Page 4

Vivian

I woke to the sound of someone pounding on my door. Bam! Bam! Bam! Followed by my sister’s voice urgently calling my name from the hall.

What the heck time is it?

I moaned when I rolled off my couch, still in my pajamas, and padded barefoot across the worn linoleum toward the door. My mouth felt like it had cotton in it and my teeth were in serious need of brushing and maybe some mouthwash.

Another round of pounding matched the thumping in my head. I’d had too much champagne last night and not enough food.

“Jesus, I’m coming. Chill.”

I froze when I opened the door and found my little sister’s face blotchy with tears and streaked mascara. Her hoodie was unzipped over a tank top that looked like she might have slept in it.

“Hope? What’s going on?”

She answered my question with a question. “Can I come in?”

She didn’t wait for me to say yes—just brushed past and collapsed onto my couch, tucking her toes under her body and pulling her legs into her hoodie.

“What happened?” I closed the door behind her, my heart thudding. “Is it Mom?”

She shook her head. “No. I mean—not yet.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Her wide eyes brimmed with tears when she looked over at me. “It’s Dad. The people he owed money to—they came to the house.”

I stared at her. “I don’t understand. Dad’s dead.”

“Yeah, well he ended up leaving us an inheritance after all. His loan shark debt.”

I sat down hard, the couch springs creaking beneath me. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “He owed a lot of money to the wrong people, Viv. They said if we don’t pay, they’ll come back.”

“How do they expect you to pay? The son of a bitch left you with nothing.”

“Do you think a guy named Lorenzo with a face full of scars and two goons in matching leather jackets give a shit?”

My stomach dropped. “Did they threaten you?”

“Not directly. But they weren’t exactly subtle. Lorenzo said it’d be a real shame if something happened to Mom’s car. Or the dog. Or her fingers.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Hope wiped her nose with her sleeve. “Mom didn’t want to tell you because it would just give you one more reason to hate Dad. But I didn’t know where else to go. Viv, they started talking about Roscoe and Mom’s fingers!”

My throbbing head made it hard to think. Or maybe it was my rage that had my thoughts jumbled all over the place.

That son of a bitch was still fucking over my mom, even from the grave. She was right about one thing: it was one more thing to add to the list of reasons why I despised my father, even in death.

“Did they say how much time they’d give you?”

“They said we needed to make a payment by Monday.”

“Did they say how much?”

“He said nothing less than a thousand. And that’s just covering the juice.”

“What’s the total amount?”

“Eighty-seven grand. Give or take.”

There was no way we’d ever come up with enough money to get out of that debt. We’d just be making thousand-dollar payments every few weeks in perpetuity.

My eyes dropped to the phoenix tattoo on my wrist, the one I’d gotten the day I’d saved enough money to stop couch surfing and sign the lease on my first apartment.

A tiny studio that smelled like old coffee, stale cigarettes, and freedom.

I’d sworn that day I’d be out from under my father’s thumb forever.

And yet, here he was, pressing down on my neck from the grave.

Funny, I’d gotten the tattoo to mark the day I’d started my new life. Now I just had a growing sense that maybe I’d never really risen from anything. The ashes were still there.

“We’ll figure something out. I can come up with the thousand by Monday. At least that’ll buy us a little time.”

She sniffled. “I’m sorry to dump this on you—”

I cut her off. “You’re not the one dumping this on me. It was dumped on you, same as it was on Mom, courtesy of dear old Dad. I wish I could say I was surprised.”

We sat in silence. She leaned her head on my shoulder, and for a second, it felt like we were kids again, hiding in the closet during one of Dad’s tirades, hoping he’d pass out before he found us.

The sunlight slanting through the blinds told me it was already afternoon. I kissed her temple and sat up.

“You’re welcome to hang out here, but I have to head into work for a bit.”

If I hurried, I could get to the club and talk to my boss about some extra shifts before things got busy.

~~~~

I hadn’t had to worry about Club Allure being too busy for Rico to talk to me. It was technically open, but I’d barely even call it that.

A few regulars were parked at the bar with their attention divided between some college football game on the flatscreens above the shelves of cheap liquor and the bored-looking girl onstage who was half-heartedly twirling on the pole in pasties and heels.

I walked past her and made my way to where Rico was perched on his usual stool in the corner of the bar. He had the weekly schedule in one hand, his gaze bouncing between it and the game on the screen.

“Got a sec?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

He looked up, surprised to see me on a Saturday. “Hey Crystal. You’re not on ‘til Monday night.”

Even though Rico had my personnel file with my real name, I wasn’t sure he even knew it. Which was probably just as well, that way he wouldn’t accidentally use it in front of customers.

“I know. I wanted to talk about maybe picking up more shifts.”

He gave me a slow once-over. “You trying to make rent or running from something?”

“Does it matter?”

He grunted. “Nope, not at all. You looking to do some doubles? I’ve heard the girls say that’s hard on their feet.”

“I was thinking maybe some weekend night shifts.”

He raised his eyebrows at me.

“You know I only give Friday and Saturday nights to girls who’ll work the Champagne Room.”

Ah, the Champagne Room. A.k.a. the “VIP Lounge,” a.k.a., “the blowjob room”.

I’d made enough the last six years to survive—albeit sometimes barely—and avoid working on my knees. It was bad enough grinding on some of these guys over their pants; I couldn’t imagine putting their cocks in my mouth. But I knew the money would be a lot better than my Wednesday afternoon shift.

I thought about my sister’s tear-stained face, Roscoe, and my mother’s fingers.

I shrugged. “Whatever you’ve got.”

He gave me a wary look. He’d been the one to hire me when I was underage and using a fake ID, so he’d known me six years. Not once had I ever shown any interest in working in the Champagne Room. “You sure about this?”

Hell no, I’m not sure.

But thanks to Daddy Dearest, I didn’t have much of a choice.

I blew out a long breath before I said with far more confidence than I was feeling, “Yep.”

He watched me for another beat, like he thought if he waited long enough, I’d change my mind on the spot.

I had resolved myself to my new fate of sucking dick for money and didn’t flinch, so he explained, “For your safety, you’ll need to tell the bouncers when you’re working back there. And the club gets thirty percent of the take, including your tips.”

Of course it does.

“You only take twenty percent from me now.”

His sleazy grin revealed his gold incisor.

“We’re like the government. The more you make the more we take.”

“Lucky me.”

“You can start tonight or wait until next weekend. And of course, you can start working the Champagne Room on Monday.”

I wavered just long enough for him to notice.

“You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Take the weekend to think about it. I’ll understand if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure I have much of a choice.”

“I don’t need the details.”

“I wasn’t going to give them to you.”

I turned to go, but his voice followed me.

“Just so you know, you won’t be able to be so damn picky about who you take into the Champagne Room. Fat fucks need to get their rocks off, too. Their money’s just as good as anyone else’s.”

Grrrreat.

I turned around and gave him a sarcastic smile along with a “thumbs up”.

“Can’t wait.”