Chapter 11
Jenica
I hang up the phone and stare out my bedroom window, the pit in my stomach that had been there since yesterday, growing tenfold. If the past twenty-four hours were any indication as to how the next four years were going to be, then my time under Richardson’s thumb was going to be filled with anxiety and lies. But if working nights at his sleazy club would keep the truth from coming out, I’d do it. Any penance was worth my friends not paying for what I’d done.
Reaching for the necklace around my neck, I close my eyes, willing it to give me strength. How was I going to pull this off? Classes, the store, and working at the club…something was going to break. But it could not be me. I could not let this change my plans for the future. Not when the reason I’d agreed to this ridiculous deal in the first place was so that I could have one.
But what if that was Richardson’s plan? Run me ragged to the point of exhaustion so I had no choice but to give up every part of my life just to serve him. Well, if that’s what he thought was going to happen, he could fuck himself. I’d drink as many Jolt Colas as it took to get through each day to make sure that didn’t happen.
All of this would be easier to swallow if I could just talk to Jake. His calm assurance always made me feel better and I could really use it right now. Tonight was going to be my first night at the club and I wanted to go in confident.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Hearing his voice in the background just now when I called Ellery, made my heart race and my palms sweat. I needed to keep our chapter closed and despite the fact he was hundreds of miles away, just hearing his voice had me questioning that closure. He had his life, and I had mine, and that’s the way it had to be. From here on out, I was on my own.
“Jenica Dawn,” Nana calls from the hallway. “Do you want something to eat before going to class?”
I turn away from the window and make my way to the door, opening it and finding eyes that mirror my own looking back at me with fondness.
“No ma’am,” I smile warmly. “I grabbed a sandwich earlier.”
Where Momma and I had inherited Nana’s eyes, we were fortunate to have taken after Pappa in height. He’d been gone for so long now, that I’d nearly forgotten his voice. But I did remember that Nana always looked tiny next to him.
“Will you be headed to the store after class?” she asks, making her way into my room and sitting down on the bed. This was once Momma’s room, which Nana then turned into her sewing room. But when I moved in, Nana made it up for me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I confirm and sit down next to her.
I tape my schedule to the fridge at the beginning of each week so Nana always knows where I am, but sometimes she forgets to check. At least, that’s what she says. I think she just misses having someone to look after.
“But I won’t be home for dinner,” I add. “I’m working tonight. In fact, I’m going to be working nights for a while.”
She turns to look at me, thinning brows furrowing. “Does your father have you doing inventory?”
“No…” I chew the inside of my cheek, wishing for the first time ever that my nights were going to be about counting cans and stocking aisles. “I got a second job.”
“Oh sugar.” She places a hand on my cheek. “A second one? You already work too hard.”
“Now Nana,” I place my hand on top of hers and smile. “You know there’s no rest for the wicked. And it won’t be forever. Just a couple hours each night.”
She thought I worked too hard and I thought she worried too much, but it was the only thing we disagreed on. As the baby of the family, and only girl, our bond was special and we shared the same opinion on almost everything else: Cobbler was better than pie, mint rather than sugar in tea, and nothing was more beautiful than a Georgia summer sky.
I let go of her hand and she pats my thigh, using it for leverage as she pushes up from the bed.“I’ll leave dinner on the stove so it’s ready to go, and have Cole come by to check on you later. Okay?”
Last month Nana got a hearing aid, and she turns it off while sleeping. I know it’s what she’s supposed to do but it isn’t safe when she’s alone. Last weekend when I was at Highland, Travis came by to check on her, but I know he can’t do it every night. I’ll have to talk to each of my brothers and work out some kind of schedule.
“I’ll be fine,” she says with a wave of her hand as she makes her way over to my writing desk. Looking up at the pictures on the wall above, she reaches out to touch the frame of one with her, Momma, and I. “Don’t bother Coley.”
Nana had such high hopes for Momma once. Said she had the kind of beauty that should be in the movies. When I started to make a name for myself in high school, she placed that hope in me, saying I was just like her—a star in the making. She was so proud, keeping every high school sports write up from our local newspaper that had my name in it, putting them in an album that she showed to everyone who came over.
I wonder what she thinks when she looks at that album now, or what’s going through her head as she stares at that picture on the wall. Is she looking at Momma and I and thinking, wasted beauty, broken promise? Or is she saying a silent prayer, hoping the next generation gets it right? Probably the latter given how often she asks my brothers when they are going to settle down and start a family. She doesn’t bother asking me that question because she knows the answer—when pig’s fly.
