Page 21 of The Toy Maker (The Pink Cherrie #1)
NINETEEN
“Suck it in, bitch.” Jade laced the corset and yanked until deep breaths became an unreachable goal.
The more I attempted to squirm away, the harder she pulled. The dressing room was disturbingly cold, which Kitty had been griping about all morning even though there were more important things to worry about, like the leaning tower of MAC lipsticks stack on Naydine’s vanity.
It was due to topple over at any given minute, and that would lead to a domino effect spanning four more vanities, twelve cans of hairspray, an old sushi container, and a menstrual cup.
Sarah, who wobbled in the corner, tugged on her costume and the five-inch heels assigned to her. “We’re going to party hard tonight, ladies.” Her words slurred together as she wiggled into the fluffiest skirt she could get her hands on. “Like it’s 1999!”
The reference made me snicker. “I was eight in ‘99.” I wondered if corsets typically made the wearer light-headed. Was the room supposed to spin like this? I tried to shake off the appearing black spots in my vision. “How many shots did you have?”
Empty bottles of vodka and gin made the dressing room floor a hazard. A cocktail of floral perfumes wafted through the air.
“Only one,” Sarah hiccupped. We stared her down until she rolled her pale eyes. “Plus five. Give or take a few.”
“Because Lucas is coming?” Jade asked as she sealed me into my costume for the night. Amy, the wicked witch of Pink Cherrie, let it slip during practice that Lucas would be her plus one for the evening.
“No,” Sarah spat and then tried to excuse her overkill pregaming. “It’s Halloween. Why not drink a little?” She feigned a shrug.
The source of her drinking problem would be arriving in less than an hour with the rest of our guests. She had drifted into bouts of sadness when we went to the clubs, but nothing like this.
I had never experienced a serious breakup, which I considered myself lucky for, but I did know what it was like to be left behind.
I reached out, but she moved away.
Her body swayed as tears formed in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just need a minute.” She turned and stumbled into the supply room with Jade following close behind.
“Party time,” I mumbled to myself and finished pinning my hair into Belle’s iconic look.
My reflection in the mirror made me wish I’d chosen a less revealing outfit.
The yellow corset pushed my chest up and framed every curve; Jade’s boob contouring certainly didn’t help me blend into the expected crowd.
But Pink Cherrie wasn’t built on modesty. I had signed my regular life away to become a sex doll, and when I wasn’t with Jason or the girls, I wondered how long I’d be able to stand looking in the mirror and not recognizing myself.
The dressing room was a mess of costumes, makeup containers, and stray glitter that seemed to coat every surface.
Racks of shimmering dresses, ranging from sequined ballgowns to frilly skirts, leaned precariously against the wall.
We were paid to dress up, to pretend we were something we weren’t, and I knew it would catch up to me eventually.
A dozen thoughts raced through my mind as I covered my lips in red, and all of them led to one roadblock. I checked my phone resting on the vanity and sighed when I saw there were no new messages.
After sending my father the money for my wide-eyed half-siblings, I hadn’t heard from him.
I couldn’t even pretend to be surprised.
He never had time for me unless I was siding with him against my mom or handing him part of my paycheck.
I was being used; any idiot with two braincells to rub together could figure that out.
But maybe being used was better than having no dad at all.
Maybe it was better than letting my siblings find out the hard way how selfish he was. Even though I fantasized about it sometimes, when it was late and sleep wasn’t an option. I thought about being selfish, like him, and that scared me more than working at Pink Cherrie for the rest of my life.
“It’s showtime!” Kitty poked her head through the door and looked around.
Her bubble-gum pink hair lay delicately over her pale shoulders.
The slutty rendition of Sleeping Beauty sashayed into the room, the skirt of her costume swishing with every step.
“Where’s Cinderella and Jasmine?” she asked, her glittery heels clicking on the scuffed tile floor.
“In the back,” I said, motioning vaguely toward the BDSM room, where more costumes and collars were piled haphazardly over the stained couch.
She glanced behind me. “Because of Lucas?”
I nodded, grimacing slightly. “Yep.”
She let out a dramatic sigh, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger. “Well, that just leaves us one option.”
My curiosity got the better of me, and I tilted my head. “What’s that?”
“We have to kill him,” she said matter-of-factly, her lips curving into a sly smile.
