Chapter 3 Carmen
CARMEN
“Four hundred dollars?” Sadie holds the cash in her hand like it still belongs to me. “I can’t take this much.”
“It’s not a tip. I need you to stay the night.”
“Where are you going?” Her eyes wander up and down my body, lingering on the shoes since it’s the only part of the outfit she can see.
They’re very dramatic. Eight inches to be exact.
There was a time before Otis when I was on the Strip six days a week, shaking my ass and going home with strangers.
It’s a good thing I saved these babies for a rainy day.
“Don’t take this the wrong way—I’m not trying to be your therapist—but are you sure about this?”
I frown. Is Sadie a mind reader as well as my go-to nanny? “What do you mean?”
“Stripping.”
I laugh, ready to shake my head and tell her she’s got it all wrong.
But then on second thought, stripping is probably better than the truth.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“But it’s dangerous, Carmen. What if you get hurt?”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing, and it’s just for one night. Besides, I used to do it all the time.”
“Really?”
“Totally, when I was around your age. Twenty-one and free.” I stop myself before I sell a profession I actually have no experience in.
“But I don’t recommend it. You’ll end up on the lap of a Chanel-wearing monster who claims to be a man.
And then you’ll take him back to yours, and he’ll prove how self-centered he is the following morning when he leaves while you’re in the bathroom taking a pee. ”
Sadie narrows her eyes. “Let me guess—Otis’s father.”
“You betcha.”
It’s not entirely the truth, but for the purpose of the story, I turned myself into a stripper.
I wish I had been a stripper that night. It’d be a lot less embarrassing if Carter had requested a lap dance. The real story is that I wanted to kiss him, so I perched in his lap and flirted until I got what I wanted.
Sadie folds the bucks away into her pocket. “Be careful.”
“I’m always careful. The only time I wasn’t was when I accidently got pregnant, and hey, look how that turned out?”
Sadie hitches her eyebrow. “I’m serious.”
“Don’t worry. It’s been a while since I let loose and had some fun. Feel free to help yourself to the pantry and refrigerator.”
Sadie nods as I gather my things, heading over to open up the cabinet.
Her face says it all. There was really no point in me saying that, unless she has a wild craving for rice or spaghetti hoops shaped as alphabet letters.
“See you later. I’ll be back by seven in the morning.”
Nothing changes in Vegas, especially on the Strip. People are either trying to grab your money, your attention, or your ass.
So far, I’ve experienced all three, so we’re not off to a great start.
In my early twenties, I didn’t give a fuck who touched my ass. It was attention and I was desperate, and I pretty much went home with any man if he was taller than me and kind enough to buy me a drink.
My chest tightens as I get closer to the auction location, the bar just up ahead.
I stand outside for a moment to gather myself, and inhale one deep breath, like it’s gonna magically dissolve the nervousness.
“Hey,” I say to the security guard. “Carmen. I’m here for—”
“Right this way.”
He escorts me to an elevator, and we stand in awkward silence waiting for it to arrive.
The awkward silence continues once we’re in the elevator. I watch the guard select a level, and almost shit myself when I see that we’re heading to the basement.
A place where there are no windows.
My heart is thrashing in my chest, but I anchor myself against the mirrored wall and take some more deep inhales.
Being short of breath isn’t new to me. I had my share of panic attacks as a teenager, and I reached a point in my life where I was anxious more times than not.
I blame my mom. I love her and I will lay flowers on her grave every year for her birthday, but she was the reason I stupidly blew all of my savings on Botox at the age of twenty-one. That woman stressed me out.
She’d head out and never tell me when she was planning on returning.
I’d drive myself insane thinking the worst…until the worst came.
In life, things happen when you least expect them to. And that’s why I see it as a good thing to be on guard sometimes.
Tonight especially.
When the elevator makes it down to the basement, I make sure to keep several feet away from the guard.
It’s warm down here. I suspect that has something to do with the weird, infrared lights that shine from the ceiling.
Combined with the plush red curtains and gilded mirrors, it gives the space an expensive, burlesque feel.
“Dressing rooms are this way.” The guard reaches the drapey curtain and comes to a halt. “If you continue in the opposite direction, you’ll find backstage. Please see the board inside the dressing room for your slot time.”
I nod and keep a straight face to pretend that this is all very normal and legal.
