Poppet must see how nervous I am because she adds, "Remember, this place is somewhere customers go to forget their troubles. Just pretend you're in a dreamworld, and they'll dream along with you. There's no room for worry inside Madam Karina's Home for Burgeoning Entertainers." She finishes her speech with a flirtatious smile.
I hear Mercy yelling, and Poppet giggles. "Come on!"
I shuffle after her, lifting the black dress so I don't trip on the fabric. A heartbeat after we enter the room, Madam Karina bustles in, black marker in hand. She inspects the space and then barks a few orders at Mercy. Then she grabs my arm and tugs me toward her.
Before she says anything, she writes a big black 10 on the back of both my hands. "I'm sorry we didn't get to spend more time together, Domino, but the key tonight is to ensure the customers are entertained. Remember your gifts, and keep a smile on your face." She looks around, licks her lips nervously. "You make them happy, understand? Don't disappoint me." Her grip on my arm starts to hurt, and I'm suddenly remembering how much I hate physical contact. She glances down at where she's holding me and shakes her head. "Sorry. I'm sorry. You'll be great, Domino. Just have fun, okay?"
Uncertainty flickers inside my chest, but I push it down where it belongs. "I'll make you proud."
Madam Karina releases me and stands tall. She's got eight inches on me, easy, but right now she seems tall enough to cast a shadow on the moon. Her face opens, and her head falls to one side. "Well, that was the perfect thing to say. I didn't mean to … I apologize."
"It's okay." I grin to reassure her I'm all right. Because I am all right. And I'd do just about anything to keep her smiling at me like that. Her smile makes me feel peaceful. No, that's not the right word. Her smile is soothing? Warm?
Healing.
That's it.
She cups my cheek in her hand and looks at me like my mother once did, and my heart swells like a balloon begging for a needle. Wilson wraps himself around the two red, pulsing halves instinctually and holds them in place. He doesn't want to let her in. And I don't want to fight him.
So I move away from Madam Karina and join the other girls, who have formed a line. The madam marks their hands and claps twice above her head like she's about to perform a dance. Then she swooshes out.
I look at Candy, who's a couple of girls down. She has two perfect circles of blush on her cheeks, false lashes, and white tights. She looks like a living doll. When she sees me inspecting her, she rolls her eyes and jams a hush finger against her lips. Totally unwarranted since I wasn't going to say anything.
Behind us, the music picks up. Drums now, beating wildly. A man singing about love under the Brooklyn Bridge.
And then the curtain pulls back.
Chapter Twelve
Customers
Customers stream into the room. Some bashful. Some pushing their way forward. I count seventeen in all. Too many for this tight space. Musky cologne and scented lotions assault my nose as the guests make their way to the bar, talking over themselves. There is one female to every four men. And the ages range from a pair of early teen boys to a woman in her sixties.
The Carnations descend upon them like flies on crap, each one donning her pink silk flower proudly. I stand staring at them idiotically, curious as to what the other girls-the ones ranked higher than the Carnations-are doing tonight, and why I don't even have the lowest ranked flower to wear.
Then I recall Dizzy in detail. Dizzy bringing me wild-rice soup when I had the flu. Insisting on feeding it to me bite by bite so he could put a spoonful into his own mouth before giving me a turn. I must have told him a dozen times that he was going to catch what I had. He didn't care. Soup is for sharing, Domino Ray. And I'll catch what you have any ol' day.
Later that night he left to try his luck with a new girl. Or maybe it was a boy. Sometimes I didn't know with Diz. A part of me wished he'd stayed home, or that he remembered I was allergic to the mushrooms in his beloved wild-rice soup. But that's not the point. The point is, Dizzy cares.
I straighten my wig and approach the bustling at the bar. Cain is more alive than I've seen him. He's practically grinning as the women dote on his strong forearms and that precious dimple in his cheek. The patrons pay Cain with silver coins, and I spot a teenage girl with a fistful of them. Included in her palm is a bronze coin. The one she'll deposit in the box outside.
No one approaches the teen girl. They're too busy flirting with men in suits and the older women with heavy handbags. When the girl turns and faces me, I realize why. She's missing the bottom half of her right ear. In its place is a flat stretch of hairless skin. I approach her immediately. Not because she's an easy target, but because I can't stand the thought of no else doing it. If she came here to be entertained, it's probably because she's lonely. And that's a feeling I know well enough.