Wiser

by Lexie Ray

  Wiser (A Runaway Novel)

  By

  Lexie Ray

  Copyright © 2013 RascalHearts.com

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  For questions and comments about this book, please contact us at Info@RascalHearts.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter One

  They say if you can make it in New York City, you can make it anywhere.

  They say that the people who live here are dreamers, that there’s an “empire state of mind.”

  They say lots of things about New York City—the Big Apple—but no one really knows what it’s all about until they’re here.

  And here I was, a 25-year-old masquerading as a hip bartender called Blue in one of the hottest nightclubs in the entire city.

  Only it wasn’t a nightclub. And my name wasn’t Blue.

  “Blue! For God’s sake! You’ve been in there for a half hour, at least!”

  The pounding on the stall door made me jump before gritting my teeth and pounding back.

  “You’re a freak for counting, Shimmy!” I hollered. “I’m done when I’m done. Use one of the other ones!”

  “But Blue ….”

  Shimmy’s whine made me grin despite my tough words. Of the three toilet stalls, the one I was occupying was the only one that worked properly. The one to my left had been clogged for three solid days. The one on my right didn’t have a door. So if you wanted privacy while you were doing your business, it had to be done in the one I had been shamelessly hogging.

  It was hard to get a moment’s privacy when there was only one functional toilet stall for thirty girls.

  It wasn’t fair for me to occupy the stall, especially when I’d completed my business a solid ten minutes ago, but it seemed to be the only place I could think. I brought the little journal that doubled as my sketchpad and a pencil along with me, jotting down ideas alongside doodles. It was usually the most relaxed I was, but not with other girls beating down the door.

  “Gimme a sec,” I grumbled good-naturedly, flushing the toilet and stuffing the journal in the waistband of my sweatpants.

  As I unlocked and opened the door, Shimmy pushed past me, yanking her pants down.

  “Seriously?” I exclaimed, laughing and covering my eyes.

  “Girl, I had to go,” she said with an enormous sigh of relief. “When are these stalls gonna get fixed?”

  “I don’t know.” There was a time when maintenance issues in the boarding house were addressed promptly. That time had passed. The premises had seen better days. We’d all seen better days.

  “Maybe I can scrounge around for a plunger or something,” I said, washing my hands and trying to piece my reflection together in one of the shattered mirrors. In one of the shards, I could see my blonde topknot that I’d have to brush out before work tonight. In another, I could see one of my baby blue eyes, lined with pale blonde lashes that I had to slather in mascara to get any kind of definition.

  “It’s been tried,” Shimmy said from within the stall before flushing the toilet and joining me at the sinks. “That is the clog from hell. It can’t be solved, Blue, no more than these mirrors can be put back together.”

  We looked at each other in the row of ruined glass, the cracks splintering Shimmy’s curvaceous body. I knew that she was talking about more than just a clogged toilet or row of broken mirrors. She was talking about how we couldn’t put ourselves back together again, not after everything that had happened. I took a deep breath and grinned. It wasn’t my job to commiserate anymore. I’d taken it upon myself to try to help the girls be positive.

  “I haven’t given it a try yet,” I said. “I hope that clog knows what’s about to happen. It’s about to get flushed.”

  I walked out of the bathroom with a purpose, swinging my arms dramatically and whistling. I tried to be the clown so that the girls could have a reason to laugh. Other sources of joy were swiftly vanishing.

  With cheerful force, I ignored the bullet hole that pockmarked the carpeting in the hallway. I’d been able to disguise the rest of them beneath pullout posters of hot guys from some of my magazines, but I couldn’t disguise the one that we had to walk over every day. It took even more willpower not to stare toward Cocoa’s door, which was just across the hall from the bathroom.

  She’d been our cornerstone. Now that she was gone, everything was coming tumbling down.

  Cocoa was out of this toxic environment, so I couldn’t help but feel a little bit happy every time I passed by that empty room, all traces of its former occupant erased.

  And there just wasn’t any use in feeling sorry for myself. I had to be strong for the rest of the girls, now, just like Cocoa had been. It was up to me to make the best decisions for everyone.

  I greeted a few of the girls whose doors were open as I passed down the hallway. More and more of them were squirreling themselves inside their rooms now, which I didn’t like. We had to lean on one another if we were going to get through this.

  “Blue’s gonna take on the clog,” Shimmy called from the bathroom door, her voice ringing out down the hall. I could’ve kissed her for the way it made some of the girls brighten. Shimmy was definitely my lieutenant in this operation—whether she realized it or not.

  “That clog’s here to stay,” Cream said, shaking her head. “We might as well give it a name and a room to stay in.”

  “No way, baby,” I said pumping my fists in the air and dancing around like a boxer. “That clog’s on its way out. It just doesn’t realize it yet.”

  Pumpkin leaned out of the doorway shyly, her eyes perpetually downcast. “Blue, could you get me a bagel or something from the kitchen while you’re down there?”

  “Girl, you want her to carry a plunger in one hand and your snack in the other?” Cream asked in that silky, irresistible voice. “That’s disgusting.”

