Page 3 of Drowning Her

She was perfect.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Her real name is Maisie Ross,” he said. “But here, she goes by Crystal.”

Chapter 2

Maisie

I battedmy eyelashes at the bearded man I was sitting on, then straightened. Between him and the stage lights, it was like being cooked under a broiler. Bambi bounced up, pulling a shaved-headed man to his feet.

“You sure you don’t want company?” I asked Shaved Head. Bambi blinked her doe-eyes up at him.

“Hey!” Beard Boy said. “What about me?”

Bambi focused on Shaved Head. “Two girls are better than one,” she said.

“Maybe next time,” Shaved Head said, smiling down at her. “I want you all to myself tonight.”

“I’m not complaining,” she smirked.

I grabbed her arm. “Let me steal her away for a second,” I winked.

I linked elbows with Bambi and went to the bathroom quickly. Her client waited outside of the door. The graffiti I had marked in the big stall was still there:No One Loves You Like The Stage Does.I was surprised no one had scribbled overit. None of the new dancers liked us hanging out here, even though we had once been in their stilettos.

“You’re sure about this one?” I asked. Bambi had a bad habit of picking the men who liked to leave shiners, and though Green always urged me to let Bambi make her own decisions, I still liked checking in with her. Better to know that she was positive about what she was doing than to let her get swept away on a date that promised a big payout.

“He’s a softie,” she said, shoving my shoulder playfully. “I’ll hightail it out the first warning I get.”

“You better.”

She squeezed my hand, then scanned me. “You look perfect, as always,” she said.

That was easy for her to say. She woke up like a fawn in human flesh—innocent beauty wrapped with light brown hair and eyes. Me? I wasn’t that at all.

“The perfect roast beef, maybe,” I said.

She laughed. “Go get ‘em.”

The door swung shut behind her, and I sighed, inspecting myself in the mirror. Perfect? Hah! Liner and mascara puckered around my eyes. I smudged a finger underneath, removing as much of the bleeding makeup as I could, then reapplied my lipstick. Dabbed a paper towel on the sides of my face. No matter how high they kept the air conditioning, I always burned up. Even back when I was only wearing a bikini.

A man with gray hair angled himself against the wall, instantly locking eyes with me. Late fifties, early sixties maybe, but in shape. I recognized him—he had paid me for a date, maybe a month ago, and wanted me to strip. Green hadn’t been too happy with my inability to make him close on a better date. But the two of them had come to their own arrangement after that. Since then, the man hadalways been occupied. I never got to learn what they had discussed.

“Crystal,” he said.

I smiled. “Yes, baby?”

“What’s your real name?”

Clients often wanted a real name, as if that gave them some sort of power over you. “I already told you, hot stuff. It’s ‘Crystal.’” I said. I hadn’t used my real name in years anyway. “Baby, I can’t strip tonight. But there are plenty of other girls willing to get naked on the stage for you. Unless you want to play?—”

“I want to talk.”

Green appeared in the hallway, stroking his lime tie. I flinched, then turned back to the Gray-Haired Man.

“You gotta pay more this time,” I said.

He shoved a hand into his pocket, removing a wad of cash. He handed me a few bills. It was twice the amount he had given me last time. And he just wanted to talk?

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