22. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Sunny
I grab the clothes I packed for the night out of my bag before tossing it into the old, dented locker. It hits the bottom with a heavy thud, and I slam the door a little harder than I'd wanted. The sharp metallic clang echoes off the walls of the empty dressing room, making me jump.
I rattle the latch to double-check that it's locked. I get along with most the girls here, but there are a few that'll take anything that isn't nailed down. Especially if it's mine. Jealous bitches.
I drag the fistful of clothes I'm holding over to one of the long counters and lay them out. What little there is of them. Benny's cool about letting us wear what we want, but like he says, ' less is more.' He's right—the more skin you show, the more cash you earn. And when you start out with nothing but hospital discharge papers and a fake ID some guy made for you in his basement, you learn the wisdom of those words fast. I mean bills don't pay themselves.
The name I chose was obvious. Angel. The perfect reminder of exactly how much trusting someone can cost.
I catch my reflection in the mirror as I change. The girl looking back at me doesn't look anything like the one who stepped off that bus seven years ago. That girl was all bruises and bandages, held together with staples and sporting a dirty, wet cast. This one... well, this one at least looks like she has her shit together. Even if it is all smoke and mirrors.
My fingers trace the edge of my collarbone—the starting point of the tattoo that winds down my body. Jade helped me design it—a thick ribbon of night sky and stars behind a waterfall of wildflowers. Every single kind I could remember from the lake is there. It covers the full length and width of the scars that carve a trail from my shoulder to just below my ribs. It continues down over my hip where it buries the ink I got from Garrett and wraps around my thigh.
It's beautiful and only someone who knew the scars were there would ever be able to see them underneath. Cost me three months of tips, but it was worth it to stop having to spend a couple hours each night painting myself with body makeup.
Jade's good at finding solutions like that. I consider her my best friend. I’m as close to her as I can imagine being to anyone. She found me in the bus station bathroom, trying to change my bandages one-handed, out of money, and out of options.
She gave me a spot on her couch until I could get on my feet. She's the one who convinced Benny to give ‘Angel’ a shot at working behind the bar.
I pull out one of the hard molded plastic chairs, and collapse into it. I’ve got almost an hour before my shift starts, maybe half that before the dressing room starts filling up. I like to get here early, especially on the weekends. It still takes me time to work up the courage to get my ass out onto the floor. I'm good at what I do, but I've never really settled into it.
Given a choice, I'd rather be doing something else. But it all comes down to money. There's no way I could make what I make in a night here anywhere else. Not with my lack of education and experience. I mean, I don't even have a high school diploma.
The day I got released from the hospital I got home, packed a bag, grabbed all the money from the stash spots as well as the main jar in the kitchen and headed towards the bus station.
The cops had told me there’d been no sign of Garrett since the night he almost killed me. They assured me that he was probably long gone and wouldn’t risk coming back. They didn’t know him like I did. I caught the first bus leaving Easton Creek and I’ve never looked back.
I'm lucky I had someone like Jade willing to take me under her wing. I owe her so much. But, I'll admit, some nights it's easier than others to find enough gratitude to give away. Especially when the job is more about dodging hands on your ass then serving drinks.
Not that Benny messes around when it comes to safety. He won't hesitate to sic one of the bouncers on anyone who can't take no for an answer. It happens more often than it should—at least once a night on the weekends. Usually the dancers are the target, but no one, not even us bartenders are immune.
I pull my old, faded T-shirt over my head, and shimmy out of my cut-off jean shorts, letting both fall to the floor. My toes wiggle and dig into the worn denim at my feet as I get used to the cool air on my skin.
I gently massage the scars that run down my body before getting dressed. They may be hidden under layers of ink now, but I can always feel them. The skin feels like it healed too tight in places and it always seems to ache and itch. It gets worse when I get nervous. I swear sometimes I can still feel the sting and burn of those scissors digging in and dragging across my skin.
My doctor tells me there's nothing he can do to help if I won't go talk to someone. He doesn't think it's a physical problem. He's probably right. But I have a hard enough time getting through a day with the few ghosts who won't settle enough to ignore. I don't need to go digging up the whole damn graveyard. It's better to leave some things buried and silent.
