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Chapter Nineteen

Rachel

The dressing room that I initially thought was so magical ended up being cramped and smelly before a performance. Girls wearing next to nothing fussed around with their makeup and bitched about everything from bad sex to chipped nails. It was an experience, one I was sure never to forget.

“Okay, Sissy, you’re up next!” The lady with the manly voice and an ever-present look of disapproval hollered at me. “Sissy!”

Damn, I hated that name.

“Got it,” I called back, tinkling my fingers in the air.

I wanted to puke again. That feeling seemed to live inside me, no matter what I was doing. It was my first performance, and I was nervous as anything. I’d been practicing all week, so I knew the moves down pat. I didn’t like most of ’em, but I was going to do ’em anyway.

“For Josh,” I mumbled, rising from my chair and grimacing as I caught my reflection in the mirror.

I had on the tightest pair of shorts I’d ever worn. They came just past my butt cheeks and they had little tears in them, exposing the highest part of my thigh. My legs were slicked with fake tan, as was my exposed tummy. Adorning my top half was a string bikini that only just covered my breasts. It felt three sizes too small, and I couldn’t help adjusting it for the millionth time as I walked to the stage door.

Josh would hate me for doing this. He’d hate that I was doing it for him, but if I thought about it any other way, I felt plain dirty.

Miss Frowny Face batted my hands away from my final bikini adjustment and plopped a hat on my head as I walked past her. My boots—the only comfortable thing I was wearing—sounded loud on the hard floor, and I rose to my tiptoes for the rest of the trip. I waited behind the curtain, rolling my eyes when Aren appeared behind me. His hot breath tickled my ear.

“Make me proud, sugar.” His fake accent was pathetic, and I nearly told him so but didn’t have time.

Candy—the microphone-licking Barbie doll—pranced off the stage while Aren smacked my ass and pushed me into the limelight.

I froze on stage for just a minute. Having no guitar made me feel naked, but no amount of fighting throughout the week had gotten them to change their minds.

“The only way we’ll let you have a guitar is if you’re naked,” Aren told me, all matter-of-fact, like it was no big deal.

A wolf-whistle from the back of the room made me flinch. “Looking good, honey! Ow!”

“Strut!” Aren snapped at me from behind the curtain. My hips moved as if I was some robot and my new boss held the controls. Placing my hand on my hip, I sashayed up to the mic, the catcalls and whistles growing with each step I took.

My fingers shook as I curved them around the stand.

Think of Josh and just do it!

My command was strong and forced my voice out of me. “How y’all doing, tonight?”

More cheers and whistles.

“I’m Sissy Hancock.”

“The sexiest cowgirl in the west!” they shouted back at me.

“Yee-haw!” I lifted my hat and waved it in the air like I was having the time of my life.

The sound man took my cue and “One Way Or Another” started up. I moved my hips and dipped low, flicking my butt out as I stood back up. The men cheered me on and I grabbed the mic, throwing everything I could into the song.

The words pumped out of me, and I dove into the melody and rhythm. I hid myself inside it, pretending I was standing in a room of my own…pretending that there weren’t hungry eyes tearing off my meager clothes and making me feel completely naked.

I made myself think about the only set of eyes I wanted on me. I pretended I was doing a sexy little dance for him, a precursor to a lovemaking session that would have me seeing stars.

As sick as it may have sounded, I was doing it all for Josh. I couldn’t let them take Clark’s away, and they knew him well enough to know that’s just what he’d do to save me, because he was that kind of guy…and I didn’t deserve him.

I shimmied my way to the end of the song, gyrating and swaying my body as if I’d been doing it for years. The men loved it. They were all over their sexy little Dixie Chick.

A fine sweat glistened on my skin and I raised my hand. “Thank y’all! What a crowd.”

Their cheers were lost as my next song started—“Shake It Up.”

It was a true country piece and easy to get lost in. I think I actually smiled when I was singing it, until my back-up dancers skipped onto the stage and started shaking their tassels. I spun away from them and swallowed back my grimace, pasting on a cheesy, white smile just like Aren wanted me to.

The men loved it, drooling like wolves as the half-naked girls pranced off the stage.

“You sure are a fine-looking crowd tonight.” I held the mic, gripping the stand and forcing myself to keep up the charade.

“Not as fine as you, sugar. Shake that bootie!” someone shouted from the back.

Much to my disgust, I gave it a little shake. A raucous cheer went up, and I launched into my next song.

