I continued to the next person, but for the life of me, I couldn’t have told you what one more person looked like or sounded like. I couldn’t remember what it was I said to one sailor or the next officer. All I could hope was that the responses were appropriate and respectful, even if they weren’t personal.
As I stood, a roar came from the crowd. They clapped in time, stomping their feet. They wanted more, and usually, I gave more.
Apparently, my crew was prepared even if I wasn’t, and a new song blasted into the stadium.
Every performer had an audience favorite, and this was mine. I wasn’t in the right costume, but this crowd didn’t care. When they heard the melody, they began to sing along, and I smiled.
Right before I was on Jonathan, I heard this song and thought the irony and tongue-in-cheek nature of it was perfect for burlesque. It was the classic I’m-not-your-girl-don’t-tell-me-what-to-do song with lyrics about Barbie dolls, dream houses, and chocolate cake.
Jasmine and Jayde joined me, and with one look, we made the decision to finish with a bang. Jayde touched Jasmine’s back, and I touched hers, fingers flicking the fasteners of her bejeweled bra. Their tops dropped and I spun, allowing them to unhook mine.
The audience only got a peek before I covered my breasts with my hands and the stage went totally dark, but it was enough for them to lose their shit.
That was it. No more hand shaking and waving. Brant and Landry had gotten as much as I was willing to give them.
We scuttled off stage, accepting the dressing gowns Celeste had waiting for us.
“That wasn’t too much?” Jasmine asked. “I was worried for a second there.”
I shook my head as I followed Celeste along the wings toward our dressing room. We’d get into more comfortable (though still photographable) clothes and then jet back to Vegas. “No. It was just enough. They wanted something to remember, we gave it to them.”
The girls broke away, headed to the dressing room they shared, and Celeste stopped, spinning on her heel. “I forgot something!” she said, racing back the way we came.
Not bothering to reply, I just walked into my dressing room. Finally, I had a moment to myself.
I sat in front of my vanity, staring at my reflection. Every unique feature on my face had been smoothed and covered by Aucoin’s makeup brush, but that wasn’t why I studied myself so closely.
What had Brant seen when he’d looked at me tonight?
Did he see a whore like everyone used to call me? Or did he just see some girl he knew once? Someone he thought of every so often with a wince or shrug?
There was a soft tap on the door, and I answered without thinking. “Come in.”
The door opened. I barely had time to stand before the broad-shouldered figure had squeezed inside and shut the door behind him.
My voice disappeared completely as I stared at the man Landry Shaw had become. I hardly even noticed him studying me, I was so consumed with taking in every detail.
He was broader than before, his face fuller but somehow more chiseled. I remembered smile lines around his eyes, but now, when he wasn’t smiling, they were still there.
Did he have a reason to smile often? Did some girl somewhere make those lines so deep?
Lines also bracketed his mouth, and there were two dips in his cheeks, not his dimples, but little divots that marked their place.
He wore a short sleeve white top with ribbons on the chest. I didn’t know what any of them meant, but I guessed they had something to do with rank.
Landry would be an officer, no doubt. He was destined to be a leader, whether it was in the Navy or on the baseball field.
He wore a hat but took it off as he moved closer and the sleeve on that arm shifted, revealing scrollwork inked into his skin.
He was so different.
Finally, I let myself meet his stare and almost took a step backward at his intensity. Like he’d been waiting for that, he stepped closer. “Betsy.”
My name on his lips made my eyes close, and I hated myself for it. I was done with weakness and being under their spell.
I swallowed hard, reaching deep for the girl who’d cried out in pain only to have no one answer. “Landry. This is a surprise.”
The girl cowered inside me, face hidden in shame, but another person rose to take her place. This was the woman I was now. The one who touched that girl’s shoulders and moved her to one side, standing like a shield between her and the cruel world.
“How are you?” I smiled, lifted my chin, and waited.
“How—” He shook his head. “Betsy, I never thought—”
The only thing that saved me right then was knowing I had five minutes to put on my clothes before Steven arrived. Landry might think he’d caught me at the perfect time for a heart-to-heart, but he had no idea what my life was like now.
My schedule was set in stone, and if I veered off it for one second, there was always someone to push me back on track. All I had to do was get through the next three hundred seconds.
One Mississippi.
“I saw you,” I said, dropping my robe. His gaze went right to my breasts, but I ignored him, striding toward the underwear, blouse, and jeans Celeste had hung on a dressing rack. I pushed my arms through the bra and hooked it before shrugging into my blouse and buttoning it. I was supposed to put on the underwear she’d laid out, but I wasn’t going to do that in front of him. He’d seen my tits and that was all he got.
I pulled on my jeans, snapped the top and then glanced over my shoulder toward him.
“I didn’t know you joined the Navy.” I tied the ends of the blouse like Celeste had earlier and began to remove the pins from my hair. “Thank you for your service.”
Landry’s blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to talk about the Navy.”
“You don’t want to talk at all,” I snapped before I remembered. I took a breath. One hundred Mississippi.
“You don’t understand, Betsy. I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long.”
