Under the Lights Page 2

Out of nowhere a small, dark form collides with my chest. She starts to fall, and instinctively, I grab her by the upper arms, pulling her to me.

  “Oh!” It’s a breathless cry.

  “I’m sorry. I—” My voice trails off as bright blue eyes framed by thick lashes capture mine.

  I quickly take in full, pink lips and long, glossy waves swishing down her back. She smells fresh like flowers after rain, and as I hold her, I can feel she’s slim but strong. She’s fucking beautiful.

  “I’m okay.” Her voice is confident, and… annoyed? Amused?

  I let her go. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I didn’t see you in the dark.”

  She glances down. “I am wearing all black.”

  I quickly scan the tight halter-top and workout pants she’s wearing. It’s the same as the other two girls’ outfits, but her exposed torso is lined with muscle, not soft like theirs. Her expression is playful as well. I can tell she’s younger, more innocent.

  “No worries.” She starts to go, but I can’t help myself.

  “Hey… What’s your name?”

  Her head tilts, and blue eyes meet mine. “Larissa. But everyone calls me Lara. You?”

  “Mark.” I put a hand in my pocket. “I’m just Mark.”

  She nods and a smile curls her lips. “Nice to meet you, just Mark.”

  At that, she takes off toward the food table, and I try to go. Everything in me says don’t let my thoughts wander about this girl, follow the rules, turn around and get out of here… but my eyes linger on her slender back, slipping down to her cute little ass. Larissa.

  “Hey!” The sharp, male growl grabs my attention. “New guy. Get out here and help unload these trucks.”

  Snapping out of it, I hustle to the door feeling lighter than I have in weeks.

  2

  “When it’s dark, look for stars.”

  Lara

  Tanya finishes in a split.

  Center stage, arms raised in a V, breasts completely bare.

  Cheers and catcalls explode at us from the predominately male audience, and we’re all frozen on our marks as the lights go out. The curtain falls, sending the odor of musty velvet swirling around us, and all arms drop.

  The applause continues in front of the heavy fabric, but behind it is the swift click of stilettoes on hardwoods, the whisper of tights brushing thighs, fishnets and feathers. I exit stage right and catch the small hand waiting for me in the wings as I pass.

  The glare of the spotlight dazzled my vision, but I’ve done this so many times, I could find my way blind. We navigate the maze of boxes and discarded scenery to my dressing room, surrounded by the odor of talc, cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and sweat. Rosin crackles beneath my feet with every step, and we pass dancers speaking in low voices about what worked and what didn’t and whose fault it was.

  “These fucking pasties are for shit. Mine almost fell off twice,” Vanessa growls, slamming the red-sequined tassels on a box.

  “Just paint them on.” Bea holds her hair up, inspecting her full breasts with bright-red tips. “You can’t even tell the difference.”

  “I can tell,” Vanessa says. “No tassels.”

  “Piercing?”

  We keep moving.

  The dark passage turns into a dimly lit hall lined with tiny dressing rooms where many of us live. Secretly, of course, since this old theater isn’t zoned for residents. I lift the handle on our tiny door, and we push inside, both speaking at once.

  “Oh, Lara!” Molly’s voice is breathless. “Tanya was like a feather, floating and drifting—”

  “Help me get this thing off,” I interrupt, easing into the chair and trying to hold my shoulders still as I unfasten the enormous feathered wings. “They must weigh fifty pounds.”

  She hurries over, her small fingers searching my back for the remaining hooks.

  “She was more like a pipe cleaner the way she bent over backwards,” she continues as she lifts the enormous mélange of cut glass and feathers from my back. “She’s so flexible. I wish I could move that way.”

  “Great.” I rub my neck, rolling my head side to side. “You aspire to be a stripper.”

  “Exotic dancer!”

  I straighten and peel off my fake eyelashes as Molly pulls my dark brown hair behind my shoulders and down my back.

  “You can do better.”

  “At least you can sing,” she says. “Your voice is the best of all of them.”