Knowing better than to argue with a Southern woman, I smile at her and nod, but make a mental note to call Cole and have him swing by anyway.
“How about I make your favorite for dinner tonight?” I offer, pushing up from the bed and coming over to her.
She turns from the wall and looks up at me. “Sounds good, darlin.’ Where is this new job? I don’t like the idea of you driving at night. All tuckered out after a long day.” She clicks her tongue, worried expression sweeping her brow.
I consider telling her the truth. Well, a version of it—that a new club had opened and I was waitressing. But Nana would hate it. “Girls from Davenport do not tend tables,” she’d said to me once when I was in high school, and during my search for independence, considered getting a job at one of the restaurants in town.
I always thought the pride in those from Davenport, like she and Momma, was ironic. Suppose it had something to do with the fact that while at one time the land in both this town and Cherry Cove belonged to the Davenport family, it was this one that had been chosen to bear their name.
Nana would love it if she knew Ellery was a Davenport by blood. Hell, she’d probably ask the town to throw her a parade. What she would do if she knew about my job at the club on the other hand….
“I won’t be driving far,” I say with a shrug. “Don’t you worry.”
“Alright sugar.” She grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Just remember, you deserve the stars, Jenica Dawn. Remember that.”
I nod even though I’m not so sure I believe it. In fact, as she lets go of my hand and makes her way out of the room, I’m starting to believe I deserve exactly what’s waiting for me at Richardson’s club.
***
That night, after calling Cole and confirming he will come and check on Nana while I’m out, I grab my bag and keys, and hop in the car with a gallon of determination and a bucket of resolve.
When I make it to the end of the drive and pull onto the highway, I dig around the console and pull out tape after tape until I find what I’m looking for. Popping Pearl Jam’s Ten into the deck, I push play and let Eddie’s voice carry me away.
When “Alive” comes on as I hit the turnoff for Old Route 12, I crank it up and roll down the windows, singing my heart out with nothing but the night as my audience. I pretend that I’m on a road trip, headed north to see my friends. I think about snowball fights and hot chocolate and curling up next to Jake in his big, warm bed.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that in no time I’ve reached the old gas station with the faded red pumps. At night it looks more scary than sad, so I’m glad when the directions one of Richardson’s henchmen gave me yesterday before leaving, have me zooming past the abandoned structure, and continuing up the road.
When a driveway flanked by gas lanterns comes into view half a mile up the road, I slow down and turn off. Making my waydown the narrow paved road, I navigate carefully. Now I know why Richardson chose to have a club out here. It’s the perfect place.
Among the darkness of the swamp, where creatures stir in its shadowy depths, gnarled cypress and ghostly corners are the only witnesses to what happens when the lines of morality and sin are crossed. It is a world within a world, where the rules are created by those who call it home, and it’s fitting Richardson chose to run his empire among the snakes and the sludge.
Finally, after weaving through long waterways and tight turns, I reach a guard’s station and prepare to stop. But as if expecting my arrival, a man at the booth waves me through, pointing to a parking lot up ahead. After pulling into a spot, and cutting the engine, I contemplate for a moment making a run for it. But then I remember who I am and why I’m doing this and get out of the car.
Yesterday when I was here I did not see this part of the club. It’s pristine, with a kind of polish that implies exclusivity, with a large deck that hangs off the back, and wooden walkways that connect to a handful of bungalows. It looks like a resort and judging by the garbled voices coming over what sounds like walkie talkies, one where security is high.
Since I left the club in a haze and don’t remember where I am supposed to go, I look around for an entrance, and when I see a door marked STAFF with a guard standing on either side, I make my way over.
“Stop right there,” one barks out as I approach. “What is your business?”
“I’m here to see Richardson,” I spit out, as if the answer is obvious.
The second guard grins. “Oh yeah, I heard there was a new piece of ass starting tonight. Why don’t you turn around and show us what Boss Hog paid for.”
While I respect the reference at Richardson’s expense, I don’t dignify the comment with a response. “Can I go in?”
The guard on the left flicks the toothpick he’s chewing on and takes a step toward me. “I don’t know, can you?”
Really, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are grammar wizards? It’s going to be a long four years if this is the level of idiocy I have to deal with.
“I think my friend here said show us your ass, girlie,” he says with a leery grin.
Deciding two can play this game, I dig around in my purse and pull out my Cover Girl compact, opening it and holding the mirror up to his face.
