Chapter 3
LUCY
Fifteen minutes ago
“…three of them almost lost thousands but went for Smoke instead. I’ve already ran up and down to Castle so many times—hey. You listening? Alice!”
“Ah!” I jump at Duchess’s sharp voice, yanking the white ribbon around my leg too tightly and wincing. “Ouch. Golly. You don’t have to shout at me.”
I relieve some of the pressure and re-tie the bow at my upper thigh. If they’re not tied perfectly, they have a habit of unraveling on stage, and it totally throws me off.
“Obviously a good shouting was necessary. It’s not my fault Alice was in La La Land again. I said your name thrice.” She rolls her eyes, somehow still perfectly sweeping across her burgundy eyeliner, then moving on to lip gloss. “I swear it’s like you don’t even know it sometimes.”
My gold eyeliner brings out the green in my hazel-blue eyes, and the one she chooses makes her blue eyes violet against her bronze skin, tinted from her nightly tanning scrub, and a stark contrast to my pasty, winter-pale and freckles.
My light, strawberry-blond hair would be totally out of place with her features, whereas her crimson hair fits her to a T.
Her hair, colorful tattoos that I totally envy, and sassy, dry humor remind me of my best friends back home. Duchy alongside Luna and Brylie would be a force to be reckoned with.
At the thought, a lump gathers in my throat, and I swallow past it to make the joke Duchy and I have had since I settled in Wander Isle.
“I’ll give you my real name if you give me yours.”
“Touché.” She snorts. “Guess we’ll never know.”
She smacks her lips as she recaps the gloss.
“I was just saying the number of Smokes tonight is more than usual. Knave also mentioned he was picking up a lot of twenties on the stage. It’s probably a good night for Mirroring, if you wanna keep outta VIP still.
If they’ve got the cash to throw, they’ll have it on the floor, ya know?
A little shmooze, a little booze, bada bing, bada boom. ”
She slips out of the theatrical New York accent and back into the Southern one she keeps off the floor, laughing.
“Lord, listen to me, I sound like I’m on Dory’s rhyming bullshit.
Oh, also, you got any of those protectors?
” She points her red-painted toes at me, extending her leg in a perfect line to show off the gnarly blister spanning the entire ball of her foot. “The dogs are barking.”
“Geez, that’s bad.” I peer at it and use the back of my eyeliner pencil to poke the close-to-bursting bubble, grimacing as it depresses. “Yikes.” I nod to her locker. “Slipped some through the slats last night.”
“You are an angel!” She leans back, her trim waist flexing as she checks underneath the bag she carelessly tossed inside. “How’d you know I’d need them?”
I shrug. “You fell out of the last turn on your final set last night. That thing’s gotta hurt. I’m surprised you didn’t leave early.”
She snorts. “Like that’d ever happen.” One manicured finger flips through the bandages like a stack of dollar bills. “What do I owe you?”
I bite my tongue, swallowing the “no worries” I would’ve been able to say six months ago. I did the best I could to stretch my savings out, but motels, extended stays, and rentals are the types of things that cost more the less money you have.
Don’t have credit? That’ll be an extra hundred for a “security deposit.” ID obviously fake?
Add a couple more twenties so they don’t rat to the cops.
The guy next door “somehow” figured out how to break into your room?
Too bad, there’s nothing maintenance can do about it.
He’ll do it again, and if he doesn’t, the motel manager will.
Guess you better move and kiss that security deposit goodbye.
So… yeah, twenty bucks a pack for blister protectors isn’t “nothing” anymore. But Duchy helps cure my aching loneliness, and she’s always down to support me in my favorite vice.
I give her a suggestive eyebrow waggle. “You know what I want, babe.”
She bursts into a cackle, the one “flaw” she has.
No one comes to Wander Isle to be remembered, but whoever she’s hiding from would find her in an instant with just that one witch-like laugh.
For better or worse, though, she only ever does it around me and her boyfriend.
I don’t know how I got inside that iron-clad bubble of hers, but I’m grateful every day for a friend. At least until I have to leave again.
After six months on the run, it’s… it’s been lonely. Necessary, but lonely all the same.
“A cherry tart from the Sweet Tea Room. Got it,” Duchy says, shaking her head. “You know, if The Boy gave that answer, there’d be completely different stakes, and I’d be winning. Twice.” She smirks. “If you know what I mean.”
