She laughs her broken glass laugh, and I decide broken glass laughs aren't so bad. "It's just a term of endearment. All the girls use it. And, no, we do our jobs to keep things nice around here."
When I try to hand the shirt back, insisting I have one, she shoves it into my chest. "I saw what Cain brought in. No offense, but you need something clean. Mr. Hodge will get upset if he sees you out of sorts." She waves toward the stained gray shirt I came here in. It's the best one I've got. The one I wore to try and spring Dizzy from jail. "Come on, we gotta go."
I tear the thing off and stand exposed in my pale yellow bra, the one with wiring that digs into the underside of my left breast, and replace it with Poppet's shirt. It's loose. Not because Poppet is bigger than me, though she is-everyone is bigger than me-but because her chest is three sizes larger than mine. It reminds me of that movie, How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
And what happened then? Well, in Whoville they say, her small breasts grew three sizes that day!
I reopen my bottom drawer and pull off my green wig. Grab my orange one instead. Poppet's mouth opens in a circle of black when she sees my real hair matted to my head.
"Your natural color is pretty." Poppet twists side to side like she's three instead of sixteen, or however old she is.
I ignore the comment and bounce on the balls of my feet like I'm ready to go. She takes my cue, and we find the other girls. Mercy, our Point, yells for us to move our rears when she sees us. We jog over as I count the girls. There are ten of us, nine wearing Carnations, one with an orange wig and soft black V-neck that makes me feel like I'm being hugged.
Mercy calls out assignments, which are more or less chores, to the others before looking at Poppet and me. "You two. You're on bathrooms. Next time don't be late or you'll be sleeping outside." She pushes black bangs out of her eyes. There's a scar on her forehead. "New girl, if you finish early you'll help the others with their assignments. And if I see your freak ass slacking for one second I'll deduct a week's pay."
All eyes turn to me, and heat creeps up my neck. "I won't slack."
Mercy sighs. "My God, don't even open your mouth. Just shut up and work. That's it."
I nod.
"Don't nod at me, either."
My teeth snap together as a couple of girls laugh. Mercy is singling me out to prove a point. I wonder how she got to be the Carnations' Point Girl.
And whether someone else wouldn't be a better one.
We would be better, Wilson whispers.
I clean beside Poppet for hours and then help scrub the floors. Every few minutes Mercy barks at me to work harder, leaving muddied footprints in her wake. The girls glare at me with disdain as if it's my fault Mercy is targeting me.
We're almost finished with the floors when Raquel glides over. She has short brunette hair and a long neck. Raquel smirks at me before kicking over the bucket of dirty water. It sloshes over my knees, soaking my jeans. I jump to my feet, fists curled, breathing hard through flared nostrils.
"You'd better keep Mercy off my back, new girl." Raquel turns to leave.
I imagine grabbing her by the hair and taking her to the ground. But I shake the thought from my head. This is exactly what Wilson would want, and I have to keep him quiet at all costs. So I bite my lip, do my internal counting, and crouch down to sponge the water away.
Mercy walks by and sees the mess.
"Jesus, Domino. You are worthless."
Wilson lifts his head, and I grit my teeth.
Chapter Eleven
Night Falls
When night comes knocking, chaos erupts. Girls run between one another's rooms, stealing lipstick and dresses and nail polish. Someone tests her vocal chords like she'll be singing all night, and somewhere in the house, a piano plays. The pitter-pat of bare feet morphs into the firm click of heels, and Poppet orders me to sit at the vanity.
I've barely digested my dinner-chicken-stuffed ravioli in a bittersweet red sauce-and showered the day's work off my body, and now Poppet is attempting to apply foundation to my face.
I gently push her hand away. "We work tonight, right? For money?"
Poppet dives toward my face again, this time with blush. "Yes, we work tonight. But you won't make squat if you don't let me do your makeup."
I dodge her deft hand a second time and rush toward my drawer. As we scrubbed bathroom floors, Poppet explained what I'm to do tonight. Customers, men and women alike, will come to be entertained. I figured I might be doing something along those lines since the place is called Madam Karina's Home for Burgeoning Entertainers, but before now, I was waiting for the actual job choices Ms. Karina-er, Madam Karina-mentioned before we left Detroit.