The sarcasm is a newer development in Maggie’s personality, and I like it. She used to be exceedingly sweet and innocent, but her man Shane has apparently changed that a little.
She still doesn’t curse, which of course means I’m even dirtier in my talk around her, trying to get her to let an F-bomb drop. So far, I’ve succeeded exactly once, an effort that took a lot of wine after a customer at Petals grabbed her ass, but today might be number two.
“You wanna drink?” I ask. “Oh, you can toss the jacket anywhere.” I vaguely gesture to the hooks by the front door, which are so overloaded that there’s a pile of hoodies on the floor too. At least they’re in the general vicinity of where they’re supposed to be.
Maggie looks around for the first time, seeing the mess I’ve created over the past two weeks. I’m not exactly a neat freak to begin with, and two weeks of going to work and then crashing on my couch haven’t done a thing for my cleanliness, though some of it’s been TJ. He went through here with a stick and some doohickey, checking every wall I’ve got. And then he moved stuff out of the way to install new camera-less smoke detectors. Only problem is, he didn’t put everything back.
“Why don’t we just head out?” Maggie finally offers. “Our appointment’s in thirty minutes anyway.”
Foregoing the idea of a drink, I nod and follow Maggie out, making sure to lock my door behind me. Her car’s in the parking lot, a nice, new, very bland-looking Suburban.
“You planning on killing the planet one-handed?”
“Bureau issue . . . I gotta return it on Monday,” Maggie says.
We get to the salon, and it’s not until we sit in the big vibrating chairs with our feet soaking in the tubs that she finally looks over, her eyes piercing.
“Okay, what happened? Hit me with the whole sordid story.”
This is us, what we have done countless times before. We’ve been through a weird tumblypants change in our friendship, but through it all, we’ve just become closer. And this is how we do our thing.
I give her an edited version, leaving out names because you never know who is listening. “And then after agreeing to transparency and telling me about some of it, he leaves out the biggest fucking part.”
“What?”
“The spying! He had cameras all in my apartment. And he didn’t tell me! When I caught him, he was fiddling with the smoke detector!”
Maggie cringes, biting her lip worriedly. “Yeah, that’s awful. I mean, we have cameras at our place for security, I get that. But we know about them.”
I shake my head, my deep sadness of the last days replaced again by fresh anger.
Maggie eyeballs me. “Okay, so let me just say something and have you not bite my head off, deal?”
I don’t like the sound of this, but I nod.
“So if you were dating a celebrity or a politician or something, would you mind the guards, the trackers, the reporting of your whereabouts, the cameras? Because, not that Shane is any of those things, but that sounds oddly familiar to my life.”
I open my mouth to answer, but before I can, she reaches into her purse, pulling out her phone. “See? Tracker. Cameras at home—want to see my bedroom right now?”
She clicks a few times on the screen, and her made-up bed, complete with pink floral pillows, pops into view. “And while I may not have a guard right now, I do partner up when I go into the field. When it’s not with Shane, he gets so nervous I swear he pees his jockeys if I don’t check in with him.”
“But you know about all that stuff, and knew it going in,” I argue.
Maggie holds up her hand, and I sit back, holding back my frustration. It’s not her, it’s this whole shitty mess. “I know,” she says after I’m fully in my seat again. “I’m just trying to figure out what the exact problem is. Is it the monitoring or is it that he didn’t tell you, because those are very different problems with potentially different solutions.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I just know I’m mad. And sad. And just grr!” I finish with a growl of . . . confusion? Frustration? I’m not quite sure.
“Well, you’re fully allowed to be pissed off,” Maggie says, “and let’s be honest. By your own words, you didn’t have a problem with the guards. You knew who” —she raises a brow pointedly— “and what he is, and that his job would mean some additional precautions.”
“I know,” I admit. “I’m still shocked you’re not shitting kittens over it.”
