Under the Lights

by Tia Louise

  “At least security is working.” Guy narrows his eyes at the third man, who hastily produces his card.

  I stand down, and they pass through the door. Music drifts out from inside along with the faint scent of perfume. I realize there’s another entrance. The girls come in a different way…

  The click of heels on concrete precedes two more men dressed in expensive suits, both carrying gold cards. I step to the side, and this time when I look through the door, I see Minette, one of the girls from the show.

  She’s still wearing her costume, a glittering thong, and she’s draped over one of the couches allowing the Canadian to stroke her breasts.

  I swallow the knot in my throat. Who else is back there? I can’t even think her name.

  The door slams, and I’m left standing, fear expanding in my chest as vast as the empty space surrounding me. I step to the side, shoving my hands in my hair and trying to decide what to do. My forehead is against the wall when I hear a throat clearing.

  Spinning around, I see a fat man in a tux waiting. He holds a card, and I nod for him to enter, which he does without hesitation. This time the noises have started, fake moans and bouncing cries.

  It’s an orgy.

  These men have paid to have sex with the girls in the show, and my job is to let it happen. Tanya’s words, Lara’s fears, even Terrence’s remark about why the crew dwindled so fast filter through my brain like rushing water. The blood I cleaned up—what the fuck was that about?

  I drop into the metal chair, my head in my hands. I pull my phone out of my pocket. I want to call her, but she doesn’t have a phone. She says it’s a wasted expense. She doesn’t have anyone to call, and she doesn’t want to be monitored.

  She’s getting one after this night.

  The time passes slowly, and I wonder how long I’m expected to stay here. No one else is coming. No one other than the men in there and Gavin knows about this place. I’m pushing off my legs to leave when the door scrapes and opens.

  Fake moans set to music filter out along with Guy. He’s on his phone, and his face is contorted with anger.

  I listen to his words as he stalks past. “She is not what I requested,” he growls. “She is not a star. She’s a used-up drug addict. Give me what I want or—”

  The exit door slams shut, and my throat knots.

  I don’t like where this is headed.

  13

  “Your gut knows what’s up. Trust that bitch.”

  Lara

  “Did he kiss you?”

  “Sort of,” Molly mumbles. “He wanted to talk to me backstage. So I went.”

  Ice is in my throat. After my performance I raced to my room hoping to get my clothes on before Freddie arrived, and I found Molly sitting on the bed. Her cheeks were flushed, and her arms were wrapped tightly around her waist.

  “What did he say?” My heart hammers against my ribs.

  She takes a trembling breath. “He asked me to go with him to Atlanta. He said he missed me so much the last time. He wants me with him. Always.”

  I go to the bed and sit beside her. “Did he say why he wants you with him?”

  “To keep him company.” She picks up a little pillow, and her hands shake. “He says I please him.”

  I catch her arms and turn her to face me. “But you’re afraid.”

  Her eyes met mine. “I’m not sure I trust him now.”

  “Why?” She blushes and looks down. I shake her arms. “What happened?”

  She moves a strawberry-blonde lock behind her shoulder to reveal a blood-red mark on her neck.

  “He did that?” I gasp.

  She nods slowly. “And he said he likes the color of my hair.”

  I bite my lip. “Okay?”

  She blinks fast. “Not this hair…” She looks down, wrapping an arm across her waist. “Then he touched me.”

  My stomach roils. I have to swallow acid in my throat. She’s only thirteen. Fear is replaced by a rage I’ve never felt before. I almost can’t breathe for the hatred coursing through me. I stand and begin to pace our small room.

  “Don’t ever go near him again.” She’s still looking down, and I can’t tell if she’s listening. I go to the bed and grip her arms, giving her a little shake. “Listen to me. If you see him, you run away. Run to me or to Evie. Or Mark.”

  “But how can you—”

  A brisk knock at the door interrupts us. “Go behind the screen,” I whisper, quickly pulling my dressing gown over my half-naked body.

