Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“You’ll be fine,” Eliza says, giving me a playful nudge on the shoulder. “You’re hot, babe. All you have to do is just not act like the crazy, cold, manhater you are.”
“What? I’m not a manhater,” I protest.
“Well you’re certainly not a fan of guys,” she laughs.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you be if your dad cheated on your mom and then ran away with another woman, left you, and basically ruined the future he’d promised you?”
Eliza snort-laughs and gives me that older-sister look that makes me feel like I’ve just said something stupid. “Honey, at least half the girls in here have dads who have run off on them. You’re right at home here.”
“True that,” a girl with red hair says as she passes us. I think her name is Strawberry or Cherry or some kind of fruit.
“Just don’t let these guys see that you have disdain for their entire gender, okay?” she says, brushing her hands through her new bob, a hairstyle I would never have the confidence to rock. She said she got it because she liked Natalie Portman’s hair in The Professional. I still haven’t seen it.
I sigh. “I have to dance too, right? You know I’m terrible at that.”
“Just move your hips,” she says. “Play with your hair, stare into their eyes, and make them think you’re really into them.”
“When I’m really not.”
“Exactly. Cash cows.”
“Cash cows,” I repeat.
We both laugh. A moment of levity, I guess, because the truth is, I’m absolutely terrified inside. Eliza says she loves working here, but I’m not quite sure I believe her. I’ve seen her face at the end of some of her shifts when she comes by the house, and she looks a lot more than just physically exhausted to me.
And I’m pretty sure there’s something at Ja-Ja-Ja-Jaguars that just slowly sucks your soul out of your body and happily feeds on it. Like all the girls who sign up to dance will eventually end up drained dry, shells of their former selves, like grapes that have turned into raisins, all because they needed the money.
So why am I here tonight? Why am I dancing?
Well, because I’m desperate for money too.
Mom’s drinking problem has only gotten worse. We’re on welfare now and have been for a while. The car needs work, the house is falling apart, and there’s only so much I can do to keep it up. There’s a growing list of things that need to be addressed, from the latch on the back door that doesn’t latch half the time to the dryer simply not drying any clothes you put in it (meaning I have to take trips down to the laundromat to do the laundry now).
There’s also an electrical issue in the back of the house where no matter what bulb I swap out in the bathroom, it simply won’t light up, so if I don’t shower when the sun is up, I have to shower in the dark. And with growing food costs and the price of gas, we’re barely getting by at this point.
And mom’s alcohol habit means that whatever money I have left after buying groceries is pretty much gone. So what other choice do I have in a town like Boxhurst without a degree and without tuition money?
Thanks, Dad.
“Yo, Turner!” I look up and see Josh, the manager, poking his head in the door. He’s wearing a floral button-up with a gold chain and looks pissed. “I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes. Get your ass on stage now!”
And like that, he’s gone.
I rocket to my feet, feeling like I’m about to have a heart attack as I check myself in the mirror. But Eliza quickly grabs me by the shoulders and turns me to face her.
“Breathe, honey. Breathe. He hasn’t been calling your name for five minutes. It’s probably been about twenty-five seconds. He’s just all coked up being the asshole he always is. Relax. You’ll be fine. Just remember what I told you.”
“Right,” I say, gulping down air like I just almost drowned. More horrible scents invade my nose and lungs. If only the men out there knew how nasty it was back here, none of these girls would get another dollar bill. “Cash cows. Move my hips. Stare into their eyes.”
“And don’t let them know you’re a manhater,” Eliza adds.
“I’m not a manhater!”
“Uh-huh, sure.” She laughs in that older-sister tone again, hustling me out the door into the main room. “Come on. Go milk those cash cows!”
The music is the first thing that hits me when I step into the main room of the club. I’m pretty sure it’s ACDC, but then again, my knowledge of rock is pretty terrible, so I wouldn’t put money on it.
There are three girls on stage. I recognize one of them. Her name is Destiny. Eliza introduced me when I showed up earlier. She seemed nice, but I didn’t really have time to get to know her, and I was pretty much blanking on everything she said because I was so nervous thinking about tonight. All I can remember is that I’m pretty sure her boyfriend is one of the bartenders here. Or maybe he used to be? Who knows?