Maggie shrugs. “I did at first, but I’ve learned nothing is black or white, good or bad. There are evil people on the right side of the law and good people on the wrong side. I’d like to think Dom’s one of those. But without a doubt, it is a different life. If you can’t handle that, definitely get out now because he can’t change that part of his world. My opinion, though . . . what’s got your tutu in a twist are the secrets, which I totally understand. I’d be pissed too.”
“I am pissed,” I agree. “But—”
She cuts me off, shaking her head. “I’m not done. Buckle up, because things are about to get bumpy. What about sad?” Maggie asks. “The million-dollar question. Do you miss him?”
I think about it, not saying anything as the foot bath finishes and the techs come to start messing with our toenails. Finally, I nod. “I do. But then I feel stupid for missing him. I shouldn’t want him, not after this.”
“Should, would, could,” Maggie sing-songs dismissively. “Doesn’t mean a thing. Just labels people put on expectations. Don’t box yourself in based on what someone else would do or thinks you should do. If you love him, make your peace with who he is and who you have to be to stay with him. It’ll require some give and take from both of you, but it’s doable. If you don’t love him, let him go and move on. It’ll hurt, but you’ll both be okay eventually.”
The casual way she says it is like a sharp knife in my gut, forcing me to picture my future without Dominick at my side, and more painfully, to picture his without me there.
Maggie’s comments make me think . . . would Dom ever open up to another person, let down his façade and be real, play chess with them and talk to them? I’m not sure I want it to be me by his side, but I sure as fuck don’t want anyone else there either. Still, the thought of him alone breaks my heart.
At the same time, I try to picture myself with the happy husband and two kids behind a white picket fence, like TJ keeps talking about, both for him and for me. The all-American dream, I guess. And while it is what I’ve always wanted, the picture blurs and the only face I can see beside me is Dominick’s. It’s ridiculous because he’s definitely not that guy, but a tiny voice in my head whispers . . . maybe he could be?
And that’s just it. There’s so much I know about him but so much I don’t. And I can’t go through the rest of my life only getting a portion of him while he demands all of me. I need to know both sides of his life, personal and professional, to see if I can handle it, to see if I can accept it.
The manicurist holds up a book of swatches, asking me what color I want. I don’t even think. I just point to the bloodiest red I see. It matches my feeling. I’m just bleeding out from the inside.
Maybe the lacquer will be a reminder, a visible shield to protect me tonight. Protect me from him.
* * *
This is impossible. I’m a strong badass bitch, but I can’t do this. Okay, I’m not really a badass bitch, but I am strong. I have fought my way through auditions where I was rejected on sight for my hair color, I have worked my body to its limits to master leaps and spins, and I have battled mental demons that still try to seduce me into their darkness with ugly thoughts about my worthiness.
I’ve done all that. But warming up at home, I’m not sure I can step on the stage at Petals tonight, knowing that Dominick will be in his office, watching me.
I snort at the thought. I’d always known he watched me dance, even though I couldn’t see through the blackout windows. I’d imagined him there on the other side of the glass, our connectio
n pulsing through the din and sin of the club long before we’d actually touched.
It would fuel me, and I delighted in the show I was putting on for him, because even as the crowd watched, it was for him. But it was knowingly and willingly.
After talking to Maggie today, I had hoped to feel some clarity on the situation, but I’m still waffling. Option one, smack him stupid for doing that without telling me, getting a promise of honesty henceforth, and then forgiving him in a blaze of makeup sex glory. Option two, just walk away, however painful that may be.
I’m on the verge of talking myself out of going when my phone rings. I consider not answering, just hiding away in my room, nestled in the covers. No . . . one way or another, that’s not who I want to be. Instead, I look at the name flashing on my phone. I don’t want to admit, even to myself, that there’s a small part of me that’s disappointed it’s not Dominick.
Other than that one gift with a tasteful card that simply said My heart is with you. I know you can soar like the beautiful creature you have always been, he hasn’t contacted me in two weeks, honoring the time and space I said I needed.
