Page 5 of The Toy Maker

“I’m here to see, Kat,” I explained to the girl who wouldn’t stop staring at me.

Her boobs were pushed up in a corset so tight it gave me claustrophobia just looking at it. Could her waist actually be that small?

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Of course you are.”

“Be nice, Amy,” another skimpily dressed girl spoke up from in front of one of the many mirrors. All of her bold features were highlighted with neon paint; I couldn’t help but gape at her.

Amy huffed and rammed past me without responding.

The neon girl grinned. “Don’t mind her. She’s just grouchy because Aunt Flow showed up early.”

“Aunt Flow?” I questioned the first guess that popped into my mind.

“Satan’s sacrificial waterfall,” she said, but I was still clueless. Eventually, she took pity on me and gave up on being slick, “Her period.”

“Oh.” I nodded and tried to remember why I never bothered socializing more with girls. If I did, I wouldn’t be standing in a room full of them unable to speak in their code. But I had never been fun, at least not fun enough to hang out with after class, or work. I was always too busy.

“Kitty is checking the water supply for the show.” I didn’t have time to ask questions before she waved for me to follow her. “Come on.”

I stayed close as she walked across the busy room and pushed back a curtain of beads. I could have sworn that kind of home decor died in the sixties.

“Go on.” She motioned towards a door down the narrow hall.

I gave her one more nervous look before heading towards it and turning the knob.

The door hinges whined as I entered and gained the attention of who I presumed to be Kat. I hesitantly walked over to where she stood with a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. The room smelled like ash and was too small to have so many boxes stacked along the walls. I worried that they could topple over, entombing Kat forever.

“I’m Tara Holloway. I called on the phone,” I said. Finally, someone with answers.

“Call me Kitty.” She swung her pink hair over her shoulder, and I stuck out my hand for her to shake. She eyed it with amusement. “We don’t do stuff like that around here, honey.” Her southern accent peeked through her words.

Chains hung from the ceiling with collars attached to the ends. Clamps with wires and large metal cages were stacked in one corner of the room. I didn’t even bother looking at the rest.

“What exactly do you do here?” I asked carefully, my heart in my throat.

“We store the merchandise for the BDSM customers in here,” she answered while scanning my body, her eyes hovering over my chest. “What size are you in jeans?”

“Six.” At Walmart, at least. She didn’t need to know about my American Eagle size. “Did you say BDSM?” I retorted, trying to keep my voice steady. Her eyebrows raised. “As in… leather crops, handcuffs, and spreader bars?”

She grinned. “Sounds like you have some knowledge on the topic.”

I swallowed. “Not really.”

“If you want to work as a Cherry, you’ll either have to stop lying or get better at it.”

“A Cherry?” I repeated. Was that what the girls in the other room were called? Was the uniform lingerie? I suddenly wished I took that one free spin class more seriously. Instead, I nearly passed out on the sweat-covered floor and treated myself to an everything bagel.

She shook her head. “Technicality,” she mumbled with a slight smile. “Just answer the question so I can decide if you move on to the next part of the interview.”

I sighed and nodded. “I read a few books, and they didn’t suck.”

Kat circled me and hesitated when she saw my ass. An image from shark week flashed into my mind before I shook it away. Finally, she nodded. “When can you start?”

My heart pounded. “I got the job?”

I didn’t have to move out. I wasn’t a failure. Everything was going to be okay. Joy swelled inside me, inching out thedoom and despair that moved in weeks ago and refused to pay emotional rent.

“You got an audition.” Her smile put my mind at ease, though my excitement deflated some.