Glamour
Page 31
My mother had begged me to find an answer.
Wouldn’t I be a fool to walk away from the first sliver of good luck I’d been blessed with?
“Alright,” I said, gripping the pen and scrawling my signature. The ink smeared onto the side of my hand—Mister Big had snatched it up before it had dried. Sitting back, I looked him straight in the face, fighting to breathe. Fighting to get a hold on my emotions. And all the while, just behind me, that beautiful woman sang her song. I ached to look. “Now what?”
“Now?” he chuckled dryly. Lifting his hand, he motioned sharply; from the shadows came a woman with a tray of drinks. Had she been waiting there for our deal to end? “Now we drink!”
Squeezing the glass of whiskey that was poured for me, I joined them in a toast. Their joy should have been contagious. Five glasses later—each more pushed on me than the last—it finally was. Somewhere between my anxiety and my uncertainty, hope had blossomed.
Mom is going to be so happy.
When she heard what I’d done, she’d probably even hug me. How would that feel?
“Silent waters…” that voice again; wobbly this time, struggling to reach me through my alcohol haze. Time had warped, the night eroding away until I only vaguely noticed the club had gone empty. Arms pulled at me, familiar voices laughing as I was pulled out a door and towards the alley.
“Where are we going?” I asked, finding it hard to stand.
The man holding me was the lanky fellow from earlier; a friend of Mister Big. “A smoke, we’re just getting some fresh air and a smoke. Celebrations can’t end without that.”
I didn’t smoke; it was a luxury, but also, I’d never been fond of the stuff. “I’ll just stand and listen,” I said, trying to break free. “If it’s all the same to you gentlemen.”
“Gentlemen,” someone snorted. One man had become two, their bodies crowding me in the low light of the back-alley’s single lamp. The edge in his voice set my brain on fire—my intuition kicking in a second too late. Or maybe it was days late, at this point.
Hard knuckles drove into my gut, forcing out air and whiskey and bile. Coughing, I fell hard enough that my temple thudded on the rough ground. Gravity held me there, disorientation making my mind swim. I was too drunk for a fistfight. Even on my best days, I couldn’t have taken two men at once.
“Can you believe this kid, Hector?” The man who’d hit me did it again. I scrambled to grab his ankles; he just laughed and jammed his heel into my gut, then my spine. My vision was red stars and nothing more.
Tobacco filled the air. I tasted it around the blood in my mouth. “Mister Big knows how to spot a sucker, that’s for fucking sure. Hit him again, Tino. Get his face real good.”
Spitting out whatever was in my mouth, I shielded myself as Hector railed on me. The ringing in my ears got louder, muffling everything until I could have been suffocating under a pile of mattresses. “Why?” I coughed.
“Shit, he speaks.” Gravel scraped by my cheek; Hector had knelt, his fingers knotting in my short hair and ripping me upwards so that I had to face his grim smile. “The answer is obvious, kid. Mister Big wanted your money. But anyone as stupid as you doesn’t deserve to work with him.”
Stupid? I wasn’t stupid.
I was hopeful.
I’d believed, just for a bit, that life couldn’t be cruel 24/7. That somewhere, eventually, a break would come and people like me… people like my mother… would get our due. We’d be given enough room to just take a full breath for once.
Now I knew better.
“The contract,” I moaned.
Sighing, Hector released me. My chin dropped heavily to the ground. “Did you even read that thing? All it did was give ownership of your stuff to Callum. Fuck, I wonder if you can even read.”
Callum, is that Mister Big’s real name? The ruse was obvious now. I hadn’t known who I was dealing with. Smoke and mirrors, that was all this was. But the danger wasn’t an illusion. I tried to draw in air—my ribs crunched like rusty pipes. “Not… not fair. It’s not fair.”
“Welcome to the world, kid.” Hector drove one more kick into my kidney. I screamed, my throat full of blood and rage. “Wanna finish him off?”
