Chapter 2
EVERLEE – OH, I’M NOT A HOOKER
Thirty minutes later I’m waiting for my ride share to pull up, dressed in the skimpiest outfit I’ve worn in several years, with an inconspicuously conspicuous beige trench coat draped around me with a pair of red angel wings in my hand and six-inch red stilettos on.
The light blue, four-door sedan pulls up two minutes later with a woman as old as my grandmother driving with her hair in rollers and a daisy-patterned top on. I check the license plate with the app on my phone, along with the driver's picture.
Betty.
Of all the people I could have gotten, it would be a Betty. I’m certain I’m going to have the scripture read to me on the entire car ride to the club.
The back seat is cushiony, and her car smells like rose petals, no doubt a spray she uses before she picks up each guest. She confirms the name of the club, then flips her blinker on and slowly pulls onto the road, casting several curious glances my way.
This is going to be the most awkward twenty-minute ride of my life.
Lizzy sends a picture of her and Tony. Her large white wings glow against her light brown skin and dark hair, and Tony has her tucked under his arm, chest exposed, loving life.
She looks so happy, and I love that for her.
I just don’t love she’s in the dating stage where she tries to replicate her happiness in my life.
She’s already told me she’s going to marry this guy, which seems a bit premature, but she’s certain.
And one thing about Lizzy is that she always gets her way. I look at the wings on the seat.
Case in point.
The three times I’ve met Tony, he seems over the moon with her too, so hopefully it works out. She’s had some real assholes in the past, so I’d be ecstatic if she’s found her Prince Charming.
“Big plans tonight?” Betty asks with a deep Southern accent, breaking the silence. Her hands move back and forth around the steering wheel like she’s wringing out a wet cloth.
“A party.” Keep it simple.
She nods and hums. Betty and I both seem to share the same wonderment about the party I’m going to.
“I did that once,” she blurts without reservation.
“Go to a party?”
There is a brief pause before she speaks, and then she utters the words at a deliberate pace. “Yes. A party.”
You little wild child, Betty, I tease to myself.
“Then the cops were called.”
“Oh.” My neck jerks back in surprise. Shit.
“Yeah. They caught me snorting coke off a penis.”
My hand reaches for the door handle because I need something, anything, to grab onto. Not at all where I saw this story going.
“Sorry if that was too much. I just figured, you know… with you dressed like that… going to a party ‘n all.”
“No, no. All good.” I pinch my arm to make sure I haven’t somehow hit my head and I’m passed out at my house. “What… happened?” Dare I ask… Yes, I dare. I very fucking much dare. Betty surprised me, and now I need to know more about the party she was at.
She noticeably relaxes. “Well, I stopped going to parties. Scared me straight. I was rebelling against my father. He was our town’s local preacher.”
I swallow hard, then look around her car for hidden cameras because I feel like I’m being punked right now. “So you never went to another party again because of that one?”
“Well, no. I wasn’t allowed to.”
“You weren’t allowed to go to anymore parties? Can they do that?” I feel bad for Betty. One time getting caught snorting coke off a penis and bam! No more parties!
“Well, yeah. I suppose they can.” She shakes her head like I asked a stupid question, but there’s clearly something I’m missing. “Anyway, I settled down and found a nice man who takes real good care of me now.”
I look around again, my eyes scanning every corner, convinced that I must have overlooked the hidden cameras during my first pass. There have to be large chunks—important chunks—missing from her story.
“Is it just you? It’s not safe to be going to parties alone.”
Deep down, I can't shake the suspicion that "parties" is code for something else. “No. There’s… I don’t know how many people are there, but I’d have to guess a lot. It’s at a club. I’m meeting my best friend there with her boyfriend.”
“Oh, that’s trouble,” she huffs, shaking her head.
“What is?”
“You should never mix personal and business. That’s what did me in.”
Once again, my hand finds the door handle, because I feel like I’m about to continue on the rollercoaster of her story. “How so?” But I can’t stop. I have to know more.
“Well, Darlene thought it’d be fun to have me over for a party for her and her boyfriend. They had a couple other friends over, but it was Darlene’s boyfriend's birthday and she wanted to do something real special for him.”
“Seems nice.”
