NATALIE

“You’re in a good mood,” Candy Land smiles as I walk to Paul’s office.

I pause, “No, I’m not.”

“See these.” She points to my eyes. “They’re happy.”

“Huh, don’t have any reason to be,” I mutter, and tone it down. We’ve locked in our cast, and rehearsals have begun. I’m having so much fun being a part of the creative process that life seems a bit easier lately. But I don’t want Paul to get wise to any changes in me.

Remember to be cold.

Distant.

Act normal.

Knocking on his door his low voice grumbles, “Come in.”

“Have a business plan for the holidays, Paul,” I blankly tell him as I push the door closed.

Typing at his keypad he swipes his hand through the hologram screen to put it to sleep-mode. “Sit.”

With my laptop ready I take the seat opposite him, noting as I always do how much shorter it is than his chair. He towers over his visitors on purpose. With a cool head trained from years of being miserable and closed off, I show him the presentation I put together late last night. A little investment into keeping him off my scent.

“The holidays are a lonely time for people, as we all know. Business is high for you normally but I found a way to increase that.”

Leaning back in his office chair he asks, “How?”

“You normally don’t decorate much. But what if this year you did? You have the funds now to make the clubs incredible. Wait,” I smirk, holding up my hand at he starts to object. “Not all fluff and sweetness, but really sexy Christmas. Tiny costumes. Fantastic lights. Vegas-style. Something so flashy and hot that the other clubs in town can’t compete.”

Already thin lips purse as he scans the outfit ideas I put together. For the females they’re more fun. The men are mostly in nothing but dressed up thongs. But it works.

“That’ll entertain the people who are already here.”

“Don’t underestimate word of mouth, Paul. Oh, and did I not mention my other idea?”

His eyes narrow. “Go on.”

“Dress the girls up in sexy elf and Santa costumes and send them into the bars of Atlanta.”

“They won’t like me advertising on their turf.”

“How will they know unless someone tells them?” Closing the laptop I meet his eyes with a sneaky glint in mine, because that’s what will get through to this snake. “The girls go in dressed up, say they’re heading to some holiday party after grabbing a quick drink. They strut around, flirt up a storm and whisper to all the groups of men that they’re really from The Dollhouse or Southern Comfort. Have them hold a suggestive finger to their lips that it’s a secret. Maybe even suck on a candy cane. Then they head to the next bar. They can’t go twice to the same place but if they buy a drink when they show up, who’d think to throw them out?”

Clasping his hands over his large belly he grunts, “Hmm.”

“Same for the men. Have Bruce and Steven make the rounds of the gay bars. But don’t stop there. Send Matt and Jonathan—clearly straight—out to approach Atlanta’s women. You have an untapped resource with them. Right now Swinging Richards attracts mostly men. The ladies are usually there for bachelorette parties, things like that. But you send Matt or Jonathan out and you’ll get a buzz going that you don’t already have!”

My boss’s eyes light up. “I like this, Nat. I like it a lot.”

“Think it could work?”

He stares off at the possibilities. “I’ll put you in charge of it.”

Before I can gather my shock I blurt, “What? No, not me.”

“Why not you?” His concentration sharpens.

Doing my best to appear normal I shrug, “I’m not a manager. Who wants the bookkeeper telling them what to do?”

“You’re a business manager, so that’s what you’ll tell them.”

“I’ll tell them?”

“You think I have time for Christmas?”

Biting back frustration I smile, “Of course not. I’ll take care of it.”

“Good.” His swipes above his computer module and the hologram screen comes back into play. He has the latest technology where the movie plays in 3D right here on his desk, actors playing out a medieval battle. As blood spatters into nothingness I stand up and head out. “Have Juniper be one of the girls.”

Pausing at the door I ask, “Juniper? You think that’s a good idea?”

“She’s the ballsiest of them.”

“And the craziest.”

Engrossed in his show, he mutters, “This isn’t a conversation. It’s an order. And Nat, I want you decorating the clubs, too. You can have one helper.” Meeting my eyes he grumbles, “Since you felt you had enough free time to get another job, I’ll keep you busy.”

