Chapter 38 Bianca
BIANCA
I feel so dirty.
I told myself when I came to New York that I wouldn’t let this city change me.
So much for that.
My first big shot, and I slept with the director for the gig.
Oh, well. I’m not the first girl to do that, and I won’t be the last.
Still, my career will be forever tainted with what I did with Mr. Shippe.
His warm onions-and-cigarette-smoke breath as he kissed me, wormed his tongue into my mouth. The way he groped at my breasts until I worried they would burst. The way his untamed forest of pubes scratched at me as he fucked me on top of the audition panel’s table.
At least his dick was small. It barely felt like a pinprick as he made his way into me.
But sucking it, on the other hand, was a chore. I’ve brushed my teeth at least a dozen times in the forty-eight hours since, but I can’t get the stale taste of him out of my mouth.
I’ll never do it again.
And at least I’ll get the gig. I should be hearing from them any day now. That’s what Mr. Shippe said as he was putting his boxers back on.
They have to wait a few days before they make the offer. Make it look like they took every girl into consideration. Otherwise it’ll look weird.
All I’ve done since I got home from the callback is cry in the shower and lie on my bed staring into space.
When I get the email from the production company, I’ll feel better.
At least there will be some tat for my tit.
My computer dings across the room.
Could this be it? My heart skips a beat, even though I know what the email is going to say.
It’s from Skylight Productions.
Moment of truth.
I open it.
Dear Bianca,
We were quite impressed with your audition and callback for Reflections. We want to thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to perform for us.
Yeah, yeah. Get to the good stuff. I continue reading.
As of this afternoon, all offers for the show have been made. We are sorry that we don’t have a place for you in this production but wish you all the best in your career.
Cordially,
Lawrence Shippe
What?
I read through the message again.
And again.
This must be a mistake.
I slept with the fucking producer. And they still cast someone else?
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
I’m so fucking stupid. A stupid little slut who gave her body to the top bidder who then came up short when it was time to pony up.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
It’s not like I can email him back and tell him that he owes me this for sleeping with him.
He’s a powerful man. Loads of people—women included—would come to his defense if I made a big stink about this.
And it’s not like I have any evidence. He used a condom. None of his DNA is in me.
I consented anyway. I wasn’t raped.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
That’s it. Career over. I slept with the producer, and even that wasn’t enough to land me a gig.
I throw myself onto my bed and cry. Have an actual tantrum. Flail my body about like a damned toddler.
I hate this. I hate my life. I hate this city where the apartments are too small and rent is too high. I hate this industry that I thought I could break into. I hate all the other girls who look just like me but have just enough more talent to get chosen over me.
My phone rings.
I wipe my eyes.
Rouge is calling me.
What the hell?
She’s the last person I want to hear from right now. I’ll let it roll to voicemail. I can call her back when I’m good and cried out.
It rings again. I let it go again.
She calls me a third time.
Okay, this could be something serious. Rouge never calls me three times in a row.
Dad has been on a decline. She could be calling about him.
I take a deep breath, wipe the tears off my face, and accept the call. “Hello?” I answer with as steady a voice as I can muster.
“Bianca. It’s Rouge. How have you been doing?”
“I’m fine.”
Biggest lie I’ve ever told.
“Excellent. Do you have a moment?”
“Sure. Is this about Dad?”
“Dad? Oh heavens, no. I mean, he’s not long for this world, but he’s still with us for now. But, as you know, he’s handed me the reins to Aces.”
Yeah. I know. It was on the front cover of the Tribune. Mom sent me a copy in the mail. Rouge gaining control to the club was the biggest news that year since Henry Hathaway’s upset election as mayor.
“Yes, congrats on that, by the way. Sorry I didn’t call.”
It wasn’t a big surprise. Dad had been grooming Rouge to take over for him since she could talk.
“Oh, don’t you worry. But I was wondering. Have you ever considered leaving New York?”
I swallow. I was just throwing the idea around.
Rouge always seems to have a sixth sense about things like this. The timing is eerie.
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, I know how difficult it is to break into show business. And it seems you’ve been having a harder time than most.”
“Ouch.”
Not wrong, though.
“Not to offend, of course. It’s hard for anyone. People with twice your talent probably don’t get in the door nearly as much as they should.”
Ah, the classic Rouge Montrose backhanded compliment.
“So what if I did leave New York? You going to hire me as a waitress?”