I snickered, giving her a playful shove. “We can’t do that.”
“You’re right, we’ll need the supplies before starting the elimination process.”
The determination on her face prompted my laughter. Although blood-splattered princess costumes on Halloween wouldn’t be suspicious, my to-do-list didn’t include murder.
Kitty snorted. “Go mingle. I’ll check on the girls.” She slapped my ass and pushed me out the door.
Psychedelic lighting and creepy decorations enveloped me as I stumbled out the dressing room door. The store imitated Friday the thirteenth on steroids with floating ghouls and FX blood fountains. I forced my laughter down when Slutty Snow and the seven whores walked by.
The last Halloween party I graced with my presence was in my first semester of college; Cynthia whatever-her-last-name-was dared me to get to third base with Chase Derm. The events of those nights still haunted me.
I made a beeline to the punch fountains and avoided scooping up any slimy eyeballs.
“What are you supposed to be?” I looked up and realized the judgmental tone wasn’t directed at me. The girl, dressed in a Poison Ivy costume, waited for her friend to respond.
“A Playboy bunny.” Her friend wiggled her ass and shook the cotton ball tail towards the congregation of men across the room.
I rolled my eyes, although I had no moral high ground, and wandered around the room in hopes of finding someone to talk to.
After a few minutes, my target was acquired; I chugged the remainder of my punch and went in for the kill.
“Funny seeing you here.” Ethan smirked when he saw me approaching. He was dressed in a stark white tunic extending down his body with silver trim. He had boots, epaulets, and a decorative sword resting on his hip.
“Well, I do practically live here.” The statement felt truer with each passing day. I spent most of my time planning my escape, but when I was with the girls, sucking myself into the newest tiny ensemble, I felt... complete.
I didn’t expect myself to enjoy the people in Pink Cherrie, but now I couldn’t imagine leaving and no longer knowing them.
He brushed off my comment with a playful grin. “Details.”
I couldn’t stop myself from returning the smile. “So, what are you trying to pass for?” I asked while ignoring how my stomach fluttered when he ran his hand through his styled hair.
“Isn’t it obvious?” He spun for my amusement. “I’m Prince Charming.”
I scoffed with the same goofy smile plastered on my face. “You wish.”
Ethan chuckled and cupped my hand in his. “At least one of us lives up to their costume, Beauty.” Heat rose to my cheeks as he kissed the top of my hand.
He was as charming as his costume, but he wasn’t Jason. Although, I wasn’t sure that should be an issue. And any therapist worth their shit would tell me to pack a bag and run for the hills, leaving Pink Cherrie and its owner far in the distance.
Then they’d bill me for a thousand dollars and my first-born child.
Before I could respond with stunned gibberish, the lights flickered off and darkness fell over the room.
“Well, that’s dramatic.” The words left my mouth right as a familiar song floated through the speakers. Flashbacks of the summer my father left crept into my mind. My mother insisted on watching her favorite movie for weeks to somehow mend her heart.
Ethan stared at the ceiling. “What the hell—” Before he could finish the mutual thought, a massive chandelier illuminated the room, and a Phantom took to the stage.
The butterflies in my stomach mutated as I realized who hid beneath the mask.
Jason’s slicked-back hair and aged suit gave him a striking appearance compared to the crowd.
Seeing him again reminded me of his offer, the one I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since I hurried home.
I’d been avoiding him as best I could while working at his store.
I leaned over to Ethan. “If I signed a letter of consent, would you stab me?”
“Are you asking me to murder you?” Ethan’s look of bewilderment transformed into a full-fledged grin. He thought I was joking. I turned back toward the stage and forced myself to listen to Jason’s greeting.
I stared down the barrel of a gun without looking away, fully aware that my head would explode.
Jason’s offer echoed in my mind while I watched him address the crowd and welcome them to the party.
He was so casual about the business, and the reality of owning a sex club.
I wondered if questioning the sincerity of his offer made me a prude, or just a coward.
He thought I was like the rest of the Cherries when I had just been camouflaging myself to fit in. And sooner or later, I’d call my bluff.
I shook away the idea as he wrapped up his obligatory speech. “Thank you for attending Pink Cherrie’s second annual Night of Fright. The bar is in the back, and don’t forget to tip the lovely Cherries that make our nights so sweet.”