by Alta Hensley
I hope I make you proud, Virgie. And I hope through my letters and words you can revisit the life you once lived in New Orleans through my eyes. I will try. I promise you this. I won’t be afraid. I won’t hold back. I will go in with both feet and both eyes wide open. It’s time I took chances and lived. And I promise myself that I will not return to that trailer. I will never go back there. I will do whatever it takes to not go back there. I’m a fighter, Virgie. I guess I just needed you to remind me of that fact. I won’t let you down. I won’t let myself down either.
I love you,
~Anita
P.S. You better be taking your meds and eating more than just popcorn. Don’t force me to come back just to check that you are.
I folded up the letter, placed it in the envelope, stuck the stamp on it, and hadn’t realized I had tears running down my face until I tucked it away into my purse. I wasn’t one to reveal my emotions easily. It was so much simpler to be like the rough bikers who drove through Muckaluk without a care in the world or so much as a smile on their faces. It was just them and the open road. Yes, that was me. Just me and the open road. But Virgie deserved my open soul. If anyone deserved it, it was her.
Wiping at my tears I refused to shed again, I closed my eyes and settled in for the next 1 day, 19 hours, and 45 minutes. A long fucking ways away from exit 222, mile marker 51.
4
Anita
I stood before a large house I had just learned was in what was known in New Orleans as the Garden District. My taxi driver had told me that the house was a short trolley ride to Bourbon Street, which again, was the only landmark that I knew of this unknown city I was about to call home, unless you counted the swamp in general.
Glancing down to the top of my hand, I saw 4342 Camp Street written with blue ink. Virgie had given me the address when I phoned her once I got to the Greyhound station. Marie St. Claire’s boarding house was the picture of perfection. Large ferns hung from the porch awning of a white and gray house. It was too pretty for the likes of me, and if I didn’t know better, I would think there was no way I could afford a place this nice. Though I was only renting a room and sharing a bathroom with two others, it still seemed too high class and pricey for my nonexistent budget.
Taking a deep breath, I picked up my bag and suitcase and walked through the iron gate, up the porch stairs, and rang the doorbell. My new life had begun. I had arrived.
A short older woman opened the door with a welcoming smile. “Hello, Anita. Welcome.”
I was surprised that she knew who I was.
“Virgie said you had arrived,” she said as she opened the screen door that had been separating us. “Come in. Come in. Virgie said you had a really long journey to get here. I’ve actually never ridden the Greyhound before, but many of my tenants have. I have heard both good and bad stories. Hopefully yours are all good.”
The woman spoke fast. Really fast.
As we entered the foyer, I looked around, taking in all the antiques and the beautiful damask wallpaper. I felt as if I had stepped back in time to an era when people actually cared about the finer details of design.
“Oh, where are my manners? My mother is turning over in her grave right now.” She extended her hand to me. “I’m Marie St. Claire. This is my boarding home, and for as long as you like, your home.”
I took her hand and shook it. “Thank you. It’s so pretty. And what a lovely neighborhood.”
She smiled widely. “Oh, it is. I simply adore it. Though you will see tourists walking up and down the streets and occasionally a tour bus or walking tour guide, but that’s all right by me. I like showing off this beautiful house. Though I do have to keep my landscaper happy. He has his hands full. That’s for sure. Our exterior is important in this neighborhood, so no matter what condition the inside is in, the outside has to shine.”
I glanced around at the immaculate wood floors, the pristine furniture, and I wouldn’t have been able to find a speck of dust had I tried. “The inside is just as beautiful.”
Marie’s eyes lit up. “Aren’t you kind. My mama would be so happy to hear that. She loved this home so much, and her mama loved it before her, and her mama before that. So, it’s in my blood. Tradition.” She glanced down at my luggage and then back at me. “But you must be exhausted and want to settle into your room.”
I nodded. “Yes, it was a long trip.”
She motioned for me to follow her up the large staircase lined with framed black and white pictures of other houses in the Garden District. If I weren’t so tired, I would have wanted to go for a walk and take a look around, but the bed was calling my name. Even though it was midday, I felt as if it were the middle of the night with how tired I was, not to mention the time change.
She pointed to a closed door. “This will be your bathroom. You’ll be sharing with two lovely ladies—Ivy and Marlowe. You will get along with them perfectly. Kinsey and Eris share the other bathroom on the floor. You really will need to talk to them about getting a job. They all work at this exclusive membership club on Toulouse Street which is near Bourbon. I’m sure you have heard of Bourbon Street right?”
I nodded. “Yes, it’s the only thing I really know about New Orleans.”
Marie smirked. “Yes, well that will soon change, and you’ll find out that Bourbon Street is such a small part of all the magic that makes up this city. Anyway, the girls all work at Spiked Roses, and I bet they can get you a job there. Kinsey just recently moved here, and the women hooked her right up. From what they say, there is good money in it.”
“That would be great. I am definitely in need of a job.”
