“Wonderful,” she said as she led me toward the stage. “We have a cozy dressing room in the back that is all ready for you. Several outfits for you to try. Do you have any real preferences?”
Yeah. Jeans and a hoodie. “I’m in your hands,” I shrugged.
She laughed. “Sorry, honey. That is not my area of expertise. Fortunately for you, Doyle has cleared his schedule today so you can work all that out together. He has the magic touch,” she winked.
I was a little thrown that she had called him Doyle, but I wasn’t ready to dismiss the daughter theory just yet. After all, I was ordered to call Daddy Lucas whenever we were in a professional environment.
I felt a little better when she showed me the rack of clothes I’d be trying on that afternoon. Nothing was overtly sexual, like the uniforms that the female servers wore. There were silk shorts, short skirts and leggings, as well as cute tank tops and ripped T-shirts that were all studded or covered in crystals. There were boxes and boxes of shoes, adorable little booties with zippers and three-inch heels, as well as studded ropers and strappy sandals.
All in all, it was everything you’d see at the local mall, worn by young women anywhere from high school through college.
“Doyle is running a little late,” she said. “I’ll send you some ginger ale and you can start trying out some outfits behind that folding screen partition.”
There in the corner of the room was a private area to change, with painted silhouettes on every opaque side. I breathed a little easier, grabbed a few garments and disappeared into that safe little square to change.
I was just slipping into the shoes before someone knocked at the door. “Come in,” I called, figuring it was the aforementioned ginger ale.
“Find something you like?” I heard Doyle say in that unmistakable deep voice. I shuddered in spite of myself. Despite how up and up everything appeared, his voice ran over my senses like nails on a chalkboard.
“I think so,” I said. I hope so, I thought. Anything to put all this to an end as quickly as possible.
“Well, come on out and let me see.”
I inched around the side of the changing area. He was already sprawled on the white velvet settee against the wall, two flutes of something bubbly in his hands. Those blue eyes swept over my body, leaving a trail of goose bumps where they lingered. “Not bad,” he drawled. “You definitely should have final say over your wardrobe from here on out, gal. That Suzanne, she’s a looker but she puts everything out on the menu. She doesn’t understand the art of the tease. But I get the feeling you do, don’t you?”
I didn’t know what to say. He chuckled and held up the glass.
“Ginger ale for the lady,” he said with a mock bow.
I inched closer to him, slowly and reluctantly. I tentatively tasted the liquid inside, almost surprised to find that it was exactly what he said it was… ginger ale. “Thank you,” I muttered.
“Come on. Twirl. Let me see you,” he commanded.
I did as instructed.
“I like it but I don’t love it,” he announced. He placed his glass on the small white table next to the love seat before he rose to survey the clothing rack. “What size do you wear, sugar?”
I was puzzled why he would ask. All the clothes I thumbed through on the rack were my size. “Size 4,” I finally answered.
“Good. We guessed right,” he said as he turned back to glance over me once again. Though I was fully clothed, I felt naked. “We can show off your legs but you make em work to see your boobs. You are a lady after all.” He turned back to the rack.
I wanted to ask what kind of women worked in the club, given they were showing so much cleavage it nearly blinded me under the strobe lights. Instead I waited until he finally pulled out a tiered lace dress that stopped just over the knee. It didn’t show any cleavage, but it was completely backless. That meant no bra.
But despite that one flaw, the dress itself was as proper as anything I’d seen at school dances. He draped it over my arm and resumed his position on the settee.
I stood staring at him for a moment, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. But his eyes never left mine as he waited me out. I was either going to comply with his unspoken command or I was going to tell him to go to hell.
I thought about my Daddy and about Mama. I took a deep breath and escaped behind the privacy partition to change quicker than I had ever changed in my life. I heard him get up, which scared me half to death. I barely got the dress zipped as I whipped around the partition, only to find him going through the shoe boxes for something to match the new dress. He found a black pair of suede and leather, open-toed booties with a spiked heel. I sat to put them on. He knelt to one knee to help me.
