The Space Between

by Victoria H. Smith

  He let out a breath. “How will this work?”

  Jackpot.

  *

  When Omar and I passed the marble columns on our way from the bathroom, my sister saw us. Doing a double take, she shook her head. She was about to be in even more shock when she watched me pull this off.

  I picked up a silver platter from the serving station by the kitchen doors. “Now remember, Omar, stay away from my parents, and if anyone asks, it’s okay to tell them you’re me. But if it comes to that, try to make up a quick excuse to leave the conversation.”

  Omar patted down my onyx Armani suit. I was a few inches taller and my arms a bit longer. He didn’t look like he swam in it, though. If people looked too closely they would wonder why someone wearing something so expensive didn’t bother to get it tailored, so he was advised to just mingle, partake in short conversations, and try to be discreet.

  “This isn’t going to work. I’m going to get fired.” Omar inhaled and exhaled rapidly.

  “It is going to work. And you won’t be fired. This isn’t my first time around the block. Now, hurry. This thing will last at least a couple more hours, and I’ll be back before then. Just go have some fun.”

  Omar didn’t move a muscle. To trigger his steps, I gave him a gentle push that got his legs moving.

  As Omar scooted off, I glanced toward Mom. Still in conversation, she didn’t notice when I slipped between the doors of the kitchen. Watching through the glass window of the doors, I grinned at my sister. She slumped her shoulders and crossed her arms. She just lost the first part of our bet.

  I gave a quick tap on my noggin, then pushed my way through the busy ongoings of the kitchen.

  The clamoring metal of pots and pans sounded about the room—the real work of the evening done behind the scenes. Finding that server who received the cash was my best bet to get to the stock room but odds were he’d already made it to the game. I grabbed the shoulder of a white-vested cook. When the heavyset man turned, he scanned me up and down.

  “New here. Stock room?” I spoke casually. If one spoke as if they weren’t under fire, then they didn’t receive suspicion.

  He pointed behind him with his thumb. “Take the service elevator to the basement. It’s down the hall and around the corner. First door.”

  I nodded and stepped off; but stopped when he touched my shoulder.

  “And make sure you get a proper fitting uniform before your next shift.” Shaking his head, he grabbed a wok.

  His reference reminded me that the white shirt and vest combo choked more than my Armani. Loosening Omar’s server’s tie at my neck, I headed to the elevator. I got the top button of the shirt undone and pushed my white sleeves up on the way down.

  When the doors opened, the fumes of whiskey and cigars alerted my senses. Oh, yeah. These guys liked to have fun. Omar really did me a solid tonight.

  The sounds of laughing grew louder as I made my way down the hall. My adrenaline high, I followed until I made it to that first door around the corner. I went in grinning, but any amusement in that room left when they saw me.

  The room was full of dudes. Big dudes. Dressed in their uniforms when the vests open, they sat around a small circular table, decks of cards in hand. Not one looked excited to see a new player, but the guy who took the cake was over by the canned corn. He wore a skull cap and had a joint in the corner of his mouth; tattoos running up and down his dark-skinned arms in cobweb formations.

  With the snarl he gave me, and the other guys watching his reaction, this guy had to be the leader.

  I might have been intimidated if I hadn’t dealt with guys like him before in high-stakes games. As I told Omar, this wasn’t my first time around the block.

  Joining the crew, I sat on an open crate. Before they could speak I whipped out my wallet and threw a stack of hundreds on the table.

  The guy with the skull cap stared at me for a moment; eyes squinted with a smoke cloud curling from his lips. The tension was thick as his gang watched him watching me. When he dealt me in, their attention went back to their cards.

  Money always did speak more than words at these things.

  “We’ll take your money tonight if you’re willing to give it, Mini Warbucks, but don’t make coming back here a habit.”

  I must have looked confused by his reference because he threw down a newspaper on the table. My face was plastered on the front. I stood with my family in front of our new house with a headline that read: The Senator Moves to Chicago.

