CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Julia ate a bowl of corn flakes while she watched Angela straighten her hair with a flat iron. “What time we working tonight?” she said, crinkling her nose at the smell of burnt hair.
Angela put down the flat iron. She looked in the mirror, throwing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Eleven.”
“Will you have time to show me how to do lap dances?”
Angela picked up a pair of tweezers, examined her eyebrows in the mirror, put the tweezers down, and sighed. “Maybe. But I gotta make my own money. I’m not your dance coach.”
“Sorry. I’m just nervous,” said Julia.
She stepped back as Angela pushed by her and walked into her bedroom, mumbling, “Get over yourself.”
Julia ate the last of her corn flakes and walked downstairs. She felt bad about last night, but she couldn’t be with Angela like that. Not while she still had Conor in her head. She washed her cereal bowl in the sink.
“You better get your makeup on and stop dragging ass,” yelled Angela from upstairs.
Julia rolled her eyes. As dark as Sweeties was, and as drunk as the guys were, she doubted that much makeup was needed, but she trotted upstairs and went into the bathroom, putting her face together.
Anything to shut Angela up. By the time she was done, Angela was standing in the doorway, holding a pair of stilettos.
“Here’s your shoes for tonight,” Angela said, handing them over.
Julia slipped the stilettos into her purse. She watched Angela dig through her purse, a deep crease between her eyebrows, her jaw set tight. “You know, you don’t have to dance with me tonight,” said Julia.
“What are you talking about?” said Angela, still rooting around in her purse.
“Just saying,” said Julia. “Like you said, you gotta make your own money.”
“Will you stop it?” said Angela, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of her purse.
“I have no problem dancing with you.” Angela lit a cigarette, the end glowing bright before she blew out a cloud of smoke.
She looked at Julia. Her eyes softened. She took a deep breath and held it, like she was on the edge of saying something.
“What?” said Julia. “Spit it out.”
“It’s nothing,” said Angela, turning to walk downstairs. “Let’s get out of here. You got a big night ahead of you.”
* * *
Julia glanced over at Angela, watching her drive.
She was still acting weird—all quiet and pensive.
Julia sighed. Pushing her away last night was probably the reason.
Well, too bad—it was the right move. Julia knew she couldn’t be with anyone until she got Conor out of her head.
But this driving without talking was stupid.
Angela turned on the radio and ran through stations, stopping at the familiar chords of Possum Kingdom by the Toadies. She cranked it and bopped her head.
Julia grinned. “Haven’t heard this one in a long time.”
“Yeah,” said Angela. “Guy wants his girl so bad he’ll kill her to keep her.”
Julia touched her scar and said, “Been there, done that.” She waited for Angela to agree or say something sarcastic, like she usually did. Instead, Angela stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel. Julia could see the muscles in Angela’s jaw flex. Then Angela glanced over, her brow tight.
“You talking about James Stockton?” she said.
Julia stared out the passenger window, watching trees and mailboxes and houses fly by. “The one and only,” she said.
Angela pursed her lips, the furrow between her brows deepening. She finished her cigarette, flicked the butt out the window, lit another one, and turned off the radio.
They rode through the dark roads in silence the rest of the way.
Angela flipped on her turn signal and pulled into Sweeties’ gravel parking lot.
The front lot was full. It was a packed house.
She drove around back, looking for an open space.
A pick-up truck drove toward her. It stopped in front of her bumper, its headlights blinding her.
“Asshole,” she whispered, shielding her eyes to get a look at the driver.
He was no looker—a pit bull jaw, flattened nose, and short haircut that stood up in various unfortunate ways. “Take a look at that guy,” she said.
“I already did. Once was enough,” said Julia.
Angela put her car in Reverse, threw an arm over the back of her seat, and backed her car up until she was next to a dumpster. Turning the car off, she sat in silence for a moment, biting her lip, and then turned to Julia. “If you ran into James again, do you think he would hurt you?”
Julia squinted. “Would hurt me?” She touched her scar. “He already did.” She got out, looked back at Angela, and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. If he comes in, I’ll stay out of his way. C’mon, we’re gonna be late. I can’t make out with myself on stage.”
Angela closed her eyes and shook her head. She pulled the keys out of the ignition, got out, walked by Julia toward the back of the club, and opened the door. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and smoke billowed out. Before Julia could step inside, Angela grabbed her wrist.
