“Wait, casual like just hang out and fool around? Or casual like convenient hook ups?” she asks as we make our way from the car to the club door.

Just then Callum passes and I whisper-shout to Lucy, “I don’t know yet. We’re casual as in fooling around!” His step falters and he looks over at us. “Hey, Callum…this is my friend, Lucy.”

“Hi Lucy.” He smiles, not stopping to talk.

“He’s usually much more friendly than that; he’s probably busy,” I tell her as I pull her deeper into the club.

“That’s your boss? Damn!” Her neck is craned as she traces the path Callum took back to his office.

“Maybe Annie can hook me up with a job here too,” she laughs.

“Yeah, he’s nice. It’s his apartment upstairs where I’m crashing. He’s a little intense though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know; it’s weird, I can’t explain it. He’s super sweet one minute, and then brooding the next. I guess I just don’t quite know how to take him yet.”

Her smirk is instant.

“Not like that!” I chastise. “Jesus, you’re worse than Zane.”

“About that…I can’t believe he works here. I haven’t seen him since the night you passed out. I caught him doing the old sneak out on me while you were still comatose in your room. We’d laughed because I’d already been awake an hour, but didn’t want to leave some strange guy in your apartment that you probably wouldn’t remember. So I stuck around. I’d left him on the sofa sleeping to go to the bathroom, and when I came back he was halfway out the door.”

“Oh God, why didn’t you tell me that when I called and told you about him interviewing me? You know he’s around here somewhere now, right? And for Christ’s sake, don’t let on to Annie that you’ve slept together. She’s practically in love with him. I’m pretty sure he feels the same way about her too.”

“Calm down, Robz. It was one hook up. I don’t mind if we bump into him.”

“Okay, well, I need to go and get changed for my shift. Stay here, Annie should be in any minute.”

I make my way backstage, gathering my costume up for the first performance. All the while my mind is reeling about the kiss with Cole. Maybe this could be a good thing, like what Athena had said about the Death card in my reading. Maybe Cole represented moving on after the ending of my relationship with Danny. Whatever—I’m not about to question it too much.

I pull my romper off and change as the other girls filter in to do the same. I push all thoughts of Cole and Daniel aside and focus. Time to let loose and lose myself in dance. This may not have been what I’d dreamed of when I was younger, but the more I perform here the more I enjoy it. I’m still dancing, and visions evolve. I used to dream of Danny and I marrying, him being content with his music, and me dancing on Broadway. As I stand at the curtain ready to walk on stage now, I realize that I’m not that far from my dreams. Broadway is only one block away. I may have been painted into a corner, but I’m not about to cower down and admit defeat; I’ll dance my way out of it.

I stand in position between Lauren and Katie, each in our champagne flapper style dresses. My hair’s twisted underneath a short, sharp black bobbed wig to match the other girls, and we’ll be dancing to the house band for this number. The twenties theme is back in full force; the atmosphere crackles as a few overly zealous men’s voices whoop and jeer for the show to begin. The drums tap us in.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

The saxophones begin; the curtain draws back at the same time three spots illuminate each of us. We snap our fingers, hips pushed out to our left side, and one leg extended…and then shimmy to the beat. The sea of faces merges and distorts, fading to black as I relax enough to let the music take over and guide my movements. We’re in perfect synchronization as we walk to the edge of the stage, each extending one arm and pulling our gloves off, one finger at a time using our teeth. The tempo begins to quicken, the music thundering loud and brash as we launch into a complex routine of shimmies, turns, and pirouettes while navigating around the stage, careful not to bump into one another.

The alcohol I consumed earlier has my concentration working overtime, but I’ve got this. I know the routine, the timings and stage like the back of my hand. I’ve spent most nights when the club has closed and everyone has gone home down here perfecting each routine and making damn sure that I stand out for all the right reasons, and not for being the new girl. Our dresses hit the floor in perfectly timed succession, each being kicked up, caught and then thrown dramatically to the back of the stage. We move into line, each holding onto one another’s hips while our heads are turned looking out to the audience. Our feet work a string of steps, before we drop to the floor, rising languidly in one long exaggerated back roll and booty shake, still in line, each slapping the girl in front’s thigh. We tease and torment at the idea of our jeweled bras coming off. It’s enough to up the anticipation, but still allows us to keep ourselves under wraps. The band is reaching a crescendo as we fall back into line and Lauren’s bra drops, her hands rising to her mouth in a dramatized ‘Oops’. Katie’s hands cover Lauren’s breasts, and mine find my hips with a cheeky wink as the house lights dim and the stage darkens. The blackness lets us gather our clothing and quickly leave the stage in relative privacy to rapturous applause.

I quickly change into my server’s uniform as the other girls take their time fixing their hair and makeup while swapping out costumes. I’m out on the floor in minutes with a smile on my face, ready to charm the big tippers and hopefully make enough cash to pay off my credit card bill. Momma always said there was no rest for the wicked; I guess she forgot to mention that it’s also true for the damned.

The next three weeks play out similar to the last. When I’m not dancing or serving at the club, I’m rehearsing, or if our schedules align, meeting up with Cole. He’s been true to his word, not pushing for anything that I’m uncomfortable relinquishing. It’s easy, but more than that—it’s fun. He makes me forget the mess I’m in. We’ve done nothing more than kiss and although I want to take it further—God, sometimes I think he or I or both might die if we don’t—the timing doesn’t feel right, and something always seems to get in the way. Shifts that need covering, a meeting he has to attend, or my rehearsals bumped up or pushed back. Callum has started paying me weekly, and with the tips I bring in from serving I’ve managed to pay off my credit cards and a few of my smaller bills. The rest of my money is being stockpiled in my sock drawer, ready to hand over to Mr. Carter in a little under three weeks’ time.

I’ve managed to pull together a little over $2000 since starting at the club. I’ve worked my ass off serving and dancing but it’s not enough, and I don’t have the time nor energy to take on a third job. I’m not helping with Cal’s expenses, as it is; I’m eating his food, using his apartment, and I feel like the world’s biggest mooch. He insists that it’s fine and says he feels better knowing that I’m safe, but I’m not his to look after. I shouldn’t be here, and yet I still am. Things have lightened between us; the tension’s somehow lifted, and he doesn’t leave a room two minutes after I enter it. He overheard Annie asking about Cole, only she doesn’t call him that, she refers to him as Mr. Bigshot, so now Cal teases me if I have plans to go meet him, calling him Daddy Warbucks on account of the fact that Annie mentioned he worked in the city and was older than me. It doesn’t matter that it’s only by a few years; the teasing continues, and the more I protest, the more he does it.