Violet Grenade(87)

"As soon as I have the money to pay for you," he clarifies.

I cringe at his choice of words, but refrain from showing my disgust. Instead, I pull him against me and touch my mouth against his chest and say thank you, thank you, more times than I can count.

"How much does she need? Your mom?" he asks, his hands moving down my back.

I swallow, grip him tighter and say, "Two thousand dollars."

"Two thousand? That's not much less than what you owe the madam."

Once again, my stomach revolts. Is that how little I'm worth? I choke on emotion, and Jack misunderstands the sound as fear for my mother.

"Shh. Come here, let me hold you." He pulls me next to him on the bed though I desperately need that air. "I'm going to help you, but …  Well, how old are you, Domino?"

He must want to ensure I'm not underage, which I am. I open my mouth to lie, knowing I need him comfortable in this transaction. In the end though, I say, "I'm seventeen. I turn eighteen in four months."

At first I'm afraid I've blown it. That he'll hightail it out of here and choose a different girl to spend his bronze coin on. But a slow, shy smile parts his mouth. "So young," he says. "Do you know how old I am?"

"It doesn't matter to me."

Twenty-three.

Twenty-four.

Old enough to know better.

"I'm thirty-one."

He pauses as the floor falls out from beneath me. Thirty-one. Thirty-one? He's almost twice my age. What is he doing here? And why is he grinning that way?

"Does that bother you?" he asks, slipping his hand inside the waistband of my jeans.

I shake my head to conceal my rising fear. I can't name why his age makes me afraid of him. But it does.

Sensing my alarm, he says, "I can bring the money for your mother tomorrow. It won't be easy to get together, and it'll mean waiting longer before I can get you out of here. You still want that, right? To go with me?"

"More than anything," I whisper.

Jack clears his throat. "We should commemorate this somehow. I mean, tomorrow when I bring the money. We should do something special." He licks his lips. "Do you think you could reserve this room again tomorrow night?"

I know what he's asking. Will I reward his generosity? I decided this before I walked into the Lilies' house, so why am I hesitating? I pull in a deep breath. Two. Three.

"Yes," I say.

He hears my hesitation. I hear my hesitation. The girls in the living room probably hear it. Yet he still replies with a cool, "Perfect. How about tonight we do something a little more low-key? It'll help build suspense for our special night tomorrow."

He can barely keep the giddiness from his voice. He sounds like a twelve-year-old boy, knowing he'll commit a petty crime the next evening and wanting to relish the still moments before the excitement unfolds.

"Can I hold you?"

I smile and tell him I'd like nothing better. Jack lays himself out on the side of the bed, his back pressed against the wall. Just like I suspected, there isn't really enough room for us both. But we try anyway. Jack wraps his arms around me, and we share the single pillow. Light continues to shine from the kitchen.



       
         
       
        

We never even closed the door, I think to myself. Nothing to worry about.

But tomorrow night that door will be closed. And after it does, I'll never be the same again. But I won't be trapped by another woman promising me love when she has nothing but ugly hate to give. This time, I will escape.

As Jack rubs his anxious hands over my hip and thigh, something catches my eye. A movement in the kitchen. No, not in the kitchen. Outside the kitchen window.

The figure is there.

And then it's gone.





Chapter Fifty-Five

Illusion

The next day flies by in a blur. I work alone on cleaning dishes and floors and emptying wastebaskets in the Lily house. Then I walk over to the Violets' home, because Marie reminds me we have to clean their space as well. I'm not sure what I expect it to be like. I've built it up in my head so that nothing can compare.

But when we finally go inside, I'm surprised to find it's a replica of the Lilies' home: wood paneling, outdated décor, worn furniture. I suppose there's no use in pretending these homes are used for anything other than what they are. Still, for some unknown reason, my heart falls. I guess I clung to the idea that if I had stayed, when I finally became a Violet, I would be rewarded.

It's strange, seeing it for the first time this way-the Violets at breakfast, me walking over red bras and lacy robes and thigh-highs in the unforgiving daylight. I always imagined I'd see it at night, music thumping, Lola dancing on a table with a glass of champagne in her hand. I'd look at her and imagine I could be her, not a care in the world. I could take her place when she left this house of mirages and reign as Top Girl.