The note had been signed with a scratchy capital D as if I’d have thought the gift had come from anyone else. It was a painfully reminding prick that he’d encouraged me to do the pole classes in the first place, and the simple and elegant wording had brought tears to my eyes.
But this isn’t Dom. “Hey, Trish.”
Trish isn’t one to mince words, especially when she’s gone into Mom-mode. Tonight’s no exception. “Do not ‘hey, Trish’ me. Where the hell are you, woman? You should’ve been here thirty minutes ago to claim your spot in the dressing room. As it is, I’m fighting the vultures off because with you not here every night, it’s technically not ‘yours’ anymore. I’m about ready to get my damn pepper spray. Hey, I said hands off!” she says, and I can’t help but smile as I hear her continuing to rant on the other end to someone in the dressing room. “You’d better back that ass up. This station is Allie’s tonight, so tonight is the night you learn to share a mirror with someone else. Shoo . . . that’s right, there ya go.”
Ah, Trish. Bubbly but fierce as fuck. God, I love her. “Thanks for looking out, girl. But I don’t know if I’m coming.”
Trish’s laughter rings out in my ear. “What the fuck ever! If you don’t get down here ASAP, there’s going to be a riot, backstage and front of stage too. Fuckin’ house is damn-near chanting your name. So if you’re bailing, you’d better give a girl a head start to get outta dodge. There won’t be a sequin left standing if this place pops.”
The crowd doesn’t bother me, but it doesn’t excite me like usual either. I take a deep breath, shaking my head. “I don’t know if I can, Trish. I know he’s there.”
Trish clucks her tongue, lowering her voice. “Look, honey, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Dom. I just know that he’s been a beast for the last couple of weeks. But you’ve both promoed this appearance like mad, and I’m pretty sure you need the money. I’m not shitting you. This place is packed wall to wall. Me and a few of the girls, we dropped hints with the right people. You know, the gossipy folks. Told them you’ve been working on a new trick or two and were gonna knock some socks off, theirs, not yours, obviously, because nobody’s working the pole in ugly ass socks.” She waits for me to laugh at the bad joke, but at my silence, she keeps going. “Bottom line, you’re a dancer, right? Don’t let drama steal your bankroll. Drama is gonna pass, but those greenbacks will too, so you’d better get ‘em while the getting’s good.”
She’s right. I do need the money. But it’s not enough motivation to face him.
“Plus, don’t let Boss Man keep you down. You get up there and do your job like a pro and show him that whatever he did, he fucked up the best thing he’s ever gonna have. Because you sure as hell are, Allie. Show him that you can handle yourself, with or without his nonsense. Don’t let him take this from you too.”
That lights a fire under my ass, and I reach down, snagging my bag. “You’re right. I’m on my way.”
Trish’s grin is audible over the phone line, and she hums happily. “That’s my girl. I’ll meet you at the back door. One thing. Don’t you dare tell that man that I said one ugly word about him. I got a family to support, Allie.”
It’s a joke, but also there’s a healthy dose of fear in her words and I’m reminded that while I’m lost in relationship drama with Dominick, he truly is a man most people are scared of.
I’m not scared of him, though. I’m pissed at him. The thought somehow gives me an extra boost of power, and I strut to my car.
“Trish, I hundred percent promise you, it stays you-me-God. That’s it.”
Twenty minutes later, I park in Petals’s lot and head to the back door, the same as I have so many times before, but I’m different inside. Gavin, who’s on door security, doesn’t even have a chance to open it for me when the door bursts open and Trish barrels through, sweeping me up in a big glitter-fueled hug.
“Holy shit, I’ve missed you! Come on, let’s get you ready before the floor goes wild.”
I grin, following her in the door. “I’m sure it’s not that busy.”
Gavin holds the door open for us both but fails to stifle a chuckle. “You gotta be blind, Allie. Did you see the front lot? It’s so damn busy we had to bring in two valets because even the overflow lot next door is full, and we stopped letting people in about thirty minutes ago because the fire marshal decided tonight was a good night to check the place out.”