  I smirked. “Don’t let my background mislead you, and I’d watch your money.”

  He gave a short laugh, puffing out some smoke. “Easy to talk stupid when we’re on your side of the tracks, homeboy.”

  “Location means nothing to me.”

  “I’m sure. Let’s see if you can back that mouth up with some action.”

  I gestured to begin.

  I studied eyes and faces. That was my thing. I was a people watcher. I had lots of time at Father’s functions. This talent also made me quite skilled in the art of poker. Didn’t take me long to win a few hands, then take each guy’s money one by one. They all looked disgruntled after every loss, but to my surprise, the guy by the canned corn didn’t react to the losses of his boys. He just kept silent with a stoic expression; watching just as I was.

  Scratching his dark, leathery neck, the guy studied his hand.

  Hmm. That was a bit of a telling action, and he looked a little nervous as he analyzed his cards.

  I pushed all in.

  He gave a short whistle. “We confident about something, Mini?”

  I shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  One by one the remaining men in the game put down their cards. Dismal hands compared to mine appeared each time, but I kept stoic during each new reveal. When it got to the guy in the skull cap, he didn’t place. Not at first.

  “I’ll give you some time to back out, Mini.” His friends all gave him screwed up faces of confusion. “I make the rules. I say he gets a chance to bow out.”

  I watched him for a moment, and for the first time the hairs went up on the back of my neck. What was this guy playing at?

  “So, Mini?” He twitched up his dark brow.

  I didn’t say a word.

  He put down his cards, and I did the same.

  There were four nines on that table and one straight flush.

  I was the straight flush.

  Casually, I reached out for the pot, but his dark hand hit it first.

  “Didn’t I say I make the rules, Mini? I suggest you take your hand back before you lose it.”

  When the click of a blade sounded behind me, the threat confirmed it wasn’t a bluff.

  I lifted my hand and watched as my money went into his massive, scaly hands across the table. After he pocketed the pot, he lit up a new joint.

  I nodded. “Can I get a hit? I think you owe it to me.”

  Clicking his lighter closed, he gave a half-smile. “I’ll do you one better.” He snapped his fingers and one of his boys who seemed around my age wearing a dark hoodie over his uniform leaned in. He said something in his ear. The guy nodded and went to the door. “I’m sending you to Margot. My personal dealer. She’ll hook you up. Derrick will take you to her.”

  I just sat there. I had no intention of buying any drugs. Taking a hit was one thing, but buying was another.

  “You’re not down?” he asked.

  This was another one of this guy’s tests. If I didn’t go with his friend, something was going to happen. I didn’t know if I wanted to find out. I stood from my crate and followed Derrick.

  “Enjoy it, Mini. And hey? I take back what I said. Feel free to come back anytime.”

  The laughter of the room grew fainter and fainter as I left down the hall.

  Chapter Two

  Lacey

  Pushing a pin through the thick material of the Victorian dress, I misjudged where the sharp edge would return. The silver point shot out and caught my finger.
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  “Dammit!” I sucked on my finger, tasting the metallic after effects of my stupidity.

  “Dang, Lacey, are you okay?” The girl whose dress I was pinning up gazed down at me over her massive hoop skirt.

  Pulling my finger out my mouth, I studied the damage. “Yeah, I’m just a ditz.”

  Shaking out my finger, I smiled up at her, then finished working the material of her dress with my hands. “You look great. Head out.”

  She puffed up her powdered wig, then clicked her way onto the stage in her Victorian heels.

  I watched her for a moment to make sure she got out on the stage okay, then quickly moved on to the next actress who needed my attention. A familiar face—who was supposed to be in the control booth—made her appearance when she sat in the lead actress’ folding chair next to me.

  “Margot May, aren’t you supposed to be with the tech crew?” Not looking at her, I secured the clasp of a pearl necklace around this new actress’ neck.

  “It gets hot up there,” she drawled, her voice fatigued.

  Her weird tone took my attention from the pearls. She sat there scratching her neck with hazy eyes.