  My chest tightens at the idea of my dream. “Nobody cares about that. They just want our bodies.”

  I glance up at her bright blue eyes. Her blonde hair is streaked with auburn highlights, and every day she grows more beautiful, her breasts rounder, her hips more narrow. It makes my head hurt. I have to get us out of here before she’s pulled into this world.

  “I’ll go back to the library tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so determined to find a new job.” She turns to my mirror and places the feathers on her shoulders. “I love it here. Everyone’s so nice, and the girls are so pretty. Some of them make a lot of money!”

  “It’s pretty average for burlesque.”

  In my dressing mirror, I watch as she blows kisses, wondering for the thousandth time if I made a mistake begging Rosa to let Molly stay that night I found her starving in the alley.

  For a year, we’ve shared my bed, shared my food, and she’s worn my old clothes. She’s never cost the show a penny. Still, she’s catching up with me in size, and with a body like hers, Gavin’s going to notice soon.

  A gentle knock interrupts our conversation. “Lara?”

  My heart jumps, and I’m out of the chair and crossing to unlock the door for Roland. Our show is unique for its original music, composed and directed by the most talented man in the Crescent City… Standing right here in front of me.

  “Hey,” I say breathlessly, trying to sound mature.

  Roland is a little taller than me with sexy brown eyes and glossy dark hair he tucks behind his ears. He smokes too much, but his white smile still dazzles. He leans against the doorjamb, taking the cigarette from between his lips, and his elegant hands distract me.

  I remember a time when I had the most enormous crush on him, imagining him sliding those long fingers along my neck, making my pulse tick higher with every touch… playing my body like he plays the piano…

  And then he told me he’s gay.

  And I grew up and learned not fall in love here.

  “Some rich guy wants to meet you.” He smooths my hair around my head, licks his finger and scrubs mascara off my cheek. “He asked specifically for the young brunette who kept her clothes on.”

  “He must’ve had binoculars to see me. I was all the way in the back—covered in feathers.”

  “I want you to give him a chance.”

  I inspect the tiny pink-feathered cups covering my small breasts. A pink silk corset is drawn tight around my waist, and my legs are covered in pink fishnets that stop mid-thigh. My sky-high pink stilettoes put me almost at his eye-level. Even without the nudity, this get-up is still pretty sexy.

  “I don’t know.” My nose wrinkles. “Those guys in the audience make my skin crawl.”

  Molly pulls my arm. “But a rich guy… Maybe he’ll buy you expensive gifts or take you to New York. You could be a rap star!”

  Air snorts through my nose. “I don’t rap.”

  “One rapping stripper is quite enough.” Roland gives her a wink. “This one would most likely take you to Paris. He’s French. Freddie Lovel.”

  “What’s a Frenchman doing in New Orleans?” I pull out a makeup remover wipe and remove my blue-red lipstick.

  “He works in shipping—coffee, souvenirs. Parisians love Louisiana merch.”

  “I couldn’t be less interested.”

  He steps back and returns the cigarette to his lips. “Still, guys like him can be good for your career. Turn on the charm, keep him coming back for more.”

  My throat tightens. “Ar
e you saying I should… do whatever he wants?”

  “No.” The sharp tone in Roland’s voice is a relief. “Just encourage him. Molly, hide behind the screen. I’ll be back in a second.”

  The door closes, and I only have a moment to grab my red velvet robe. It’s loose and flowing with short sleeves and a V-neck that closes tightly with a large button in the center of my chest.

  Soft knocking begins, and I fake a smile as I open the door with a flourish. “Mr. Lovel?”

  “Ms. Hale.” He turns and hands me a huge bouquet of red roses.

  “Oh my goodness! Are these for me?” I cradle the flowers in my arms like a baby. “You’re so sweet!”

  “You’re so beautiful.” He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Beautiful roses for a beautiful lady.”

  “I’m not a lady, Mr. Lovel.” I gaze at the velvet buds.

  “Call me Freddie.” He smiles, revealing straight white teeth.

