“Nobody was out there,” I clip. “Germs aren’t like air pollution. You have to catch them from somebody.”
Dumbass.
Pearl and Piper are watching us captively, simpering while they cuddle close to each other.
“Let’s go touch up your lipstick, Pearl,” Piper chirps. She clicks her tongue and gives Pearl squeeze and a tiny shake before nudging her out of the kitchen.
“Come join us for the show, Ava,” Pearl calls on their way out. “Isolation is a recipe for disaster. I’m sure your boss will understand you taking the night off to relax.”
The moment they disappear through the door frame, Lucky lifts his hand to the level of my face, and I reflexively flinch, shuffling backward away from him. There are men in this world who have no problem striking a woman just because they can, and I have no doubt Lucky is one of those men. Just like my dad was.
Lucky inclines his head to one side, the crinkle between his brows deepening. “Hope you don’t think I’m the kinda guy who’d smack a woman, Ava.”
“Actually, I do,” I snap. “Because I know you’re the kind of guy who lies to sleep with a woman and then calls her acuntwhen someone else beats you to it. Based on that, you’reabsolutelythe kind of guy who would smack a woman.”
He winces, narrowing his eyes. “I’d never hurt you, Ava.”
“You’re full of shit,” I hiss, jutting my face toward him as aggressively as I can muster, “because you already did.”
I step around him to storm out of the kitchen, and he grabs my wrist to stop me.
“Ava—”
I jerk my arm out of his grasp and keep walking. “Don’t fucking touch me, you diabolical sadist.”
I don’t even care how hungry I am. I will starve to death before I even stand in the same room as him.
Unfortunately, when I get back up to my room, Pearl and Piper are standing in front of my door, blocking my way in. Piper’s holding a brush and a fistful of basic cosmetics, and Pearl is swinging a red-sequined headband around her index finger while clutching a pair of strappy, gold, t-strap heels in the other hand. Both of them are wearing mischievous smiles.
“We’renotletting you hide out in your room during this show!” Pearl declares. They both reach for me, and in a flurry of hands and small, shiny tools, they make me look presentable, but also ridiculous.
“Let’s lose this,” Piper says, moving behind me to clutch my cardigan and pull it off my shoulders.
My hands fly to cover my chest. “I don’t have a bra on.”
“Iknow!” Piper reaches her hands around to my front, pushing my hands out of the way, and then squeezes my little boobies, giving them a playful bounce. She releases them and then tugs down the neck of the camisole so it sits low, showing off my sad excuse for side boob. “It makes you looksmoldering.” Swiping the shoes from Pearl, she drops low and forces them onto my feet in impressively quick fashion, then pops back up to her full, lanky height.
“Now!” Pearl chimes in, looping her arms around my elbow and Piper’s. “Let’s go get a drink and take our seats for this spectacle ofscandal.”
A spectacle of scandal.
I can only imagine what it is.
* * *
Giventhat I’m basically in starvation mode, it only takes a drink and a half to get me completely buzzed. This makes thespectacle of scandalthat much more disorienting. I expected this to be some kind of impromptu concert with Lucky and all his performers who are quarantined with us.
The spectacle of scandal is notthat.
It’s just the brass section, no percussion, no piano—Lucky and Patrick are seated next to each other in a couple of imposing leather chairs on the opposite side of the room, sipping scotch and puffing on cigars. None of the dancers are up there either. This show is just one man and one woman under red lighting with the minimal band hidden in the darkness behind them.
The portly man is dressed in a skimpy French maid costume with black fishnet stockings attached to garters and shiny, red, platform stripper heels. He’s currently on his hands and knees while the woman, dressed as a burlesque-style dominatrix, smacks his ass hard with a riding crop.
“You’re such a naughty little bitch, Shawna,” the woman crows between smacks. “Tell everyone what a naughty little bitch you are.”
The sound of the crop smacking his ass cracks above the low moan of the trombone, and Shawna whimpers. “I’m a naughty little bitch!”
“Now, roll over like the little bitch that you are.” She smacks him again, and he complies. She stands over him with one black, stiletto boot on either side of his pudgy middle. “Are you ready to show everyone what a naughty little bitch you are?”
