Page 7 of Shattered
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I thought I’d make a house call. May I come inside?”
I stepped to the side, and she took a seat on the patchy couch in the living room.
“You know the accommodations in the Greenhouse are more than acceptable,” she muttered. The Greenhouse was the dressing room and dorm section of the Dahlia District, for servers that wanted to live or get ready on property. I didn’t say anything. I had chosen to live with Colin a long time ago. “No matter. I came to see if you’ll return to work soon. There’s a new club member who refuses to see anyone, but you.”
I raised a brow. “A new person?”
“No one will do,exceptfor Mel Foley.”
“But I’m not on entertainment right now,” I reminded Dahlia. I was supposed to work in the kitchen for five years before I could return to entertainment. “You put me on penalty.”
“I’m quite aware,” she said. She raised her nose. “I’m willing to rearrange punishments if it comes with a lucrative offer.”
There were some kinds of people that I admired, simply because you knew exactly what to expect with them. It didn’t mean Ilikedthem, but that I respected their honesty. Most people hid behind false promises, ideas about who they wanted to be, rather than who they truly were. Like me. I was a failed artist who claimed the status of ‘entertainer’ when really, I was selling my time and body for an exorbitant price.
But Dahlia… Dahlia always hid behind the same armor. Money was her bottom line. And we, the servers, were her product. I could respect her for that. At least we knew where we stood.
“How much?” I asked.
“Enough to warrant a dismissal of your penalty,” she said. “Can I tell him you’ll be available tomorrow night?”
I almost agreed, but then I remembered something I had talked about with Iris the last time I was at the Dahlia District.
“What about Kendall?” I asked. She was the potential new hire, a belly dancer. “You haven’t hired her yet, have you?”
“We have to replace Haley,” Dahlia said coolly.
“You know Iris and Kendall have a history. A bad one,” I said. Iris was the mother bear of our group. The fact that she was freaked out about it had worried me. “Kendall beat the shit out of Iris.Andshe has a criminal record.”
“Kendall is the best option we have right now. As I’m sure you’re aware, business hasnotbeen going well. That serial killer has been making it rather difficult for the servers to make their regular quotas. A new dancer is the best way to entice old regulars to return.”
I grit my teeth. Good ol’ Dahlia. Dahlia truly didn’t care about alliances between the servers, as long as we made her money.
“At least tell me that she’s not moving into the Greenhouse,” I muttered.
“We shall see,” Dahlia said. She stood up. “Can I put you on the schedule for tomorrow or not?” I nodded sharply and looked away. I could use my share for rent, and it was better than working for pennies under penalty. Besides, if I refused, Dahlia would punish me more. “Good. I’ll let myself out.”
The door clicked shut behind her. I locked it, and watched her drive away in her sports car.
Working tomorrow, and meeting a new club member, meant trying to pull myself together. I grabbed as many dirty clothes off of my bedroom floor as possible and started a load of laundry, then tried to organize the rest of the clutter into neat piles. I moved the textbooks into the closet, leftover from my one and a half years in art school, and looked through the suitcase full of lingerie that I carried with me to the Dahlia District every night. About half of us lived on property, and half of us commuted. Most of the lingerie was wrinkled, but the dim lighting of the club wouldn’t let that show.
But I did need to dye my roots. My dark red hair and my blue contacts were part of my signature look. I didn’t feel like myself without them, as if someone had stolen my mask. Luckily, I kept a stash of cheap boxes of hair dye under the sink in the bathroom. I dyed my roots, erasing my connection to my mother, then indulged in a long, scalding hot shower, trying to mentally prepare myself to become Mel, the body painter, the redheaded voluptuous entertainer of the Dahlia District, someone with enough of a reputation that this new personhadto have me. Or at least, that’s what I told myself. That it had nothing to do with the fact that I was willing to break the rules, when servers like Haley, a once true virgin, so rarely did.
I ordered Thai food from a shop around the corner and made sure to actually store what I didn’t eat. I even left a note for Colin, in case he wanted some after work.
I lit the glass vanilla candle on the dresser and looked around my bedroom. It was night now, black streaks filled the slats between the blinds, but I was awake. Even if the last few weeks had been filled with sleepless nights, it was like I had consumed my first cup of coffee in ages. Awoken to a fresh, brand new morning. If nothing else, it was a start.
Full of energy, I laid there, waiting for sleep to consume me. The hours ticked by, and I watched the flame in the candle dim and flicker as the numbers on the clock rolled on. Colin came home; the jiggle of the lock was followed by the bass-heavy music thudding through the floors.
At least this insomnia would help me get back to a graveyard shift schedule. If I slept in the morning, I would be well-rested by the time I had to commute to the Dahlia District in the evening.
A human noise, deep and staggered, vibrated through the walls, followed by nothing. That wasn’t like Colin. His music continued playing. I sat up and waited, listening for more.
I leaned over the dresser and pinched out the wick, watching the smoke rise as I listened. I put the top over the jar, closed the blinds, and laid down in bed.
The crash of a heavy object fell to the floor.
