of the rock band roadie I’d only met a handful of times. I wouldn’t be like that guy. I wouldn’t chase a career in music at the expense of my family.
And so earlier today, I’d finally manned up. I’d pawned my bass. It was an unfortunate twist of irony that my mom had given it to me on this day six years ago. But nostalgia wouldn’t pay the rent.