The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (10 page)

Before she could chicken out, Bridgette stopped in front of one of the women and pulled Patty’s hand so she was standing next to her.
 

“Ivy,” Bridgette said. “I want you to meet someone.”

The woman turned around and Patty tried to look older and more sophisticated but had the sinking sensation that she was failing miserably. Ivy’s eyes moved up and down and all over Patty’s body before she sneered and looked to Bridgette. “Your baby sister?” she asked. “I ain’t interested in babysitting.”

She hadn’t realized how bad she wanted the job, not until that exact moment when this woman who didn’t even know her was going to take it away. A shiver ripped through Patty and she took a deep breath. “No,” she said. Ivy, who had already turned back to her mirror, ignored her.
 

“Come on,” Bridgette said with a sigh and put her hand on Patty’s arm.

She shook off her grip. “No,” Patty said again, louder this time. “I’m not a kid and I want to dance.”

Ivy froze, her lipstick halfway to her mouth. She turned slowly, and Patty noticed for the first time that the older woman looked tired. Her eyes had deep bruise colored circles under them that had been sloppily covered up with thick make-up. Fine lines around her mouth betrayed her age and the tiny silk robe she wore only partially covered a body that wasn’t as tight as it likely once was.

“I’m nobody’s baby sister,” Patty said. “I can do it.”

Next to her, Patty saw Bridgette smile and cross her arms over her chest. “Give her a chance, Ivy. We need someone to take Candi’s spot anyway. She won’t be dancing for a while.”

Patty shot her a look and Bridgette mouthed, “OD.”

She didn’t have time to digest that information before Ivy pulled her attention back. “She don’t look like she can dance.”
 

“Try her,” Bridgette said. “You got a better plan?”

Ivy looked her up and down one more time before turning back to the mirror. “Get her somethin’ to wear,” she said, her eyes locked on Patty’s in the reflection. “And put some make-up on her. She looks like shit.”

Patty opened her mouth to object to the insult, but Bridgette pulled her away and started babbling about what songs she should dance to.
 

Like a child, Patty let her new friend dress her in a neon pink thong and matching tube dress. She tugged it over her breasts, rearranging them so they didn’t spill over the top of the tiny garment. Too small, the dress barely covered her bottom and she was afraid to bend down.
 

“It fits you perfect,” Bridgette declared, and stepped back to examine her work.
 

“You don’t think it’s too small?” Patty realized it was a stupid question, but she couldn’t help herself.
 

“Sweetie, you do know you’ll be taking it off soon, right?”

Patty nodded. She’d been practicing her dance moves at home when Whitney was napping. She wasn’t too bad, and even though she’d never tried it with an audience, she’d been mentally preparing for what it would be like to take her clothes off in front of a room full of strange men. She was only a little nervous, but mostly she was excited. The adrenaline rushed through her.
 

“You okay?” Bridgette was applying what felt to Patty like layers of make-up so she could only nod in response as the other woman swiped another coat of lipstick on her.
 

“Good,” Bridgette said. “Any questions?”

Patty had a million questions. But she asked the first thing that popped into her head. “What’s the deal with Stan?”

“Stan?” Bridgette laughed. “He’s the owner’s kid. But we never see Mr. Anderson. He’s some big shot type who hires people to run the place but won’t set foot in it. Stan started hanging around about six months ago, said he wants to run the Lady.”

“So he’s the manager?” Patty couldn’t reconcile the image of the pseudo sleazy man she’d seen at the door with what Bridgette was saying.
 

“He’s most definitely not the manager.” Bridgette fluffed Patty’s hair and adjusted her dress. “He’d like to be, but his daddy keeps giving him shitty jobs to do instead. But he does them. And he never complains, at least not out loud. He’s a total sweetie.”

“Sweetie? I didn’t get that impression.”

“He’s not usually such a jerk. Trust me. You’ll like Stan.”

Patty shook her head. She had seen something there, in his smile, but the last thing she needed to worry about was a man, especially since Bridgette was handing her a garter.
 