“I can do this myself, Mr. Quinlan,” I said, but he just chuckled as he grabbed my foot in his large hand. My skin nearly crawled right off the bone.
“Call me Q,” he instructed softly. “All the pretty girls do.”
The palm of his hand slid over the heel of my foot. I trembled in spite of myself. If he was pleased about that, he didn’t say. He just buckled each and every strap on each shoe before he rose to his feet. He pulled me up with him. He spun me around until the skirt flared. “Now that’s a young lady,” he pronounced. He didn’t bother to release my hand. “Know how to two-step?” he asked.
I shook my head. My heart was in my throat as he pulled me closer, fitting my body against his, to lead me in the simple dance. “Good girl,” he murmured. “You definitely know how to let a man take you in hand. That’ll serve you well one day, mark my words.”
I couldn’t even move my head. I was frozen in his arms, afraid to even breathe.
He spun me out and back to his body, which felt as foreboding as a concrete wall. “Some women, those women’s libbers, for instance, they forget what it is they need and want from a man. They emotionally castrate him in the interest of equality, breaking men to be effeminate and docile and non-threatening. Then they get all twisted in knots that they aren’t getting what they need. A little excitement, a little danger,” he said softly, “a little power they can’t help but submit to. They try to change the way things should be. They become bitter old prunes, then want to vilify us men for chasing after ripe, juicy peaches.” His hand slid up my back, pressing my chest into his.
“Mr. Quinlan,” I started again but his voice was firm.
“Q,” he corrected. “But you’re not like that, are you, sugar? You’ve seen how it hasn’t worked out for your Daddy, who gives way too much control over to Suzanne.” He stopped dancing to make sure that I looked straight into those cutting eyes. “I didn’t bring you over here to help them. You’re the star, Lacy. They’re holding you back.”
He released me to fetch our glasses. After the first sip, I knew I had been given the wrong drink. It was clearly alcohol, my guess was fine champagne. It was crisp, bubbly and fruity, but I wrinkled my nose and gave it back to him.
“Wrong glass,” he offered with a slick smile. He sat down on the settee, leaving just enough room for me to join him. It was the only place in the small dressing room to sit. Like before, he simply stared at me until I relented, joining him on the cramped sofa. “It tasted good, though, didn’t it?” he murmured as he rested his arm along the back of the sofa. “That’s because this is the life you should be living. Limos, champagne. People waiting on you hand and foot. I can make that happen for you. I can show you the ropes. Teach you how to play the game.”
My voice shook as I met his gaze. “And what’s in it for you?”
He smiled. “Why does God create a star?” he pondered. His eyes met mine. “Because I can,” he added before he toasted me. He drained the glass in one gulp.
We sat in awkward silence for several minutes, his eyes locked on my face while I looked everywhere else to avoid looking at him. Finally he reached stretched out his long body, which made me draw into myself as I watched him withdraw a folded piece of paper from his front pocket, bringing my attention to t
he bulge in his pants.
“Your songs,” he informed me as he handed me the paper.
“Songs?” I repeated.
“Why should they get all the glory?” he asked softly. “You sing circles around both of them, especially Suzanne. Why do you think they keep you in the back, only trotting you out to whet the appetite of a hungry audience?”
“I thought it was because I was only fourteen,” I muttered.
He leaned closer. “Now what did I tell you about that?”
I trembled as he sat closer. “I’m sorry,” I apologized instantly, almost on auto-pilot. “It’s just that… I’m not… this is all new to me.”
He reached out a hand to touch my hair. My stomach lurched. “I know,” he said in a soft voice that sent a cold chill right down my spine. “That’s why I wanted to get you now, before they ruined you. I can teach you everything, sugar. You just have to let me.”