He rolls his eyes, and I realize that I’ve missed him and Logan, had gotten used to hanging out with them everyday. I reach up and hug his neck. “How you doing, Gavin?”
He hugs me back briefly but brotherly and smiles down, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Me? Fine. Him, not so much.”
I bite my lip and sidestep the question I want to ask. “And Logan?”
Gavin grimaces, then forces a smile. “I think he’s catching the brunt of the upstairs heat, but he seems to be getting his frustrations out on the mat. He’s training a kid over at that MMA place by you.”
I nod, feeling like hell. After going off on Logan, Max came by the dance studio to talk with me and told me about Logan helping out.
“Yeah, I might owe him an apology.”
“Fuck it, he’s cool. He understands.”
Trish, eager to get things going, drags me away, pulling me into the dressing room. “We can all play Twenty Questions and shit later. Right now, though, you need to get glammed and get right in your head. Give me your phone so I can play your music for you.”
This is why I love this girl. She could be mad that I’m taking the spotlight tonight, could be apathetic about whatever shit’s going on in my life, could be gossipy about me and Dominick.
Nope, she’s running stuff like a boss herself. In the middle of this chaos, she’s the one keeping her head and issuing orders, making sure things get done. She’s the girl you want by your side when stuff is going well because she’ll celebrate right, but also the one you want by your side when it’s all wrong because she’ll hold you up when your knees give out. My music starts, and I give Trish a nod.
“Thanks, girl. You’re a good egg.”
She smirks. “I know.” And then she’s off, mothering the other girls and helping them get ready for their performances. Securing garters, pulling corsets tight, and adding an extra touch of glitter. And then another. Man, she loves glitter.
I start applying my makeup, going with a heavy smoky eye and red lips to go with my red costume for the evening. I needed something hard, something fierce to give me a bit of armor to do this, not because of the dancing. That, I enjoy and could do in my sleep.
This armor’s to protect me from Dominick. I know he prefers me in pink, softer, more real, and that’s exactly why I’m going full-vixen tonight.
Putting a wall between us, rebelling against him while flipping him the finger metaphorically, and making my own stand,
my own way.
Listening to my headphones as Beyoncé belts out about running the world, it seems Trish was right. I am getting into the right headspace for this. I’ve got enough time to wrap it all up, do a full double-check of my costume, my hair and makeup, and every speck of glitter—yeah, Trish added some extra—and then it’s go time.
I head to the ‘gorilla position’ behind the curtain, and moments later, I hear the DJ announcing me, getting the already worked-up crowd whipped into a frenzy.
It’s weirdly . . . fun. I might not be a rock star, but I can understand the thrill, the rush as it hits me harder than ever before.
I remember that this is why I enjoy performing, that connection between me and the audience, sharing the experience of the moment.
My music starts, the intro long and sultry so I have time to make my entrance and walk the rail. I have a moment of falling out of character, so shocked by the sheer volume of people in the room.
Gavin wasn’t lying. This place is packed, but they’ve made sure it’s not sleazy. There’s no concert vibe with horndogs packed five-deep around the stage in a standing-room-only leer fest.
Instead, they’ve moved in additional tables and chairs to fit as many people in the space as possible.
My mind whirls with the unexpected number of people, but my music reaches its first bridge into a crescendo that signals me to approach the pole.
It jolts me, and I adjust, dropping back into performer mode.
Immersed in the music, the throbbing erotic beat fuels me. My body spins and twirls, moving with a routine so memorized I don’t even think about it. It just flows as an extension of my soul.
Time passes without my even realizing it as I dance, making eyes at the audience before swaying into my next move.
Fifteen minutes. Two extended-version songs with a short break that isn’t silent but gives me a chance to catch my breath, work the crowd, and reposition on the stage.
Dirty Secrets Page 23
