by Lexie Ray
Could she have been fired? Parker would have to have a really, really good reason. Our boss might’ve been tough, but she was exceedingly fair.
“Don’t worry,” I told Sol. “I’ll talk to Parker. There has to be something we can do.”
My friend shook her head even more violently than before. “No,” she said, hiccupping for air. “You can’t tell her. You have to promise me you won’t.”
I was confused. Not tell Parker what? “I don’t understand what’s going on,” I confessed.
“That’s boy troubles if I’ve ever seen them,” another dancer remarked as she walked toward the restroom portion of the dressing room. “He’s a bastard, honey. No one’s worth those kinds of tears.”
This was apparently cold comfort for Sol, who erupted into a fresh gale of crying.
“I don’t think that helped,” I muttered at the dancer, who shrugged and continued on her way. Could it be boy problems? Sol and I were pretty close, but we rarely talked about our lives outside of the club. There was so much gossip and things to talk about here that we rarely had to.
I searched my mind, trying to gather all the facts I knew about Sol. She’d been so tentative when she started at the club that I knew she’d never done anything like this before. That’s why I’d tried to take her under my wing. If she didn’t have experience dancing and escorting, then the only reason she was seeking out work here was because she was desperate for work — just as I’d been. I knew all about desperate situations.
But she was a natural at dancing once I’d told her the tricks of the trade. Sol was actually better at footwork than I was, though she needed more practice to incorporate the ever-important pole. Her costumes were always clean, always flashy and attention-catching, but they were never as nice as those of some of the more dedicated career dancers. That told me that Sol was spending — or saving — her money elsewhere, just like me. I was creative with my costuming, getting pieces secondhand and refurbishing them, just like my favorite cowboy boots. She did exactly the same thing, embellishing some of her own clothing for costumes.
So what was it that Sol was saving for? And why was she so upset now? More importantly, why couldn’t Parker know about it? Why was my friend keeping secrets from people in her life?
“You can talk to me, you know,” I said, holding Sol at arm’s length, trying to get her to look at me. Her pretty, perpetually cheerful face was a mask of misery, her mascara running like oil slicks down her flushed cheeks. “You can trust me.”
Sol shook her head, her lips pursed and trembling. “I can’t trust anyone.”
I tried to ignore how much that stung me. I’d always thought we were a little closer than most of my other coworkers, but maybe I was wrong.
“You can trust Parker,” I said, putting my arm around Sol’s shoulder and resisting the urge to glance at the clock mounted on the wall. Whatever this crisis was, I still needed to get dressed and do my makeup and hair. I didn’t have time to pry secrets from Sol, especially when she seemed so dead set on keeping them to herself. I was sorry that she was so upset, but I was running out of options. When it came down to helping others and helping my family, I always had to choose my family. It was just what I had to do.
“I can’t tell — I can’t tell anyone,” Sol said, wiping her face and smearing her melted mascara even worse. “No one can know.”
What could possibly be so bad? Even as I asked myself that question, I felt like a hypocrite. My kid brother had a secret so dire that he couldn’t tell anyone. I was sure that if a child could have such a terrible secret, a grown woman could have them, too. Maybe I didn’t want to know what it was. It was hard enough to keep Luke’s from the world.
“If there is anything, Sol, and I mean anything, that I can do to help you, will you tell me?” I asked, looking into her bleary eyes.
“No one can help me,” she said, her shoulders slumping with each syllable. “There’s no one.”
“I know I probably can’t solve whatever it is,” I said. “But if you need a shoulder to cry on, I have two pretty good ones. If you need someone to go shopping with, I can do that, too. If you need a hot meal, I can cook a mean lasagna.” I hesitated for only half a second. “And if you need money, I’d be more than happy to float you a loan.”
Sol exhaled noisily. “You’re so nice, Faith. I wish my problem was that easy to solve. It’s just not, and I can’t burden anyone else with it. It’s my problem.”
I had a problem like that, only I had reached out to Jennet — and Nick, in a way — to help me with it. Did Sol really have no one to reach out to like that? For not the first time, and certainly not the last, I felt a surge of gratitude toward my friends. What would I do without them? Where would Luke and I be without them? I didn’t want to think about where our lives would be now. Maybe Luke’s past would’ve caught up to us by now. Maybe everything would’ve been different.
“Well, please let me know if I can help you throw lasagna at that problem,” I told her, trying to make her crack a smile. “And if you don’t think you have anywhere to turn, think again. I’m always here for you. And you can definitely trust Parker. She is super discreet. And she gave both of us chances, didn’t she? She trusted us even if maybe she didn’t have a good reason to, you know?”
Sol sniffed, and I took the opportunity to grab a box of tissues from the countertop, offering her three or four to help her clean herself up.
“Thank you,” she said, grimacing as she saw the black on the tissues, realizing her makeup was in shambles. “It’s just really hard — really hard to be in this alone.”
