Page 15 of A Brother At My Back

I smiled and said, “Thanks, Zeke. Three-thirty?” I directed the last at Zeb.

“A little earlier if I can manage,” he said.

“Okay, later then,” I said to them both and with a little wave, I slipped through the back door leaving the two men to chat.

It was dark back here and I let my eyes adjust to it before heading for my locker and groaning, stripping down and pulling out my makeup kit to get the final touches on my face. I was grateful that Alan, the club’s owner, kept the heat cranked for us girls back here. It would have been miserable getting ready otherwise.

Delia dropped into the chair at the makeup station I used just as I was putting on a final coat of ruby-red matte lip paint.

“Oh, bitch, you better spill right now,” she said, her tone threatening. I turned to her and sighed.

“I had a Sacred Heart in my apartment; I didn’t want to talk about him like he wasn’t there. That would have been rude!”

“As opposed to letting me freak out the whole way here? That’s not rude?”

“You’re totally right, it was, but it was the lesser of two evils and you being my BFF, you should totally get that,” I shot back.

I turned back to the mirror and she gave a gusty sigh, “You’re right, and I do, but that doesn’t mean you don’t owe me ice cream and a sappy movie that I get to choose this time! Plus, the full story on just what the hell you’re doing.”

“Deal,” I uttered around the lip paint’s wand. Anything to appease her, and quickly, because I really did feel bad for making her worry.

“So, the guy with the weird face tattoos outside talking to Zeke?”

“My brand-new bodyguard for the time being, until Silas either makes a move or proves he’s going to fuck off.”

She gave another gusty sigh and said, “I’m not happy about this.”

“Clearly.”

“You’re going to be okay, Tiff. What are you thinking? I mean, you’ve kind of overdone it finding someone more badass than Silas could ever be if that’s your aim. Shit, the Sacred Hearts? That’s like using a thermonuclear device to kill ants!”

“There’s no such thing as overkill after what Silas did to me,” I said grimly. “Not like I can rely on the cops to protect me.” I gave a sour look into the mirror and added, “Obviously,” under my breath.

Delia shook her head, “No, I guess not.” I could tell by my best friend’s expression that this talk was far from over.

We both shared a deep sigh for different reasons and then glanced at each other, smiling for the same one. Lia laughed a little, standing up. “You gotta swap me, I need more time getting ready.”

“Let me glue on my mask and I’ll get out of your way,” I declared, but I couldn’t be sure she heard me over the thumping bass through the wall as the next song started up. She must have, as she gave me a wave over her shoulder and went to her locker to change into her costume first.

* * *

It wasa good night in tips and I was rolling on the energy from the crowd. A good ol’ boy’s bachelor party was in and those always made for good money and even some good times. When I got into my stage persona, I took possession of a power, a sexual energy that my real-life identity of Tiffany had never dreamed of possessing. I separated the two, almost pretended that I was some kind of masked superhero or even, some nights, a villainess. Whatever got me through the shift around here was a good thing. Besides, I was selling fantasy as a way to make a living, why shouldn’t I indulge in it myself every once in a while?

I honestly waxed and waned over how I felt about being a sex worker. Some days it was empowering. Hell, to be honest, most days it was. Then there were the days it wore on you and you felt burned out. Those days, you could find yourself erring on the side of the judgmental douchebags of the world that had never even had to worry about where their next meal was coming from, let alone how a poor girl from the foster care system with only her GED was supposed to deal with the soul-crushing debt of what was done to her by somebody else.

I tried to stay focused on the positive, that tonight was a good night. A night where I was feeling the music, a night where I was as into the crowd as it was into me, and instead of feeling objectified, I felt worshiped. A night where the tips were pouring in and I knew I had enough for yet another payment on whichever debt was next in rotation.

“Please welcome to the stage, for her last dance of the evening, the ever-mysterious, totally gorgeous, and completely exotic… Francesca!”

The opening notes of Whitney Houston’s Queen of the Night from the movie The Bodyguard came out over the speakers. I straightened my back, and, one foot in front of the other, strutted out onto the stage like the very queen of the song.

Like I said, it was a good night and it was going to be an even better, rockin’ last dance.

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