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Startled, I spin to my left, hands coming out as if I’m the newKarate Kidand this is my movie.

“Easy, I took your timecard, remember?”

Giving him what I know is an uneasy smile, I try to relax. My cheeks burn. Thank God it’s dark. He smiles back, and I notice a tray in his hands. It has three glasses filled to the brim with a dark brew.

“She’s over there. Here, take this to her. She’ll teach you what to do.”

I swallow hard and take the tray and he leaves almost immediately. I take the steps down to the swarming bodies and edge closer to my best friend, who’s leaning near a table with four men our age.

They’re all taken by her, grinning like fools and showering her with large, gratifying tips. As I get closer, I realize they’re playing a drinking game and she’s acting as their referee. I stand nearby, tray in hand, and gawk.

This is not my best friend/sister, Jasmin. This is Aphrodite working a well-stowed magic I’ve never before, until this day, seen. She giggles, only it doesn’t sound like the silly laugh she exhorts at home. Not even the frantic ones when she’s being tickled by Jule and me.

It’s as if she has an alter ego, a vixen hidden away for work, and suddenly I feel like I’m intruding. Here I thought I’d be able to find comfort in someone who would be equally loathing their time here–she always complains about how much she hates her job.

“Hey, who’s your friend?”

Jasmin turns and her face drops. Hastily, she grabs her tips and shoves them in the tiny apron hanging on her hip. “Excuse me, boys. Don’t go far now!”

Her sexy smile drizzles away once we’re out of earshot and she tugs at my arm toward the long bar against the opposite wall. “What are you doing here?”

I shrug.Why am I in trouble? You’re the one with the secrets!“Working.”

She sighs heavily, then takes the platter from me and places it on the bar. “Melanie, we’re taking ten.”

Melanie is short and curvy like me, butunlikeme, she’s in her element. She nods at Jasmin and then snaps her fingers. We don’t hear the sound but two girls pop out from the back, both wearing black brassiere tops and boy shorts with long, knee-length, high-heeled boots. Jasmin tugs at my arm and pulls me through the swarming bodies and out to the back alley.

Two security guards nod their greetings and resume their breaks. Four usher boys, one smoking, two drinking out of water bottles, and one leaning on the wall like he’s about to crumble from exhaustion, ignore us. Jasmin leads me to the edge where no one can hear us, but they can still see us.

Her eyes are wide with—what? Shame, guilt, fear? I don’t know, it’s hard to tell, but whatisobvious is that my best friend is back, her vixen stowed.

“I can explain.”

“No, you don’t have to. You’re working… I get it.”

She sighs and leans against the brick wall, letting the light rain cover her face. I notice just then that she’s changed. She’s wearing the same red corset, but her pants are gone, replaced by tight, black spandex-like boy shorts and her red pumps. “I hate my job.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” I retort and regret my words instantly. She’s looking at me, her big honey eyes tearful, and that heavy shame-filled expression is back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything, but it’s the truth. You know I don’t do the sympathy thing very well.”

“No, you don’t. Listen, I hate this shit, don’t doubt that. Most of us do.”

I grimace and begin to roll my eyes when she snaps her lips.

“Yes, even the dancers. You think this is some childhood dream that has come true for me? Growing up, I wanted to be a fucking nurse, for fuck’s sake. A nurse!”

She’s angry, an emotion I hardly see evoked from my best friend. It’s such a shock that a small, palliative smile pulls at my lips.

“You don’t look even a bit threatening, especially in underwear.”

She gasps, realizing that she’s in her actual uniform in front of me.

“Oh, shit.” She takes a deep breath, calming herself, I think. “I knew this was a mistake.”

Mistake…bringing me to her job was a mistake? Suddenly, I want to convince her otherwise. “I’m not upset.” Am I? Well, yes, I am. But not for the reason she thinks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She turns and gapes at me. “I don’t know. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“Well, it isn’t like I’m proud of being a garbage picker, Jasmin. Shit, you make way more money than I do. No wonder you bought me that expensive ass camera!”

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