  “I don’t care,” Pumpkin said quickly.

  “Well, if you’re going down there, could you bring back a bottle of water?” Cream asked me, relenting a little after her swift judgment of Pumpkin’s request.

  “You’re going downstairs?” Daisy poked her head out of the doorway, just below Pumpkin. They were roommates, and both equally quiet. “Can you maybe get me a hot chocolate?”

  More and more girls were lining up to make their requests of supplies I could bring up from downstairs, but I shook my head.

  “I don’t have enough hands to bring all this stuff upstairs to you all,” I said. “Now, I’m going down to get a plunger. If any of you lazy things want to come down with me to get some breakfast or a snack or something, that’ll be better.”

  I knew that none of these girls was lazy. They were all simply afraid of going downstairs. Afraid of running into Mama.

  “We’ll all go together,” I said again. “That’ll be good, won’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Shimmy put in, sidling up to me. “I’m gonna get a magazine from the lounge.”

  Pumpkin stared at Shimmy with those big, moon eyes of hers. I could clearly understand what was on her mind—why was Shimmy braving going downstairs for something as inconsequential as a magazine? Nowadays, girls only went down there if they couldn’t stand the hunger pangs anymore, or if it
was time to go to work.

  Work was better because we were all together. The fact that customers were there, too, helped. Mama would never do anything to us if it would affect business, like making people stop coming.

  “It’s settled, then,” I announced brightly. “We’re all going downstairs. Saddle up!”

  Roughly half of the girls padded down the stairs behind me, all chatter halted as we reached the floor of the nightclub. It was always a little creepy in the daytime without all of the music and dancing and bustling activity of us girls and our customers, but Mama was an added menace. We kept the leather chairs and booths polished to a shine, the dance floor waxed, the carpet vacuumed and shampooed, and every surface clear from dust. We should’ve felt at least some ownership of this place. It was where we worked and lived. Maybe we had felt it, at some point, but those days were over.

  I resisted the urge to call out something irreverent, some ballsy curse that would echo in the empty space. I knew it would probably send all of the girls dashing back upstairs. It was better to be as quiet and as quick as possible when we were down here outside of business hours.

  “Go,” I said quietly, pointing at the kitchen. “I’m going to the supply closet. Go on upstairs when you’ve got what you want, or we can meet back right here and go up together.”

  “We’ll all go back upstairs together,” Pumpkin said, lifting her chin and looking at me defiantly with those chocolate eyes. Since when did sweet little Pumpkin grow a spine?

  “That’s my girl,” I said merrily, slipping back in my role as head cheerleader and swatting her on her round rump, which is how she got her name.

  I waited until they filed into the kitchen, hoping—despite my bravado—that they’d all be as quick and quiet as possible. I knew they would try, but I still had to hope that we didn’t wake the sleeping bear.

  Mama had an apartment on the premises, but I knew she was spending more and more nights in the office. Shimmy confided that she’d witnessed Mama counting and recounting the nightclub’s profits, curled around her beloved safe like a dragon guarding its hoard of treasure. I didn’t know whether I believed that. Shimmy did have a pretty active imagination. But I knew that Mama loved her money much more than she loved her girls, even if we were the only reason she had it in the first place.

  Coming between a dragon and its treasure hoard meant certain death, or so I’d read in fairy tales.

  Coming between Mama and her money could yield the same result. I’d witnessed it with Cocoa. Thankfully, the only hurt Cocoa had suffered had been cuts to her face as a bullet had shattered the window she was standing in front of—as well as whatever had happened when she was forced to leap from that same window to escape with her life.

  The supply closet was where we kept all of our cleaning tools and liquids. I knew I’d find the plunger in there. I also knew the closet was right by Mama’s office.

  Stepping as softly as I could over the carpeting, I opened the supply closet and turned on the light. Bottles and buckets were stacked neatly on the shelves. Clean rags hung from a series of hooks at the back. I spotted the plunger and went for it, my ears open to any change in sound. A clatter from the kitchen made me wince and work faster, snapping up the plunger before turning off the light and closing the closet door.

  Mama stood just outside, a bottle of whiskey clenched in her fist.

  “You robbing me?” she demanded, her breath stinking of spirits.

  “Of course not, Mama,” I said, showing her the plunger and wondering if I could heft it like a baseball bat without being too threatening. I wanted to be ready if something happened.

  “What you doing?” she asked, no less aggressively than before. Mama tottered a little bit and I wondered what kind of shape she’d be in later tonight if she was this drunk this early.

  “There’s a toilet clogged upstairs,” I said, trying not to grip the plunger too hard. There was no need to show her how tense I was.

  “That ain’t your job,” Mama slurred. “I’ll get the maintenance man to do it.”

  “That’s all right,” I said, smiling as winningly as I could, though my heart was beating fast. “I don’t want to bother him with something as silly as a clogged toilet. It’s probably just a tampon, Mama.”

  “I told you girls to throw those away,” she snarled. “Not flush them.”