“Look, if you don’t want to work tonight, you don’t have to,” said Angela. “We can call in sick, go home, watch a movie, and chill. I could use a night off. What do you think?”
Julia pushed Angela’s hand out of the way, stepped inside, and shot Angela a look. “We’re already here. Let’s make some money.”
Angela followed Julia inside. She closed the door, locked it, took Julia’s hand, and led her toward the dressing room.
* * *
The dance with Angela went off without a hitch.
The guys loved it. There were even a bunch of girls that came to watch.
Money rained on the stage and Julia finally loosened up enough to have fun.
At one point, she even backed Angela up against the pole and made out with her while they danced.
The girls in the audience really liked that—maybe even more than the guys.
The lights and the music and the crowd’s energy swirled around her and became part of her.
She was a sex goddess, laughing while Angela took off her bikini top and squirted baby oil all over both of them.
It was a good time, but there was one weird moment.
Somewhere around the middle of their act, a big redneck with a bad haircut, cowboy boots, jeans, and a white T-shirt shoved his way through the crowd to the stage.
Muscle roped his huge shoulders, arms, and chest. He stared at her for a while, then reached up, shoved a dollar in her G-string, and said her name.
Not just her first name. The whole thing.
Julia Terranova.
She had stopped dancing for a split second to look at him. And when she did, he nodded and slipped back into the crowd. There was no mistaking who he was—the ugly guy from the truck in the parking lot. The question was, why did that big ugly guy know her name?
Thinking it over, she came to a logical conclusion.
He must be local. She’d lived and worked in Massey for most of her life, so he was probably someone who knew her from high school.
Or they had friends in common or something like that.
Even so, it was weird for him to say her name like that—Julia Terranova—like he was throwing it out there just to make sure she was who he thought she was.
But now it was over, and Julia was in the dressing room with Angela, so it didn’t matter who that guy was or how he knew her. He was someone else’s ugly boyfriend, not hers.
Julia nodded at her inescapable logic as she took off her G-string. Then she stepped out of her stilettos and toweled the baby oil off before slipping into a robe. She watched Angela kick off her high heels and grab a clean towel from a laundry hamper.
“That was wild,” said Angela. She took a seat and lit a cigarette.
Julia picked up a stack of cash, fanning herself with it. “I think I like wild.”
Angela busted out laughing, dropping her head between her knees. When she came up for air, Julia dropped her money on Angela’s lap.
“That’s for letting me stay at your place,” Julia said. “And for being a friend. Sorry if I made you feel bad last night.”
Angela turned as the owner, Billy Kelley, walked in.
“You girls got lots of fans out there,” he said. He handed Angela a folded piece of paper and winked. “Here’s that contract you been waiting on.”
“What contract?” said Julia.
“It’s a private thing,” said Billy, squinting at her. “None of your business.”
Angela stood, holding Julia’s money in one hand and the folded contract in the other. She held the contract out to Billy. “Tell him I don’t want it anymore.”
Billy raised his hands. “That ain’t my job.
Tell him yourself.” He picked up Julia’s G-string and bikini top, handed them to Julia, and then kicked a pair of stilettos over to her.
“You ain’t done yet. Get dressed. You got a private lap dance waiting on you.
” He grinned at Angela. “First one’s always the best, isn’t it, Angela? ”
“But Angela hasn’t shown me how to do it yet,” said Julia.
“Tell him to come back tomorrow,” said Angela, dropping the contract on the ground and reaching for Julia. Billy smacked her hand. “Pick that up,” he said, pointing at the contract. “My dressing room ain’t a dumpster.”
“Julia. Don’t go,” said Angela, looking panicked. She grabbed Billy by the arm. “Tell him I’ll give him a free lap dance instead.”
Julia finished tying her top and looked at Angela. “It’s fine. I watched some of the girls. It didn’t look hard. Plus, I gotta do it eventually. Might as well be now.”
Billy pulled his arm away from Angela, giving her a dark look, and then turned his gaze on Julia.
“Ain’t that sweet? Angela’s worried ‘bout you—this being your first time and all.” He smiled, showing his gold tooth.
His smile went flat as he glanced at Angela.
She hung her head. “Angela’s just being a good friend.
Ain’t you, Angela?” Then he yanked Julia out of her chair.
“Now get your shoes on and move your ass. You got a paying customer waiting on you.”