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  Cassandra leaned in closer. “You real pretty, girl.” Her eyes scanned Lila’s face, following her perfect bone structure. Lila averted her eyes and pretended to clean a glass. Compliments always made her self-conscious. “Ooh, and you don’t even know it.” Cassandra laughed, high and musical. Lila couldn’t help but feel a touch more glamorous, being inspected by a glamorous lady like Cassandra. “You grow up ‘round here?” she asked.

  Lila nodded. “Born and raised.”

  What time was it? She leaned over and grabbed her phone. 2:47AM. She could feel Cassandra watching her very, very closely. She had a thought—a quick, bizarre one—that maybe Cassandra had been watching her from afar.

  “And what do you think about it?” Cassandra had bright green eyes that locked on Lila’s and caught her off guard for a second.

  “Oh…well…” Lila fumbled. She didn’t want to talk bad about Belle Chasse in front of a stranger. “I don’t know.”

  Cassandra picked up the cocktail napkin and lightly dabbed the corners of her mouth. “Drinkin’ these things is so hard with lipstick on, don’t you find? I’m worried it’s all over my teeth.” She smiled something pretty, and flicked her eyes just so. Lila imagined that a million men must’ve fallen in love with Cassandra by now. “Don’t seem like you like it much here? If I’m readin’ your face correctly.”

  Lila was taken aback. People didn’t usually pay so much attention to her, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it—in fact she answered honestly, maybe for the first time ever. “No ma’am, Belle Chasse has been a bit hard on me.”

  Cassandra nodded sympathetically. “I can see that,” she said, sadly. “Why’s that, if you don’t mind my askin’?” Lila shifted suddenly, fumbling the glass she was cleaning. “If it’s too personal, girl, don’t you worry about it.”

  Lila wanted to tell Cassandra everything—but she was too aware of where she was, of her coworker at the other end of the bar, of how it might come off to tell a stranger her life story immediately.

  “I—I shouldn’t say, you don’t want to hear my sad story,” Lila had never felt so nervous in her whole life. However, Cassandra seemed to know her, on a deeper level, and understand all the things that Lila wasn’t saying, or couldn’t say.

  “You know what, Lila, I like you,” Cassandra said. She finished off her martini and reached for her purse. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret of mine.” Lila leaned forward now, transfixed by Cassandra’s fluid motions, by her confidence and ease. “I actually own a bar in town.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  “Well, that’s the thing about my bar,” Cassandra intimated. She held one delicate hand up to her near-perfectly lipsticked lips. “My bar’s kind of a secret,” she whispered.

  “What’s that mean, secret?” Lila grinned.

  “Well, you could find out, Lila,” Cassandra said, opening up her clutch. “We’re looking for a new bartender at my place, and I stopped in here tonight because I heard there was a prospect here that I might like to meet.” Her hand came out with a bright, white business card, and she looked at Lila intently. “Club Malevolence.” She set the card down on the bar, and slid it over to Lila.

  Lila picked it up and inspected it. Simple, black, elegant lettering stated the name, and only the name. She looked back to Cassandra, who was still watching her like a cat.

  “Where is it?”

  Ignoring her question, Cassandra reached to take the card back. “If you’re really interested“—she pulled out a pen and wrote something on the back—“and you should be interested, the pay’s $30 an hour and I think our bartenders walk away with something like $300-400 in tips every night.”

  Lila couldn’t breathe for a moment. That much money? She’d never heard of anyone in any bar in any city making that much money. She couldn’t even imagine how much money that was!

  “You text this number on the back here, and I’ll arrange a visit for you.”

  “Arrange?”

  “Yep,” Cassandra slid the card back to Lila. “Secret, remember? Anyway, that’s my personal number there. Text me and I’ll set it up.” Lila looked at the number on the back as Cassandra stood up off her stool. She smoothed out her dress and grabbed her clutch. “I do hope to hear from you, Lila. I’d love to get you into this place, give you a break.” Her green eyes hit Lila’s blue and held them, steadily. “Well,” Cassandra flashed one last mega-watt smile, “I’ll let y’all close up.” She winked at Lila, turned as if on air, and clicked out of the door of the Dirty Pint.