“Oh shit, Darryl.” The other guard laughs. “She got you with that one. She can go in for that.”
Reaching for the door, he yanks it open, and while shoving the compact back into my bag, I make my way inside with my chin held high.
After following a short, mirrored hall, I find myself at the end, with a black door to my left, a hallway to my right, and an opening to the club straight ahead.
“Ah, Ms. Miller,” Richardson says coolly as I make my way into the club. “Good, you are here.”
My eyes whip forward to where he is sitting at the end of the bar, a stack of papers next to him and a crystal tumbler in hand. “Come,” he taps the stool next to him, “sit.”
As much as I hate being summoned, I make my way over, looking around. Soft music wafts out of speakers from above, while more than a dozen staff in black T-shirts and trousers straighten the cocktail tables situated around the stage.
“Seems like this may have been a bad place for a business,” I note dryly while coming to a stop next to the bar. “It’s pretty dead in here.”
He lifts his drink and takes a sip. Looks like whiskey, neat. “You like that word, don’t you?”
“Swamp?” I question blithely.
“Dead,” he says pointedly, while setting the tumbler down harder than necessary.
I clench my jaw and straighten my shoulders. “I like many words. In fact, I am thinking of two right now. Care to guess what they are?”
“Sit,” he says for a second time, ignoring me.
I pull my bag close to me, digging my nails into the fabric. “I’ll stand, thanks.”
“You know,” he eyes me coldly. “This arrangement of ours is going to sour pretty quickly if you do not do as I say, Ms. Miller, and I do not think you want that.”
There’s actually nothing I want more than to rile this son of a bitch up. But unfortunately, right now, he holds all the cards.
Begrudgingly, I slip onto the stool and bring my bag to my lap. “So I’m here. What’s next?”
He studies me for a moment, then snaps his fingers and sticks out his hand. Like a magician that’s conjured something out of thin air, a bartender appears and hands Richardson what looks like shoestrings and scraps of fabric.
“Here,” he thrusts it at me.
I look down and shake my head. “What is that?”
“Put it on.”
“Are you high?” I laugh. “I’m not wearing whatever that is.”
He shakes his head and grins. “One day, you will wish you had this much to wear.”
The way he says it makes my skin prick and stomach roil. “I’m not putting that on. Who knows where it’s been. I don’t want to get crabs.”
“Oh Ms. Miller,” he laughs. “Every girl here is clean. We see to it that they are. Our clients are family men. Respected.”
“Right,” I scoff. “Whatever you say. Doesn’t change the fact I’m not—”
“For the next four years,” he cuts me off, “you belong to me, Ms. Miller. If I want you to scrub the toilets, you will. If I want you to dance, you will do that as well. That also means, if I tell you to put this on, you will put it on. Am I making myself clear?”
The idea of putting that thing on so I can give him an eyeful angers and disgusts me. “No,” I bite out.
With the speed of a prized fighter, he throws the scraps of fabric down onto the bar and pushes up from his stool,kicking it backward.
“Put. The. Fucking. Bikini. On. Now!” he roars.
“Go. Fuck. Your. Self!” I shout back.
Before I know what’s happening, he grabs the back of the stool with one hand and drops it down, holding it inches above the floor. Tucking my legs around those of the stool, I hold onto my bag with one hand, while gripping the seat with the other to keep from flipping ass over head.
“That evidence of you murdering my son sits in my office, eagerly awaiting an audience,” he seethes, leaning in, bringing his face inches from mine. “If you do not want to see yourself on the morning news, Ms. Miller, I suggest you do as I say.”
The way he’s looking at me bears an eerie resemblance to the way Royce looked that night on the beach. Crazy, and yet, undeterred. Not wanting to fight this battle tonight, I swallow and nod.
“Good.” Bringing the stool back upright, he sets the legs down on the floor and grabs the fabric off the bar and shoves it at me. “The dressing room is back the way you came. Take the hallway opposite the black door. Louise is expecting you. She will show you around and teach you the ropes. When you are ready to take the stage, she will let me know.”
“So I’m not dancing tonight?” I ask, trying to hide my relief.
He sits back down on his stool and runs a hand over his head. “Wild animals when caged can be dangerous if given too much rope. I need to make sure you are not a risk to my clients before allowing you to share their space. Tonight, you will wear that and do as you are told. After that, we will see.”
