Page 12 of Angels Fall

I decide pretty much immediately that Pete’s is even more depressing in the daytime than it is at night. There’s like five customers, two waitresses who look bored out of their minds, a bartender who’s sitting on a stool drinking coffee as he watches the morning news, and a girl on stage who swings around the pole like she’s planning her grocery list.

Pete’s. My last resort. Shit. But I can make money here. I know I can. I was doing so well a few weeks ago.

Before Tyler came into your life, Devil says.

“Please stop talking.” I sigh, exhausted.

Anyway, I’m never seeing him again, so my luck should get better immediately.

I take a deep breath and resign myself to doing what needs to be done as I walk up the stairs to Pete’s office and knock on the door.

“Come,” he calls.

I open the door and find him hunched over his desk, furiously typing on his computer. “What?” he says. Like I’m annoying him.

“Um, Pete?” I say. “It’s me, Scarlett. I need to ask—” But he whirls around in his chair and lowers his glasses so quickly, I stop.

“Scarlett,” he says.

Pete isn’t scary. Like at all. He’s more like your favorite grandfather with a little weird uncle mixed in. He’s got a white beard and bushy white eyebrows and I bet he’d make an awesome Santa. If that wasn’t creepy as fuck, which it is.

He lets out a long sigh when I stay quiet and fidget under his intense gaze. “I already know.”

“Know what?” I ask, looking down at my feet, suddenly aware that I’m dressed up like a whore.

“Carlos Castillo?” Off my surprised expression he says, “Raven told me. I’m amazed to see you standing and walking and breathing. What are you into, kid?”

“I’m just… I’m a little strapped for money these days and—”

“You owe Carlos Castillo money?” Pete asks.

I shrug. I mean, the answer of course is no. But… “Yeah,” I say instead. “It’s a long, stupid story. So I just wanted to know if I could work here during the week too. To try to get back on track.”

He crosses his arms over his barrel chest and looks down, apparently thinking about this. “You ever think of doing some multi-level marketing?”

“What?”

“You know, sell leggings. Or that stupid lipstick everyone talks about online. The plumper kind?”

I squint my eyes at him. How does he know about that stuff? I guess he owns a strip club though, so I shouldn’t be that shocked. “Um… no,” I tell him. Which is a lie. I did that already and it was a giant waste of time and money. According to my pyramid-scheme boss, I’m not “friendly enough” to sell makeup. “Please, Pete. I just need a few more nights, ya know? I’ve got a little following here.” Another lie. Tyler was my only fan. Tyler. Who I fucked. Tyler. Who thinks he’s fallen in love with me, even though that’s insane. Tyler. Who I’ve known my whole life. And who is evidently richer than Croesus now. No. No. Fuck that. I’ll work here twenty-four seven before I take that asshole’s money.

Pete sighs long and loud. “Well, the nights are pretty full. We’ve got some celebrity porn stars doing sets through the holidays and I can’t screw with that. You can do mornings.”

I unconsciously look over my shoulder, thinking about how dead it is out there.

“No,” Pete says. “It doesn’t get any better. You won’t make much, but girls are always coming and going. And I like you. You’re smart. And you don’t come in wasted from the night before. So tell ya what. Do mornings for now. I’m tossing Charlotte,” he says, nodding toward the door, “she’s lost her enthusiasm. And then I’ll see what I can do about juggling some things around to get you some evening work. Okay?”

Mornings. Stripping at Pete’s.

I have turned into a Las Vegas cliché.

“Sure,” I say, feeling sick, but swallowing it down. “I can do that. Thanks, Pete.”

“Tomorrow then,” he says. “Be here at seven.”

“Seven? AM?”

He shrugs. “We got a breakfast crowd. It’s only like a dozen people, tops. But this city never sleeps, remember. And neither do we. Well, we do, from five to seven for cleaning, but then we’re back at it. Remember, seven in the morning is some guy’s seven at night.”