  I groaned. Good Lord she was lit up.

  I finished up the actress with a quick fluff of her blue dress detailed in white lace. “All set, sweetie. Head out.”

  “Thanks, Lacey.” She winked, then joined the other debutantes on stage for the grand ball scene.

  Bending down, I put my hands on Margot’s cheeks. “How much did you smoke?” I asked, studying her pupils. If it was a casual smoke that was one thing, but if she was completely fried there was no getting her to do anything.

  She shook her face out of my hands. “Nothing. I don’t smoke on the job. You know that.”

  Seeing her eyes, the information was confirmed. “Then why do you look so tired?”

  A little boy tugging at the neck of his white-ruffled, collared shirt stepped in front of me. I stopped him and unbuttoned his top button. To give him room, I inserted a safety pin. Once he realized he could breathe, he smiled up at me, then followed the little actress playing his sister on stage.

  “I was partying last night. Huge deal fell into my lap. You know? Business.”

  Yeah, I knew. She hardly ever slept from the hours of nine p.m. to ten a.m. because of her “business.” When her brother got locked up at the beginning of the summer, she took over. Keeping it in the family kind of thing. It sucked because she was college bound. She was the one who was supposed to make it out. Freakin’ shame how life works.

  “Okay, that explains the eyes, but why are you down here?” I asked.

  “It’s called a break. All of us get one you know. Even you.”

  Smiling, I picked up some excess material from the floor. “No time for breaks on the final performance night of the show.”

  “Right.” She flipped a few of her rainbow-tipped, dirty blonde locks out of her eyes. “Anyway, I had a mission to complete. Decided to stop by to see my girl on my way back to the booth.”

  “Oh? What mission?” I tossed the material on the star’s dresser with the lighted mirror.

  “Business.”

  “Mmhmm.” I chuckled. When it came to asking Margot questions sometimes there was just no point in asking. With her clientele, she was sworn to secrecy. Not that I ever actually wanted to hear the details of her nightly activities.

  A round of applause sounded out in the grand theater, and Margot glanced that way.

  “That should be you out there you know,” she said.

  Laughing, I shook my head. “Bills have to be paid.”

  She crossed her arms. “Bills can be paid and dreams can be made if you haven’t checked. Look at those skinny bitches on Broadway. I’m sure they’re making billions.”

  “I have no dreams of Broadway.” And I really didn’t.

  “Yeah, I know. But you do have some dreams.”

  Nibbling on the backing of my lip ring stud, I restlessly straightened the star’s flower arrangement on her dresser. Margot was right, but the fact really didn’t matter. Life was life. It was what it was, and I accepted that fully.

  “Look at you. Now, they’ve got you prepping the girl’s flowers. These should be your flowers.” She flicked at one of the buds.

  Dropping my hands, I placed them on my hips. “Why do you always go on about things that have no meaning? The fact of the matter is these are not my flowers. They are never going to be my flowers, so there’s no point in talking like they will be. We live in this reality, so stay in it.”

  She brushed off my comment with her hand. “This reality is too depressing. Talking about our dreams keeps us sane.” She grabbed a hand mirror off the lead actress’ dresser.

  Margot could visit her dream world as much as she wanted, but the realist in me would never allow me to join her. I didn’t see the point.

  When Margot moved on to putting the lead actress’ ruby lipstick on, I grabbed the tube. “Not for you.”

  She grabbed the girl’s powder puff next. “Why not pretend to live the life of the stars when their backs are turned. I’m not hurting anything.”

  I put the tube down and leaned against the dresser. “Well, this one is a prima donna, and if she catches you in that chair and with her powder puff you will be out of a job. And as good as business is booming you still need this job.”

  She shrugged, continuing with the puff. “Tonight is the last night of the job since it’s the end of the season in case you’ve forgotten.

  I actually did, purposely. Kept my mind off the fact that I’d be on unemployment soon while seeking new work.