  He’s tall, dressed in a tux with a thick, stainless steel watch on his wrist. Dark hair that’s a little too long curls around his ears, but he’s still elegant and not bad looking.

  “Then you must call me Lara.” I look around for something large enough to hold the bouquet. “I’ll have to borrow a vase…”

  “I’ll buy you one. I can buy you anything you need. Just say the word.”

  Okay, I have to admit that is an intriguing proposition. I’ve had admirers before, but they’ve only ever sent notes or candy. They’ve never come backstage to meet me, and they’ve never been rich.

  I blink slowly up at him. “What brought you to the Pussycat Angels, Freddie?”

  Again his lips curl into a smile. I try to decide if it’s sexy…

  “I wanted something exotic but beautiful… like the runway show on television. The concierge suggested I come here.”

  “You know, we have nothing to do with that show.”

  “I know. Your show is more interesting.”

  I scan his features looking for any signs he’s a creep. Nothing about him sets off my alarm bells. Freddie Lovel is not the usual star-struck douche wanting to screw a stripper—or burlesque dancer.

  Leaning closer, his voice drops. “Can I walk you home?”

  Then again, I could be wrong.

  “I, umm…” A tiny bead of perspiration tickles down my spine as I search for a good excuse. Roland said to keep him coming back for more, but we’re not supposed to tell anyone we live in the theater. “I actually have to stay late tonight. They’re changing one of the numbers. I’m sorry.”

  “I can wait?”

  “It’s probably going to run long.”

  He straightens, and his dark brows pull together. “And you’re tired, I’m sure.”

  My chest tightens. I’m losing him. He thinks I’m blowing him off…

  “I’m not always tired.” Sliding my tongue over my lips, I tilt my head to the side and blink slowly like I’ve seen Vanessa do a million times. “Some nights I’m so full of energy, I simply lie awake in bed.”

  It works. He moves closer. “I guess I’ll have to come back, then.”

  “Are you sure? It’s just the same show every night.”

  His eyes move to my mouth and slowly back. “But not entirely the same.”

  I hold out my hand, and he catches it. I’m not sure what’s about to happen, but he gives it a squeeze, sliding his thumb over my fingers before kissing it lightly. “I’ll say goodnight, then.”

  “Au revoir?”

  “Au revoir.” He backs away and gives me a wink before turning to go.

  I wait, watching as he walks down the narrow hallway. A definite bounce is in his step, and I close the door, breathing a sigh of relief.

  Molly comes out from behind the screen and picks up one of my roses as I unbutton my robe and toss it aside.

  “That was close.” I reach for a pair of jeans and a faded navy tee.

  She lies back on the bed, holding the rose to her nose. “He is very interesting!”

  “Meh,” I pull the shirt over my head. “He barely held my attention.”

  “It must be amazing to be a dancer,” she sighs. “Men just dying to meet you, dreaming of kissing you… I can’t wait for my first kiss.”

  “They’re dreaming of more than kissing.” My gaze meets hers in the mirror. “And I’d better not catch you kissing anybody. You’re too young.”

  “I know,” she sighs, putting the flower behind her ear. “But one day…”

  I walk over and sit beside her on the bed, sliding a strawberry curl off her cheek. “One day, we’ll be in a better place. We’ll be able to do what we want and see who we want, and we won’t have to deal with… men’s expectations.”

  Her eyes flicker to mine. “You seemed to like Freddie—”

  “Because I’m a great actress.” I stand and go to the door. “He’s probably the least creepy guy I’ve met, but do not fall in love in a place like this. Everything is fake.”

  “I can’t wait to fall in love.” Her eyes go dreamy again.

  “Well, you’d better keep that on a short leash.” I jerk my pants over my hips and button them. “Most men who hang around here are assholes. Now get ready for bed.”

  A light knock on my door tells me Roland is back, and I pull open the door.

  “Good job. He said he’ll be back tomorrow.”

  I do a little bow. “I aim to please!”

  “Come on—we’re all upstairs.”

