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Lara grimaced. Her new textbooks had cost twice what she’d budgeted and rent was due in five days. The only way she was going to make it through this month was if she survived on ramen noodles and cold cereal for two weeks.
Of course, given the size of her costume, keeping the calorie count down wasn’t a bad thing. But she had class tonight. It was her last semester, which brought her within kissing distance of her goal. And nothing, not even affording fresh vegetables, got in the way of her goals.
“Thanks, but I can’t,” she said with just a hint of regret.
She’d survived on less for longer.
And, hopefully, she wouldn’t be worrying about barely making it paycheck to paycheck soon.
“Mistake,” Rudy said, his gaze cutting to her.
“What’re you doing in here?” Flo pushed past Rudy, cast a glance over the undressed state of her various dancers, then shoved the man out of the way. Once a dancer, now a stage mom, the statuesque redhead wore a beehive straight out of the fifties and blue eye shadow to match. “Get. I’ll report you to Roberto, you sneak in here one more time.”
“Didn’t sneak. Came in to offer Lara a spot at ten. She refused. Stupid.” He looked past Flo to give Lara a derisive look, then shook his head and walked out.
The door ricocheted as it slammed closed.
“He’s right.”
Lara glanced at the redhead, then shrugged. Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer, because the older woman stomped over, shooing dancers out of the room as she came. By the time she reached Lara’s locker, half the room was empty and the rest were moving fast.
“I have plans,” Lara said before Flo could poke at her.
“How long have you been here?” Flo asked, paying more attention to the costume she was inspecting for tears than to the woman she was bitching out.
“Two years.”
“And you’re not principal yet?” Flo adjusted the costume on its hanger, then pushed it aside to check the next one. “You’re good. Better than most of the girls. You’ve got the moves, the talent. Your body is solid, sexy. Your looks stand out, even on stage.”
As uncomfortable with the compliment as she was with realizing that the women left in the room were listening, Lara just shrugged and grabbed her street clothes out of her locker.
“So why aren’t you headlining?”
“Maybe because I don’t want to?” Lara said, tugging on her thong, then yanking up her jeans.
Christi gave Lara a sympathetic pat, then scurried around Flo and headed for the door.
Lara grimaced. She wasn’t oblivious to the whispers that her answer caused. Nor was she blind to the expression of relief on more than one face. Dancers might put on the we’re-all-friends facade, but it was as false as their stage lashes. And usually just as brittle. The chorus went out for drinks together; some even roomed with each other. But every single one of them knew that it was every woman for herself. If stepping over one to get up the ladder was what it took, then watch your scalp for stiletto gouges.
“That’s the third time you’ve been offered extra. Rudy won’t be giving you too many more shots.”
Dammit.
Since Rudy wasn’t likely to make another appearance so soon, Lara didn’t hesitate to drop her robe. She pulled on her bra, the flowery lace stretching over her ample Ds as she slipped the satin straps up and snapped it closed. Unlike most of the women who were dressing, she didn’t bother to check her half-dressed appearance in the mirror. She knew her boobs were full and high. At twenty-four, she had no worries about drooping. Her stomach was flat, and since she didn’t have time to shower before class, it still shimmered with body glitter. Her long legs were poured into tight denim and as she pulled a light blue sweater over her head, the soft fabric draped and flowed to her hips.
“Roberto knows I need Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays off after eight,” she finally said. “I’ve got a commitment, and he’s fine with it. Rudy’s just playing a power game.”
“Roberto might be the choreographer,” Flo agreed, referring to the man in charge of the showgirls at the Silver Dust Casino, “but everyone knows that Rudy has plenty of power. Enough to trip you up if you aren’t careful.”
Balancing on one foot while she pulled on a knee-high stiletto boot, Lara sucked in a deep breath. She didn’t need Flo’s warning to know she was tiptoeing along the edge of blowing her job.
She’d run across plenty of Rudys in her days. She’d been dancing professionally since she was seventeen. Broadway in New York or casinos in Reno, it didn’t matter. There were always power-hungry egomaniacs with hard-ons out to screw you over.