  “Anyway, I could care less about her. If she wanted her seat and her makeup she should be here to use them.”

  “Speaking of . . .” I gazed through the back curtains and to the stage. “The final scene is starting soon, and it’s not like her to not be in my face bugging me to tighten her corset to push up her breasts before she goes out.”

  Margot glanced my way for only a moment, then went back to playing with the makeup.

  I pushed off the dresser, scanning the backstage area. Where was that girl?

  The stage manager swept into the area with her clipboard. “Lacey, we need you.”

  Before I could say anything, she grabbed my hand. Margot followed us to the women’s backstage bathrooms. When the manager opened the bathroom door, I had to cover my mouth. The air was putrid, and I had to choke back my nausea. The ralphing noises didn’t have to tell me what the cause of the smell was.

  I pointed to the stall that the gagging noises came from. “Is that who I think it is?”

  The manager nodded, her expression uneasy.

  I stepped to the closed stall and knocked twice. “Julie?”

  My call was met with gags and chokes.

  The manager shook her head. “Lacey, you’re the only understudy available.”

  My head shot her way. “What about Alice?”

  “She’s the first understudy to Sarah, who’s on vacation. Alice is already on stage.”

  “Deb?”

  “No go. Sick.”

  I listened to the noises coming from the stall, hoping they weren’t the sounds of an actual stomach bug. This girl was known for sticking a few fingers down her throat from time to time, so maybe we just caught her doing her thing. I knocked again. “Julie? Are you really that sick, hun? Can you pull it together, or is it a lost cause?”

  More choking and purging.

  “Lacey, there’s no time. We have to get you geared up.” The manager grabbed my hand again.

  This didn’t make sense. Julie never got sick. Like ever. It was like in the girl’s contract, and she made the call to put it in there. And what were the odds of this occurring on the final performance night? She couldn’t just not get sick for another twenty-four hours? I only took the job as third understudy, because even if I didn’t go out I still got paid for it. I never intended to actually be in the show.

  With a grin, Margot took m
y other hand. Between the two of them they got me primed up and laced into the soft pink ball gown with white lace trim. My hair up and my piercings out, I looked like I stepped back in time.

  Two chirps sounded and Margot took out her jewel-covered phone. “Eep! I just got a new client. He’s going to be here soon, and I’m going to meet him in the booth.” She kissed me on the cheek. “I’m going to be watching you from up there. Break a leg, girl.”

  As she rushed off, I grabbed her arm. “Margot, please tell me you had nothing to do with Julie.” She never did explain what her “mission” was, and with all that dreamer talk, all signs of suspicion definitely pointed her way.

  She took a pink flower from Julie’s arrangement and tucked it into the brown curls of my bun. “Escape reality for just one night. I’ll see you at the cast party.”

  She pushed me off toward the bright lights of the stage, and the last thing I heard her say was: “head out.”

  Chapter Three

  Drake

  I sat in silence, listening to the hums of my red Jaguar convertible with the top up. Derrick advised we take my car, but he also insisted on driving it. Something about it being one of his lifelong dreams. Right. After he dumped me off, I was about ninety percent sure he was going to pawn it. If not that, then chop the car up and send the scraps he didn’t sell—along with one of my fingers—to my parents. The whole thing would be some sick way of letting them know what happened to me.

  In my peripheral, I could see the grin he started when he got behind the wheel still shining on his face.

  What a sick bastard.

  I sat in silence for a few more minutes, but waiting to see where we were going drove me to the edge of my patience. I wasn’t one for uncomfortable silences if I had questions that needed to be answered. In the world I came from, if I wanted to know something I was told immediately, and I wouldn’t make any exceptions here. I didn’t care who this guy was, or where he came from.

  “You know, I’m the type of guy that hates surprises,” I said, gazing his way.

  Ignoring me, he played with some of the buttons on the car’s dash while still sporting his grin. I swear it was like this guy was a kid in a candy store. I didn’t understand why he was getting attached if he was just going to sell my ride later.