We grab two wineglasses and a corkscrew and go outside. The moon is almost full; the stars twinkling invisibly in the sky are reflected in the city lights below us. I pour the wine while Roxy lights up.
The night is calm and she tries to exhale away from me, but sometimes a gentle breeze still catches her smoke and makes me splutter a little. The smell is faintly nostalgic. Dad used to sit out on the porch and smoke a pipe in the evenings. Although he was gone by the time I was two years old—and even though the smoking probably helped kill him—the scent of tobacco sometimes reminds me of Mom’s stories. She always talks so affectionately about him, it’s like he just stepped out for a moment.
Roxy takes a long drag and sighs it out in feathery white tendrils. “So how’s the Golden Coast treatin’ ya?”
I start recounting my first week in Los Angeles. Mostly my shiny new job, since I’m still starstruck about working for an actual law firm, and I’ve done almost nothing but work since I got here. Not that I mind practically living at the office.
I’ll probably repeat most of this stuff to Hayden over dinner tomorrow, minus the goriest details about Larry The Creeper. It’s stupid, and I know it’s stupid, but I still feel embarrassed about how I let my boss treat me . . . and how I intend to let him continue treating me, all for the sake of keeping my job. I don’t know what would be worse—Hayden failing to see what the big deal is about Mr. Pratt’s behavior, or Hayden demanding to know where he lives so he can kill him in his sleep.
So it’s nice to talk to a woman who can really commiserate about the problem without trying to play Mr. Fix-It. Roxy cackles and grimaces in all the right spots of my stories. As good a friend as Hayden is becoming, there are some things that most men just don’t understand.
“I think changing my outfit helped a little,” I say as I finish. “Flats instead of heels, pink lip gloss instead of red lipstick, dress pants instead of a skirt. And a camisole under my blouse to make sure there’s no cleavage showing.” Not that Mr. Pratt hasn’t looked for it. He practically broke his neck trying to see down my collar at the Wednesday lunch meeting.
“So has he stopped touching your ass and acting like it’s an accident?”
“No, but he does it less often. Although he’s started dropping all these passive-aggressive comments, like ‘Where’s the funeral, har de har?’ or ‘Oh, you looked so sweet before, what happened?’ Or my personal favorite, ‘You don’t need to dress like a nun, sweetheart. You should enjoy that amazing figure while it lasts.’ So I consider it a mini victory.”
“What a douchebag.” Roxy rolls her eyes. “I’ve had gross customers before, but I knew what I was getting into when I started working at Kitty Queen’s. You didn’t bust your hump in college just to put up with some old perv. And strip joints have a bouncer who can step in if someone gets too rowdy. At your job, you’re on your own. Worse than on your own, actually, since the problem is with the guy who’s supposed to protect you. Not that I haven’t had a few handsy bosses before . . .”
When she first told me she was a stripper, I barely batted an eyelash. Once you meet her, it seems the most obvious profession in the world for her. She’s outgoing, gorgeous, and confident, with just a hint of being a wild child. The only thing that surprised me was that she didn’t use a more subdued euphemism, like dancer or exotic entertainer or something. Then again, there’s nothing subdued about Roxy.
I swallow my mouthful of wine. It isn’t great—not far from the realm of two-buck Chuck—but it’s loosened me up just fine. “Sometimes I think you can never win with men,” I add.
“Words of goddamn wisdom.” Roxy gives a huff of acrid laughter, smoke pouring from her nose. It reminds me of the femme fatale from some noir film. Or a dragon wearing expensive lingerie.
Wow, I think I’m getting a little drunk. Maybe that’s why I suddenly feel the urge to talk about Hayden. “Sometimes they aren’t so bad, though.”
“You mean for decoration? Boys do make great accessories.” She nods, her chandelier earrings bouncing.
“No, I mean . . . I’ve been hanging out with Hayden, and he’s actually pretty cool. We do yoga together almost every morning now. And tomorrow, he’s going to a vegetarian restaurant with me, even though he’s clearly a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy.” I realize that a silly little smile is pulling at the corners of my mouth. It’s so odd. When I hang out with him, I have a mysterious sort of glow for the rest of the day. He makes me laugh, and heaven knows I could use a good laugh with the seriousness of my job.
“It’s great that he hasn’t screwed you over yet,” Roxy says, her tone abruptly tense. “But he’s still bad news. Ask any of the girls here.”