  A giant bouquet of red roses meets me before my devoted fan. “You get better with every performance,” he says as I lift the heavy roses from his arms. “And you sing with such emotion.”

  I put them on the table and return to him, leaning against the doorjamb as my mind swirls with panic, anger, and desperation.

  Freddie leans forward to kiss my cheek. “Darling,” he starts then pauses. “I suppose you’d expect me to feel this way. I mean, if you knew me at all.”

  “What is it?”

  Fear, my constant companion, prickles at my back. Has he discovered the truth? Has he learned I’m a penniless orphan, many of the dancers are prostitutes, and to make matters even more complicated, I’m responsible for a waif who has become the target of a child predator? Oh, God, I can’t lose Freddie now…

  His voice lowers. “These visits after your shows are nice, and kissing an angel is a little piece of heaven.” His dark eyes twinkle. “But I’d like more. I’d like to take you out on a real date. Would you go with me?”

  Relief hits me with such force, I almost grab him around the neck in a massive hug. In the time it takes me to recover, Freddie immediately starts backpedaling.

  “I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I’m sure you have a lot of men in love with you, and you only know me from my visits. You have no idea I only want—”

  “Freddie,” I say, gazing at his lips. “I would love to go out with you sometime. What did you have in mind?”

  His eyes move to mine, and I blink slowly. “Would you have lunch with me tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow would be perfect.”

  He lets out a laugh before catching me around the waist and pressing his mouth to mine. I’m caught off guard, and while it’s not much of a kiss, I notice the front of his pants harden.

  He steps back, pulling his coat over his semi and clearing his throat. “Your lips are so soft.”

  I make my voice breathless, pretending to be overwhelmed. “And yours are so warm!”

  “Tell me where you live. I’ll pick you up at noon.”

  “Oh, no… I mean, I have morning rehearsal. You can meet me out front here.”

  His grin is huge, and he leans forward again. I hesitate, not really wanting to kiss him, but not sure what else to do. Roland said to keep him coming back…

  When our mouths meet this time, I allow him to part my lips. He holds me tighter, his tongue timidly touches mine, and I literally feel nothing. I think about tastebuds. His kiss tastes like peppermint candy.

  When Mark kisses me, it’s like I’m swept up in a wave on the ocean, swirling and spinning, unsure which way is up.

  Freddie finally finishes, and he smiles as if we now share a secret. When he speaks, his voice is low. “Kissing you is a dream come true for me. Does this mean you think of me as more than just a devoted fan?”

  “Freddie,” I touch his arm. “I’ve always thought of you as more than that.”

  The expression on his face is utter delight. “Goodnight, my dear. I’m counting the minutes until tomorrow.”

  Forcing a smile, I lean against the doorjamb, watching him disappear down the passage. Once he’s gone, I close my door and roll my back to the wall. Dropping my head in my hands, I rub my forehead with my fingers and try to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do.

  Mark… I need to talk to Mark about all of this. Only, what am I going to say to him? I’m not qualified to do anything except sing. I can’t dance for shit. The only reason people come
to see me is because my voice is strong, and I look good naked.

  “We can’t live on that,” I groan. “At least not legally.”

  A soft tap at the door makes me jump, and I hope so much it’s Mark. I can tell him what happened, and maybe he can help me figure out this mess. Maybe Molly and I will run away with him, money be damned. Anything is better than this.

  Gripping the doorknob, I sweep it open to the glittering green eyes of a monster.

  Before me stands a tall man with ruddy hair and broad shoulders—and a grin that makes me shudder. Remember the cartoon of the fox once wearing a top hat and tails? The very hungry fox, intent on satisfaction? This man reminds me of that drawing, and I try to swing the door closed as quickly as I opened it.

  He sticks out a foot and stops it.

  “I was led to believe this is Molly’s room.” His voice is a smooth vibration and his eyes lock on mine. “Instead I’ve found our star. What are you doing back here?”

  I flinch as he lifts his hand, but it passes my cheek and rests on the knot of his tie.

