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“I’m sorry?” The woman’s hand twitched, as if resisting reaching for the credit card. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Lola held her hands on both sides of her head and pointed upward. She wiggled her fingers. “You know, like the ones you wear on Halloween?”
“Oh. No. Of course we don’t.”
“Hmm.” Lola tapped the card against her bottom lip, thinking. “That could really pose a problem for my outfit.”
“I’ll take care of it.” The saleswoman watched the card, her eyes fixed on the rhythmic back and forth. She held her hand out. “I’ll find some and have them delivered wherever you like along with your purchase.”
Lola smiled and handed over the credit card. “That would be fantastic. They don’t need to be anything fancy. I’ll take the lingerie with me, but I’d like those sent somewhere else.”
“That won’t be a problem, Miss…” She checked the card. “Olivier.”
Lola paid for everything and returned to the Range Rover, which she’d parked at a meter. She slipped into the front seat and rested her hands on the steering wheel, but she didn’t turn the engine on. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. What a funny thing money was—it bought not only things, but people’s time. Lola had discovered how true that was since she’d been by Beau’s side. Just now, in the store, she’d used her newfound wealth as leverage to get what she wanted. Was it too much time around Beau that had Lola acting like someone she didn’t recognize? Or was that just how money worked, no matter who you were? It was addicting to have it that easy, and part of her understood, for the first time, how complicated Beau’s relationship with his fortune must be.
Lola shook her head quickly. She couldn’t think too hard about Beau this late in the game. It was as simple as this—Beau wasn’t the man she’d thought he was, and for that he deserved whatever was coming to him. Three weeks had seemed like a lifetime to fake all the things she had—forgiveness, affection, submission. Now that it was ending, she worried she wasn’t prepared. Beau was used to getting his way, which meant a number of things could go wrong. Lola needed to keep her head in the game and a sway in her hips. It was a delicate operation, pulling the string that unraveled him without yanking it. He’d been salivating over Lola for long enough now that he was right where she needed him. That was what she had to distract him with—his own crippling need. It was the art of misdirection, and the key to pulling off her magic trick.
* * *
Cat Shoppe’s music thumped so loudly, Lola felt it in her bones before she even reached the entrance. The bouncer took one look at her plum-colored vinyl miniskirt and opened the red velvet rope for her. Even in the middle of the day, several men and a couple women sat around the stages, drinks and dollar bills in their hands. The place stunk, as if the furniture was soaked nightly in vats of beer, and the men bathed in cheap cologne.
She’d changed in the Range Rover, sinking down in the backseat to swap her Alexander McQueen dress for a vintage concert tee. She’d smeared her perfectly-applied lipstick onto a tissue before caking on glitter eye shadow.
At the bar, she ordered a shot of tequila as reinforcement from a girl in a platinum-blonde wig. At least, Lola thought it was a wig, the way it poofed around her chipmunk cheeks and met under her chin like a heart. This time, the tequila didn’t make Lola wince the way it had in Beau’s car up on Mulholland Drive. It was courage. She’d never grimace after a shot again if she could help it.
The bartender took the glass back. “Another?”
“No, thanks.” Lola dug a twenty out of her pocket and put it on the bar. “I’m here to see Kincaid.”
“You looking for a job?”
“Not really.”
“Good, because there’s not enough to go around as it is. As you can see, I’ve got to work the bar just to make some extra cash.” She took Lola’s bill off the bar and went to the register.
“Keep the change,” Lola said.
She turned back. “Really? It was three dollars.”
Lola waved a hand. “It’s fine.”
“Cool.” She stuffed the money in her white bikini top, not even cashing out the shot. She fixed the string of her bottoms, then looked up and caught Lola watching her. “Marilyn,” she said, pointing at the drawn-in birthmark on her upper lip. “Monroe?”
“Oh.” Lola nodded.
“Also known as Susan, but that’s not really my gig.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Marilyn-Susan refilled Lola’s glass with tequila and set it in front of her. “On the house. You dance?”
Lola picked up the shot. “Not anymore. I worked here a while back, though.”
The girl’s breasts bounced when she clapped her hands together. “Really? So you know Glinda the Good Bitch?”
Lola smiled hearing her old friend’s name. Glinda’d been stripping as long as she’d had something to show. She’d taken Lola under her wing just like she always did with the new girls, kind of like a mentor. They’d grown apart when Johnny’d come along, though. He’d forbidden her from going on a girls’ trip to Vegas, and after that, she’d begun to lose touch with the group. “I used to, yeah. Best dancer this side of Hollywood.”
“Not lately. Been hitting the blow too hard. She’s in a bad state.”
Lola glanced down at the bar. The news didn’t surprise her, considering how easy it was to get sucked into that life. She almost had. A lot of girls, some she knew, many she didn’t, had gone too far down the path Johnny had pulled Lola back from. She was indebted to him in a way she could never repay, and no matter their history, she’d never forget that.
“I’ll go grab Kincaid,” Marilyn said, walking away.
While Lola waited, she looked over her shoulder at the girl writhing on stage. Her hard nipples grazed the floor as she danced for the dollar bills fanned around her.
“She’s got nothing on you,” said a man behind her.
Lola turned to see Cat Shoppe’s owner. “Kincaid.”
“Lola.” He put his hand on the back of her stool and kissed her cheek. “Or do you go by Melody now?”
“Still Lola.”
Marilyn was back behind the bar. “Was Melody your stage name?”
“No. It’s my full name, but I don’t use it.”
“Melody,” Marilyn repeated. “Like a song. That’s sweet.”
Sometimes, she thought her given name was the only thing her mom liked about her since she’d picked it out. Lola had once cried as a kid about not having a middle name, though, so her dad had told her it could be Lola, short for Melody. The nickname’d stuck, and Lola had a theory Dina had taken it personally.
Back in the day, Lola was the only one at the club who’d danced under her real name, the rest of the girls making up something sugary and anonymous.
Lola turned to face Kincaid completely as he pulled up a seat next to her. “So, how are you, Kincaid?”
“It’s been a while.”
“Not as long as you think,” she said.
“Aha. So that was you I saw on the security camera a few weeks ago.”
Lola hadn’t seen Kincaid when she’d come to Cat Shoppe with Beau, but she remembered his diligence when it came to security. He almost always had someone on the cameras, making sure his customers stayed in line. “Yep. Kind of an unexpected trip down memory lane.”
“With someone who’s got money to burn.” Kincaid gave her a once over. “That guy you were with? You wouldn’t believe what he paid for a room, two of our girls and some privacy.”
“Actually, I would believe it.” When she swallowed, she tasted tequila. Tequila and Beau, that first night she’d put her lips on him. “I hope you didn’t watch the whole show.”
