Tiffany…

I wasn’t resistant to any of the suggestions he made about changing how I did things for my safety. The schedule was an easy enough fix, and so were the regular texts and calls checking in.

That morning, he’d eaten, said his thanks, and told me he’d be back later after some sleep. We’d traded numbers and he’d gone. I’d locked the door behind him, done the dishes, taken a long, hot shower, and had, by some miracle, gotten some more sleep of my own.

I woke up to a knock at my door and a quick look out the peephole had revealed his frightening tattooed face. I felt muscles I hadn’t realized I’d tensed loosen at the sight of him and I wondered at that for a moment, hesitating before I opened the door. His melodic voice floated through the wood asking, “You all right, Girl?”

No, but it would be a waste of breath explaining it, so I went with the polite little lie. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I said after opening the portal to the outside world. He gave me a one-sided grin, a dimple creasing on the cheek unadorned by the deep blue whorls of ink and I sort of just knew that he knew exactly what I’d been feeling.

“I’m here now, eh. Nothing’s gonna getcha.”

I tried a brave smile in return and said, “You’re a little early, I just woke up. Let me get dressed and throw some costumes together, come on in.”

“Yeah, I wanted to have a look at your door again, take some measurements.” He pulled a measuring tape out from his leather jacket’s front pocket. Whipping the yellow tape out, he efficiently went about measuring the inside door jamb.

I blinked in surprise and asked, “Oh, yeah? What’s that for?”

He pulled a stub of a pencil from one pocket and a little notepad from his other one and marked some things down. Placing the pencil between his teeth, he answered from around it, “Gonna reinforce this with some metal stripping, make it so it takes more than one swift kick to get her open. A few screws and she’ll be right.”

“Thank you. I thought the more locks the better.”

“They don’t hurt,” he said affably, pulling the pencil from between his teeth as he jotted down another measurement. “This’ll be better.”

“When can you do it?” I asked and he smiled.

“When I come pick you up tomorrow. Get here a little early, get it done and you’ll be good to go, eh?”

“Sounds good,” I murmured and laid out a final matching bra and panty set on my bed. I put hands to hips and considered the sets I’d laid out, the masks I had at the club in my locker, and the shoes I had to pair them with under the bed. Makeup ideas were already swirling through my brain as well. The better I looked, the better the tips, the faster I could leave all this bullshit of taking my clothes off and fucking for money behind.

“Costumes, eh?”

I grimaced a little. “Sounds a lot better than underwear or lingerie. Not my first choice in a line of work, but it does pay the best. I was on a tight schedule before to get the fuck up out of this town in five years; it’s even worse now they’re letting Silas out early.”

He nodded and asked, “Where y’ headed?”

No one had ever really asked me that before, not even my best friend, Delia, who I still needed to call ‒ Shit!

“Hold that thought?” I asked.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I forgot to call Delia, she’s my best friend.”

“Best get that done then, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’ll only be a minute.”

“Sure, sure.”

I went for my cell on the tabletop, the screen lighting up to a dozen missed calls or texts and I phoned her back. She picked up on the first ring and I could hear she was driving.

“Oh, my god, girl! I am totally on my way over and was about to call the police!”

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine, Lia.”

“Where are you?” she demanded.

“At home, and no need to come get me, I have a ride into the club.”

“For real?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you everything when I get there, but right now I sort of have company.”

“Jesus Christ, Tiff. What are you doing?”

I looked over at Zeb who was looking me over curiously, I held the phone tight to my ear and turned away from him slightly, “I’ll tell you later, Lia. I’ll see you at work. Thanks for being my best friend.”

“Tiff – of course, I’m your best friend and as your best friend, I’m worried about you. Who’s there? Why do you feel like you can’t talk to me?”

“I love you, I’ll see you in a few,” I told her. I didn’t want to be rude and talk about Zeb like he wasn’t here. I also didn’t quite know how to explain everything. So, socially-awkward me, I was going to make my best friend worry for like a half-an-hour more. Still, I didn’t quite have his full measure and I didn’t want him upset at me, not like Silas would be if he were in his place.

“Everything good, then?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t want her showing up here to give me a ride when I already had one.” I tried a smile and felt like it came out watered-down at best.

“Ain’t gotta worry about me none, I would have followed you and made sure you got where you were going safe.”

“Thank you,” I murmured and he gave a nod.

“I’ll be out here, you take your time getting ready, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks…”

Not the reaction I had been expecting. Of course, I was quickly learning that I didn’t know what to expect when it came to people; the packaging was often a lie and that old adage about judging books by their cover was most definitely true. We did it all the time, it was just how people were, but I needed to curb-stomp the habit and I needed to do it quickly.

I gathered the scraps of lace and satin and tossed them into the bottom of a gym bag, throwing in a few pairs of shoes on top. I’d learned quickly that there were some nasty bitches in stripping and that they wouldn’t hesitate to borrow things like somebody else’s G-string without permission. It was so beyond gross that I kept everything ‒ costumes, makeup, and any of my masks ‒ on me, or under lock and key at the club, unless I didn't plan on ever using it again.

I ducked into the bathroom with some clothes and got dressed as warmly as my wardrobe would allow for the coming ride. When I stepped out, he was on his phone texting something and I itched to ask what to who, but it wasn’t any of my business.

“All set, then?”

“Yeah,” I slung my gym bag over my chest and took up my phone, purse, and keys. I motioned for him to go out ahead of me and took on the arduous task of locking up behind me.

“Only one or two when you’re gone, remember?” he said gently and I startled.

“Oh, god. I guess it’s just a force of habit.”

“No worries.”

“I’m such an idiot,” I said with a nervous laugh and shook my head, undoing all but the two strongest locks.

He didn’t say anything, just waited patiently, his squat, beat-up bike seemingly glowering impatiently under the lone light in my apartment’s little parking area. I followed him to it and still wondered how the beat-up old thing ran.

The ride to Sugars was a cold one. It was heading into December and the temperatures got downright frigid after dark. I shivered and couldn’t wait to get into the club’s back door where at least it was warm. Zeb got off the bike with me and turned to eye Zeke up and down. He stood back here at the start and end of his shift to make sure all of the girls got in and out without a hassle. Not every one of our security guys bothered, and I appreciated Zeke more for doing it than he could know.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Zeke,” I said, and Zeb nodded, following me across the cracked and crumbling asphalt of the back lot.

“Zeke,” I greeted and he looked up from his phone, frowning.

“Hey, Tiff. This guy bothering you?” he asked and I could see the concern in his blue eyes.

“No, actually, the opposite. My douchebag-ex gets out tomorrow and Zeb is helping me out, watching my ass to make sure everything is gonna be cool. He’s going to be dropping me off and picking me up for the foreseeable future, so I thought you guys should meet.”

“Eh, nice to meet ya, Bro,” Zeb held out his hand and Zeke grasped it. They pulled each other in and tapped shoulders the way guys did as a universal bro-greeting or whatever.

“Nice to meet you, too. Any friend of Tiff’s is a friend of mine.”

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 was a 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.