  “What are you doing back here, is a better question.” All my muscles are tense, ready to fight. “Audience members aren’t allowed backstage.”

  “Oh, little angel,” he chuckles. The light from our lamp glints off his large, gold pinky ring. “We both know that isn’t true.”

  Terror has me by the throat. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice tight. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Perhaps not formally. My name is Guy.” His eyes drift down my body and then back to mine. “I’ve watched you for years, and your… talent is beautiful.”

  I struggle to swallow the scream in my throat. “It’s very late. You’d better go.”

  I try to close the door, but he puts a hand above mine and pushes it open wider, sending me staggering back into the screen. Molly lets out a little yelp as it falls, exposing her sitting on the floor.

  “Guy,” she cries.

  I step in front of her, but he smiles his evil fox-smile. “How lucky. I seem to have hit the jackpot.”

  I’m going to be sick. “Roland is on his way here, and he… he’ll…” My mind is blanking in the middle of my lie.

  “Roland is an arrogant little asshole. I’m not concerned with him.” Guy’s eyes fix on the button holding my robe closed over my naked body. I’m terrified at how vulnerable I am—we both are.

  “You have to go.” I hate the tremor in my voice. It emphasizes my disadvantage.

  Guy moves toward me, lifting a hand. A little yelp comes from my throat, but he lifts a lock of my dark hair, sliding it back and forth between his fingers.

  “Such fresh young women. So pure…” I’m sure I’ll scream now, but he surprises me by going to the door. “I have to return to Atlanta, but I’ll be back in a few days. For now, sleep little angels. You’ll need it.”

  His snarl sends ice through my veins, and he closes the door, leaving the scent of cloves in his wake.

  I can’t stop shaking. He’ll be back.

  He’s coming for us. He’s already marked Molly…

  My mind flies through the list of what we need to do. I need a phone. I need to take Molly and run, but how far will we get alone with only my voice? I have nothing to trade, nothing I can pawn to protect us from this. I need to tell Roland. I need to talk to Mark. I’m so afraid.

  Desperation claws at my neck, and all I can think of is Freddie and his money and Paris.

  14

  “We create our own heartbreaks through expectations.”

  Mark

  “Do you drive?” Gavin corners me on my way to Lara’s dressing room. His face is red and sweaty. He looks like he’s been fighting.

  I’m tired, and all I want is to see my girl, hold her in my arms and forget this shitty job and this shitty night. A quick check in the room confirmed what I felt certain—she wasn’t one of the dancers in that fucking orgy.

  “Yeah, I drive,” I say, not wanting to stand here talking.

  He pulls out a set of keys. “You’re driving my brother to Atlanta tonight.”

  Fuck… “Don’t you have a car service?”

  “Yeah, it’s called you.” He punches me in the chest, and I feel his anger. I don’t understand it, but I know enough not to challenge him.

  Grasping his fist, I take the keys. One is black and chunky with the distinctive Lincoln logo on it. “Where you parked?”

  “Out the back door. You’ll see it. For expenses.” He shoves another money clip in my hand and starts in the opposite direction. I slip the bills in the pocket of my blazer and look toward the dressing rooms, wondering if I have enough time to see Lara, tell her what I’m doing.

  “Get out there now,” Gavin barks. “He’s on his way.”

  That answers my question. Dammit, why didn’t I get Lara a phone? She doesn’t want one, but this is why she needs it. Atlanta’s a seven-hour drive. I won’t be back until tomorrow night at the earliest. She’ll wonder where I am. She was already so nervous when I was late this evening. I told her I’d always be there.

  Exhaling a frustrated growl, I push through the metal door into the back parking lot. Sure enough, a navy Towncar is parked in a nearby spot, impossible to miss. Tapping the key, the doors unlock, and I slide across the leather seat. It’s the nicest car I’ve ever been in.