“I just really want to see my dad,” I said as I tried to scoot off the sofa. His hands wrapped around my wrist to keep me right where I was.
“Your daddy is a no-talent bum. I guarantee you that he will blow every dollar I pay him on booze and women before he ever leaves the club. He can’t help you get where you need to go. I can. Choose your loyalty wisely, little girl.”
He ambled to his feet and took both glasses with him as he headed for the door. Just before he left, he turned around for one last, parting remark. “After your last song, make sure you return the dress. Anything happens to it, and it comes out of your cut.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Chapter Three
I was still a bundle of nerves by the time Daddy and Suzanne joined me at the Golden Armadillo at six o’clock that evening. The rest of our band arrived before the doors opened, so that I could practice the new songs that Doyle wanted me to sing. But as always, Daddy and Suzanne were running late.
By the smiles on their faces, I could figure out why. Daddy was intoxicated, again, so his filter was turned completely off by the time they showed up. He was grabbing her and hugging her, even stealing kisses right in full view of everyone. I was so angry with him I couldn’t see straight. He had left me alone with Doyle Quinlan so he could fuck Suzanne? He laid all the responsibility of getting and keeping this gig on me, and then blew it all off like it was no big deal.
I could barely look his direction.
The club filled with a boisterous crowd I could hear all the way back in the dressing room, where I quickly retreated after I finished practicing my new songs. Benny joined me, and Bill, and none of us had anything to say to the Lovey Dovey twins once they disappeared, together, behind the privacy partition to change.
Mary sent a fruit plate and some bottled water back to the dressing room, so I munched absently until it was our time to go on stage. Only then did Daddy sidle up behind me. His breath reeked of bourbon as he knelt down to whisper in my ear. “Everything good?” he asked.
“Peachy,” I snapped.
My response took him by surprise, though I couldn’t begin to know why. “You look nice,” he said, as a way to diffuse the conversation.
It only made me madder.
“I should. Considering he practically dressed me himself.”
Daddy’s eyes narrowed. “Did he touch you?”
I glared at him. “Does it matter?”
Before he could answer, we were introduced to the stage. We all plastered smiles on our faces as we trotted up the steps and into the spotlight. I had three songs to sing, with one costume change. We started our set with one of these new songs, which Daddy kept blowing because he was drunk as a skunk and hadn’t rehearsed the new material.
Doyle’s voice rang in my ear. “Your daddy is a no-talent bum.” I sought Doyle out in the crowd, to gauge his reaction to the disappointing performance. He was in one of the booths next to the stage, a private area with black velvet seating and a gleaming silver bucket of fine champagne sitting right on the table. He shook his head as he watched me do my level best to minimize the damage.
Even Suzanne wasn’t on her game, which was unusual. But I didn’t have any time to ponder on the peculiarities. I was busy trying to save our collective asses before Doyle threw us all out into the street.
I dashed offstage for a costume change. I kept expecting Doyle, or his creepy alter-ego Q, to jump me from the shadows as I tore out of the old clothes and jumped into the new clothes. But I was safe and alone the entire four minutes it took me to complete the transformation. I made it onstage with barely a minute to spare before I launched into my next song, powered by the impotent rage I felt at almost every single person in the club.
In fact, the more I sang, the more pissed I got. Q was using me for some cheap thrill, and my dad was perfectly content to let that happen as long as it meant he could take one more day to play hooky on adulthood. Mama was right. She’d always been right.
After I finished my third song, I blissfully ran offstage. I wanted to get out of the clothes that made me feel like a prostitute. I was tugging down the straps before I even closed the door behind me. When I spotted Doyle, I let out a surprised yelp. He leaned against the door as he studied me. “You figured out I was right about your old man, didn’t you, sugar? I can see it all over your face. And you have every right to be pissed off at him. Just don’t work out your family drama on my stage, you hear?”
“I’m not going to need your stage,” I informed him coldly as I stalked over to the rack and pulled my clothes from one of the hangers.