“Put this on and seriously, you need to focus. I kinda went out on a limb for you,” Bridgette said. “Don’t worry about Stan. Your bigger problem is Ivy, but as long as you make your payout, she’ll be happy.”

“What’s my pay—”

“So you’ll get two dances on the main stage. Tell Manny—he’s the DJ—what kind of music you like to dance to and he’ll pick something for you. When you’re done, collect your tips and tuck them in here.” She handed Patty a garter. “After your dances, hit the floor and start earning. You’ll need at least ten laps, but more is always better.”

“Laps?” Patty managed to sneak out the question.
 

“Lap dances.” Bridgette looked at her like she’d just joined the conversation. “This job’s about more than just taking your clothes off,” she said. “A lot more. If you aren’t having any luck with laps, get up on one of the side stages, they actually just look like boxes, and shake it till ya make it.”
 

The room was cold but a bead of sweat slipped down Patty’s back. She looked around at the rest of the women. They didn’t look stressed or worried about the thought of what they were about to do. For the first time since she’d set foot in the Lusty Lady, Patty thought she might be in over her head. Way over.
 

“Put these on,” Bridgette said, and shoved a pair of white patent platform wedges at her.
 

“They’re too small.”
 

“Too bad. You can’t go barefoot. It’s not sexy.”
 

And it’s gross, Patty thought, looking at the floor.
 

“Put them on,” Bridgette said again. “And hurry up. Our shift starts soon.”

Patty watched while the other woman touched up her own make-up and pulled her garter up her thigh.
 

“Two minutes,” Ivy’s voice rang out across the room. There was a collective muttering in the room while the girls got organized.
 

Patty shoved her feet into the shoes that were at least a size too small. Her toes bunched into the front and held her arches at a very unnatural and painful angle. She wobbled like a newborn deer. Thankfully Bridgette took her hand and led her out of the room.
 

“Show time,” she said with a smile and blew Patty a kiss.
 

Patty swallowed the lump of doubt in her throat and tugged at her dress. “Show time.”

Chapter 5

It didn’t matter how much Grams said she liked it there. I still thought it was strange to visit her at Blissful Orchards, surrounded by things that weren’t her own. And it wasn’t just her living situation that had changed, either. She’d changed. The proper, by the book Grams I’d known my whole life was changing. Loosening up a little. Every time I went to visit her, I half expected to see her with her signature perm straightened out into spikes and dyed pink. Okay, maybe not quite that extreme, but there were days when I didn’t know what was going to come out of the mouth of my once reliable, familiar Grams.
 

I never thought of myself as someone resistant to change before, but Grams moving was a bigger adjustment than I’d factored on. Never mind the new roommate I’d left at home in the kitchen. I shook my head thinking of Reid and the catastrophe of my dinner with William a few nights before.
 

No matter how I tried to explain things to William, it didn’t seem to matter. But at least by the time he’d gone home, we’d agreed to keep my new living situation as quiet as possible. There was no point jeopardizing my position with the board at Glenmore Academy since I planned on telling Reid he’d have to find a new place to live. I’d tell Grams, too, right after we met with the doctor.

I knocked on the door of Grams’ room and pushed it open. She was sitting in her chair, knitting needles rhythmically clicking together on what was probably another scarf or sweater for me.
 

“Grams.” I bent to kiss her on the cheek. She was dressed in black slacks with matching black cardigan and her favorite red and white blouse. Her lucky blouse. “You look fantastic,” I said.

“I’m still sick,” she said, reading my mind.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes you were, darling.” Her voice was gentle. She knew me too well. She tucked her needles into a ball of yarn and pushed herself out of the chair. “Now let’s get going so that old sawbones can tell you himself.”

I took her hand the way I used to when I was little. Lately, I’d started doing it again. I don’t know why, but it felt good to have Grams’ familiar warm hand in mine. Even if it did feel a bit frailer than it used to. I squeezed a little bit, more to reassure myself, than her, and led her out to the car.