  “Yes, yes, you did,” I said, starting a slow, backward walk. “That’s why I just wanted to take care of this really quick. It’s not a problem, Mama.”

  “It’s a problem if you little bitches aren’t following my rules,” she said, staggering forward.

  I took the chance to glance behind me and saw all of the girls huddled at the bottom of the stairs. Pumpkin was shaking visibly, but they were all waiting doggedly for me. It warmed my racing heart.

  “I’m sure it was just a mistake, Mama,” I placated, putting my hand up to steady her. I took note of the beads of sweat dotting her upper lip and wondered when she’d started drinking. Had she even slept?

  “I don’t tolerate mistakes,” she said, continuing to stumble forward belligerently for every step that I took backward.

  I switched tacks, realizing that moving on the defensive was only giving Mama more room to play offense.

  “Well, I don’t tolerate people guzzling whiskey straight out of my bottles,” I retorted. Behind me, all of the girls gasped. I might have been one of the bartenders at the nightclub, but it was a mistake to claim ownership over anything here. Mama had made it abundantly clear that the nightclub and everything in it was hers, including us.

  While Mama blinked at me, unsure of what she was hearing, I plunged recklessly forward.

  “You better let me put some Coke or something on top of that, at least,” I continued. “I’ll open the bar special, just for you. I think I might even have some pretzels back there. Pretzels sound good to you, Mama?”

  Mama blinked her heavy-lidded eyes at me and nodded, holding the whiskey bottle out to me. She followed me to the bar—me still wielding the plunger—and I poured her a Coke without any whiskey. She seemed not to notice—or care—and guzzled it down, pounding the glass down on the bar. I filled it again and she drained it again.

  I opened a fresh bag of pretzels and poured them in a little glass bowl, setting them wordlessly in front of her. While she munched mindlessly, I got a chance to really look at her.

  When I’d first started living and working at her nightclub, Mama was a sight to be seen. She was always dressed nicely whether she was working or not. It took a while for me to realize that Mama was always working, whether it was regular business hours or not. She always had her hair perfectly coiffed and her makeup sparkled over her eyes and lips. Always a big woman, she touted the power of good food and good music.

  Now, she was a sad, dangerous shadow of herself. Mama only cleaned herself up for when the club opened. Even then, I wondered how many people realized she was only barely holding it together. The woman I saw in front of me had bags under her eyes, stank of liquor, and needed about a week of sleep before she’d be back to normal.

  “You had breakfast, Mama?” I asked softly, feeling pity for the woman in front of me even after everything she’d done and everything she was putting us through. “I can fix you something, if you want.”

  “I’ll tell you what I want,” she said, her dark brown eyes leaping up to meet mine. “I want to make money. I want my rules followed. And I want you to take that tone of voice and stick it right up your ass!”

  I narrowly dodged the glass bowl as she flung it at my face. It shattered behind me, against the mirror. I stepped to the side, giving Mama my profile—the smallest target I could present. The mirror behind the bar hadn’t broken, thank God. In its reflection, I could see the rest of the girls, all clearly terrified but holding it together at the bottom of the stairs. Their presence gave me courage. I had to be smart for them. I had to get us out okay on the other side of this situation.

  It was Mama, of co
urse, who’d shattered all of the mirrors upstairs in our bathroom, as well as who’d taken the stall door right off its hinges.

  The night that Cocoa had escaped, Mama went on a rampage, trashing Cocoa’s room and putting her fist through each and every mirror up there before kicking down the stall door.

  When I’d gone in to Cocoa’s room the next day, it was completely empty. The broken window was boarded up and there wasn’t a single stick of furniture that remained. I always wondered if Mama had hauled all of the mess out of there by herself or if she’d hired somebody to do it as quickly and quietly as possible.

  I feared Mama’s temper immensely, as did all the other girls. The bar was in between Mama and me for now, but it also blocked my escape route. Mama’s nostrils flared as she breathed hard, rage making her chest heave.

  “That’s fine, Mama,” I said. “I’m going to go on upstairs, now. Gotta get ready for tonight. I bet it’s gonna be a good one.”

  Mama was volatile, but I was quickly learning how to play her like a fiddle. Talking money could almost always derail her from destructive thinking or actions.

  She rubbed her hands together, a faraway look on her face. “It’s gonna be a damn good night,” she said. “I’m gonna be singing.”

  “You are?” I said, pushing my voice up to a pitch that I hoped contained delight. “What a wonderful surprise! If it were up to me, you’d sing every night. It’s always so captivating.”

  I was afraid I’d pushed it too far with the kiss-ass attitude, but Mama only smiled and nodded.

  “They love it when I sing,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “They just eat it up.”

  “You ought to rest that pretty voice of yours before we open,” I said, hoping I didn’t piss her off with the suggestion. The reality was that she needed to sleep off her drunkenness, but I wagered she’d still be feeling horrible by the time we opened the doors tonight.

  “That’s just what I need,” she agreed, pushing herself back from bar and nearly tumbling to the floor. She caught herself at the last moment and toddled off to the office, slamming the door shut behind her.