I did three more after that, dancing around that stage and flicking my mass of curls until I had their tongues hanging out. The applause was thunderous. I walked off, throwing my hat into the crowd before disappearing behind the curtain.

Aren pulled me into a hug before I could even make it down the stairs. I didn’t have it in me to hug him back, in spite of the fact a thrill was racing through me. I hated what I’d done to get that applause, but I couldn’t deny the sweet sound of praise.

This was what Mama wanted for me…sort of.

“You were so hot and amazing. The crowd loves you!” Aren laughed. “They’re gonna be lining up around the corner to check you out. This is perfect!”

I let him have his moment. Hell, I even patted him on the back.

Dropping me to my feet, he held me at arm’s length with another chuckle before pulling me to his side and marching me down the stairs. His arm felt like an anaconda over my shoulders, but I couldn’t flick it off because rather than steering me back to the dressing room, he led me out into the crowd.

It’s ironic, ain’t it? In that moment, the man who was manipulating me and making my life hell became my protector. I wanted that anaconda on my shoulders, because I was swimming in a shark pit, and they wanted to eat me alive.

I wrapped my free arm around Aren’s waist and snuggled into him, pressing myself away from wandering hands. It didn’t stop the odd slap and tickle from the ballsy guys, though. I kept my chin up and even stopped and talked sweet to Aren’s bigwigs, but it was torture.

I blessed their hearts, of course, muttering the words with a sickly sweet smile, figuring none of them knew that when a southern girl said that to you, she was politely calling you a jackass.

The bile in my stomach burned so hot and strong I didn’t think I’d be able to contain it.

But I did.

Because I was a fool.

And I deserved nothin’ more.

Chapter Twenty

Rachel

The threadbare curtains—damn useless at blocking the sunlight—combined with the wailing of a police siren woke me early. I squinted and groaned, pressing my shaking fingers against my skull and wishing for a few more moments of oblivion.

I felt like shit.

Used trash.

And the feeling was all too familiar.

I hated myself for being back in that place. The amount of times I swore I’d never return yet there I was again, letting men use me in order to keep myself safe.

Parker had walked me home the night before telling me how amazing I was. Everyone had loved me. I’d put on a brave smile but didn’t say anything as I clipped home in my boots, a Sissy Hancock flyer stuck to the bottom of one of them. When I got in the door and pulled the ripped piece of paper off my boot, I gazed down at the grimy image with a hopeless frown. The main picture had my back to the camera, the side of one of my breasts showing beneath the arm that was holding back my hair. They’d made me stick my ass out and look over my shoulder like I somehow was hungry for it.

I’d torn that wrinkled flyer to shreds, throwing it like confetti around my bed before collapsing onto my pillow and cursing myself until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore.

Sleep hadn’t dulled my self-loathing. Picking up a shred of flyer, I squeezed it between my fingers and threw it to the floor. 

“Right back where you started, ain’t ya.”

My whispered muttering took me back to my sixteenth birthday…the day I set out to fulfill Mama’s promise.

Marty’s arm was around my shoulder as we drove out of Roderick, his promise to take me away from that small hick town making me grin from ear to ear.

“Run away with me.” He’d whispered the words only that morning.

So, I’d snuck out of school and raced home. The house was empty, but I hurried anyway. I grabbed my guitar from its hiding place in the shed, stuffed a few things into a small bag and jumped back into Marty’s truck.

He was a senior who hated school, too. We’d met a few months back in detention and had been flirting up a storm ever since. I’d convinced myself I was in love with him…or maybe I just knew he was my ticket out.

We’d driven one hour out of town before stopping at a rundown motel.

“Let’s sleep here tonight. I want to be fresh for a good long drive tomorrow.”

I’d nodded, like a stupid girl, and followed him into a seedy, dark room where I let him screw me twice. After all, he was driving me to Nashville—he must love me some, right?

It’d hurt, both times. A burning pain I’d never forget, but I gritted my teeth as he moaned and grunted, knowing I needed to make sacrifices in order to get where I wanted to be.

At ten that night, he’d left me to clean up while he went in search of some food and drinks.

He never came back.

I’d waited up all night, worrying and fretting until the dawn brought with it the realization that he’d been after only one thing—a sixteen-year-old’s virginity. 

I didn’t have enough money to pay for a second night, so I’d been forced to call my daddy.

He chewed my ear out, calling me a halfwit among other things. His checklist of punishments was long and foreboding, so I’d hung up on him and split. Managed to hitch me a ride out of nowhere and so began my downhill slide.

