“Don’t worry,” he soothes. “You’re safe with me.”
The words enter into my soul, and I know they’re true. The music plays below, and the girls perform. The crew mills about, and Rosa carries costumes and makeup from one room to the next.
Bad things happen.
Tragic things happen.
No one knows the things that happen to us here. We don’t know the chain of events that have started. I only wait for my introductory notes rising to meet us as he holds my hands so gently.
“I want to touch you.” His gaze travels from my eyes to my lips to my hair to my breasts.
“I want you to touch me,” I say.
His voice breaks. “If I touch you, I won’t be able to stop.”
A shiver moves through me. “I won’t want you to stop.”
“Come.” He helps me into position on the swing, fastens the safety harness, and takes leather gloves from his pocket. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”
“I’ll only think of you until I get there.”
His hands cover mine on the ropes, leaning closer. I lean closer, tracing my nose against the side of his cheek, inhaling his warm, masculine scent. He groans and turns, capturing my lips, swiping his tongue inside, but quickly easing back. I chase him, pulling his lips with mine, his tongue.
We’re careful. My makeup isn’t smeared, but it’s time. Our eyes hold each other’s as I swing out, away from the scaffolding and over the dark house. As I descend, I’m still looking up at him. A lone spotlight hits me, and just when I think I’m too far to hear his last words, they meet me.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
My body glitters the bright lights, but I hold his smile, his eyes like two sapphires just visible from here. His hand is on the safety rope, and though my chest is still tight, I inhale a deep breath and sing out over the exclamations of surprise and delight from the audience.
Mark
Lara is a star.
Her performance is flawless. The audience is in love with her. Tanya might be the queen of the Angels for now, but Lara’s the new spirit on the rise.
I think of her before the finale. She blew my mind just a few minutes earlier in her dressing room. Her body was incredible. I could barely speak seeing her for the first time as the dark angel, the seductress. Her silky hair, crystal eyes… not to mention perfect breasts, long legs, delicate ankles.
I was lucky I didn’t come in my pants. She obliterated very regret from the night before, every second guess. It’s no question I’ll do whatever it takes to stay with her.
But when she reached the top of the ladder, she was panicking. I knew immediately it was trauma, and I couldn’t believe I didn’t anticipate it. We should have rehearsed her descent earlier in the day, helped her get over the residual fear, instead of compounding it with her debut.
I smile to myself remembering the way she pulled it together. She held my hand and found her control. Pride tightens my stomach when I think of how strong she is. She’s sweet and strong and beautiful, and I’m doing my best to stay out of sight as I make my way to her dressing room.
Last night, I did as I was ordered. It took me two hours to scrub the blood out of the white carpet. I sprayed the walls, everything with Clorox, then shined the black light on it to be sure nothing was left. No blood, no semen.
Then I gathered all the sheets and everything that wasn’t glued or nailed down and carried it across the basement to the enormous fireplace in the back room. A douse of lighter fluid, a match, and the evidence quickly disappeared, taking with it my dreams of heroism. How can I be a good guy now? I was officially welcomed to the dark side by a corrupt cop.
One thing makes my decision worth all I’ve lost, and I hope she’ll agree to sneak out with me tonight. I’m sure she will. I saw it in her eyes tonight in the rafters, high above this place. Our feelings are the same, our needs, our desires, and now we have a place to share them.
I’m in the back rooms, breaking the rules. Only, I’m not sure the old rules apply to me anymore. I’ve moved into a new realm of lawlessness. I pass the narrow doorways, different girls inside. Some have men with them, and I know enough now to understand the transactions happening there.
Tanya is hunched in the corner of her room, and her voice carries. She isn’t trying to hide it. “So I’m a product? A good to be bought and sold? That’s all I am now?”
I look inside. Rosa is with her. “Don’t kid yourself, it’s all you’ve ever been.”
“I have value. I’m a star.”
“Why do you think they want you?”
Rosa straps a yellow band around Tanya’s upper arm. She’s holding something silver, and light reflects off the tray. The door closes, but I know what she’s doing. I recognize that glazed, hungry look. Heroin.
My gut twists, and I count the days in my mind. How long before it gets bad, before we find her passed out or worse.
Fuck… I push the dark image aside. I only want to think about my bright angel at the end of this hall, the one I hope will put her hand in mine and take me to heaven tonight.
“Tres fantastique!” I pull up short when I see a man in Lara’s doorway. “The finale, your descent…” He holds both of her hands in his, and she’s dressed in that red robe. “You were a vision coming down from heaven. Pure art.”
I step fast into the doorway of an empty dressing room before I’m spotted.
“I’m so glad you were pleased.” Lara holds an enormous bouquet of red roses, and while her voice is warm, her words shred my insides. “I thought of you the whole time. Did you notice my hair?”
“It was like waves on the dark ocean.” The man smiles. “I mean yes, the barrette. I’m so happy you like my gift.”
“I love it.” Lara smiles and leans closer.
He lifts his hand to her jaw, and my chest is on fire. He’s dressed in a custom suit. On his wrist is a heavy, silver watch. This asshole is clearly rich. He’s exactly what she needs to get the fuck out of this place.
I want to kill him.
“I only have one concern.” I return to the doorway so I can hear what the fuck he might say. “You’re a vision, of course, but …”
“Yes?”
“Your costume is different.” He looks down, and I’m trying to figure out if this shit is serious.
He does realize the Pussycat Angels is a burlesque show, right?
“Does it change our arrangement?” Lara’s voice is quiet. “I know you preferred me as the pink angel.”
“Not at all,” he says quickly. “I’m just sensitive to your feelings.”
Shit! I stride across the room, slamming my fist into the back of a velvet chair. It muffles the sound, but it doesn’t ease the fury in my chest. If he’s so sensitive to her feelings, why doesn’t he do something? The cold realization trickles through my veins. It’s probably why he’s here.
“Thank you,” Lara says. “It’s hard to find men who understand in my line of work.”