Chapter 3 #2
“Please. Alice is far from a prude. She’s just understandably nervous,” Duchess argues.
“She shouldn’t have to if she isn’t comfortable.
Besides, she’s better at Mirroring than the rest of us combined.
The things this girl can pull out of those guys are unreal.
” She turns to me. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.
You can stay Castle’s secret wrangling midnight ballerina for as long as you want,” she says the last with a teasing chuckle.
“Unless Castle decides you’re ready,” the disembodied voice comes from out of nowhere and I look around just as the toilet flushes in one of the stalls in the adjoining room.
Mariposa emerges and washes her hands at the sink in the long makeup counter, a.k.a. the catchall counter. I can’t remember the last time any of us were on time enough to use it for anything but throwing costumes and food onto before scrambling to get ready by our own locker mirrors.
“H-how long have you been in there?” Duchess stutters, violet eyes wide, her tanned skin gone sallow. “I thought your break was during Alice’s set since no one asks for Smoke or drinks while she’s up there.”
She appraises Duchess in the mirror, one sparkling blue brow raised. “I took it early. When a girl’s gotta pee, a girl’s gotta pee.”
Duchess’s posture stiffens, but she stops worrying the lip she lined so carefully. An easy smile—the fake one I’ve seen countless times on the floor—melts into place.
“You’re a sneaky one aren’t you,” she jokes. “You were so quiet, I didn’t realize you were in here.”
Mariposa scans Duchy up and down. “Hasn’t Mirroring taught you anything? Silence brings out the best secrets.”
Tweetie and Dee aren’t paying attention, arguing between themselves, but I’m close enough to hear my friend audibly gulp. I try to think back to what we talked about when we thought it was just us. With everything that’s been said since, I’ve already forgotten.
That’s how everything is on Wander. Secrets come and secrets go, exchanges made for promises, safety, money, or power. In the end, the only ones you can really keep up with are your own. Unless you have to give those up too. I’ll die before that happens. I think Duchy’s the same.
My friend is frozen until Mariposa releases her gaze, nodding to me as she shakes out her hands.
“Castle expects everyone to perform privates. You’ve been here a month, Alice. It’s time. So long as X is on duty, you’ll be fine. He’s the only bouncer worth trusting. And fair warning? There are some patrons we can’t deny. Not without good reason, anyway.”
“Are you talking about Frog?” Tweetie asks. “I saw he’s in the crowd.”
I frown. “Frog?”
Mariposa’s face clouds. “He’s one of Castle’s men. He’s been on an… assignment of sorts and hasn’t been here since you started. Worse, he returned with Jabber.”
The name seems to cast a chill over the room, and Duchess visibly pales as she turns to me. “Listen, Alice, whatever you do, stay the hell away from him.”
The rest of the room nods, and Tweetie’s voice cracks as she whispers, “Agreed.”
From their reaction, I don’t need to know why. Girls get the gist.
“Understood.” Then I try to pivot. “What kind of assignment was Frog on?”
Mariposa just waves away the question.
“That’s not your concern. What does concern you is that there are different rules for them. If one of Castle’s men wants you, they get you.” She purses her lips in thought. “Then again, at least in Frog’s case, I doubt even he could get off Scot-free if he fucked with Castle’s precious Alice.”
The way she says the last isn’t malicious, but I resist the urge to grimace all the same.
“And if a guy does get handsy, just convince him to go for Smoke instead,” Duchess rushes out, leading the change in conversation.
The edge in her voice steadies, taking on a lighter cadence.
“It’s hit or miss, but usually, they just lay there like a puddle of happy goo and do all the talking themselves.
And so long as you stay off Frog’s radar, he won’t request you.
He’s like a dog with a bone once he catches your scent.
And when he’s just drunk, he’s tolerable, but—” A real shudder visibly ripples through her. “Smoke has the worst effect on him.”
“And he never knows anything Castle doesn’t already know,” Dee gripes. “We have no choice but to dance for him for free on the floor, and he smells like asparagus and spoiled cologne.”
“Oh!” Duchess snaps her fingers. “Maybe you can try Turtle, Alice! All you have to do is chat. Poor guy just wants company, I think.”
Dee growls as she pulls on a new platinum wig with Marilyn Monroe curls. “No, Turtle’s mine. Get your own regular.”
“Why the hell he asks for you, I’ll never know.” Mariposa coughs while spritzing Febreze. We all smell a like weed, berries, and cotton candy thanks to the Smoke on the floor, but I admire her valiant effort to cover it up.