“Nah,” Tino said. “Look at him. He’s got broken ribs, probably a punctured lung. He won’t last the night. Let him die in the alley.”
My eyes were shut… or perhaps I was already dead. I saw only blackness, heard nothing. The pain was still there but I was numb, as if the injuries had happened to another person. In another life.
They were right, I thought bitterly. I’m so stupid. I was a reckless fool who didn’t deserve a break. There would be no second chances for me. I’d lost everything.
Hope had never been more than a dream.
“Hello?”
A flutter moved through me at the sound of that sweet voice. It caused my pain to brighten; I coughed, shaking with each tiny movement. Living was worse than death.
“Oh god! What happened to you?” She touched my hair; rolled me gently, so that I was looking upwards at the empty sky above. I knew there’d be stars, but I saw none of them. How could a whole galaxy compare to the face of an angel?
She still wore her sequin dress, but a thick, black coat was hiding most of it. Once more she cupped my cheek, her hand bringing me warmth. “I’m calling an ambulance,” she said, never once looking away. “Stay with me. Okay? Are you listening? Help is coming!”
She’d saved me, but she’d done so much more.
This wonderful woman… this graceful angel…
She’d given me a second chance.
I was going to use it.
Chapter Two
Harper
“Climb! Climb! Climb!”
Seven years ago, I’d used these hands to stroke the keys of a piano. Back then they’d been graceful, part of me, a tool that enhanced my songs. These days I still performed on a stage. But now my hands were strong from climbing a metal pole; they were pretty with pink nails and glitter.
It’s funny how our lives can change in an instant.
“Climb, bitch!” a man shouted. His words were blunt, but bravado had lost its effect on me. Men showing off for their friends isn’t personal. No, it’s only when you’re alone with them that you learn what they really think. In a private booth, they spill their guts… the most perverted thoughts swimming in the corners of their minds.
People laugh and say that strippers are therapists to their customers.
That’s wrong.
To these men… we’re less than human.
Being insulted in public is cake next to that fun fact. I could hear “bitch” a million times and still fake a smile. Hoisting myself up the pole, I twisted my body, making the bikini shimmer with my movements. Not every girl in the Golden Goose could pull herself all the way to the top balcony. I could, and the muscle burn was one of the few exquisite things left in my life.
On the top row of private booths, a group of men in midnight suits watched me. Only one of them truly watched me, though. Mister Big had spent years staring at my body. I was sure he hoped he could see into my soul and scoop up my heart if he stared hard enough.
He was wrong. He’d always be wrong.
Reaching the tip of the stripper pole, I bent backwards, thighs crushing the metal while I did a slow spin. Money rained down; my boss’s associates cheered, the balcony only an arm’s length away. For a second, Mister Big met my eyes. I so badly wanted to spit in his face.
Instead, I dropped like a stone.
People squealed and screamed—I caught myself before my body smashed into the stage. As a torrent of cash flitted through the air, I twisted on my ankle-breaking heels, doing a little hip-wiggle.
No matter how my life had changed, I’d always been one hell of a performer.
There were whistles and claps. Scooping up my money, I noticed someone watching me. Well, lots of people were watching me, but this man was hovering by the short steps that led off the s
tage. His face was a scraggly mess of beard; his hairline receded into nothingness.
But what concerned me was how he kept fidgeting. He’d glance at me, then away, his hands in his pockets—out of his pants and clenching—then in again as he swayed. This was more than nerves; I wondered if he’d taken some kind of drug.
Deciding to avoid him asking me for a private dance, I scooted to the other end of the stage and hopped off it. “Excuse me, boys,” I said, weaving through the crowd.
I could afford to avoid him. I didn’t work here because I needed the money; I did it because it was the only way Callum would allow me to see my little sister.
I’d do anything for her.
