I felt no remorse whatsoever as I tore down the dark, winding streets of Williamson.
Laboured puffs of breath escaped my lips and nostrils, my heart beating frantically. My legs ached due to the exertion I was putting on them as they pounded down the hard concrete.
Danger; was just a few blocks down. And a wide grin was plastered on my face.
"Sorry!" I yelled as I ran into a couple about to make out, instantly breaking them apart. They shot me scathing glares, glares I returned by kicking up my speed to their annoyance.
I wasn't sure if my bumping into them had been a mistake: or not. My love life was currently in tatters, and a reminder of my single status had my hackles rising.
Irrational; I know. But try telling that to my scorned heart.
The affluent neighborhoods and areas around me gradually muted down to run down apartment complexes and unimpressive structures. I drew to a breathless halt when I rounded into a quiet lane. Empty. Safe.
Walking leisurely now, I allowed the diamond studded purse in my hand to dangle from my arm, lightly scraping the pavement. I'd stollen it. From a woman who deserved to have had it stolen from her.
I felt no remorse whatsoever. The only thing I regretted from this night's escapades was that it would undoubtedly have me fired from my job at La Trésor, a prestigious fashion studio. For all its name and repute; they paid their workers poorly.
Madame Priscilla Vitale had been a regular customer at La Trésor, always requesting for the best of what we had to offer; and not too gently at that. In a space of five months she'd been monikered 'Madame Pri-ck', by my co-workers. Her preying on Devin, the mute girl in our fold, had been the final straw for me.
My ailing mother needed some money for her surgery. And Madame Pri-ck had to have enough.
Turning into the path leading up to my apartment complex, I waved at an old man sitting near the dark staircase, he lifted the cigar he'd been smoking in acknowledgement. I took the stairs two at a time. The elevator here was broken, just like a lot of people in this complex.
We made a sad, terrifying lot. Each of us having nightmarish back stories. Compared to their horrifying ones, mine was not so bad. I, my mother, and my older sister, Agnes, had moved here to Arizona seven years ago. After we'd lost our father to a psycho murderer.
Morbid Images instantly filled my mind. Notes written with fresh blood. Pictures of decapitated heads. My father's bloody face. Mother in an oxygen mask.
My life could pass for a horror film.
"Alta!"
I raised my head from the creaking floorboards to see my sister waving me over. I increased my pace, entering into our quaint, scarcely furnished living room.
"So whatchu got?"
Unhooking the strap of the purse from my shoulder, I tossed it on the dwarf table. Agnes immediately fell upon it, removing its contents; lip glosses, Band-Aids, safety pins, sanitizers, and whatnot, while I watched tensely.
She wrenched out more and more irrelevant things from the purse, doubt and tension starting to line her pixie-like features. She suddenly huffed out, black hair falling over her face dejectedly. "Nothing! This woman's got nothing remotely related to money in her purse."
Collapsing on the ratty sofa in the room, I felt potent hopelessness closing around my chest. "You mean this woman doesn't even keep a credit card on her?"
"No."
Massaging my temples, I muttered repeatedly, "What are we gonna do? What are we gonna do?" This week just kept getting shittier and shittier. First, I caught my boyfriend Dayton cheating on me with a barmaid four days ago. Secondly, I was jobless. Thirdly, what I'd risked my job for was practically useless. And fourthly, my mother; my mother was dying. A desolate lump suddenly clogged my throat. I wouldn't let her die.
"I could take up another waitressing job." My sister, ever so practical, efficiently began working to find a solution to our problem "And considering mom's caretaker's due to be paid, I guess I'd have take Graham up on his offer t--"
"No." My voice was like a whip. "No," I repeated, shaking my head slowly. "You're not working at a stripjoint and that's final."
For a long moment we stared at each other. Then she nodded, asking quietly, "So what do you suggest we do then? You know our alternatives are limited, there aren't many blue collar jobs people haven't already occupied."
Swallowing, I hedged, "I...I'll surely think of something." And as I sat there, hopeless, desperate, and depressed, a plan began forming in my mind. My sister was not to work in a strip club. That wasn't to say I couldn't.
_
+++
Static filled my ears as I held my phone to my ears tightly. Graham seemed to be holding his breath. His voice finally resurfaced over the line, "Are you sure about this, sugar?"
"Yes," I hissed into the phone for the umpteenth time. "Now, fix me up with someone. Someone that's preferably rich, I don't care if he's an ogre, just hook me up with him and let me work my magic."
"Alright," he said with a sigh. "Be here before ten pm. You'll be doing a private dance for one of our VIP clients. Luck's on your side, sugar, because you fit the description of the girl he needs tonight. 5'3, twenty, black hair, blue eyed. Beautiful."
An involuntary blush warmed my cheeks. "I guess that's good... So, about this client, can I know more about him?"
A pause. "Sorry, I can't tell you that. Part of the rules of the job. Just that he's got...special needs."
"Ah, okay." I swallowed.
"And don't worry about what to wear. We'll take care of that when you arrive."
I nodded, then realized he couldn't see me. "Alright," I said.
When he cut the call, I stared into space and had a moment of apprehension. What would this man want to do to me? Was I ready for any of this?
But there was one thing I knew, I couldn't, wouldn't, back out now.
