“Well, that sucked,” Carl complained as he threw the curtain back on the dressing room. “You were like a landed fish flopping around out there! How is anyone supposed to get turned on by that? Your eyes were completely dead. Are you high?”

“What? No! I’m just having an off night.” Candace slathered on another layer of glitter blush to her cheeks and plumped her lips with fire-engine red lipstick. She hated the way she looked all done up for work. She was like this doll someone had given a little girl who wanted to try make-up, and the little girl had made a rainbow mess all over her face. It was part of the job though—a part that was necessary for her. If she looked into the mirror and saw her real face here, she wouldn’t be able to go back out there and do what she needed to do.

A hundred and fifty dollars is what she needed to make, but Torren’s story about his sister had been swirling around in her head all night. She wished she was rich and could help. She wished she could do something. She desperately wanted him to live long enough to tell his sister he loved her. Anything less would be too tragic to bear.

Why did she care so deeply already? Candace put another layer of eyeliner on in the mirror. It was one of those old-fashioned ones with the lightbulbs around the edge. Carl had tried to make the dressing room glamorous, but mostly it looked cheap and smelled of sadness. Oh, she’d known exactly what Torren had been talking about with that. Doris had been working here damn near ten years, and her eyes were dead every night. She went through the motions like a trained corpse. Currently, she was sitting in the last chair, staring at herself in the mirror, not moving. She was up next, but she’d looked close to tears all night.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“What did you say?” Carl asked.

Doris arched an empty gaze to Carl. There was a rim of tears in her eyes. “I said I—”

“She wants me to do her number,” Candace cut in. “We’ve been working on it. Doris had a bad day, and she wants a little break. It’s okay. I’ve got this.”

Carl narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Doris, you can take the rest of the night off. That was your last dance. Cinnamon, don’t fuck this up. At least look alive out there.” He hustled out of the room, and the curtain swished closed behind him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Doris murmured.

“They gotta job opening at Essie’s Pantry,” Candace said fast before the other two girls got back from their dance. The music was blaring, and she had to repeat it for Doris to hear. “I’ve been looking at switching things up. I won’t go after that job if you want it.”

“But then you won’t get out of here,” Doris said in a vacant voice. “You’ll end up just like me.”

“I’ll find another way.”

Doris huffed a laugh and shook her head, returned her attention to her reflection. “You and I both know that grocery store salary won’t touch the instant cash we could make here.”

“But is the cash worth the cost?” Candace asked.

Doris didn’t answer. Instead she pulled her fake eyelashes off and tossed them into the wastebasket beside her, then pulled her duffle bag over her shoulder and strode for the door.

“Aren’t you going to change? It’s early enough to grab dinner somewhere?”

“No, honey. I’m going home. I have a microwave dinner with my name on it, and it don’t care that I’m dressed in hoochie clothes.” She gave a little half-assed smile and left the way Carl did.

Tonight sucked. Candace had been struggling with this job for a while, but seeing Doris so sad made her afraid that if she didn’t change her stars, she really would end up like her. Ten years in, and she’d be completely jaded by men and the way they looked at girls like her and Doris. The way they treated them. Oh, some were nice enough, but Candace didn’t do lap dances, and sometimes men got angry when they drank at the bar here. Sometimes they got rough or said cruel things to try to shame her into dancing just for them.

What was she doing here? Dad would’ve rolled over in his grave if he knew she was paying his medical bills like this. She was so far from the girl her dad has raised, and the shame she tried so hard to keep at bay reared its ugly head. Heat crept up her neck and made a pit stop in her cheeks, and carefully, she turned her face away from the mirror.

“You’re up,” Carl yelled through the curtain over the cheering from the main room.

A hundred and fifty dollars to dance half naked, and for some reason she’d felt less cheap when she’d considered sleeping with Torren for money. Why? She’d never been tempted to sleep with a boy who wasn’t serious about her. Why now? Was it desperation for money? For a friend? For a change? For him?

“Cinnamon!” Carl yelled.

She dashed a knuckle under her eyes just in case a tear had escaped, then stood and inhaled deeply, steeling herself to put on the show so she could pay her electric bill. She could do this, same as every other night.

“Coming,” she murmured.