  Staring at the dash, I wait, getting angrier as every minute passes. Where the fuck is this guy? I could’ve easily seen Lara in the time he’s taking to get here. Turning the dial, I find a jazz station and leave it. It reminds me of the night we slipped out and went to Preservation Hall. Looking through the window, I remember everything about that night, her laughter, kissing her under the stars, holding her body against mine as we listened to the band, her mother’s pen…

  That part sticks in my memory. Her mother’s pen…

  It was the only time in our night sadness broke through. She tried to dismiss it, to push it away, but I could see how it hurt her.

  The door opens, and the red-headed man drops into the back seat. “Let’s go.”

  His door slams shut, and I steer us out of the parking lot. It takes me a few minutes to weave through the narrow streets until I’m on Canal. A few more blocks, and we’re on Interstate 10 headed north.

  The only sound in the vehicle is classic jazz playing softly. I expect it will be this way until my eyes flicker to the rearview mirror.

  Green eyes glare at me, and with a jolt, I fix my gaze on the road. Would it be rude for me to raise the glass partition? This guy gives me the creeps.

  “Doorman,” he finally says, and even his voice sounds icy. “What’s your story?”

  Again, I look in the mirror to see his eyes sizing me up.

  My hands tighten on the wheel. “No story. Just doing my job”

  “What’s your name?” Impatience drips in his tone.

  “Mark.” I remember Gavin’s response to my name, and hold it there. If anyone is involved in the underworld, it’s this guy.

  He’s not letting it pass. “Just Mark? So you’re famous? Like Cher or Madonna? Everybody knows Mark…”

  This guy’s a total asshole. “No, sir. I am not famous.”

  “So, Mark what?” he snaps.

  Taking a measured breath, I answer him. “Fitzhugh. My name is Mark Fitzhugh.”

  He doesn’t blink, which surprises me. “That’s an old one. How did you end up working for my brother?”

  “He offered, and I said yes.”

  Again, his voice heats. “How did you meet my brother?”

  “I was on the set crew.”

  “Idiot.” He shifts in his seat. “And you like working as a doorman?”

  “Looks like I’m working as a driver now.” Our eyes clash this time in the rearview mirror. I’m not taking his shit for eight hours. “Why don’t you fly to Atlanta?”

  “I don’t fly.” He looks out the window, and his mind seems to drift. “They’re such pretty things, aren’t they?”

  I�
��m not sure if he’s talking about airplanes or something else. “I’ve heard flying can be beautiful.”

  “The dancers.” He exhales a long sigh, and his voice changes to longing, sadness… It’s chilling. “They break so easily.”

  My brow lowers, but he leans back against the seat and the glass separating us slowly rises.

  I don’t care. I have one focus. Getting him to wherever the fuck he’s headed and getting back to the theater before tomorrow night’s finale.

  Lara

  I’m exhausted and moody at morning rehearsal. I spent the night searching for an answer, a way out, and the few times I managed to sleep, a green-eyed fox chased me through my nightmares.

  I haven’t seen Mark since last night before the show. He looked like he stepped out of a men’s fashion magazine. Tall and slim, with his light brown hair falling in perfect waves and a shadow on his cheeks, he made my knees weak. He also frightened me. He looked like he had one foot out the door of this place, and it made me realize how much I’ve started dreaming he could save us, believing his dream. I can’t do that.

  Tanya is falling apart. She’s late and moody, and her poses are sloppy. Tension hovers over rehearsal like the heavy velvet curtains lining the stage. Gavin lurks in the house silently watching our rehearsals and making Roland impatient and cross.

  He’s at the piano writing notes on sheet music and as I approach, he glances up at me and smiles before looking down again. “Last week I was worried you were angry with me,” he says as he writes. “When in reality, you’ve simply found someone new.”

  “It’s not like that,” I say.

  “Certainly looked like that yesterday.” He gives me a wink. “Lara’s in love.”

  I push back. “I can’t think about that now.”

  “Come on, Lara. It’s your old pal Roland.”

  Vanessa’s loud laugh pierces the air, and I cringe. I decide to put it out there, see how much he knows. How much he’ll tell me.

  “Who is Guy?”

  His body stiffens, eyes narrow. “What?”