  Lila inhaled for what felt like the first time in an hour. She looked at the clock. 3:01AM. Had all that really taken only 15 minutes? She felt the card in her hands. Was she seriously considering texting Cassandra? She’d be crazy not to! That much money, god, what Lila could do with it. What kind of place in Belle Chasse paid their employees like that? She had so many questions she couldn’t count them all.

  “Oh, shit,” Lila realized she’d never charged her for the drink. She looked over at the empty martini glass and there, sitting on top was a crisp $100 bill.

  Chapter Three

  Lila parked her car in the driveway of her rundown home. She cut the engine and stared at the steering wheel. Her car had seemed shitty before, but now Lila couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of actually replacing it with something nearly new. That kind of money, she kept thinking to herself. That kind of money. On top of all that, she felt so amped up that she didn’t know if she’d be able to sleep, the last thing she wanted to do was go into her house and see what trouble her father’d gotten into tonight.

  She laid her forehead against the cracked pleather covering of the steering wheel and sighed. She didn’t deserve to work at Club Malevolence. A place that a lady like Cassandra owned, that was probably full of other people like Cassandra—what business did Lila have at a club like that? She looked down at her gnarly cut-off denim shorts, her food-stained t-shirt. God.

  “Stupid,” she said out loud to herself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  Lila got out of her car, now angry and sad and embarrassed at ever even considering Club Malevolence. She slammed her car door and headed up the stairs to the back door. The kitchen light wasn’t on, but she knew that didn’t mean anything. She took a breath, braced herself, and unlocked the door. A bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the dinner table, only about a quarter left. Bad sign. She took a couple steps into the kitchen and shut the door behind her. She moved to the right of the table—nothing. She moved around to the left and—feet.

  “Oh, Dad,” she sighed. She flipped the lights on and walked over to the prone form on the floor. He was unconscious, apparently, and lying facedown in a puddle of drool. She tapped him lightly with her foot. “Dad,” she said, louder this time. He didn’t stir. She knelt down and shook him. “Dad,” he snorted awake this time.

  “What, hmm,” he mumbled. He looked at Lila like he’d never seen her before.

  “Come on, Dad, get up.” Lila grabbed him under the armpits and heaved him up. His body weight had become her standard, her easily liftable cut-off. She threw one of his arms around her shoulders as he muttered to himself, and started to walk him down the hall to his bedroom.

  “Get your mother,” he slurred.

  “Mom’s dead, Dad.”

  “Your fault.” He elicited some angry sounds, letting his head sway side to side.

  She was immune to his words now, the blame he shoved onto her when he got too drunk. He’d started doing it when she was young, maybe 12, and for a couple years, it had really fucked her up. Now, she barely batted an eye when it happened. Maybe it was just that the sting had become a constant one. It was a car crash, she could remember repeating to herself when she was younger. I couldn’t have caused a car crash.

  Thankfully she’d made it to his bed. She dropped him into it with only as much care as she needed. “Whatever, Dad,” she cut him off harshly as he tried to keep babbling to her. “Sleep it off.” She flicked off the light
and shut the door behind her, locking it from the outside—a feature she’d personally paid to have put on that door, when she was around 16. She got tired of him getting out.

  She picked up his cane where it had fallen and hung it on the doorknob. She walked back to the kitchen and sat down at the table in the dark. Fuck this, she thought. She pulled out her cell phone and the Club Malevolence card, punching in the numbers Cassandra had written on the back.

  -It’s Lila. When can I come by & check out CM?

  She pressed send. Who cared if she was a fool for even trying—it would be better to try and fail a million times than to let herself waste away in the terrible hell that had built up around her.

  Chapter Four

  Lila woke up to a text from Cassandra around 8AM.

  -Hey hun. How bout 2nite?

  She felt a moment of panic, but quickly stifled her anxiety and made the most important text of her life:

  -2nite is perfect.