Spirits falling I mutter, “Yes, sir.”

How am I going to have time to manage the publicity, shop for and decorate three clubs plus work on Max’s film? Closing his door behind me I glance around the dressing room and see an unfamiliar face primping in one of the mirrors.

While attaching fake-eyelashes Candy Land asks, “How’d it go?”

“Who’s that?”

She lowers her voice. “Ophelia is the name she’s going by. Real name is AnnaMay Dinkle. Named after her grandmother, can you believe that? Thank God we get to choose our stage-names!”

“How old is she?”

“Legal age,” Candy Land shrugs, back to work before the glue dries. “Looks fourteen though, right? That’s what I thought, too. The men’ll love her!”

Stifling a shudder I go to leave and run right into Juniper Rising walking in from the club. She bends backwards like I’m contagious. “Oh hell no,” she mutters, wagging her finger. “Why are you here?”

How badly do I want to slap her right now? But instead I distract her ire with a sense of purpose. “Paul has a job for you. Off site. You in?”

Purple eyelashes flutter. “He said that? You messing with me?”

“Go ask him.”

She starts for his door but thinks better of it, turning to wave through the air a decisive, “Better not bother the man. What is this job? He ain’t my pimp.”

I know for a fact that she fucks some of the guys here in her private sessions. They all do some sort of sexual act if the money is right.

“It’s a publicity stunt. You and one other girl will go around town to drum up business. But you have to be sneaky about it.”

At the S-word her eyes perk up. “I like sneaky,” she smiles, tapping all ten fingernails together like a Disney villain might do.

Launching into my plan I tell her all about it. The ears perk of several of our other girls. But no one more than Ophelia who inches closer the longer I talk.

“Can I go with her?” she whispers, sounding too fragile for my liking. “I want to be the other girl. Can I?”

Juniper shouts, “Hell no! You just got here little girl. You don’t get no field trips. You gotta earn this stuff. Now go eat a lollipop or whatever it is you children do!”

Her eyes steel but it’s just for a moment. Barely enough time to seem real. I stare at her wondering if I imagined it as she quietly nods and says, “That’s okay. I understand.”

Juniper’s energy is ten times the new girls as she claps her hands and shouts, “Oh hell yes! I’m in! Candy Land, you wanna join me? Your dark skin and my lily-white needs-a-tan bullshit will have them eating out of our hands.”

Juniper is white trash who thinks she has soul. Candy Land is third-generation Jamaican who tolerates Juniper’s affectations.

But from the look on her face, she’d love the field-trip assignment, and asks “We get paid more for this?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Can you talk to him about that?”

“You can.”

Her full lips bunch up. “Nope.” Candy Land flips back to the mirror, meeting my eyes in the reflection. “Count me in. I’d like the change of pace, guess that’s payment enough.”

“Okay, it’s set then. I’ll find the costumes. Put my number in your phones so you can text me your sizes.”

They dig in their lockers, not allowed to call anyone or use the Internet while on the job—Paul’s rule. Both mutter regret about the amount of people blowing up their phones but since they’re afraid of his wrath they skip replying and tap in my information instead.

My gaze slides to Ophelia’s reflection as she applies lipstick, hair in a high ponytail. I wonder who her parents are? And I really want to get a glimpse of that drivers license because I don’t believe she’s eighteen.

Juniper slams her metal locker. “When do we start, Nat?”

Ignoring the dig, I say, “We just had Thanksgiving, so right away I guess,” reaching for where I left my computer bag. “Let me get a few things in order and I’ll get back to you.” Paul’s door opens as I ask, “Anyone good at shopping?” and all heads turn to him.

With a slow stroll he scans the mostly naked girls before landing on me. My heart beats faster at the look in his eyes. “You’ll do the shopping, Nat, alone.”

“Of course.”

As he heads for the club he grunts, “Don’t let me find out you pawned this off.”