* * *
The parking lot was silent. I was the last to leave, I usually was. Some of the girls had a habit of drinking too much. I’d taken it upon myself to call rides for them; I wasn’t about to let anyone drive drunk.
My old but faithful green Ford Taurus was waiting for me in the lot. I’d had it for years—when Callum tried to buy me something nicer, I always turned him down. This car had life in it. It was an heirloom, one of the last pieces of my mother that I could still touch.
Sometimes, if I shut my eyes and tried hard enough, I could still smell her sandalwood perfume on the seats.
Shouldering my purse, I hummed under my breath. It was a bad habit—one that came out whenever my mother entered my mind. I promised myself I’d never sing for anyone ever again, especially not Mister Big, but humming didn’t count. No one cared if you could hum nicely.
I was reaching for my keys when the hand closed on my wrist. “Hey hun, where you off to?”
It was the man from earlier—the one who’d eyeballed me from the stage. His sour breath poured over me, his grip tightened as I retreated. “Nowhere with you. Let go. Now.”
His scowl showed me how uneven his bottom teeth were; little rotten gravestones in a cemetery assaulted by a tornado. “Come on, sweetie-cakes. I jus’ wanted to get your number. Maybe a drink or two. Wanted a dance, but you kept running off in there.”
“That’s because I was politely avoiding you.” I yanked hard, and when he held tight, I shoved forward, trying to throw him off balance.
“Bitch!” he snarled, stumbling—and for a second I was free. Like a manic bird of prey, he snatched at my purse, grappling until he had his arms around my waist.
“Let go of me!” My lungs burned with the crisp night air. I inhaled deeper; screamed harder. “Let go you piece of shit!”
“You heard her.”
It was a new voice. Fierce, all gravel and dark whispers, it softly threatened pain for anyone who didn’t obey. Together, my attacker and I paused, turning to look at the man who approached. He was wearing a faded leather jacket, the front open to display how his chest strained beneath his tight v-neck.
This stranger was all muscle. All beast. I wasn’t surprised when my attacker released me, hastily backing up in the lot towards the main street. “Fuck off, man,” he said. “I ain’t doin’ shit to her.” That was all the bravery he managed; my savior flexed his hands, and the sour-breathed man sped off into the night.
Hugging myself, I looked the stranger up and down. “Thank you. That was getting out of hand.”
The way he swept his stare over my body, I had to fight back a shiver. I was used to men who didn’t give free handouts—especially when they went out of their way to save your life. What kind of payment was this intimidating man going to ask for?
He stopped in front of me. “That song you were humming earlier, what was it?”
Cold prickles swept up my back. He heard that? Was he just standing in the shadows this whole time? “I wasn’t humming. You must have imagined the sound.”
Tension moved between his eyebrows. “Didn’t know I was blessed with such a beautiful imagination.” My mouth went slack from his surprising compliment. No one but Cena had appreciated my voice in years. I’d stopped singing for the public the day all of my dreams were ripped out by their roots.
I considered him with new eyes. “I’m Harper, do you have a name?”
His grin turned him from gruff ravager to warm ruffian. “That your real name? Lotta girls in that club over there go by something else than what their mamas named them.”
“Guess I respect my mom too much to go by anything else.”
“Risky move for a stripper.”
“Wait, how do you know I’m a stripper and not a waitress or a bartender?” I wasn’t wearing anything that gave me away—my coat and jeans and flats didn’t mark me as a dancer of any kind. My stomach tightened. He must have seen me inside the club tonight.
How did I not notice him? Very few of the male customers were what I’d call attractive; this guy was beyond handsome. Everything about this encounter felt… strange.
He tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “Call me observant.”
“I’d rather call you by your actual name.”
“How about hero? It has a nice ring to it.”
“Listen,” I said, pulling out my car keys. “I’m too tired to play games. This whole Mister Mysterious thing you’re trying isn’t as cute as you think, so if you don’t mind, I need to get home and—”
“It’s Jack.”
