Her eyebrows are raised; her eyes stretched wide in surprise.
“We were just about making the rent each month with the money from my work paying for our living costs. But I guess he got tired of the struggle. He left last week, sent me a fucking text saying he was sorry but he couldn’t do it anymore—he couldn’t do it anymore!—like the sacrifice was all his! He’s headed back to California. I tried calling him, but he’s swapped out his cell I guess. He’s just left me here with a shit ton of his debt, Lu. What the hell am I going to do?”
She lets out a long whistle and leans her back against the door, crossing her arms and ankles as she pins me with a look of concern. I know things are hardly looking peachy for me at the moment. Hell, my rose-tinted spectacles were sat on and destroyed the moment Danny disappeared. Seeing my concern mirrored in Lucy’s eyes, though, I feel a whole new wave of hopelessness wash over me. How can this be my life?
“He’s really done a number on you, huh? What a dick! How much debt has he left you with?”
“That’s the thing, Lucy; I’m not entirely sure. At the moment, it’s standing at the ten grand mark. I’m praying it doesn’t climb any higher. I don’t have that kind of cash. All my savings disappeared paying for his sorry ass.”
I want to scream in frustration, but what good would it do? I’d look even crazier than I do now. I’m sitting blubbering in the middle of a dance studio to the first person who showed enough compassion to listen.
“I need to find more work; I’ve already been told I have…” I count down on my fingers, working out the math since the day he’d caught me at the entrance to my building and issued a deadline. “Ten days.” Oh God. Don’t hyperventilate, Robyn. “Ten days to come up with eight hundred dollars for some scary-as-hell loan shark who slapped me when I told him it wasn’t my debt to settle. Apparently next time he won’t be so polite and understanding.”
“What! He hit you? Where were you? Have you reported it? Son-of-a-bitch.”
“Of course I haven’t reported it. He made it pretty clear that he doesn’t dick around. He was waiting outside my building—he knows where I live. I don’t really have a choice; I need to come up with the cash to get him to go away.”
“Shit, Robyn!”
“I know!”
“I hope someone rips Daniel’s vocal chords out and feeds them to him via his ass!”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s a sad and pitiful noise. “Harsh, but I wouldn’t mind that happening right about now. So, I don’t suppose you know of any high-paying cash gigs that need a dancer?”
“Honey, I wish I did. Unless you want to try your hand at stripping and shake what your mama gave ya, your options are highly limited. Then, of course, you need to factor in the competition. Every job I’ve seen posted on Backstage recently has had hundreds of applicants for each audition. It’s a nightmare right now.”
“At this point Lu, stripping doesn’t sound like the worst thing.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously…these guys, they’re not the type that give extensions. I need to make some money and quick.” I sigh and immediately wish I hadn’t. I’m so sick of sighing. I don’t want to be that girl, the one who feels sorry for herself. My shoulders round out as my head sinks and I study the floor. The realization that I am that girl is a tough pill to swallow. I do feel sorry for myself. I do feel hard done to. I’ve been betrayed, and I’m mad.
“Okay, so I may know of something.”
“What? Stripping?”
“Not exactly, but close. My friend Annie works at a little club off Broadway. It’s burlesque—classy stripping! You want me to call her and see if there’s anything going?”
“Yes! I’ll do anything, dance, wait tables, tend bar. Anything to make this nightmare stop.”
“Okay, honey, let me go grab my bag and we’ll try figure something out.”
I take a deep breath as I lie back and study the lighting rig in the studio. It seems a lifetime ago that my mom was taking me to my first dance class. I remember returning home that night so excited I couldn’t make myself stand still; my whole body trembled in sheer elation. The hour-long wait until dinner was the longest of my existence. I wanted to tell my dad all about how wonderful my dance teacher was, how pretty the other girls danced, and that I’d figured out what I wanted to be when I was older. I was six. Not once from that day forward did I ever contemplate that I would be anything other than a dancer.
My parents have sacrificed so much to get me here, ferrying me to recitals, competitions, and auditions. They wanted me to realize my dream, the same one I’ve had my whole life: to be dancing under a spotlight, gracing a stage with all eyes trained on me…moving effortlessly while casting a spell over my audience. Never in that dream did I imagine taking my clothes off. Yeah, it’s dancing, but my stomach flip-flops at the mere prospect of it. I need to pay these vultures, though, so I guess I’ll sell my soul to the devil and pray for redemption later. Right now, I just need the cash.
“Here you go,” Lucy smiles, walking back into the studio thrusting a piece of paper towards me with a name, address and number scribbled messily across it.
“Call tonight, after ten. Annie said you should ask for Mr. Speight or Mr. Lector, and make sure you mention her.”
“Wow, thanks, Lu. You work fast!”
“It ain’t what you know in this world, honey; it’s who you know. Now grab your bag, I’m taking you for a drink—on me. Heaven knows I need one just listening to you! Girl, you must be desperate for one.”
“It’s barely 1:00 pm.” I raise my eyebrows but she’s right, I could really use a drink or three right now.
“If it’s suffixed with a p.m., honey, it’s wine o’clock in my book. Get your butt into gear. Let’s go and put the world to rights one glass at a time.”
I smile and throw my bag over my shoulder. If only it were that easy.
WHAT WOULD LISA think of me now? Would she be jealous? Intrigued? Disgusted? I shut my eyes so tight that when I open them again, my vision clouds with purple spots. I will myself to think of something else, someone else. I should be thinking about Sam, I’ve never been good at doing what I should and this just proves it. I should be feeling guilty for what’s about to happen, but I’m not. I glance at my watch before wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand as I drive into her. It’s hardly romantic, but in about fifteen minutes she’s going to realize that this is a farewell fuck. I’m done with this, and if I carry on sleeping with her, she’s going to start reading more into it than what there is. She’s convenient—she was convenient—now she’s becoming a hindrance. I don’t have any desire to be in a relationship again, not ever. Been there, done that, and got my fucking heart shredded in the process. What kind of idiot would ever risk that happening twice?
“Oh, Cal, faster, baby…I’m so close.”
Her voice is a purr as I slam my hands down on her long tan thighs and pull her back roughly to meet my thrusts. My fingers press deeper into her soft taut skin. She’s warm and pliable, putty ready for me to mold however I need. I try my best to concentrate on her—on this—devote myself to the moment, but I can’t. Instead, I’m looking down and analyzing every fragment of her that sets her apart from Lisa—chew you up and then spit you out, Lisa. It’s as though the universe is conspiring against me, forcing thoughts of her as I’m screwing someone I carefully picked out to be her polar opposite. It’s not working, everything is tainted with associations of her. I shake my head, hoping to dislodge the image of my ex plaguing my mind. I have minutes before Zane will walk into the club, ready to work, and me screwing Sam over the bar is hardly something he needs to see, although it wouldn’t be the first time.