“You’re not alone,” I reminded her. “Whatever it is, you have support. It might not seem like it to you, but I promise you that I’m here for you.”
Sol seized me in a tight hug, squeezing the breath out of me. After a half second, I hugged her back. Maybe that was all Sol needed — to know that someone was here if things got too difficult. Maybe something as simple as a hug would help tide her over for now. A hug wasn’t going to solve all her problems, but I hoped it would at least help her stop crying. Nobody liked an unhappy dancer, and if this problem was related to money, Sol was going to have to start getting herself back together.
“Is that the time?” I said, wincing at the clock. “I’m going on in ten minutes.”
“Oh, no,” Sol gasped, practically shoving me back to my feet. “I’m sorry — I’m so selfish. I’ll help you get ready.”
I gave a surprised squawk as Sol abruptly unbuttoned my jeans and yanked them down to my ankles before laughing.
“I can get changed by myself, you know,” I said.
“I feel terrible,” she babbled, dragging me over to the countertop before grabbing my foundation and smearing some over my face. “I don’t want my problems to become your problems. Everyone has to deal with life themselves.”
“That’s not true,” I corrected, smoothing out the foundation as Sol began attacking my face with a brush dusted with powder. “I lean on all kinds of people for support. I wouldn’t be able to do it without them. My roommate and our neighbor are helping me raise my brother, Sol. That’s the kind of help I never wanted to need, but reality dictates that I need it.”
Sol heaved a despondent sigh before laying out my costume for me as I swept on eye shadow and mascara.
“I wish I had family like that,” she said sadly. “Family I could trust.”
“I built that family,” I told her. “I had to go out on a limb to trust them, but they’re good people. Whether you want to or not, sweetie, you need to learn how to trust people. You can’t go it alone all the time. Sometimes, we really do need help — whether we think we can trust people or not.”
“Thank you for all this free advice,” she said, trying on a timid smile. “I feel I should pay your or something.”
“Yeah, right,” I said. “That’s what we’re all here for. If we had to pay each other every time we vented or aired a problem or asked for advice, none of us woul
d have money anymore.”
Sol finally gave a short laugh before running a brush through my short hair. “Want me to braid it while you finish your makeup?”
I glanced up at the clock. The DJ would announce my name any second. “No, but thank you. I don’t think I have any time. I’ll just slick it back.” It was my experience that the customers liked girls with long, flowing locks the best, but I’d make due. Maybe there’d be one in the crowd tonight with a fetish for a sleek style.
“That’s my fault,” Sol said, hanging her head. “I’m —”
“Don’t you dare say sorry again,” I scolded her. “And no more tears, either. You go on after me, remember? You should be getting ready, too. You’ve got mascara everywhere.”
Sol gasped and ran for her bottle of makeup remover. “You’re right! I’m a mess.”
I wriggled into my costume — a spangled bra and panty set — and was just stepping into my sky-high shoes as I heard my name over the loud speaker.
“Next up is Faith. You gotta have Faith, everybody, she is such a treat.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes a little bit. Somebody needed to give the DJ a list of new clichés for my name. That one was getting a little old — probably because I heard it four or five times a night. I added it to the list of things to look up on the Internet — right after I figured out some new recipes for Luke.
I strutted out onto the stage, banishing my brother, a weeping Sol, and the stress of rushing to get ready from my mind. My only focus was the pole, and the beat of the music, and manipulating my joints, limbs, and hips to maximize my performance.
It was time for me to shine, and I couldn’t let anything distract me from that.
All in a day’s work.
Chapter 7
Maybe I should’ve known better. Things were going well — about as well as they could go, anyway. And life can’t be good forever. I’d learned that the hard way. Your parents leave you with a babysitter, for example, telling you that they’ll wake you up so they can tuck you in to bed the right way, and instead you wake up the next morning in the presence of strangers, telling you that your parents are dead, killed in a car crash.
Or at least that was my experience.
I’d learned to suspect the worst when life was getting to be good, and I’d been uneasy for a while. It had all started when I found that knife my brother had drawn in his sketchbook, and my hope had rapidly deteriorated when he and I had the tiff over his language arts theme.
I’d tried to earn as much money as I could, unsure of where the crisis was going to come from. Maybe we’d get evicted for whatever reason. Maybe one of us would get sick, or injured. I’d frightened myself with turning my ankle in my platform heels enough times to worry about that. Maybe we’d lose what little financial aid St. Anthony’s had to offer, and I wouldn’t be able to continue to afford to pay tuition without some kind of a pay hike.
I was so concerned that I mulled over asking Parker for a bump on my hourly rate — Parker, who’d taken a chance on me. Would she think I was worth the money?
When the problem finally did manifest itself, I was almost surprised that it didn’t have a thing to do with money.
It was way worse than that.
