Page 10 of Ruining Vanessa

She laughs a little. “Don’t worry. Donny’s in right now, and he’s pretty cool about things like that. He won’t try to make you do the shitty jobs.”

I nod, but I still grab my jeans and pull them on, followed by my sandals. I don’t want to walk on the bare floor unless they force me to. “Ready,” I say.

She heads to the door, opening it and letting me out.

My breath catches, and I feel like I’ve just been let out of prison. I guess I have, in a way, even though I have to go back to my cell before long.

Except for the door to my room—and new bars over the window I’d escaped from—nothing has changed. It’s the same dim hallway, the same gross floor. Even the women mopping the floor downstairs are all the same.

I’d forgotten about my period cramps while we were talking, but as we make our way to the dressing room, I wince against a particularly painful cramp. How in the world did women put up with this before the invention of modern medicine?

The dressing room is mostly empty, save one other woman who is sweeping the floor. I don’t remember her name, but at least she isn’t Traci or Cat. I don’t need their snark and accusations.

“Hi, Bobbi,” Stef says, waving to the other woman. “Vanessa’s gonna help us.”

Bobbi has a stand-offish air, but it all changes when she smiles at Stef. “Okay.”

At least she doesn’t hate me, or she’s not going to take it out on me, at least.

“Nice to meet you, Bobbi,” I tell her.

She nods to me. All right, so maybe she’s a little chilly to me, but it could be much worse.

“Just let me know—”

I hear footsteps, and I freeze. What if it’s Giulio or Damien? What if they didn’t really mean I could go downstairs for a while? Panic threatens to overwhelm me, but I can’t even catch my breath.

To my relief, it’s Donny, though he looks frazzled and annoyed. “Bobbi! There you are. Did you get any cash tips last night—I mean, I know you did, but how much?”

Bobbi glares at Donny. “Why? I gave you everything.”

“Just tell me anyway!” Donny holds up his notepad and pen. “Come on. Don’t tell me you also don’t remember.”

“I do.” Bobbi gives Donny a number that sounds pretty decent until you account for the house’s cut and what they charge the girls for “rent” and drugs.

Donny doesn’t seem happy with the number either. “Ugh. Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, more curious than I want to admit.

He shakes his head. “Just trying to figure out some accounting stuff. Thanks, Bobbi. Okay, um… Stef, what about you?”

Stef hunches her shoulders together. “I didn’t make that much last night.”

“I know, I know, you suck at earning. Just tell me how much.” Donny makes an impatient gesture. “I really don’t want to spend another day on this shit.”

The mention of accounting has my interest though, and I sidle up to Donny and peer at his notepad. So far, it’s just a list of numbers, with each girl’s name next to it. There’s a total listed at the top of one of the columns, but that number seems divorced from whatever Donny’s doing now.

“Do you need help?” I ask. “I studied accounting. And I like this kind of stuff.”

Donny jerks the notepad to the side. “What? Uh, thanks, but no. I mean, I’d love it if you did, because I hate this shit, but this stuff’s confidential.”

I’m sure it is, and I’m sure this is the real record, not the one they keep for the feds that he might be willing to share. “Maybe you can ask Giulio or Damien?” I suggest. “I’m dying of boredom up there. It would be nice to have some numbers to work on.” And maybe I’d get a computer… No. I’d be lucky if they gave me a scientific calculator.

“Sure, sure. Now, Stef?”

Stef reluctantly gives her own earnings for the previous night, which were significantly lower than what Bobbi had earned. I feel a pang of embarrassment for her, even though I know I wouldn’t be able to do any better—and we shouldn’t have to do better.

Donny writes it down and grumbles again, turning to leave. “Okay, maybe… Ugh.”

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