The reference made me snicker. “I was eight in ‘99.” I wondered if corsets typically made the wearer light-headed. Was the room supposed to spin like this? I tried to shake off the appearing black spots in my vision. “How many shots did you have?”
Empty bottles of vodka and gin made the dressing room floor a hazard. A cocktail of floral perfumes wafted through the air.
“Only one,” Sarah hiccupped. We stared her down until she rolled her pale eyes. “Plus five. Give or take a few.”
“Because Lucas is coming?” Jade asked as she sealed me into my costume for the night. Amy, the wicked witch of Pink Cherrie, let it slip during practice that Lucas would be her plus one for the evening.
“No,” Sarah spat and then tried to excuse her overkill pregaming. “It’s Halloween. Why not drink a little?” She feigned a shrug.
The source of her drinking problem would be arriving in less than an hour with the rest of our guests. She had drifted into bouts of sadness when we went to the clubs, but nothing like this.
I had never experienced a serious breakup, which I considered myself lucky for, but Ididknow what it was like to be left behind.
I reached out, but she moved away.
Her body swayed as tears formed in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just need a minute.” She turned and stumbled into the supply room with Jade following close behind.
“Party time,” I mumbled to myself and finished pinning my hair into Belle’s iconic look. My reflection in the mirror made me wish I’d chosen a less revealing outfit. The yellow corset pushed my chest up and framed every curve; Jade’s boob contouring certainly didn’t help me blend into the expected crowd.
But Pink Cherrie wasn’t built on modesty. I had signed my regular life away to become a sex doll, and when I wasn’t with Jason or the girls, I wondered how long I’d be able to stand looking in the mirror and not recognizing myself.
The dressing room was a mess of costumes, makeup containers, and stray glitter that seemed to coat every surface. Racks of shimmering dresses, ranging from sequined ballgowns to frilly skirts, leaned precariously against the wall. We were paid to dress up, to pretend we were something we weren’t, and I knew it would catch up to me eventually.
A dozen thoughts raced through my mind as I covered my lips in red, and all of them led to one roadblock. I checked my phone resting on the vanity and sighed when I saw there were no new messages.
After sending my father the money for my wide-eyed half-siblings, I hadn’t heard from him. I couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. He never had time for me unless I was siding with him against my mom or handing him part of my paycheck. I was being used; any idiot with two braincells to rub together could figure that out.
But maybe being used was better than having no dad at all.
Maybe it was better than letting my siblings find out the hard way how selfish he was. Even though I fantasized about it sometimes, when it was late and sleep wasn’t an option. I thought about being selfish, like him, and that scared me more than working at Pink Cherrie for the rest of my life.
“It’s showtime!” Kitty poked her head through the door and looked around. Her bubble-gum pink hair lay delicately over her pale shoulders. The slutty rendition of Sleeping Beauty sashayed into the room, the skirt of her costume swishing with every step. “Where’s Cinderella and Jasmine?” she asked, her glittery heels clicking on the scuffed tile floor.
“In the back,” I said, motioning vaguely toward the BDSM room, where more costumes and collarswere piled haphazardly over the stained couch.
She glanced behind me. “Because of Lucas?”
I nodded, grimacing slightly. “Yep.”
She let out a dramatic sigh, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger. “Well, that just leaves us one option.”
My curiosity got the better of me, and I tilted my head. “What’s that?”
“We have to kill him,” she said matter-of-factly, her lips curving into a sly smile.
I snickered, giving her a playful shove. “We can’t do that.”
“You’re right, we’ll need the supplies before starting the elimination process.”
The determination on her face prompted my laughter. Although blood-splattered princess costumes on Halloween wouldn’t be suspicious, my to-do-list didn’t include murder.
Kitty snorted. “Go mingle. I’ll check on the girls.” She slapped my ass and pushed me out the door.
Psychedelic lighting and creepy decorations enveloped me as I stumbled out the dressing room door. The store imitated Friday the thirteenth on steroids with floating ghouls and FX blood fountains. I forced my laughter down when Slutty Snow and the seven whores walked by.
The last Halloween party I graced with my presence was in my first semester of college; Cynthia whatever-her-last-name-was dared me to get to third base with Chase Derm. The events of those nights still haunted me.
I made a beeline to the punch fountains and avoided scooping up any slimy eyeballs.