She huffs. “I told her. I said, Darlene. Now listen. This ain’t a good idea.
But Darlene, she didn’t listen. Put us two in a room together, turned the music on and, well, Darlene’s boyfriend thought it was a different kind of present.
I stripped for him and what not, had me about three beers too many and next thing you know.
” She hits the steering wheel. “You guessed it. Cock out, me on my knees snorting coke. Darlene’s neighbors called the police on us and, apparently, Darlene’s boyfriend had locked the door when I wasn’t looking.
So they bust in, thinking I was a hooker.
I mean, I guess I kind of was, but only the one time and I never got paid.
” She adds, “Unless you count the coke and beers, but…” Her words fall off.
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Didn’t speak to Darlene for a while after that. She was mad at me and I’s mad at her.”
“That was unfair to you.”
“Heck yeah, it was! I was just trying to do my friend a favor and whammo blammo.”
“Whammo blammo for sure.” Note to self: don’t get locked in a room with Tony and snort coke off his cock.
The blur of buildings outside barely registers as my mind still reels from the twists and turns of that conversation. When we pull up to the club a few minutes later, I step out of the car, but she calls me back.
“Listen here. I’ve left that life behind me, but if you need me, you keep my number handy. I’ll come get you. Us ladies of the night have to stick together.” She nods with a stone-cold, serious look on her face.
She thinks I’m a hooker. “Oh. I’m not a hooker.”
“Me neither.” She winks.
As Betty takes off down the road, I can't help but feel a wave of doubt wash over me, making me question what I’m doing here. Glancing at her business card in my hand, it feels like a lifeline I didn’t know I needed, so I stuff it into my purse and look around.
I feel so ridiculous right now. I haven’t worn anything “sexy” in forever, and parading around in front of strangers feels impossible after my ex shattered my confidence with a sledgehammer.
But tonight is for Lizzy—I repeat for the hundredth time.
I have to show her I’m okay, even if I don’t fully believe it myself. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?
Valentine’s Day is still four days away, but it’s already suffocating me.
The long line of people standing against the brick wall does little to soothe my nerves.
There are some dressed in more clothes than me, but most in less.
Which is saying a lot since I’m wearing the equivalent of a feather bra and a sheer nighty.
At least I was smart enough to wear a jacket.
Most of the other people in line are bouncing up and down, huddled together, trying to fight off the winter wind that continues to bite.
“Everlee!” My name ricochets off the walls of the building, grabbing my attention.
Lizzy is standing behind a rather large, bald bouncer in a black shirt, waving at me. Turning my head, I look at the long line of people, then back to her with my brows peaked on my forehead.
“Come over here!” she yells, bouncing up and down, likely more from excitement than temperature.
The short distance from the curb to her seems endless, with the disapproving eyes of the other waiting patrons burning holes into my back.
The bouncer looks me up and down, then moves the rope out of the way.
Two ladies next in line behind the rope let out some mangled groan and make a snide remark about us.
Lizzy, being Lizzy, casually waves at them over her shoulder, then blows them a kiss before the door closes.
“What took so long?”
“I had to get dressed and catch a ride. Not everyone lives down the street from the hot new club.”
She bats her hand, ignoring me, and starts untying the knot on my jacket.
“Well, if I knew you felt this way about me,” I tease, shrugging the jacket off.
“Girl, you know I’d fuck you. I just didn’t think you’d go for it.”
I huff a breath through my nose and catch her smile before she turns and hands my jacket to the attendant at the front desk, grabbing a ticket from them.
“Here. Don’t lose this.”
Ticket number sixty-nine, with a bar code on the bottom.
I chuckle. What are the odds? Sixty-nine has been a running joke with us forever.
We set each other’s thermostats to sixty-nine, may or may not have rounded a number or percentage to sixty-nine for work presentations, or given an extra tip to round up to sixty-nine dollars.
General immature shenanigans, but it always makes us chuckle, and I love it.
“Put your wings on and fix your tits.”
“What’s wrong with my tits?” I slip the wings on and lift them up.
“Nothing now.” She pats the top of them like bongos. “Girl, you are fire.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Enough.” She winks, grabbing my hand and leading me through the club.