I could tell that something was wrong as soon as Jennet got home with Luke. I’d stolen away from the club a little earlier than usual to surprise them with homemade nachos — healthier than the fare Jennet peddled at the snack shop, but still guiltily delicious and smothered in melted cheese.
“Surprise!” I shouted over my shoulder from the kitchen as soon as the door opened, but neither of them said so much as hello. I turned around with my lips pursed, about to make a sarcastic comment about their hearing, when I stopped. Luke looked somewhere between defiant and ashen, and Jennet looked like she was about to vomit down the front of her corncob.
“Tell me,” I said immediately, my grip on the ladle tightening so I didn’t let it drop to the floor. Something terrible had happened, and it was now up to me to fix it. I didn’t feel despair. I was all out of despair. All I had was a steely resolve. Whatever my brother had gotten himself into, I would get him out of. I had certainly done it before, and I’d do it again.
“Tell your sister what you told me,” Jennet said quietly, prodding Luke’s shoulder gently.
He swallowed visibly and unzipped his backpack. For the briefest of moments, I hoped that they were both playing a prank on me, that Luke had actually gotten some kind of good news at school — a good grade, or a positive note from one of his teachers. I shook myself free from my delusion. Neither of them was this good at acting.
“Luke,” I said, making an extra effort to keep my voice calm. “What happened?”
“My language arts teacher wanted to make sure I gave you this note about my theme,” he said, locating what he’d been looking for in his backpack and holding out a sealed envelope to me. “He said he had some concerns that he wanted to address to my parents, and I said I didn’t have any. That I lived with you and Jennet.”
My mouth became instantly dry, all traces of saliva vanishing at once. This was it. This was how everything I’d taken such care to arrange would come crumbling down. With a stab of irritation at myself, I realized I hadn’t read Luke’s theme. He hadn’t put it on the table like I’d asked, and I’d worked so late that night that it had been all I could do not to fall asleep at the wheel on the way back to the apartment from the club. I hadn’t remembered what I’d told him to do, and it hadn’t registered that there might be a problem with the assignment he’d completed.
I thought I’d been clear with my brother about what was going to be acceptable and what wasn’t going to be acceptable. He was so smart. I thought he’d understand.
I held my hand out for the envelope, telling and retelling myself that Luke was just a child, that he didn’t truly understand the danger, that I couldn’t completely blame him for all of this. I didn’t want to be mad at him, but my fury was building. Where would we go after this? Miami had been becoming a home to us. It had been as far away from Albuquerque as I could fathom, and now we’d have to find somewhere else. Maine? Alaska? Hawaii? Maybe I’d put all the cash I’d earned for St. Anthony tuition toward passports and take us out of the country. Fiji. Kenya. The most remote places I could think of.
My fingers closed around the envelope, and I weighed it in my palm. How much paper was in there? How bad was it going to be? I wished I could go back in time, way, way back — beyond the night I’d forgotten to read the theme, beyond fleeing from Albuquerque, beyond allowing the social workers to arrange my brother’s adoption. I wanted to go all the way back to my parents leaving us with that babysitter and forbid them from going out on that date. I couldn’t do this anymore. I wasn’t my brother’s parent. I was his sister, and sometimes I needed support from someone who had it figured out a little better than I did. That was what parents were for.
“Go to your room,” I told Luke quietly. I was beyond rage. I was neck deep in despair. This was his failing, but it was obviously mine, too. I wasn’t doing a good job at protecting him — even though it was becoming apparent that the person he needed protection from the most was himself.
Luke slipped away without a complaint. It was probably a relief for him to get away from me. That was fine. I’d deal with this.
“Just keep everything in perspective, Faith,” Jennet told me, but I just shook my head.
“I’m going to be in my room,” I said. “Dinner’s practically ready. The cheese is melting in the oven. Don’t let it burn, please.”
She said something to my back as I turned away, but I couldn’t process the words. All I could think about was the envelope in my hand and what could’ve been done to avoid it.
I wished to God that, somehow, I could’ve been the one who’d landed with the family my brother had lived with all those years. I would’ve gladly taken his place, if it had come down to that. I thought I had been protecting him, angrily demanding tha
t the social workers help him find the better home. Instead, I was the one who benefited, and he was the one who suffered.
I understood, on some level, that it would’ve been impossible for the social workers to know the extent of the horrible situation my brother was in. The man who’d abused him for so many years was careful, and my brother was equally discreet — though he suffered for it. The woman he called mother for all those years was his only ally, and she had been weak, misinformed, blind to what kind of monster she’d married.
A monster who had turned my brother into a monster.
Steve — that was the man’s name, though I preferred to think of him as a monster, not a man — seemed to think of harsher tortures, more horrible punishments for the tiniest of slights he imagined my brother to be guilty of, the older my brother got. He’d put out cigarettes on my brother’s back and chest, sucker punch him in the stomach so he couldn’t breathe, terrorize him at every turn, at every single opportunity.