Oh I know what she means, just not personally.
She doesn’t need to know that, though. Even non-judgmental Duchy wouldn’t be able to hold back her side-eye if I told her that I’m a virgin stripper.
Not that it’s impossible, or even unusual in real life, but even I know it’s a played-out trope.
Or maybe I’ve just read too many romance books.
I am a mood reader after all, and I really do love when the antihero talks her through it…
Heat rises in my cheeks. I fake a dramatic gagging to hide my embarrassment and the fact that my mind has gone straight to the gutter all on its own.
“Ew, nix the sex talk, will you? He’s literally like a brother to me.” Then I grin back. “But sorry, no orgasms, just sweets.”
“Hey now, sweets are a close second. If I get you a tart, I can get me one too. Another win-win.” Her nose scrunches as she shimmies into her red dress.
“But then The Boy will want one. Get an Alice a tart and the rest of The Rabbit Hole will want one too. Can’t blame them though, everyone loves eating dessert.
Speaking of, you gonna do it tonight? Bite the bullet on VIP?
Like I said, Mirroring again should be fine.
It’s up to you. I know you like the floor, but semi-privates in booths are a good way to dip your toe in.
Oh! Or grab you a couple and go all in on the chick.
They’re the best tippers, so long as you ignore the guy.
Make her feel like she’s the only one in the room for once, and he gets that girl-on-girl fantasy he swears he’s not watching every time he opens the porn he also swears he doesn’t watch. ”
“The… what…?” I blink, trying to follow her train of thought. With her constant stream of conversation, my new friend reminds me even more of Luna, especially when Luna is hypomanic. I don’t mind it, but their high energy is hard to keep up with sometimes.
Tart… eating dessert… the rooms—
“Oh.” My cheeks heat further. There will be no denying I’m blushing now. I studiously finish the white ribbon on my thigh in a practiced bow.
“I’m still not sure about VIP.” I’ve been building up my courage, but my nerves have gotten the best of me.
“No shame, but lemme tell ya, when you’re counting up at the end of the night, it’s worth it. Especially the extras. Plus, it kinda acts like foreplay.”
“Gross,” Dee groans as she pushes open the door into the dressing room, and the music blares inside from behind her. “How the hell do you get turned on by anything in this damn place? I’d rather take a long walk off a short dock and let the pluff mud take me.”
“Please, it’s not that bad.” Her twin, Tweetie, follows in behind her. She blows a pink bubble as she closes the door, silencing the music.
Their heels clack on the hard floor as they banter before they yank them off on their way to their lockers.
They just finished their set, and after being under the bright lights, we always come back in to let our bodies breathe and baby wipe down.
There’s a break now, then Duchess, then Mira, then me, and I’ll be doing the same thing they are. Granted I’ll be wearing less clothes.
We’re allowed to take off as much or as little as we want onstage, but the girls that take clients to back rooms and booths have a lot more leeway than the ones who don’t.
The ones who haven’t gotten the courage to entertain VIP yet—a.k.a.
me—are expected to show more skin in front of everyone, while the others can save the whole show for private sessions.
With their black bottoms, suspenders, and red bow at their necks, Dee and Tweetie would look like mimes if they had shirts. Instead, their small breasts press tightly against the wide suspenders, spilling around the straps to complete the sexy costume.
Dee scowls in the mirror as she removes her platinum-blond wig and the cap beneath it, revealing her short-cropped natural hair. “The only reason it’s not ‘that bad’ is because I take a page from Castle’s playbook.”
“Oh, yeah? How’s that?” Duchess asks idly.
“Gamify. Everything.” She holds up bills, several hundreds and twenties, smiling like the cat that got the cream before stuffing them in her safe.
“Got all these just because the gullible dummies can’t guess how much money I had in my ankle clip.
They assume I am my character. Embarrassing for them, really, but it’s why Tweets and I chose the Tweedles.
Too many men can’t separate fantasy from reality in places like this.
” She smirks wryly. “The ones who couldn’t pay with money made up for it by talking.
” Then she keeps a twenty and wraps a one around it before clipping both to her ankle.
“I saw Turtle came in during our set, so I’m going to try him too.
We’ve played so often we’re just passing hundreds back and forth at this point.
But doing it this way, I don’t even need to do privates. ”
“But Castle wants us to do privates.” Tweetie winces apologetically. “He doesn’t like it if the customers complain about us being prudes.”