I drove her to the hospital where Dr. Abbott would be meeting with us. He was the specialist that did her biopsy and apparently the results were in and he was finally ready to discuss a treatment plan. The medical system was painfully slow, particularly when someone you loved was the patient. For the entirety of the fifteen-minute drive, Grams entertained me with stories of her new friends and the gossip about some of the nurses. It wasn’t until we were seated in the doctor’s office, waiting, that Grams asked, “So, how are things with Reid working out?”

“About that…it’s not going to work.”

“Of course it is,” she said. “Reid’s a lovely young man.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. Reid was a nice guy. We’d only been under the same roof for a few nights so far since it turned out he needed to move in a day early, which William really wasn’t happy about. But since our romantic evening the other night was pretty much shot with the mention of Reid, his actual presence didn’t seem to make things a whole lot worse. And truthfully, so far I hadn’t been totally annoyed by my new roommate. He was actually pretty funny, and maybe he was just making an effort to get along with me, but every morning I woke up to the amazing smell of freshly brewed coffee. And a girl could get used to that type of thing.

“He’s not a bad guy,” I said. “But that’s the problem. He’s a guy.”

“You don’t have to date him,” Grams said. She looked at me and wiggled her eyebrow, letting me know she’d be totally fine if I did.
 

“I’m dating William, Grams.” I looked away before she could see my smile. “But that’s not what I meant. I’m subbing at Glenmore Academy, and William just told me that I’m up for the contract spot I’ve wanted. But if it’s discovered that I have a male roommate, I could lose the spot. They’re really strict with some of their conservative beliefs.”

“Since when do schools care who you live with? In my day, teachers could do whatever they wanted as long as they were pounding some knowledge into the little heads. What’s wrong with that school, anyway?”

“I thought you’d be happy,” I said. “Aren’t you—”

“Of course I’m happy for you, Whitney.” She smiled, and the warmth radiated through her. “I know how much you love the children and I’m sure you’re a fantastic teacher. Any school would be thrilled to have you. But I have to tell you, I don’t understand why you’d want to spend your time around people who are more worried in appearances than what really matters.”

I shook my head and had to do a double take. Hadn’t Grams always been worried about appearances? My whole life, I was taught to always look respectable and be concerned about how I was presenting myself. I tilted my head and gave her a look but if she noticed it, she didn’t say anything.
 

“Besides, Whitney, I’m not sure about that boyfriend of yours.”

“What?” For the second time in only a few moments, my mouth dropped open. “You’re not saying Reid’s a better choice, are you? Because even if I was single, which I’m not,” I added in case she got any ideas, “Reid is a musician, more or less unemployed from what I can figure out and doesn’t seem to have any long-term prospects. The exact opposite of what you’ve always told me to look for in a man.”
 

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and her eyes had a vacant look in them. “Well, maybe I was wrong,” she said and I had the distinct feeling we weren’t talking about my choice in boyfriends anymore. Before I could say anything more about it, there was a slight knock at the door and the doctor came in holding a file folder, a frown on his face.

***

Ring, ring, answer your phone.
 

If no one is home…

Who will answer your…

“Shit.” Reid snapped his pencil in half and jammed his hands into his hair, pulling at the roots. “This is crap. Just a load of—”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Duncan said from across the table. “That is not crap. It’s pure artistic genius. Besides, that’s the part I wrote and it’s the best part of the whole stupid ad.”

“It’s crap,” Reid said again. He got up from the kitchen table and turned the stove on under the kettle. Maybe more caffeine was required.
 

“Look,” Duncan said. “It’s an answering service. It’s not going to win you a Grammy. Just write the stupid jingle and move on.” He lounged back in the chair and crossed his feet on the table top. “Besides, these crappy jingles pay your bills, don’t they?”

“That they do.” Reid looked at his friend and sometimes writing partner. There were times he couldn’t believe he’d ended up writing such stupid lyrics for commercials, but then again, even though he was obnoxious about it, Duncan was right. The jingles paid the bills. And Reid was in no position to turn down any type of income. “I think I’m going to need something stronger than a tea if I’m going to get through this,” Reid said. He switched off the stove, opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. “Want one?”