Page 134 of Last Comes Fate

One of the doors swung open, making way for clouds of stale alcohol, screeches of eighties hair bands, and men hooting at the dancers collecting cash in their G-strings.

Maybe this was where she belonged. She knew enough girls in this business who swore up and down you could make some real money if you were any good. Joni already knew men liked her—had known since she was far too young. Why not put that to use? She was naked all the time in her bedroom—was there really much difference doing it in front of strangers who wanted to give her their money for the pleasure?

She bit her lip and almost reached for the door. But it opened again as another man left, and again, the scent of stale alcohol followed along with cheap cigars and bad sex.

Not here, at least. Not now. There had to be other ways to find rent for a place to live that wouldn’t make her siblings give herthatlook of shame every time they saw her—the one she’d been avoiding all her life.

Joni turned on her heel and walked on, until she had reached her final destination in Hell’s Kitchen.

“Hey, Winston,” she said to the bouncer, who waved her into Opal without a word.

The bar was quiet for a Saturday night, but it was still early. It didn’t really fill until almost midnight anyway, when the girls got on their platforms and Tom, the owner, turned up the bass. It was early enough that Tom himself was still manning the bar until the main staff arrived.

Joni took a chance.

“Hey, kid,” said Tom as she approached. “You’re not working tonight. Unless you changed your mind about that spot again…”

Joni glanced nervously at the empty platforms built into the wall over the bar. The second one from the right used to be hers—the prime spot everyone saw the second they walked in the door. It wasn’t Broadway, but it was still an audience. An audience she almost missed…

But Joni shook her head. “No, I still can’t dance. But I wanted to know if we could start training tonight instead of next week. I just found out my living situation is changing, and—”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Tom said. “I don’t got the time, and we’re expecting a rush afterChicagogets out. I’m already out a bartender as it is until the ten o’clock shift starts.”

“Then tonight is perfect!” Joni cried. “I’ll be your apprentice. I’ll even work for free tonight, Tom—do whatever you want, help however I can, do what you do so I can take over when you’re ready.Please, Tom. Just until Conrad or Liz get here. I can do it, I know I can.”

The older man gave her a long look. “You think you can really do this? You can’t be messing up my cash flow, Joni. I know you ain’t so good with numbers.”

Joni bit her lip. It always came back to that, didn’t it? So what if she barely passed her GED and flunked out of college? Twice. Dancing was supposed to be her exit from that world, but it wasn’t like bartending was rocket science.

“I’m better now than when I was a shot girl,” she lied completely. “I won’t mess up any of the tabs. Please, Tom, I’m desperate. I—I really need this.”

Something in her voice broke, but that seemed to do it for her boss. Tom just pulled at his mustache and shook his graying brown head.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t go crying on me now. You’re lucky you’re so cute, you know that, honey?”

“Thank you!” Joni squealed as she practically leaped over the bar and threw her arms around Tom’s neck.

“Easy,” said the barman, though he was laughing as he did. “Now, go in the back and get yourself an apron, all right? You’re gonna need it until you get your bearings.”

All smiles, Joni practically skipped through the bar to follow Billy’s commands. Maybe it wasn’t a job on Wall Street, but if she could get her shit together, she might convince Billy to give her this shift and start making some real tips. Maybe then she could afford at least a room with a few other people—Hoboken, maybe, or Riverdale, near Kate.

Her dreams of living in Manhattan and dancing on Broadway were long gone, but maybe one day, she could find what her siblings had in partners and jobs and kids and all that. But for now, she could start small. A job today. A place to live next week.

One step at a time.

Almost like a dance.

* * *

Francesca

“I wonder where Joni went,” I said as I got ready for bed later that evening.

Xavier and I had left the party in time to get Sofia down for bed, though it was still in full swing when we’d said our goodbyes.

My husband looked like a particularly delicious rake this evening, sitting shirtless in nothing but a pair of silk pajama pants that pooled around his hips. His winding tattoo climbed up from the waistband, wrapping around his torso and left arm, which he tucked over my shoulder. He was reviewing menus from prospective chefs for the gastropub he was planning in Brooklyn. His forehead crinkled with an adorably pensive expression as he made notes on each one, frowning over the words in a way that caused a divot to appear between his brows.

“Was she here?” he murmured as he penciled a note that looked like it said “mushroom fiesta,” but was probably something else.

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