That was rich. Rather than argue, I lifted an eyebrow and waited. “My number hasn’t changed, Landry. You could have called whenever you wanted.” It was the truth, and from the look of surprise, which morphed into something unnamable, my admission revealed more than I wanted it to.
“I didn’t realize.”
He didn’t realize a lot of things, but that was his fault, not mine. I shouldn’t be moved by the way he frowned and dropped his gaze.
I had to be close to three hundred by now. Where the fuck was Steven?
My British angel must have heard my silent plea because he opened the door without knocking and came inside, freezing when he saw the man already there.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, glancing over at me. “You okay, Betty?”
I nodded, not missing the way Landry’s features tightened and his jaw worked back and forth like he was grinding his teeth together.
“Lieutenant Landry Shaw,” he said through clenched teeth. If he wasn’t careful, they would shatter. “I’m a friend of Betsy’s.”
Steven appeared wholly unimpressed. “I know all of Betty’s friends. And you, Lieutenant, aren’t on the list. If you don’t leave now, I’ll call security, and I’m sure, from the rows of ribbons on your chest, that won’t look very good for someone of your caliber.”
My manager’s words were like a knife in my gut. He couldn’t know, but what he threatened was exactly what had made Landry run the first time.
If anyone knew he was with me, it would ruin his life. His career.
I wasn’t at all surprised when Landry turned to leave, squeezing his hat so tightly the brim folded beneath his fingers.
But it hurt.
Yanking the door open, Steven waited for him to leave, but he didn’t. He turned back toward me, then away, and then back again. Why the struggle this time when the first time it had been so easy?
“We have a flight to catch,” my manager said.
“Right.” Landry slapped his hat against the
palm of his hand. “Betsy. I need to explain things.”
“If you’re going to force me to sit through apologies, do it now. I have a life to get back to, and I’d rather not be waiting for you to call.” But I couldn’t look at him while I said that. I had to look at his hands, and his fingers, and wonder if they’d feel the same way against my skin if he touched me now.
“It’s pointless to apologize,” he replied.
“We’re done. Mike!” Steven yelled. “I need someone removed!”
Feet stomped down the hall and there was Big Mike, the head of security. “And you said you wouldn’t need me,” he mumbled at Steven as he waited by the door. He jerked his thumb behind him. “Let’s go, mate,” he said in a heavily accented voice. “You don’t want me to make you.”
Landry’s gaze left mine. Look, I wanted to say. Look how much things have changed. Now I have people who protect me. I don’t need you anymore.
There was that word again. Need. He needed to explain. I had once needed him to call.
Now I needed him to leave.
It was like there was no one else in the room but me and him, and I was reminded of the Landry who never did anything he didn’t want to do.
Like call me.
“Goodbye, Landry.” It sounded so final, but I supposed that it was. It was the goodbye I never got to say.
Steven offered his arm, and Mike stood aside so we could go. As I passed Landry, he reached for me, but Mike stopped him. “Bets.”
No. I ignored him and walked by, fingers digging into Steven’s arm. Mike moved to block Landry, in case he would have followed us, but why would he?
“Hon,” Steven whispered and covered my hand with his. It was a rare gesture from the man who preferred to show his affection by scheduling the shit out of my life and making me money.
I could almost feel him wanting to ask me that dreaded, are you okay? So I dug my nails into his arm a little more.
“Okay! Okay!” He got it.
The same soldier from earlier met us at the exit.
“Jayde and Jasmine?” I asked.
“Waiting in the car,” he answered. “You’re the one who is off-schedule.”
“I knew you’d get me,” I replied, and he whipped his head toward me.
He squeezed my arm, dragging me against him a little. “I have your back.”
I’d gotten lucky with Steven Thornton. He was a ruthless, cutthroat manager, but he cared about me, and I counted him as one of my few, if only, friends. “I know you do.”
A car with tinted windows waited for us. Steven opened the door and waited for me to get inside. I glanced over my shoulder at him and back toward the building where two of the boys who’d been the loves of my life were.
Brant and Landry. And now I was going to drive away like it didn’t tear me apart. Inside, some place deep and dark, I cried and screamed and reached for them, but no one watching me would know that. I slid into the car and waited for Steven to follow.
The girls smiled at me from their seats and went back to their phones. Then we were on our way.
Coronado was lit up, but the illumination only displayed the buildings and people closest to the light. The base was huge, a city within a city. I’d never have found my way around on my own.
If I made the driver stop the car and jumped out, I still wouldn’t know how to get back to Landry.
Shut up. I stopped the thoughts of the stupid girl who was dying with each mile between her and those boys.
Men.
They weren’t boys. Brant had that bushy beard that made him look like he’d just come down from a mountain, and Landry had tattoos. Tattoos!
Why were they in the Navy? What had happened to business school and college? Were Westin and Josh here, too? Had they been in the audience, witness to the spotlights on my tits?
“Betty.” Steven’s voice was quiet, but jerked me back to the present.
“Sorry.”