  I follow him to the stairs leading to the roof, but as we pass certain doors, I hear moans and the occasional rhythmic tapping. My stomach sinks, because I know what those noises mean. Some girls are allowed to supplement their earnings by offering special “private performances” for a few extra thousand dollars.

  Of course, Gavin, the theater owner, keeps a percentage of these arranged meetings. He’s the pimp, which makes us high-class hookers. The thought turns my stomach. I’m old enough to take a John, and I’ve heard some of the girls complaining because I never have. It’s why I thought Freddie had come to my room tonight. Until I realize…

  “You found him, didn’t you?” My voice is quiet, and we stop halfway up the stairs. “You’re looking out for me again.”

  He pauses and steps down. “I have to take care of my muse.” His face is serious, which is rare, and he touches my cheek with his thumb. “No one sings my songs the way you do, Lar. You’ve got real talent. And now Gavin’s given us a chance…”

  My heart swells at his words, and I take a step up, putting us closer together. “What are you saying?”

  “Gavin wants more variety. I told him I’d write some new songs, and I asked if you could sing them. He’s been promising you a part for a while. He owes it to you. He owes it to your mother.” He gives me a warm smile and takes off up the stairs ahead of me, calling back over his shoulder. “If you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested!” I chase after him, and we push through the metal door together.

  A small group of us are celebrating Evie’s birthday on the roof tonight. She’s pretty much the weakest member of the group, but so far, it hasn’t seemed to matter. Her face is plain, but she’s got full breasts. She’s also willing to go totally nude if Gavin asks her, which I guess keeps her in the show.

  And she’s my best friend.

  Besides Roland, of course.

  He grabs my hand, and we go to where Evie is perched among our friends. Bea sits to her right. She’s sexy and petite and one of our best dancers. Bea’s best friend Vanessa sits on the other side of her sipping champagne. She’s a total bitch to me. Roland says it’s because Vanessa thought she’d be Tanya’s understudy until I came to live here after graduating from boarding school with the nuns. He says she took one look at me and knew her chances of becoming the lead were over.

  Tanya, the star of our burlesque show, isn’t here. I’m not surprised, as she’s been losing weight, being late to practices, and seeming lethargic in her moves. She’s a contortionist, so she can hide a
lot of fuck ups, but Roland said she’d better get her shit together before Gavin demotes her.

  Although, if she goes down, it means I go up, and as excited as I might be about singing Roland’s songs, being out front means all the male attention is focused on me.

  “Lara!” Evie jumps up gives me a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  I hug her back. “Happy birthday.”

  Evie’s a runaway from some podunk farming community in Memphis. She left home and became a New Orleans showgirl—not that it’s necessarily a step up.

  A glass of champagne is placed in my hand, and we all raise a toast to Evie.

  Roland takes my arm and we step over to the balcony. The city is spread out far below in a mixture of thick oak trees, rainbow neon lights, and yellow street lamps. Off in the distance, I hear the noise of a train whistle.

  “What’d you think of him?”

  “He’s okay, but I know how it goes. If I don’t put out, he’ll lose interest.”

  Roland lights a cigarette and exhales a long puff of blue smoke. “Not necessarily. I talked to him, and this guy’s different.”

  “He’s gay?” I give him a pointed look, and he laughs.

  “No—he’s an entrepreneur.” Another pull, another long exhale. “He’s interested in trying new things, putting his money behind unique investments.”

  “So I’m an investment?”

  He nods. “You could be. Singers can do very well if they have the right backer, and if you get him emotionally invested as well as financially—”

  “Then I’d be prostitute in every sense of the word.”

  Roland’s growl is interrupted by a loud laugh from Evie. I glance at her still sitting among our strange family, and my mind travels back to the first night I saw what really went on after hours in our theater home.

  Vanessa’s door had been open, and when I looked inside, she was on her knees, her fingers splayed over a man’s naked ass. Her head was pressed all the way to his pelvis, and he fisted her blonde hair, groaning loudly. His knees wobbled, and she coughed and gagged. He released her, shoving her back, and I watched him come all over her face, white liquid spilling down to her breasts.