“Well, good. When I see one of them, I will let them know you are interested.” She opened the door to my room with an old skeleton key that she handed over to me. “Here it is. There isn’t air conditioning, which I know can be brutal at times, but there is a fan. The radiator heater is controlled by you, however, so you can at least be as warm as you want. The laundry facilities are downstairs in the basement.” She paused and smiled. “Well, since New Orleans is at sea level, it’s not really a basement, per se, but that’s what we often call the first floor. There are also two large industrial size refrigerators in the kitchen as well as one in the basement. The rule around here is if someone’s name is on it, then it’s off limits. We ask that you are respectful and use your own supplies such as shampoo, toothpaste, detergent and what not. I do provide the cleaning supplies under the sink. I will worry about the upkeep of the house, but it is your responsibility to clean up after yourself in the kitchen and bathrooms.”
I nodded, feeling my eyes growing heavier by the minute. “That sounds fair enough.”
“Rent is due on the 1st, with a $25 late fee if you go past the 5th. You are all paid up until next month. I know you don’t have to, but if you do plan on leaving us, I do like a month’s notice just so I know I have an opening coming available.”
I nodded again, having no idea what or where I would be in one month. I didn’t even know what tomorrow would bring.
“Sorry. I hate saying all that. It makes me feel like a hard ass. But my mama taught me before she passed that the tenants appreciate all the rules and details spelled out for them.”
I gave her a reassuring smile as I looked around the small room. There was a single bed that had an antique iron headboard. Next to it, was, no doubt, another antique nightstand with a beautiful Tiffany style lamp. There was a large dresser with an oval mirror hanging over it. It reminded me of something you would see in the Victorian era. In the far corner of the room was a small roll top desk and chair with another lamp that matched the one on the nightstand. Though the floors were hardwood, a large oriental rug with different shades of burgundy covered a majority of the center of the room. The fan that Marie had mentioned was antique as well and even had rusted blades to add to the effect.
I loved it.
I adored it.
I didn’t feel I deserved such luxury.
“It’
s not a big room,” Marie started.
“Oh no! It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect,” I cut in. “I’ve never had a room so nice before.” It was a far cry from my crappy trailer I grew up in.
I don’t know if it was the days of traveling, the complete exhaustion, being overwhelmed with picking up and leaving what I knew so fast, the new city, or what, but tears overflowed from my eyes before I even had a chance to keep them back.
Marie stared at me with an open mouth. “Oh no, are you okay?”
I swiped at my tears, ashamed for my lack of control. “I’m sorry.” I sniffled. “I love the room. I’m just tired I guess. But the room is beautiful. Thank you so much.”
“No problem at all. I had the open room, but even if I hadn’t, I would have tried to help. Virgie was a really good friend of my mother. My mama loved that woman.”
“She is an amazing person,” I agreed.
“Well, you go ahead and get settled. Welcome to New Orleans. I’m here if you have any questions at all. Please don’t be a stranger.”
I nodded and gave a warm smile, still wiping at my eyes with my fingertips. What had gotten into me? I just wanted to crawl into the bed, underneath the beautiful quilt—that no doubt was homemade—and cry myself to sleep. She patted my upper arm and walked out the door, closing it behind her.
And for the first time in days, I was alone. Alone in a city where I only knew of one street. What had Virgie gotten me into?
Kicking off my shoes, I sat on the edge of the bed, still looking around at my surroundings. There were so many details to the room that I wasn’t sure if I would ever see it all. The doorknob was made of glass, the ceiling had decorative plaster in swirls and circles, and crown moulding ran along the ceiling. The baseboards were extra wide with decorative corner blocks at every wall junction.
Just as I was getting ready to crash, there was a knock on the door. Well, at least Marie was respecting my space and privacy and not just barging in.
“Come in,” I called, not wanting to get off the bed. Physical fatigue had set in just as much as the emotional had.
The door opened and the most exotically stunning woman I had ever seen entered the room. Deep, rich, brown eyes and nearly black hair acted like a beacon in a storm. I didn’t swing that way, but this woman was enchanting. Her tiny body wore cut off jean shorts with a red tank top. She was tan—naturally tan. She was muscular—not naturally. No doubt, this woman was a runner. She had the body of a marathon champion. Lean. Toned. Sculpted. Fuck, this woman was mouthwatering. She definitely had the power to convert someone who normally didn’t like women in that way.
“Anita?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Yes,” I said, standing up uncomfortably. I hoped she hadn’t caught me checking her out.
“Marie said you just moved here today.”
I nodded.
“And that you were looking for a job?”
“Yeah, I am.”
She smiled. “Well, if you are interested, I can probably get you in for an interview with the place I work at. They are currently hiring after a big change in staff. I just got another girl who lives here a job there a couple of days ago.”
“I would love that. Thank you,” I said. “Is it a waitress job?”
She shrugged. “Could be. Or cigar girl, or coat check, or whatever the bosses think you should do.”
“I don’t have any experience. I’ve only been a caretaker.”
She smiled warmly. “Don’t worry about that. If you have an open mind, are not shy… or at least can fake not being shy, then you’ll be good.” She looked at me from the face to my feet. “You’re pretty. That’s important.”
