Page 27 of Rigid

Nikki leaned forward, checked her makeup, and then looked at me. She batted her lashes a few times.

“They look good, as always,” I said.

She smiled. “You’re so sweet.”

“You always look good.” I said. It was true, she looked great, she just didn’t look her age. She was 21 years old, and looked like she was 35. A really hot 35-year-old, but 35, nonetheless.

She shook her head lightly, and then looked in the mirror. “You come in here, put on your outfit, and walk on stage. No one else here can think about doing that. We’ve got to work for it.”

“I’m just a take me or leave me kind of girl,” I said. “That’s how we are in Texas.”

I wasn’t really from Texas, but none of the girls knew it. I was from New Mexico. The daughter of an alcoholic mother who had a second job as a drug addict, and a father who decided he’d had enough of her when I was six, I left when I was thirteen and went to live with my aunt and uncle.

When I was seventeen, I graduated high school. I thanked them for their hospitality, loaded my belongings into my Volkswagen, and left. Hoping to land a job as an actress, I made my way to Southern California. Upon arriving, I realized I was no different than the other 40 million people who lived there. Disappointed, but not defeated, I got a job as a waitress, saved my money, and bought a set of boobs.

“Well, I’m from the SD,” she said. “It’s competitive in SoCal.”

I laughed at the thought of her and Diamond arguing about the $500 hand job. “It sure is.”

As I was changing, I noticed a little spotting on my panties. After cleaning up and getting my outfit on, I turned toward Nikki. “It’s the 22nd, right?”

“21st. Why?”

I shook my head. “Just wondering.”

She looked me over. “That outfit is on point. Can’t go wrong with a school girl get up, that’s for sure.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was dressed like Britney Spears in the Hit Me Baby One More Time Video. I cleared my head of thoughts of Smokey. Then, I prayed to see right through whoever happened to be on sniffers row.

The music stopped, and then I heard the DJ dismiss Rose.

I took a deep breath and waited.

“Here’s what you’ve been waiting all night for. Gentlemen, the one and only. Standing five foot seven, and only 114 pounds, she’s got a set of natural double D’s that are the envy of the industry. Give it up, motherfuckers. This. Is. Texxxas!”

As Buckcherry’s Crazy Bitch began to blare over the sound system, Texxxas walked out onto the stage no differently than a Victoria’s Secret model walks up the runway.

When she did, she left Sandy in the dressing room.

Where she was safe from everyone and everything that Texxxas didn’t have the common sense to fear.

The men shouted and cheered. Money rained onto the stage. And, she danced like it was the last time she’d ever have the chance.

EIGHT

Smokey

I rolled past the gate, across the narrow strip of asphalt, and through the open doors of the shop. As my bike came to a stop beside Pee Bee’s bagger, I whacked the throttle twice. After making sure Crip was pissed off, I shut down the engine, pulled off my helmet, and stepped over the seat.

“How many fucking times have I told you not to rev that piece of shit up in the shop? Motherfuckers in Los Angeles can hear that loud son-of-a-bitch,” Crip complained.

Crip was the president of the club, a former Navy SEAL, and a pain in my respective ass. He wasn’t arrogant, but he was damned fucking close. His don’t rev your engine in the shop rule was one of the many rules he had that I didn’t like, or respect.

Bikers revved their engines.

Especially in confined spaces.