Working Girl (25 page)

My long dark hair cascades over my shoulders, complimenting my petite frame, just like hers. But my eyes, the same ones that used to possess the twinkle like Momma’s, are starting to dull; the heartache and loss is starting to win. Starting to dull my soul.

I press my fingertips to my iPod, searching for a more upbeat song, and once I find something I let my body relax and search for the confidence that I know I need. Something to keep me here. Something to keep me positive. In times of need, people always use music to lift them up, and I’m no different.

My hips sway to the beat and I let my worries melt away. Dancing is therapeutic, and that is how I’m going to have to look at it. Dancing will be my therapy—my escape. It will be my way to express my feelings and let all the bad shit go. I have to do something or I’m going to die just like Momma. Times will be tough, but as long as I find something positive to focus on everyday perhaps it might be okay.

The beat picks up and I twist around and lift my arms, my knees bending as I allow myself to get into it. My ass does a little shake as I spin around and jump. A smile stares back at me from the mirror and I know I’m going to be all right. Somehow, some way, I will survive this. This will not define me.

I won’t allow it.

EVERY DAY THAT PASSES I
gain a little more confidence. It’s been a little over a month since I started at the club and I’ve practiced so much in the mirror that I’ve decided it’s time to allow Chrissy to critique me before I finally hit the stage. She is the professional, after all.

The beat of my song floods the room and I go through the motions for her. It’s only a dry run so I keep my clothes on and she watches me closely as my hips roll and I run my hands along my body, smiling the entire time. Once the song is over, I sit down next to her on the bed. “So,” I lead.

“So, I think that it’s
awesome
.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She leans forward and hugs me. “You’re going to drive the men wild with your innocence.”

Big Earl and the guys who run the club have let me stay back for long enough, and now they want me to start hitting the stage. Before, I would have been too nervous to even consider it, but now, thanks to Chrissy, I know without a doubt that I’m ready.

I’ve built my dance around my personality: keeping it sweet and sensual will make me more comfortable, plus it will offset what all the other girls are doing. With each dance, I feel myself slowly coming out of my shell and into my sexuality. Despite the shitty hand I’ve been dealt, I’m doing my best to live each day as it comes, refusing to keep living in the past because it hurts too damn much. Moving forward is necessary—no matter how sad it is.

“So, are you nervous?” Chrissy asks as we pack our bags for the club.

I fold my lacy lingerie and place it carefully on top of my platform heels. “A little.” I sigh. “It’s going to be nerve-wracking, knowing that all eyes are on me for a change.”

“All eyes are always on you. People are drawn to you all the time—you’re just too naive to notice.”

Once my bag is zipped I throw it over my shoulder and force a half-hearted smile her way. “I’d be lost without you, Chris.” She falls down onto the edge of my bed and throws her head into her hands. Confused, I kneel down in front of her and place my hands on her shoulders. “Chrissy, what’s wrong?”

She looks up at me, her mascara leaving black trails down her face, and she lets out a long deep breath. “I’m pregnant, Presley.”

My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh my god.” It’s the one thing neither of us ever wanted to happen. We’d been brought into this life against our will; we couldn’t possibly do the same to another innocent soul.

“I know, it’s seriously fucked up.”

“How did this happen?” It baffles me how Chrissy could be so careless. She’s always so careful—making sure she uses her diaphragm in addition to making the guys use condoms. It just doesn’t make sense.

“I had sex with Emerson’s friend a couple of times, and I didn’t make him use protection.”

I shake my head at her carelessness. “What are you going to do?” It seems like a silly question, but I have to ask anyway. Whatever she decides, she needs to know that I’m here for her. She’s been my rock through everything and it’s the least I can do.

She looks up at me directly, the brokenness in her eyes as she takes a deep breath before speaking. “The only thing I
can
do. I can’t bring a baby into this world, Presley. I just can’t.”

I swallow the lump in my throat because I know she’s right, but for some reason I still feel sad for her. Sad that she has to make such a drastic choice at such a young age. She could keep the baby and give it up for adoption, but the pregnancy would put her out of commission and neither of us can afford that right now. “Chrissy, it’s okay. Don’t feel like you have to do this because I need you.”

“That’s not it. I just can’t do it, period.”

I nod, thankful that my needing her has nothing to do with her decision. Leaning forward I wrap my arms tightly around her neck and she nestles in, a sob escaping from between her lips. “It’s gonna be okay, Chrissy,” I say quietly as I rub circles on her back. “I’m here for you. It’s my turn to be your rock.”

