Page 92 of By A Thread
I dragged in an icy breath and let it out in a silvery cloud. Again and again until the tightness in my chest started to loosen.
“Panic attack. Not heart attack,” I whispered to myself as I plastered myself against the wall and waited for it to pass.
There was no room for panic. No time to lament. I needed a solution. I needed help.
I gave it another minute, hoping for divine inspiration from the goddess of skyscraper meltdowns. When none came, I did the next best thing. I dragged my phone out and dialed Faith.
My best friend’s face popped up on my screen, an eye mask sitting crookedly on her forehead.
“’Sup?” she rasped. Her natural jet-black hair was platinum blonde with subtle streaks of violet shoved up into a lopsided knot.
“Late night?” I wheezed.
“I own forty percent of a strip club. What do you think?”
Ladies and Gentlemen was an equal-opportunity Miami-themed strip club with men, women, and a troupe of talented drag queens.
It was fabulous and even classy in a debauched, naked kind of way.
“Tonight’s amateur night, right?”
She sat up in bed, bobbling the phone. I stared up at her ceiling for a few seconds and caught an accidental nip slip out of her hot pink negligee because of course my best friend slept in lingerie.
“Are you coming?” she shrieked, picking the phone back up.
“How much did you say I can make?” I asked. Faith had been trying to convince me to come in on amateur night since I came back home.
“All participants get $100 plus two free drinks. Then the top three contenders split the prize money. You, with your ass-shaking abilities, are a shoo-in for first place, even without me as a judge. That’s gonna be $2,500 easy. Plus tips.”
She had me at free drinks. And $2,500.
I wanted to cry. And all I had to do was shake my ass. Oh, yeah, and show a club full of strangers my boobs. How was this my life?
“I don’t have to do any private dances or anything, right?” I clarified.
“Nope. Not unless you want to.”
“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes.
Ask her for the money. Ask her. Just say the words. Please help me, Faith.
But I’d made promises. And right now, those unbroken promises were the only thing I’d done right.
“You must need cash bad,” she observed. She picked up an open can of soda on her nightstand and sipped through a Twizzler. Faith was one of those annoying people whose metabolism sped up in her thirties.
“Things are getting a little tight,” I said lamely.
“Seriously, babe. If you need money—”
“I’m fine. Everything is fine. What time should I be there?”
She shot me an incredulous look.
“I’m serious,” I insisted. “It’ll be fun.”Lies. So many dirty, little lies.
“Eleven.”
Silver lining. At least I could squeeze in a few hours on the bar at Rooster’s before my humiliation. Every dollar counted now.
