Page 56 of Trip Through Your Wires

The idea of putting that thing on so I can give him an eyeful angers and disgusts me. “No,” I bite out.

With the speed of a prized fighter, he throws the scraps of fabric down onto the bar and pushes up from his stool,kicking it backward.

“Put. The. Fucking. Bikini. On. Now!” he roars.

“Go. Fuck. Your. Self!” I shout back.

Before I know what’s happening, he grabs the back of the stool with one hand and drops it down, holding it inches above the floor. Tucking my legs around those of the stool, I hold onto my bag with one hand, while gripping the seat with the other to keep from flipping ass over head.

“That evidence of you murdering my son sits in my office, eagerly awaiting an audience,” he seethes, leaning in, bringing his face inches from mine. “If you do not want to see yourself on the morning news, Ms. Miller, I suggest you do as I say.”

The way he’s looking at me bears an eerie resemblance to the way Royce looked that night on the beach. Crazy, and yet, undeterred. Not wanting to fight this battle tonight, I swallow and nod.

“Good.” Bringing the stool back upright, he sets the legs down on the floor and grabs the fabric off the bar and shoves it at me. “The dressing room is back the way you came. Take the hallway opposite the black door. Louise is expecting you. She will show you around and teach you the ropes. When you are ready to take the stage, she will let me know.”

“So I’m not dancing tonight?” I ask, trying to hide my relief.

He sits back down on his stool and runs a hand over his head. “Wild animals when caged can be dangerous if given too much rope. I need to make sure you are not a risk to my clients before allowing you to share their space. Tonight, you will wear that and do as you are told. After that, we will see.”

The way he says it makes my skin burn. People like Langston Richardson had looked their noses down at people like me all my life, and frankly, I was tired of it. Ellery may have blown Elmhurst to bits, but as long as there were people like him, the cycle of power would perpetuate. Didn’t matter if that power changed hands, there would always be a Richardson ready to ensure its survival.

Well no more. I wasn’t here because I’d done something wrong. I was here because his son had, and I’d held him accountable. They should give me an award for what I did. I shouldn’t be punished with some bullshit agreement.

I wasn’t going to be Richardson’s pawn. I was going to fight back. But not in the way he expected. I would be resilient and stealth. Like a gator—moving below the surface, observing, but never making a ripple. When the time was right, I would strike and bring his house of cards tumbling down. But I needed to know what it was built on first, which meant it was time to get to work.

“Hurry along now,” he motions for me to leave. “We open in an hour.”

With my jaw clenched, I straighten my shoulders and turn on my heel, going back the way I came, turning down the hall with the red door at the end. I’ll put on this, whatever it is. I’ll twirl around and give his clients an eyeful if that’s what he wanted. What did I care? I practically lived in a bikini during the summer.

I reach for the door, wondering what I will find, but when I pull it open it’s almost as if I’ve stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone. The energy in the room before me is energetic, as dozens of girls buzz around, heels clicking against the floor. Some are naked, while others are wearing sexy costumes, and not one of them looks forced to be here.

I close the door behind me, and step into the room, the smell of baby powder and roses filling my lungs. Unlike the club’s sleek, austere appearance, it is haphazard and colorful. Racks of dresses line one wall, while a row of vanities with bulbs above the mirrors line the other, and boas, wigs and other kinds of props spill over the sides of a wall of shelves in the back.

“Well, there she is!” A short, round woman with a red bouffant and boobs the size of watermelons, says jovially. “We’ve been waiting for you, sugar!”

Once she reaches me, I force a smile and stick out my hand. “You must be Louise.”

“That I am.” She looks down at my hand and laughs. “But you can call me Mamma. All the girls do.”

She throws her arms around me and squeezes. I remain still, hands at my sides. “I already have a Mamma,” I pat her back uncomfortably.

She laughs and steps back. “Well, that’s okay, sugar,” she says with a smile. “And from what I can tell, a beautiful one at that.”

I should hate the way she’s assessing me but there’s something about her warmth that puts me at ease. “How about you just call me whatever you want, hmm?”

I nod and tuck my hair behind one ear. “I was told to put this on.” I look down at the fabric in my hand. “But if I’m not dancing tonight, I’m not sure why.”

“Yes,” she presses her lips together. “That is your uniform for now. We’ll worry about that in a minute. For now, let’s introduce you to the other girls.”

Making a circle with her thumb and middle finger, she brings it to her mouth and blows. An ear-piercing whistle rips through the room and everyone stops what they’re doing, and a sea of faces turn our way.

“Girls,” she claps. “We have a new member. Everyone, say hello.”

“Hi,” a chorus of voices rings out.

I lift my hand and wave like an awkward freshman that just walked into class late on her first day of high school.

“Sugar,” she asks, turning back to me. “Would you like to tell the girls your name?”

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