I stare at my reflection another minute before slipping into the tiny scraps of fabric I laid out. Snow white lace—my signature look as Angel. Judging by the tips I take home on an average night, I've gotten fairly convincing at playing the good girl—big brown eyes under thick long lashes, long honey blonde curls wrapped up in silk ribbons, and an easy, innocent smile. Guys eat that shit up. They all seem to want a sweet girl they think they can ruin. They're a little late to the party, but what they don't know won't hurt them. They aren’t paying for truth.
I’m tugging up the straps of my top when the door swings open and Jade breezes in, all long legs and confidence. She’s just coming off her afternoon shift. Her short, shiny, black hair is teased up into spikes and her deep red lipstick is as perfect as always.
“Girl!” she says, tossing the black leather bag that matches her costume onto the counter next to me, “You’re in for one helluva night. It's crazy out there. The regulars are already showing up for the night, and Benny said there's three different bachelor parties scheduled. He asked if I'd stay over, but I promised my sister another visit and help with her kids, ya’ know?" She stops mid-step, scans me from head to toe, and smirks. “I still think it's such a waste. You should really think about getting up on that stage, Angel baby. Package like that, you’d rake it in. Seriously, they'd be eating out of your hand.”
I give her my best playful smile, half-posing as I start to weave a length of white satin ribbon into my hair. “I can't dance. No rhythm,” I say, winking at her in the mirror. “Besides, I'm not really a center-of-attention kind of girl. Never have been.”
“Yeah right, sweetie. Like you have a choice." She laughs, running her fingers through her hair. "Suit yourself. But if I had your looks, I’d be retired by now.”
“And here I am just focused on trying not to kill myself in these heels,” I reply, blowing her a kiss.
Jade rolls her eyes but grins, as she turns and heads towards her locker.
She starts rambling about a customer from her last table—some high roller who left her a hundred-dollar tip for letting him buy her a shot. I half-listen, nodding and laughing in all the right places, focusing on adjusting the tiny straps of my top.
When she finally heads out, I check myself one last time in the mirror. I wish I could be her sometimes—sweet, charming, fun. Sexy. If only.
I bend to fasten the strap on the six-inch platforms I'm wearing, stand up straight, push my shoulders back, and throw a sultry look at my reflection. “Why hello again Angel," I murmur. "Go get 'em, girl."
The sound of bass throbs from the other side of the wall as I head out into the dim hallway. The familiar mix of stale beer, cheap cologne, and perfume thickens as I make my way over to my tables. It's busier than usual with men already clustered around tables or lining the four stages in the center of the club with drinks in hand. Pretty soon it'll be standing room only. Jade wasn't lying.
Flashing lights hit the four large stages where girls writhe and gyrate in time to the music. That's where the real money is made, but I wasn't lying. I'll do a lot of things to get by, but that's where I draw the line. I'm not my mother.
I catch sight of one of my favorite regulars at the end of the bar and walk over. His eyes stay glued to me the entire time. I give him a playful tap on the arm. “Back again, huh? Thought you’d have had enough of this place by now, Tony.”
He grins, taking a sip of his beer. “Not a chance, sweetheart. Seeing you is the highlight of my week. You know that.” He digs in his wallet and hands me a fifty for a drink he hasn’t even ordered yet.
“Tony, you sure know how to treat a lady,” I say, tucking the bill into the soft velvet bag around my waist with a wink. “Let me get you a drink, on the house this time.”
“Hell, you start buying me drinks Angel baby and you'll never get rid of me,” he jokes.
I laugh and give him a wink before turning around and heading towards the bar. I pause, long enough to blow a quick kiss to a table of guys who get loud when I walk by. I keep the perfectly rehearsed grin plastered on my face—wide enough to be friendly, but not so wide it looks fake. I toss a coy look over my shoulder at them as I step behind the bar and start making a whiskey sour. The guys at the table I passed can’t take their eyes off of me. It’s going to be a good night.
Tony gives me a soft smile when I drop his drink off. "Let me ask you something serious, Angel. You ever think of doing something else? Something better than this?"
His concern hits a little too close to home. For a second, I'm back at that bus station, barely eighteen and terrified, counting wrinkled bills and praying it would be enough to get me somewhere Garrett couldn't find me. Somewhere I could disappear.
I force Angel's smile back onto my face. "Aww, you're too sweet Tony. But better than this? This is as close to heaven as I'm ever going to get, baby."
It's not even a lie. Seven years ago, I was bleeding out on my bedroom floor thinking I was done for. Now I'm alive, independent, and nobody owns me. It might be a long way from heaven, but it's better than being fucking dead.