I knew what men wanted, especially horny teenage boys, and I used that to my advantage.

I wasn’t proud, but I had my guitar and a promise.

I was on my way, and I was going to make it.

It was hard not to scoff at my pitiful ambition, especially when I found myself right back where I’d started.

Flinging off the covers, I gripped a fistful of hair, tears scorching my eyes. I sniffed them back. It was pointless giving in to them. I was stuck now. I had to protect Josh and I could do it.

“Twelve months. One little year,” I muttered.

I used the bathroom, brushed my teeth and took the thick gunk off my face, accidentally ripping the false eyelashes. I cringed and threw them in the trash, wondering how much they’d cost me. A thick bitterness seared my insides.

Those assholes!

They conned me—a clueless country girl who didn’t know any better.

“You
let
them con you.” I glared at my reflection. “You dumbass.”

My face crumpled, tears threatening once more. I gripped the sink, my knuckles popping white as I tried to hold myself together. Stripping off my clothes, I jumped into a hot shower and tried to wash off the leering gazes I spent the night enduring. It sort of worked, I guess. It felt good to be clean, anyway. I walked back into my bedroom wearing a towel turban and threw on my comfy pair of jeans—the ones with the holes in the knees—and an old T-shirt that smelled like Josh. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled deeply before slipping it on.

On impulse, I reached for my phone. I wanted to hear his voice in my ear, listen to that awkward message again, knowing it would make me smile. I frowned at the screen, seeing I’d missed another call from him.

Pressing it to my ear, I bit my lips together and listened.

“
Hey, baby. It’s me again. I just wanted to call and make sure you’re all right. I’d love some details of what you’re doing. You signed a contract yet? You working? What’s it like? It’d be really great to hear some news. I—I… Okay, I’ll see ya.”

I couldn’t hold back the tears after that. He wanted news! What the hell was I supposed to tell him?

I scoffed and started talking out loud. “Yeah, I signed a contract, all right! I locked myself into performing like a showgirl for the next year so I can protect you from losing your bar to those weasels. But don’t worry, honey. I’ll grit my teeth and do it, and just pray that when I come back in a year, you might have it in your heart to forgive me.”

He wouldn’t.

How could he possibly?

“He said he always would.” I rubbed my thumb over the phone screen.

I had to call him back. If I ever hoped to return, I had to keep the lines of communication open, but…

“I can’t,” I whispered, my breath shaky as panic rocketed through me.

My face bunched tight, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before pulling in a breath and taking the chicken’s way out by texting him.

Hey, honey. I’m great!

I nibbled my lip.

Contract signed, already started training and working. Been real busy.

I’m on my way to making it!

I nearly wrote
with love forever more
, but wanted to save that up for my postcard. I glanced at my bag. I had to fish that thing out and send it already. Although, Lord knows what I was going to write on it. I couldn’t tell him the truth. Josh was a warrior at heart. He’d storm down here in a rage at what they were trying to pull, and then they’d give him their smarmy smiles and throw legal jargon at us so fast we wouldn’t know what to do with it. We’d be up to our eyeballs in legal bills faster than we could blink, and Josh would lose Clark’s.

That could not happen.

Frowning, I ended my text with a double kiss and an R. I felt like a no-good girlfriend as I pressed send. Josh deserved better. Why the heck he’d ever asked me to stay still baffled me. I don’t know what he saw in me.

Throwing my phone onto the bed, I turned for the only comfort I had left.

I sat in the kitchen chair and placed the guitar on my lap, strumming out a tune I’d been working on since I arrived in LA. It was pretty damn lousy. My songs were never good enough, yet I still played around with them anyway. I mumbled out a few words about my dreams coming true and felt like a fraud.

With a heavy sigh, I cut the song short and began strumming a Michelle Branch tune that I knew by heart. It was a melancholy song that somehow seemed the only choice for that morning—“One Of These Days.”

The mournful words oozed out of me, and in spite of their sad tone, I felt better for singing it.

Josh’s face filled my mind, my ache for him growing to a deep-seated longing that I’d never be rid of.

I’d always been too afraid to call Payton home, worried I’d end up feeling trapped there, my promise to Mama slowly disintegrating as I turned myself into a career waitress.

But maybe I’d been blind to the truth.

As I strummed and sung, I had to wonder, because the little apartment in downtown LA felt like prison, and I was pretty sure that was not what Mama had in mind when she made me swear I’d do whatever it took to make it.