I wasn’t an unfeeling person. Not at my core. But this? I had no sympathy for her. I didn’t wish pain on Nieves or her sister, but they’d fucked with dangerous people, and this was the result.
“Nieves,” I said, “there’s only one way out of this mess.”
She lifted her head far enough to meet my gaze. “What’s that?”
“You need to level with me.”
13
Zee
My costume, now sized correctly and with no loose beads, hugged my body. My tits stuck out like two cereal bowls thanks to invisible strapping tape. Unlike some of the other girls, I hadn’t done any enhancements. First, I couldn’t afford any, and second, I had a pretty good pair of breasts thanks to nature. But as any woman would tell you, with nature’s bounty comes nature’s gravity. Breasts aged, and they weren’t as perky as they were when I was eighteen. Enter tape.
I’d gotten used to it. My skin no longer reddened from the adhesive. No more tape rash. Just another day’s work.
An hour until showtime.
This was my least favorite time of the day. We had to be fully costumed and ready to go so the tailors and makeup people could tend to Candice and her understudies. So here we stood, decked out and uncomfortable with nothing to do. We didn’t dare sit down. Our costumes might tear. We didn’t dare eat, as even the slightest amount of food could cause our waistlines to expand…and our costumes might tear. We couldn’t even take off our uncomfortable stilettos, because we’d have to bend down to put them back on and—you guessed it—our costumes might tear.
Like I said, my least favorite time. The hour ticked along like a month. Once we got on stage, things got better.
Between the seven o’clock show and the ten, we were in the same situation. No sitting, no food, no taking our shoes off, but at least Candice and the understudies weren’t hogging the dressing area and staff. They had to be available for everyone, because costume problems happened during every show. Some girls pulled a ribbon off just to be able to sit down during this time. I’d done it more than once. The trick was not to do it too often. Just enough so they thought it was a true issue that had occurred during our numbers.
At the moment, though, Mo and I stood together, not talking much. She was topless tonight too, and she looked great. Unlike me, Mo’d had an augmentation a few years ago, and it was one of the best jobs I’d seen. Not all the girls were so lucky.
“Zee…” Mo finally said.
“Hmm?”
She sighed. “You sure it’s okay if I come to your dinner date tonight?”
“I’ve told you. It’s not a date. And yes, I really want you to come.” Really, really. Because if she didn’t come, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist Reid Wolfe’s charms.
And I needed to resist them. I couldn’t tell my story to the police. I just couldn’t.
She smiled. “If you’re sure.”
“I wouldn’t have invited you otherwise.”
“Ten minutes to showtime, girls!” the director’s assistant yelled.
We heard him easily, as we weren’t allowed to talk above a whisper during this time.
Mo smiled and walked swiftly toward her place. I followed. I was in the back line because of my height, and that was fine with me. We weren’t supposed to stand out, and we didn’t, but being in back meant I didn’t stand out even more.
Good, good, good.
I never wanted to stand out again.
I was pretty sure my modeling days had led to…
Yeah, and never would that happen again.
I took my place and listened as the band tuned up.
Then I pasted a smile on my face as the curtain rose.
How many shows had I done? I’d counted once, but that was over a year ago. I didn’t even have to think. My feet knew exactly what to do, my legs how high to kick. Our line was so in sync that we’d been compared to the Rockettes on more than one occasion. In fact, the famed chorus line had stolen one of our girls within the last two months.
I had no Rockette aspirations myself. They were too well known. I didn’t want anyone looking that closely at me.
Kick! Then shuffle ball change. Kick again, other leg this time.
I was on autopilot, and I never missed.
The show went off without a hitch, and when intermission came, I was allowed a few sips of water. Just enough to stave off dehydration. Too much, and we’d bloat, which wasn’t good for the costume. Wasn’t good for how it made us feel either, but the director was only concerned with how we looked, of course. Not how we felt.
My ankle was still a little sore from my ordeal with the grate last night, but I’d danced on much worse. This was nothing.