Warning bells went off in my head. “What kind of place is this?” What did it matter what I looked like?
“It’s called Spiked Roses. It’s a men’s club. No women unless you work there. An exclusive one. Only the wealthiest men can be members.”
“A strip club?” I asked, wondering how I could turn her down without insulting her for choosing to be a stripper. I wasn’t interested in taking off my clothes and working a pole. At least I didn’t think I would be. The truth of the matter was, I didn’t exactly have a lot of options.
She shook her head and giggled. “No. Not a strip club. But it’s not your typical bar. Try to picture the richest fucks in the world who can get whatever they want. Whatever they want. Spiked Roses caters to them.” She ran her fingers through her thick hair and added, “The money is pretty good. The tips are awesome, and there are other ways to make even more money if you want.”
“What do you mean?” Again, the warning bells banged in my head and even moved to my heart. This beautiful woman before me looked too innocent and perfect to be involved in something shady, but I still felt there was something more sinister about this place that she wasn’t telling me.
She shrugged. “I’ll set up an interview for tonight and you can ask Mr. Saxon for yourself. I’m not sure it’s my story to tell.”
“Tonight?” I was so freakin’ tired. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk let alone get dolled up for an interview.
“Yeah, you better act fast while they are still hiring. Word is getting around about the money and perks.” She looked at my bed. “Take a nap and rest up. You can come in with me tonight. I start at eight, and I’m sure Mr. Saxon will be there. He’s always there. But I’ll call and tell him I’m bringing you in with me. He’s a pretty cool guy. A tight ass, and a real asshole sometimes, but fair. And he’s hired everyone I have brought in, so I think you are good. And if he’s not there, one of the other bosses will be.”
I nodded and instantly thought about how I should dress. I had nothing that was professional, or luxurious, or fitting of an exclusive club for rich men. “What should I wear?”
“Black. Wear something black and sexy. Do you have a little black dress? Mr. Saxon loves little black dresses. It’s a joke among the women that if you get in trouble and called into his office, just wear a black dress and you are off the hook.”
“I don’t have a black dress.” My cheeks heated, and I wanted to crawl back to my piece of shit trailer in Nevada. Who was I to think I could keep up with people like this woman?
She looked at my body again, her big eyes taking me in. “No worries. I have something you can wear. What size shoe do you wear?”
“Seven.”
“Well, I wear seven and a half, so you can borrow a pair of my heels too. Don’t worry about it. If you get hired, they have uniforms for the girls and provide everything you’ll need.”
“I would really appreciate it. Thank you.” For the first time since she walked into the room, I walked over and offered my hand. “I’m Anita Kyle.”
She took my hand and shook it. Her palm was silky smooth, as I had no doubt the rest of her body was. “Marlowe Masters.” Wow, even her name was sexy as hell. She turned to walk out of the room. “We’ll leave here to catch the trolley at seven. Cool?”
“Cool.”
“Nice to meet you, Anita. I think you’re going to really like New Orleans.”
God I hoped so. I really did hope so.
“Thank you. It’s pretty. I really like what I have seen so far.”
Her smile fell from her face, and her dark eyes darkened to what almost seemed black. Haunting. Marlowe seemed to morph into a ghost before my eyes. Lifeless almost. “It’s ugly too. It’s fucking ugly when it wants to be. This city can eat you alive.” She seemed to go off in thought but then seemed to snap back to the friendly woman who had walked through my door just as fast. “But yeah, hopefully you like NOLA. The city either loves you, or it beats you.”
I swallowed hard and said nothing. I didn’t want to be beaten.
Her smile returned. “See you at seven.”
5
Kenneth
“Come in,” I said, anxious to get the interview over with. I had grown to resent the fact that I was such a control freak. I utilized the HR manager to some degree, but n
ot nearly as much as I should have. Matthew had also helped in hiring the new staff, but the other members showed no interest at all. They could give a fuck less who poured and served the drinks. But my controlling ass was stupid enough to head this up.
The door to the office opened and a scared shitless girl tentatively walked into the room. That was a good sign and a point for her.
Fear. I liked fear.
I hated the women who walked in with overinflated egos and thought they were the shit. If I sensed even the slightest bit of ego or arrogance, I ended the interview before they could even tell me their name.
When the scared young woman didn’t enter all the way, but waited for some sort of guidance, I signaled for her to enter and sit down in the chair in front of me. She did so, appearing as if she were going to drop dead of a heart attack any minute. She was wearing a little black dress which had my eyes scanning her body immediately. Tiny, toned, and tattooed. Really tattooed. Not just a small tattoo here or there, but the entire right side of her arm was nearly completely covered in decorative ink. This level of artwork took commitment and time, and wasn’t just a drunken night or quick act of rebellion. I liked it. I liked the dedication it took.
“Have a seat,” I said, looking at my pile of papers to try to find the note where I had written her name when Marlowe had told me she had another friend interested in working for us. Giving up on finding it in the pile of papers on my desk, I asked, “Name?”
