Page 124 of Shifting Hearts 1
With thirteen orphans and me, at the ripe old age of twenty-two and the only one who has never left because I needed to stay and protect the others from Mrs. Gruber, we are as close to a family as we will ever get. We eat dinner together to make “the Pit”, as we call it, feel more homely. With scattered, worn-out furniture and mismatched articles, the Pit feels more like a waystation for all rejected and worthless things, including the children.
Including me.
But not anymore.
Glancing at my watch, I realize that this guy got his crumpled $20’s worth.
Time’s up, fucker.
I pull my body back and slap his hand away when he tries to reach for me.
A tinge of disgust convulses in my stomach. “Sorry, slugger. Show is over, unless you have any more to give?” I lean closer, thrusting my chest in his face, just like the other strippers taught me to do.
The manager is still keeping an eye on the cameras in his office, and I don’t want to give him any more reason to suspect that I might not belong here.
Or that I have ulterior motives.
It was hard enough to convince him to let me keep my shorts on.
But I had no other choice after I learned that this club was the epicenter of all the unspeakable things happening in our little town of El Paso.
I slide my finger under my nose to curb the stench coming from the man before me. Sweat is fermented with desperation and a hard day’s work.
But when I rise, I plaster an eager smile on my face.
I have no intention of giving him another dance. I might do this stripper gig to get the info I need, but no man will ever have the luxury of getting more of me.
I turn to walk away before he can get to the grimy crumpled mess in his pocket. I hold the bill he has given me with two fingers and dump it into the collection box in front of the stage.
The other girls will appreciate the extra tip, and it isn’t like this is my full-time gig. I have a small ad on Craigslist that has been very lucrative and extremely informative in my line of work.
Work that I like to think of as the extermination of all the useless cockroaches in the world. Cockroaches who prey on the innocent.
And going undetected in a place like this affords me the opportunity needed to get closer to my marks.
It’s a win-win. I give the girls some of my earnings, and they help me blend in seamlessly into the cesspool, that is the Stroke the Kitty Club, located on the wrong side of the tracks.
I jog to the costume room in the back to take a breather. Surely, I won’t be missed in the next ten minutes.
“Hi, Maddy, have you thought about our proposal yet?”
José, one of the male dancers, pushes his boyfriend out of the way to get to me. He is one of the nicer ones.
“What proposal would that be?” I walk over to the obscure plastic chair slightly hidden behind a wooden screen that has seen better days. This is my area, as I don’t need an illuminated mirror like the other girls.
I work primarily in the dark.
“To give you a makeover, of course. You deserve one, darling. And by the looks of that wig, you desperately need one.” He turns to his boyfriend for support, and he nods profusely in my direction.
I grab the scratchy thing from my head and take out my brush to try and tame the flyaway hairs. My pitch-black pixie cut comes into view, and I know what a contrast it must create against the backdrop of my snow-white, almost translucent skin.
“You know the answer to that. I can’t afford the men paying me more attention than necessary. You know about thedefect.” I sigh deeply. This isn’t the only time I have tried to explain it to him.
“Don’t be preposterous. With tits like that, nobody will notice your birthmark. We do need to address your skin issue, though. You look transparent. You could really do with some sun, girl.”
I snort at the thought. I live in one of the warmest areas in the world, blessed with plenty of sunny days, and yet my skin stays as white as milk.
“I’ve tried everything, Jo. The only thing that works is the tanning solution, and even then, it’s only temporary. You know that,” I say while I comb through the unruly wig.