We stopped at the gate, waiting in traffic to exit into San Diego when someone’s phone rang. Steven pulled his from his pocket but that wasn’t it. Neither of the girls moved to answer theirs either.
Digging in his briefcase, Steven withdrew my phone. I didn’t carry it during performances. One of the strange benefits of my celebrity was that I never had to worry about things other people did—credit cards, phone—someone remembered those things for me. Steven remembered them.
He glanced at the screen and turned it around so I could see it.
Brant.
“Want me to answer it?” he asked.
Yes! “Send it to voicemail,” I whispered.
Twenty-Eight
Betty
Voicemail received on July 4th, present day. 6:00 pm:
“Betsy, it’s Brant. Seeing you was—I never imagined—(laughing). I haven’t dialed this number in eight years, but I never forgot it. Landry said it was the same. I didn’t imagine that either. I hoped you’d answer the phone, but I had no idea what I was going to say so maybe this is better. I’m sorry, Bets. You can’t believe how sorry I am.”
Twenty-Nine
Brant
“Did she answer?”
It was the hardest thing in the world to answer, “No.” How many times had she called and I’d pressed ignore on my phone? How many times had she left a message, or texted, begging us to get in touch with her?
Of course Betsy didn’t fucking answer. A hat went flying by my face to land on my living room couch.
Rearing back, I made to pitch the phone into the wall, but Landry stopped me at the last minute with a bored, “You’re going to lose all your messages.”
I threw it anyway. It crashed satisfyingly into the wall and then clattered to the floor. “They’re in the cloud, motherfucker.”
I ran my hands through my hair and down my face, scraping my fingers into my beard. Jesus. I’d just gotten back on base. Still had fucking sand in my fucking boots, but Landry’s message, “Betsy is here,” sent me racing out of my on-base housing to the hastily made stage.
I looked down at my hands. They were rough and tan from the desert sun. But tonight, they’d held Betsy’s hand.
“Fuck!” I yelled, grabbing my hair. My body hurt, chest aching as I dropped into a chair. I wanted to punch the wall, break the glass. Do something that would physically hurt as much as my soul hurt.
She was so beautiful, but so different.
From where I started, way in the back of the crowd, all I could see was the glow of her blonde hair. But I’d pushed sailors and officers aside until I got right to the edge of the stage, and then I could see her.
She was lit up by a spotlight, a light sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead and shoulders as she danced.
“I don’t understand,” I said, not really to Landry. It was more that I couldn’t keep the thought that had been racing around my head in any longer. “I don’t understand why she’s…”
I couldn’t say the rest. Funny how I used to be the most outspoken of us. Until my parents’ livelihood was threatened, I thought I’d been the most fearless.
Then I realized I was just a chicken shit. With the first sign of trouble, I’d turned tail and run from a bunch of close-minded puckered assholes.
“A stripper?” Landry said it for me.
Stripper didn’t sum up what Betsy was.
But I didn’t know what Betsy was, did I?
Thirty
Betty
The red dot on my phone taunted me. It was four in the morning, and I should have been asleep, but here I was, staring at that fucking dot.
The performance in Coronado was getting great press. My show in Vegas had gone just fine, even though I was exhausted from traveling and performing earlier. I’d crashed into my room two hours ago, and followed my bedtime routine to the letter, because if I didn’t, my body wouldn’t sleep. I had to do the same thing after each performance to wind down: strip, wipe off all my makeup, run a bath.
I soaked, the scent of lavender fill
ing the bathroom, and put a drop of melatonin on my tongue. It wouldn’t put me to sleep, or keep me asleep, but it’d tell my body it was time to start winding down. My internal clock got thrown off really easily, and I ended performances pretty amped up. Other performers had different ways to deal with that sensation. I knew way too many people who took drugs or drank, and I wouldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t become my parents. Addiction was in my blood, and it scared the shit out of me.
So I kept it natural.
Melatonin. Lavender. Relaxing music. No screens.
No screens.
The fucking red dot.
Brant.
His name was right there. Missed call from Brant.
It made me pity myself. Why me? Why now?
I stuffed a pillow under my cheek and turned on my side. I was going to listen to the message, I knew that was going to happen, so why was I fighting it?
No. Be strong. He’d ignored me, I would ignore him.
Except…
Except that if he hadn’t ignored me, he could have helped me. And I had needed help. What if he needed help now?
That brought up another list of depressing thoughts. What if he needed help with money? What if that was why Landry appeared in my dressing room and Brant was suddenly calling me?
I made a lot of money—I could say that without being full of myself. I had a lot of things to pay for, too, but in the last few years, my income had steadily climbed to the point where I could stop dancing, buy myself a single-story ranch house in a low-tax state, and never have to work again.
What if they wanted to talk to me because I was famous? What if they wanted to tell people, I slept with that girl! Or sell their story to the papers? Or wheedle their way into my life and then sell the story?
They’d make bank on it.
I’d closed my curtains. I had a view of the Bellagio’s famous fountains, and at night, they lit up in a rainbow of colors. I needed it dark, but right now, it was suffocating me.
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