The way he says it makes my skin burn. People like Langston Richardson had looked their noses down at people like me all my life, and frankly, I was tired of it. Ellery may have blown Elmhurst to bits, but as long as there were people like him, the cycle of power would perpetuate. Didn’t matter if that power changed hands, there would always be a Richardson ready to ensure its survival.
Well no more. I wasn’t here because I’d done something wrong. I was here because his son had, and I’d held him accountable. They should give me an award for what I did. I shouldn’t be punished with some bullshit agreement.
I wasn’t going to be Richardson’s pawn. I was going to fight back. But not in the way he expected. I would be resilient and stealth. Like a gator—moving below the surface, observing, but never making a ripple. When the time was right, I would strike and bring his house of cards tumbling down. But I needed to know what it was built on first, which meant it was time to get to work.
“Hurry along now,” he motions for me to leave. “We open in an hour.”
With my jaw clenched, I straighten my shoulders and turn on my heel, going back the way I came, turning down the hall with the red door at the end. I’ll put on this, whatever it is. I’ll twirl around and give his clients an eyeful if that’s what he wanted. What did I care? I practically lived in a bikini during the summer.
I reach for the door, wondering what I will find, but when I pull it open it’s almost as if I’ve stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone . The energy in the room before me is energetic, as dozens of girls buzz around, heels clicking against the floor. Some are naked, while others are wearing sexy costumes, and not one of them looks forced to be here.
I close the door behind me, and step into the room, the smell of baby powder and roses filling my lungs. Unlike the club’s sleek, austere appearance, it is haphazard and colorful. Racks of dresses line one wall, while a row of vanities with bulbs above the mirrors line the other, and boas, wigs and other kinds of props spill over the sides of a wall of shelves in the back.
“Well, there she is!” A short, round woman with a red bouffant and boobs the size of watermelons, says jovially. “We’ve been waiting for you, sugar!”
Once she reaches me, I force a smile and stick out my hand. “You must be Louise.”
“That I am.” She looks down at my hand and laughs. “But you can call me Mamma. All the girls do.”
She throws her arms around me and squeezes. I remain still, hands at my sides. “I already have a Mamma,” I pat her back uncomfortably.
She laughs and steps back. “Well, that’s okay, sugar,” she says with a smile. “And from what I can tell, a beautiful one at that.”
I should hate the way she’s assessing me but there’s something about her warmth that puts me at ease. “How about you just call me whatever you want, hmm?”
I nod and tuck my hair behind one ear. “I was told to put this on.” I look down at the fabric in my hand. “But if I’m not dancing tonight, I’m not sure why.”
“Yes,” she presses her lips together. “That is your uniform for now. We’ll worry about that in a minute. For now, let’s introduce you to the other girls.”
Making a circle with her thumb and middle finger, she brings it to her mouth and blows. An ear-piercing whistle rips through the room and everyone stops what they’re doing, and a sea of faces turn our way.
“Girls,” she claps. “We have a new member. Everyone, say hello.”
“Hi,” a chorus of voices rings out.
I lift my hand and wave like an awkward freshman that just walked into class late on her first day of high school.
“Sugar,” she asks, turning back to me. “Would you like to tell the girls your name?”
I prepare to introduce myself, but as I look around the room and take in the names scrolled on miniature chalkboards hanging from the corner of each vanity, I realize they’re probably as fake as the wigs on the shelf in the back. Cherry, Rain, Midnight… items, weather, times of day. Words that describe, but don’t say a lick about who they really are.
I can’t see giving myself a name like Blossom or Moonbeam, and yet, I don’t want to lose myself. “Delta,” I say simply. “My name is Delta.”
When I was a girl, Momma used to sing me “Delta Dawn” at bedtime. It always struck me as a little sad but she loved it; said it was playing on the radio the first time that she held me.
“Well, all right,” Louise winks. “Lovely to have you, Delta.”
As the girls go back to what they were doing,she grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “How about we get you set up at your station, hmm?”
We make our way into the room and when we reach an empty vanity at the end, she stops and holds out her hand. “Here you go.”
I look at it, not sure why I’m back here taking up space if I’m not even going to dance yet. “Should I be back here?”
She places her hands on her hips and smiles. “Why yes, sugar, you should. This is where all the dancers belong, and soon, you will be one of them. Trust me. You will upgrade from that fabric in your hand to rhinestones in no time.”
Unlike these girls who appear to want to be here, this is the last place I want to be. But knowing the only way out is by going in, I flash her a smile and prepare to do whatever needs to be done. “All right,” I nod. “Show me the ropes.”