“And also, word of advice—look more alive. Patrons and guests didn’t pay thousands in entry fees to look at glum girls. If they wanted to do that, they could just walk up and down the Strip.”
“Noted,” I grit out, slipping behind the curtain before I make an offensive comment about the guard’s face.
The women on the other side of the curtain are beautiful. Way too beautiful to be here.
The walls of the dressing room are painted wine red, vanity units in every direction. It’s hard to find one available because there are so many women here. In the end, a kind lady called Serena shuffles over and lets me share.
And I don’t expect to enjoy it so much.
When you have a baby, you trash your social life without even realizing. I used to neck shots on the weekend with friends, and when that era ended, it was brunch Sunday lunchtime with a prosecco.
But things get quiet when you have a tiny human relying on you to survive.
I never knew how much I missed talking about beauty products and shoes with other women who are also obsessed with those things.
Serena says, “I have Louboutins on my wish list. Hopefully, if the right guy bids on me tonight, I’ll be walking around in them by tomorrow.”
For a lot of women, this seems to be a routine thing. You want a new designer handbag? A Louis Vuitton dress? No problem. Give Conrad a call and he’ll arrange to have you lined up for the next month’s auction.
“What is the deal with this man, anyway?” I ask.
Serena watches herself in the mirror, pouting as she figures out how to answer my question.
“I dunno. Rumor is that he’s a bit of a creep, so I stay out of his business.
Conrad organizes the auction so he doesn’t usually bet himself, not unless he’s desperate, but his family always attends. They normally bet as a team.”
Am I understanding her Southern accent correctly?
“His family?”
“Yeah, not like his mom and sister—that would be weird. His crime family, I mean.”
The man scouted me in the dark last night, asking me to participate in his basement auction—no shit he’s in the mafia. But if I’m going off stereotypes, Irishmen are supposed to be nice, innocent men that drink cider and stay out of trouble.
“The girls that go back with the O’Neills get paid a lot, but at the end of the day, money only buys you so much,” Serena says.
She can say that again.
I’m doing a few finishing touches in the mirror when something beeps, coming from the television screen in the corner of the room. There are four names highlighted in green—one of them is mine.
“Looks like we’re first up,” says Serena. “It’s good to get it out of the way.”
She’s probably right, but that doesn’t mean I’m not shitting it as she escorts me out of the dressing room.
It would be easy to blame the eight-inch heels for my pathetic inability to walk. In actual fact, it’s nerves—an emotion I thought I’d stopped feeling years ago.
But now it’s back and it’s turning my legs to jelly. It’s pointless having knees—I can’t even bend them.
“Are you alright?” Serena looks me up and down.
“Fine.”
“O-M-G. This is your first rodeo, isn’t it? You’ve never done this before?” She stops me in my tracks and lets the two other women pass. “Don’t take it the wrong way, but you look like you do this a lot.”
Charming. That must have something to do with the heels, and the sequin lingerie that has been in the cupboard collecting dust for what feels like forever.
“No way. I stopped entertaining the male species three years ago when I got pregnant from Satan in a suit.”
Serena’s eyes widen. “You have a kid?”
“Yeah.” I keep my voice stable, trying to not overthink her concerned face. “It’s kinda why I’m doing this. I need the money.”
The way Serena moves next has me breaking out in a sticky sweat. She looks over her shoulder. Twice.
Great. Now my stomach is churning with regret too.
“Some girls never come back, Carmen.”
“What?”
“I’m deadly serious.” I’ve never seen a woman look so gray with so much powdered blush on her face. “Some of them become missing persons. Even the police can’t locate them. It all depends on who bids. If the wrong bidder ends up with you, you’re screwed.”
“Surely you can refuse them.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Serena’s eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “They’re not gonna go back on their offer just because you say no. This world is different. Down here, you have no rights as a woman. We’re pawns for the rich. That’s it.”
“So, what brings you here? Louboutins are gorgeous, but you can’t be risking your life for a pair.”
Serena slumps her shoulders and directs her reply at the floor. “I’m trying to save my mom. She’s sick.”
My chest is even tighter than before.
Conrad O’Neill had danger written all over him two nights ago, with his cold eyes and unkind voice. Not only did he spill my fucking coffee, he also lied to me.
I should tell Serena to get the hell out of here, but to a heartbroken daughter who just wants her mom back, my words won’t mean anything.
To an extent, I know how she feels.