  She watched the bubbles on the screen as Cassandra typed a response. Lila wasn’t sure what she expected, but she pictured a very quiet, dark, fancy bar. Christ, she thought, what am I going to wear? Cassandra was taking a long time to respond, but she still appeared to be typing. Lila couldn’t wait to see what all this was. She rolled out of bed, threw her hair up into a messy bun, and tiptoed into the kitchen. No way her dad would be up yet—he’d be out cold for another couple hours, at least—but she quietly unlocked his door, so he could get out whenever he finally came to. She put a pot of coffee on, trying to keep her mind off what novel Cassandra might be texting her, when her text sound went off. She rushed back into the bedroom.

  -523 Mystic Ave @ 11PM. Park ur car in the garage & take the service elevator down 2 floor B3. Text me when u park & I’ll give u the code. Tell the bouncers ur with me.

  Lila read it a couple times. Park in a parking garage? Take the service elevator? She felt her apprehensions bubble up again. This must be a really elite bar—well, then again, Cassandra had said it was a secret.

  -OK. What should I wear?

  After she’d asked the question, Lila felt even more dread. She walked over to her closet as Cassandra typed her response. What’d she have? Shit, she thought. One kind of fancy black dress—but it was old and faded, and she was certain it wasn’t hip enough. She had a couple mini skirts, but she wasn’t sure if that would be dressed up enough. Her anxiety rose. Thankfully, Cassandra’s response came in.

  -Text me ur address & I’ll have something sent over.

  Seriously, thought Lila, what kind of place is this?

  Around 11AM—house still silent, her father still passed out—a knock came on her front door. Lila padded to it in bare feet, and peered through the window. A huge, well-built, bald man was standing there, in a dark suit and sunglasses, holding a long, white box—he looked like a hit man. Nonetheless, she opened the door a crack, smiling politely.

  “Yes?”

  “Lila Collins?” He spoke very gruffly.

  “Yes sir.” She opened the door completely now. Behind the man, she saw a large, black Cadillac Escalade.

  In response, he handed over the long white box, and an accompanying bag as well. Lila took them from him and looked to him for any kind of information.

  “Compliments of Cassandra.”

  “Uh, thank you,” Lila mumbled, trying to flash another smile.

  The man nodded curtly, turned, and got back into the passenger seat of the Escalade. Lila shut the door as it drove off.

  She rushed to her room excitedly and tossed the box and the bag on her bed. She shut her door behind her—she felt like a five year old who’d just gotten a new party dress. She opened the box first. Out of it, she drew the sleekest, skimpiest, sexiest dress she’d ever laid eyes on. It was a kind of dark bronze in color, and sequined just so that when the sunlight from her windows hit it, it emblazoned the walls with specks of gold. Short-skirted and tight, the dress had a braided halter-top that left all of her back and a lot of her sides completely bare. Lila held it up, inspected its every inch, amazed. This was, by far, the most expensive thing she’d ever seen, in her whole life. She jumped up from the bed and held the dress to her in front of the mirror. Holy crap, she thought. She was going to look smoking hot in this dress.

  She hung the dress up gingerly and returned to the bag. Out of the bag she pulled another box, unmarked. She took the top off and her breath caught in her throat. There, under thin tissue paper, was a pair of matching, bronzed, snakeskin—no, they couldn’t be…but yes, they were—Louboutins. She was almost afraid to touch them, afraid to breathe on them. Hesitantly, she stuck a finger out, traced the high instep of the platform. They were real, all right. They were real, and they were hers.

  Like a bomb squad member, she took the shoes out of the box and set them on the floor. How did anyone wear these? She was afraid to put her feet in them. No, she’d put the dress on first. She stepped out of her shorts and tank, took the dress off the hanger, and stepped into it. She tied the top behind her neck, and looked at herself in the mirror.

  “Holy. Shit.”