“He’s a day trader that works from home and knows everyone.
Like Duchy said, I think the guy just wants company, and he knows what’s up around here.
He talks, giving me just enough for Castle to play with while not fucking himself over.
I listen. When he doesn’t have anything, we play the ‘guess how much money’ game. ”
Dee lifts her ankle, showing off the one-dollar bill curled around a mystery bill on a clip tied around her ankle, hiding what’s underneath, then shrugs. “Easiest cash I ever make, and his insider tips are Castle’s gold. Which means my gold. In the name of Bilbo Baggins, keep your sticky paws off.”
Duchess rolls her eyes, landing back on me. “Just do what you’re comfortable with, whenever you’re comfortable with it.”
“I mean…” Tweetie begins slowly. “If the regulars find out you’re main stage and floor only, there’s no fantasy in actually having you. No fantasy is bad for business for Wander Isle.”
“‘Bad for business?’” Duchess’s voice grows harsh. “Castle can’t say shit about Alice. She’s good for all our business. Practically famous. Her routine brings in half the Charleston dockies on Friday nights.”
A flutter of panic rises in my chest, but I breathe through it.
Hiding in plain sight has always worked best for me.
Even when you grow up in the spotlight, no one ever really knows who you are on a stage, just who they want to see.
As long as you can stay hidden behind the scenes, you’re a nobody.
Exactly how I like it. But ‘practically famous’?
Yeah, I really don’t freaking like that.
I dust my cleavage with more body shimmer and adjust the sweetheart neckline on my costume.
The blue almost see-through dress with a petticoat underneath barely covers my butt and my breasts all but spill out.
The white ribbons crisscrossing up from red Pleasers that look like pointe shoes with heels make my legs look miles long.
Finally, my white headband holds back my curled hair.
It’s similar to one I’ve worn my whole life. My statement piece, as Luna would say.
My stomach twists, and a lump builds in my throat.
“Hey, stop that!” Duchess snaps her fingers before grabbing a Sweet Tea Room Bakery cherry tart from the catchall counter. “No crying in dancing.” She continues, now wagging that finger at me with a mock frown before she takes a big bite. “Or at least that’s what my ballet instructors used to say.”
Huh. I suspected she was trained, but this is the first time she’s confirmed it. I wonder where she was taught—
Nope.
She doesn’t pry with me, so I don’t pry either, even though my curious mind can’t help it sometimes.
“I wasn’t crying,” I say instead. But my warped mirror shows my suddenly red-rimmed eyes, and the emotion acting as rouge past the thick makeup on my cheeks and pinkening my nose. “I’m allergic to all this perfume is all.”
Duchy’s nose scrunches. “Okay, fair. This place smells so good it stinks.”
“Annnnd we’re back from our intermission, folks. Next up, show some love to one of our Wander Isle diamonds… Duuuuchesssss.”
The big booming voice comes out tinny and staticky from the dressing room’s speaker in the corner, and we all grimace. Dee and Tweetie are right under it, making the first twin grumble, “I wish he’d fix that thing.”
“It’s back of house.” Duchess speaks around the last of the tart’s crust and wipes her hands with a baby wipe. “That would mean Castle would have to give at least one dadgum fuck about us.”
“He takes care of the floor and stage,” Tweetie says, adjusting her breasts behind a new suspender and booty short Tweedle costume so she can be fresh as a rose on the floor. “Not every place does that.”
The door opens soon after, and Mira, another dancer, strolls in, silent as always.
She untucks a stack of bills into her thong as she yanks baby wipes from the pack on the makeup counter.
The light catches the sweat trailing through the silver glitter covering most of her pale skin, as well as the missing patches at her waist, around her mouth, and her inner thighs.
The club rule is no touching on the floor, but we can decide for ourselves how much we’ll allow in VIP rooms. X monitors each one, and he’d never allow someone to go too far on his watch.
“He doesn’t deserve you sticking up for him, you know,” Duchy says low to Tweetie, drawing my eyes away from the stoic dancer to my friend.
Duchy uses her locker mirror to tie on a red mask that covers the top half of her face, ending with two small horns at top.
Before Tweetie can respond, Duchess hops up and walks backward to the door to address all of us, somehow expertly navigating the explosion of costumes, makeup, and bags in her high heels.
“Anyway, I better get out there. Xav—” Duchess clears her throat. “X said Watchman tried to quit cigarettes again this morning, so apparently he’s in a bad m—”