I paused, turning to watch him again. His smile went up at the corner. It made him even more attractive, and I didn’t like that one bit. In the flickering parking lot lights, his eyes became more gold than chocolate.
For a second I was drawn into the past. To a time when I was young and free and alive with vibrant music in my heart. To a memory of a performance where a young man kept looking my way with enraptured interest.
It was a weird memory; I shook it off and wet my dry lips. “Do I… know you?”
Jack’s grin shifted into a hard frown. “No one knows me here.” Pushing his muscular shoulders upwards, he turned away, speaking as he moved. “Watch out for crazy stalkers. You never know who’s waiting in the shadows.”
His subtle threat had me crushing my purse strap. I almost told him to come back, but instead, I slid into my car and turned it on. Whoever Jack was, I didn’t know him and never would. I was grateful he’d stepped in to help, but I’d had my share of encounters with eager men; I could have gotten away if things went ugly. I knew how to take care of myself.
Speaking of taking care of things…
I pushed on the gas and hurried out of the parking lot.
* * *
“Hap,” Cena said, using the nickname she’d had for me since she was only a baby, “Is everything alright?”
“Of course.”
She squinted at me. “You’re lying.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“Now you’re gaslighting me!”
I made myself laugh. “Where did you even learn about that word?”
With the brand of pride reserved only for eight year-olds, she grinned at me. “Internet.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. You spend way too much time on there.”
“Now you’re changing the subject!”
Tossing my bag of stripper gear into the top shelf in the hallway closet—the one place I hoped Cena couldn’t reach—I faced her and crouched down to eye level. “Everything is fine, really. But even if it wasn’t, I’d still know how to fix it.”
Her nearly invisible blonde eyebrows inched up. “How’s that?”
Pulling her close, I pointed at the kitchen. “Gigantic bowls of ice cream before bed. Deal?”
“Deal!” she laughed, squirming free and racing towards the fridge.
A few scoops of strawberry in a bowl later, and my sister was scrubbing her eyes as she yawned. I gave her a nudge to get her into the shower. Playing mom wasn’t natural for me. I did my best, though. I helped with homework and I made lunches, always slipping the extra cash Mr. Big handed over for Cena’s school expenses into my secret bank box.
I was an okay cook, but nothing compared to Mom. Cena never really got to know our mother so my mistake
s went unnoticed. That, or she was too sweet to point them out.
She came out of the bathroom wrapped in a giant robe, a towel covering most of her head. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous,” I said, taking the chance to rub the towel over her hair until her blonde strands were wet instead of soaking. “Pajamas and bed, come on.”
Cena rushed to change, diving under her blankets and shooting me a wicked little smile. “Sing me a bedtime song, please?”
She was my light, my soul—I couldn’t deny her any more than I could tell my heart to stop beating. Settling on the edge of the bed, I brushed a curl from her forehead. “Just don’t tell anyone.”
“Never. I promise.”
There are no promises more sacred than those uttered between siblings. “Sweet moon,” I sang. “My moon, yours… hanging over the silent waters…” Singing calmed me to my core. It was a power that required focus, I had to center myself to make it flow. Mostly, I had to grasp for control because if I didn’t, I’d remember all the times Mom had sung with me as we made pancakes.
Crying is a great way to ruin a bedtime routine.
The last note of my song faded into the air. Cena fluttered her eyes, fingers wrapped in the top of her down comforter. “Will you walk me to school tomorrow?”
This was an odd request. Cena—determined to grasp independence—always demanded she walk alone. I hadn’t minded; the school was close by, and the street was busy with people. “Sure, but why?”
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“Always.”
She chomped down on her pink bottom lip. “Sometimes, I think there’s someone watching me.”
Fear rippled in my blood. “Who?”
Her shrug was pure sadness, like she felt guilty answering. “I dunno. It’s just a feeling… like a ghost or something spooky. But I’m too old to believe in monsters, you know?”