Doyle approached me. “What does that mean?”
I spun around. “That means you can take your fancy promises, you stupid limo, your skanky dresses and shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine.” Just as I twirled away, he spun me back.
“Now that’s no way for someone to show their appreciation for my hospitality,” he said softly. “I think you need to apologize.”
“Fuck you,” I said. It was the first time I had ever cursed at an adult, but I could think of no better place to start.
“I was going to wait until you were ready,” he said as his hand seized my wrist in an iron grip. “But if you insist.”
He lifted me effortlessly into his arms and carried me to the settee. I struggled and squirmed against him, but he was a wall of muscle and steely determination. I started to cry out but he clamped one large hand over my mouth.
“You shut your mouth, you little bitch,” he sneered. “You don’t come to my club and shake your ass at me like I’m some schoolboy you could cut off at the knees.”
He wedged himself between my clenched thighs while I screamed against his hand. His other hand grabbed my breast, tweaking it painfully until I could do nothing but cry out. Out of anger and desperation, I bit the inside of his palm. He roared at me as he backhanded me hard. “Settle down and accept it, you little twat. I can have you any which way I want you and no one will ever believe that you didn’t give it up willingly. I’m a successful businessman with rich and powerful friends. You’re nothing more than some social climbing trailer trash. No one will ever question me when I tell them you turned into some Lolita in the dressing room when I was simply trying to help you out.”
I fought against him like a wildcat, but he had me pinned. “Get off of me or I swear to God I’ll tell everyone you knew I was only fourteen.”
“No one will believe that either,” he said as he reached into his pocket and dug out a fake ID with my picture on it, one taken at a photo shoot Daddy and Suzanne had arranged right around the time we started playing dive bars.
My stomach sank. “Where did you get that?”
His smile was sadistic. “Where do you think? It was provided by the band, when they accepted a contract to play in an 18-and-over bar. I run a legitimate business,” he added. “You really think you would have stepped foot in here without showing legal proof that you were an adult?” I gulped hard. “This ain’t my first time at bat, honey. There is nothing you can do to me that someone smarter and b
etter than you has tried in the past. So just open your legs like a good little girl and let Uncle Q teach you what it means to be a star.”
His mouth crashed hard on mine. It completely obliterated any sweet memories I had of Christopher as his tongue drove through my tightly clenched lips. Angry tears squeezed from my eyes as I used what little strength I had to hold him off. When I felt his hand reach between us, his heavy, threatening erection landed like a steel rod against my thigh.
“Open your legs,” he commanded.
“Fuck you,” I snapped.
“Open your legs!”
“Fuck you!”
I summoned all my rage to bring my knee up, squishing his hard-on and his exposed testicles between my kneecap and his hipbone. He couldn’t breathe as he stumbled backward. I used that moment to dash from the room entirely. I bypassed everyone as I raced out the front door like the devil himself was on my ass. I didn’t stop running until I got to a gas station at the bottom of the hill. I used their phone to call my mother, since everything I had was still in that ugly, tainted dressing room.
Mama showed up within twenty minutes. She took it all in, from the smeared makeup to the torn dress. She said nothing as she took me into her arms for a rare hug. I instantly burst into tears. She brushed my hair and crooned to me. We stood like that for as long as it took for my desperate sobs to reduce themselves to hiccupping breaths.
She didn’t ask me what happened until we were halfway home. Tears sprung in my eyes as I recanted the dirty tale. She listened with a clenched jaw and pursed lips. When we got to the trailer, she helped me into the house and poured me a hot bath while she made me some tea.
She had her head in her hands when I joined her. I felt like such a shit. She had been trying so hard to keep us afloat, doing everything that needed to be done while Daddy and I were off indulging fantasies like fools. I could tell by looking at her I had aged her five years in the last two. This wasn’t the path she wanted for me. Now I knew why.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I said, my lip trembling as I fought back more tears.
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