  Lila didn’t recognize herself. Even with her hair up and disheveled, she looked amazing. Maybe she just didn’t spend a lot of time looking at herself in the mirror, but Lila had never realized how fit she was. She could see most of the muscles in her back, and her shoulders were so well defined and prominent in that dress, that she wanted to run her hands over them nonstop. She looked touchable in this dress. She looked more than touchable—she looked fuckable.

  She tore herself away from the mirror and walked over to the shoes. She felt like Dorothy. Holding her breath, she slid her toes into the heels, and—whoops, she stumbled a bit, clunking over to the mirror to look at herself. How was she going to walk in these and look like a normal person? Whatever, she’d wear them all day if she had to. She turned to the sides, turned around, looked at herself from every possible angle. Lila hadn’t before realized she had such a figure before. Or maybe it was the dress? Her ass looked amazing. The dress hit just the right spot on her lower back to make her torso look long and lean. Her legs were out, and they were cut. Even if her father never gave her another thing, and if her mother couldn’t, she guessed they’d done well where genes were concerned.

  Chapter Five

  Later That Night

  Lila put the car in park. She’d found the garage fine, and by the time she got there, many of the floors were already full. Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest so hard that the sequins on her dress bounced a bit in rhythm. She rubbed her palms, slightly sweaty, on the steering wheel. You’ll be fine, she thought. You’ll be fine. She was worried about looking out of place, worried about being incompetent, worried about Cassandra taking one look at her and laughing her clean out of the Club.

  She pulled out her phone. 10:59PM. She pulled up Cassandra’s box.

  -Here! Code? :)

  Almost immediately, the bubbles popped up as Cassandra responded.

  -Right on time, good girl ;) Code 2nite is #4377

  -Thx! See you soon!

  Cassandra sent a kissy face in return, and Lila giggled. She’d never had many friends, partially because of her busy schedule and partially because she’d just never learned how to fit in with the other girls at school. Lila’d always guessed a mother taught you that, and her father hadn’t been much of any kind of parent. But Cassandra felt like a friend, like what a girlfriend was supposed to feel like. Lila liked that feeling.

  She stepped out of the car, throwing her sweater into the passenger seat and taking only a small, cheap clutch with her. Being careful not to scuff her heels—she still couldn’t believe those shoes were on her feet—she headed to the service elevator and waited for it. You’ll be fine, she kept repeating. The elevator dinged open, and Lila got in.

  It was a two-doored elevators, fairly big and standard. The button panel had a keypad at the top, which she assumed was where she entered the code. She typed in what Cassandra had sent her, #43
77, and immediately, the bottom button lit up, bright red, and was the only thing that did: B3, the very last button. Lila took a deep breath, punched it, and leaned against the cool metal of the back door. The quick chill that sensation sent through her bare back was enough to wake her up a bit, get her ready, clear her mind. She could do this. She had to.

  As her confidence peaked, the elevator dinged at the bottom floor, and the door at her back started to slide open. Immediately, the quiet of the elevator was shattered by a cacophony of sound. Before Lila turned around to see it, she could hear it all: screaming, shouting, cheering, the thwack of flesh being hurled at flesh. Lila watched in horror as her eyes took in the scene—impeccably well-dressed patrons packed into stadium seats laid out tightly around a small, well-lit arena. Hands flailing in the air with money, faces of beautiful, up-done women tight and strained with a primal, guttural enjoyment of the violence before them. The throng seemed to move as one, swaying side to side, pressing forward at the same time, falling back in unison, despite being seated.

  Before Lila could take in much more, a thick forearm flew down in front of her. She hadn’t even seen the two enormous bouncers standing watch at the elevator doors.

  “Ma’am, can we help you?” one said to her, curtly. He had a crisply cut flattop and an enormous beard. She couldn’t see his eyes through his sunglasses.

  “Oh, uh, yes,” Lila stuttered for a moment. Not a great way to start. Get it together, Collins, she thought. “I’m here to meet with Cassandra.”

  “We’ll see,” said the other one, the bald one, absolutely not convinced. He put a finger up to his earpiece and speaking lowly into his cuff. The first bouncer watched his partner for the response. Lila tried to act as cool and casual as she could.