She laughs. “Of course not. I have a plan for the waitstaff. Should revolutionize the place. But I’ll need a lounge singer. Would you be interested?”
I nearly drop the phone.
Rouge was just implying that I lack the talent to have a career on the stage. And now she’s offering me a job?
“How much would the pay be?”
“We can talk pay later. But I assure you it’ll be a lot more than you’re making now. And you’ll be able to earn additional money as your needs require.”
“How will I be able to do that?”
“We’ll discuss it later. But you’ll be working full-time as a singer. It would be as an independent contractor, but I’ll see what I can do to get you some benefits like health insurance and a retirement plan. Isn’t that your dream?”
I draw in a slow breath. “I suppose, but it’s not my dream to be handed the job by my big sister.”
Especially after what she did to me in our childhood. I never allow myself to think about it, but the memories are there. And they’re not going anywhere.
She chuckles again. “Don’t be silly, Bianca. I wouldn’t be offering you the position if I didn’t think you would do well.”
“Still, though. It feels like nepotism.”
“Of course it’s nepotism. But isn’t everything in this world?”
True. Rouge was Dad’s favorite, so she got the club.
I guess she’s trying to throw me a bone.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Talk me through it.”
* * *
Rouge saved me when I hit rock bottom.
But that doesn’t excuse what she’s done.
And I won’t allow her to get away with this.
“Bianca!”
A harsh whisper from behind me nearly makes me jump out of my skin as I enter my dressing room. I turn with a start.
It’s Harrison.
“Oh, thank God. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He exhales. “I just saw you slip in here and wanted to talk to you. I think I might know where we’ll find this writing raven.”
I widen my eyes. “Really? Where?”
“The women’s restroom.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why there?”
“I don’t know for sure. But it’s the only place I haven’t looked yet, besides the places I’m not allowed to go.” I pace back and forth. “But it makes sense for a place to hide something, right? Easy access from the secret entrance and all.”
I scratch the side of my head. “Okay…”
He holds up a hand. “You’re not convinced. Neither am I. But it’s the only place I haven’t looked. Obviously I can’t go in and look without a woman going in first to make sure the coast is clear.”
I’m about to tell him that what he’s saying makes no sense, but then I feel the familiar twitch above my eyebrow. It could just be nerves—this is a high-stakes situation, after all—but it hasn’t led me astray yet.
Maybe Harrison is right. There could be something in the ladies’ restroom hiding in plain sight.
“Let’s try it out.” I check my phone. “I have fifteen minutes until my next set. Rouge sometimes comes in and checks on me during my breaks, but there are a lot of extra people here for the holiday. They should keep her busy.”
He nods. “Great. Thanks for trying this out for me, babe.”
I get on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “I have a feeling you might be right about this.” I open my dressing room door and peek through.
Rouge is all the way across in Spades, and no one seems to be paying much attention to the area surrounding the ladies’ restroom. I gesture Harrison to follow behind me.
We cross quickly toward the restroom. I go inside first, and the coast is clear. The three stalls are empty, and there’s no one sitting on the fainting couch at the entrance or adjusting their makeup in the mirror.
I open the door. “It’s empty. Come in.”
He enters, and together we push the fainting couch against the door to keep people from coming inside while we look around.
“Let’s be quick,” I say. “You never know when my sister might have to heed nature’s call.”
Harrison chuckles. “I didn’t think Rouge would ever be caught doing something so human as taking a shit.”
I let out a short laugh. It’s a funny thing to say. Unfortunately, I have seen the human side of Rouge, and it might be even more terrifying than her Queen side.
“Let’s look around. See if anything looks out of place.”
He nods.
I check the mirror behind the sink—since mirrors seem to be important to this section of the club—but find nothing. No secret cabinet or anything. I run my hands along the upholstery of the fainting couch. It’s all original stitching.
“That’s weird,” Harrison mutters from the stalls.
“What’s weird?” I walk over to him.
“The stalls in this bathroom. They have writing on the locks. Like in an airplane bathroom. When you switch the lock”—he demonstrates—“it goes from ‘vacant’ to ‘occupied.’”
I purse my lips. “So? That’s not exactly uncommon.”
He shakes his head. “I was in the men’s room before I met you in the dressing room. I looked up and down the doors of those toilet stalls, seeing if there was a picture of a raven or something, and they don’t have that feature.”