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I stop when I notice picture frames on the dresser against the wall. I race over to them, looking as quickly as I can from frame to frame.
But something isn’t right. I’m in all of these pictures. And I’m standing with a bunch of people I don’t know; three of them being the women that I just encountered in the living room.
There are quite a few pictures of me with Red Bra, the one that just dressed me and told me to get my act together.
What is happening?
“Bitch, let’s go!” Carmen snaps as she swings the bedroom door open.
“I got her shoes,” the quiet one in the crop top yells as I hear a door slam.
They’re leaving. Shit.
I stumble out and grab the purse that Carmen hands me. “Don’t forget this again,” she says. “And lock the door. I call shotgun today.”
I accept the purse and sling the gold chain over my shoulder. The purse itself is too tiny to actually carry anything and I make a note to open it once I’m inside the car.
Locking the front door, I feel the cold ground under my bare feet and hope that the shoes they grabbed for me cover more than my big toe. Enough of me is on display for the public. My tattooed stomach, along with everything but maybe three inches of my thighs are showing.
Though I do notice that my stomach is solid and my calves are defined. My skin is tan and my arms are glistening with some sort of shimmery something or other.
“It’s about fucking time,” Red Bra says as I climb into the back seat. “Jesus.”
“Oh pipe down, Lexus,” Crop Top says. “She’s in the car now and we’re all accounted for. Let’s just get to the club and pray that Tommy is later than we are today.”
Lexus. Carmen. These sound like stripper names.
I look down at myself and around at the other girls. I take in the scene and everything that’s happened since I slipped my naked body out from under those red and black blankets.
The pictures on the dresser. The makeup. The names. The outfits.
Oh Jesus…
Are these girls all strippers? Did Rachel dump me at some club last night and leave me with a bunch of women?
No. That wouldn’t explain how I got into a bunch of pictures with everyone in this car. Or why my body is tattooed and my nipples are…
The thought of the metal through my nipples makes them tingle as though I’m sensing what it felt like to have them pierced. I subconsciously reach up and press a hand to my chest.
How did I get here?
I make use of my mental note from earlier and pull the purse from my side, sliding the zipper to the bottom and emptying the contents.
My license.
DEIDRE L BAKKER
My maiden name? Why do I have an expired license in my purse? Or whoever’s purse this is because I’d never own something so chintzy.
Then, I look back at the license and notice it’s definitely not expired. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t go by my maiden name, and I haven’t for a very long time.
I look at my left hand. No ring. Not even an indentation from where a ring would have been sitting.
Lexus pulls the car down a few streets, making turn after turn until she pulls into the parking lot of some building. My mind is whirling as I try to analyze and absorb everything.
Everyone gets out of the car and I look up at the sign.Indigo Studios.
I know this place. It’s the strip club that’s four blocks from my house.