Emerson

Glancing down at my silent cell phone, I pound my fist on top of my desk. Anger suddenly courses through my veins and I use my arm to swipe everything off my desktop, my cell phone included. Books, paper, and various writing utensils all fall to the floor in a heap. It’s all I can do, every single day: send a message . . . and wait. It always goes unanswered, but every day I can’t help but hope that today might be the day it’s different. The process is maddening and not for the first time, I start to worry that I’m losing my mind.

I don’t understand. I thought things between Presley and I had been great. But maybe she was the one using me. She acted like she was the one worried about getting hurt, but maybe that was part of her game all along: lure in the unsuspecting man, toy with his emotions, and leave him behind.

After that night at the warehouse, she dropped off the face of the planet. I look for her everyday—I even drove by the grocery store I dropped her off at one time—but she never turned up. Six weeks have passed and my wounds are still raw and festering.

My friend and roommate, Brad, the one Chrissy hooked up with, walks into the room and looks around at the mess. “Rough day?”

“What was your first clue?”

He plops himself down on his side of the room and sighs. “You’re a goddamn mess, Emerson.”

I don’t bother to turn in his direction, I just hold my middle finger up.

“You need to get out of this godforsaken room and start living again.”

“Maybe, I don’t want to.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit what you want. We’re going to a bachelor party tonight and you’re going to drink and have fun. Presley’s gone and you’ve got to get to grips with that.” He pulls out his wallet and tosses a fifty dollar bill at me. “I’ll even buy you a lap dance.”

“Where the hell are we going?” I ask.

“The god damn strip club. It’s time for you to stop thinking about Presley’s tits, and the best way to do that is to get some new ones in your face.

Even though it’s crude and as much as it pisses me off, Brad’s right—it’s time for me to let it go.

Presley obviously has.

THE CLUB IS OVERLY BOISTEROUS
tonight. Tucked behind the heavy curtain separating the dancers’ area and the stage I peek out at the crowd, spotting a table full of college-aged boys. I roll my eyes, knowing they’ll want Chrissy and I all to themselves since we’re the only girls here in their age bracket. The thought does not fill me with joy and I groan before moving backstage again.

“Tons of college boys tonight,” I tell Chrissy, sitting back down at my vanity and painting on my lip-gloss.

“Nice,” she says, coifing her hair. Despite her situation, I can practically feel her body charged with excitement. Chrissy lives for this; she loves making boys squirm in their seats.

We haven’t talked about her pregnancy since earlier. Mainly because she refuses to, and I respect her wishes because if she wants to pretend it doesn’t exist, I can’t blame her.

Nights like this, where the club is super busy, fill me with dread because I get stressed out knowing that Chrissy will have work doubly hard. I hate it—especially knowing her current mental state. “So how’re we going to manage this?” I whisper, stealing a glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone.

“Just like we always do. Don’t worry, I’ll make quick work out of those little boys. It’ll make their heads spin.” She grins at me and I have no doubt that she will do just that. She will figure out a way to turn her tricks and mine, and I will be forever grateful for that. But I also know that I’ll have to do
something
tonight; whether it be dancing privately for someone, or something else. I will have to bide my time somehow. Chrissy will be busy.

“Stop worrying. It’ll give you wrinkles,” she says. “I’ll go get started. See you in a few.” She leans over and kisses me on the forehead before heading to the stage.

The DJ introduces her and the music starts booming over the speakers, and I hear the telltale sounds of the crowd going wild with excitement. Guys are whooping it up. Just like that, Chrissy has them eating out of the palm of her hand.

I take the last few moments to quietly prepare myself. Dancing in front of the crowd is something I haven’t experienced and I hope I’m able to do it because a lot is riding on this. If I can’t perform, nothing good lies ahead. My stomach becomes ridden with butterflies and my skin gets clammy. I’ve learned a few things here and there and know that it’s best for me to sell my ‘innocence.’ Evidently, it drives the men wild. With my dances being slow and sensual, I will compliment Chrissy nicely. Or so I’ve been told.

The fast beat of her song dies out and I take a deep breath before standing and walking towards the curtain, listening on as I hear the men whistling and clapping. Without looking I know that she’s leaving the stage and walking straight to the table of college guys. She’ll want to start working them immediately in order to make sure she’s finished in time to take care of my clients as well.

“Whew,” the DJ calls out, “put your hands together one more time for Dallas!” More clapping and I can hear the faint piano intro of my song in the background. “Now, gentlemen, settle down and get comfortable and let our girl, Raven, soothe you with her sensational moves and body.”