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Halfway through my shift, I’m not even surprised when my supervisor calls me into his office.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go,” he says. “We received a call that you revealed the identity and activities of a very important guest who used our hotel for years, in part because he counted on us for the utmost discretion.”
Royal.
He could have gotten me fired months ago, after he found out I told Harper what he was doing here. He sat on this one for a while. Typical. They always wait for the right moment, biding their time to make the move when it will cause the greatest devastation. In some way, I’ve been waiting for this ever since heconfronted me. But I was still useful to his brothers, so he let it slide… Until he didn’t.
When the Dolces decide you’re done in this town, there’s no point in arguing. It’s why no one sided with the Darlings, even though they’ve known that family far longer.
I nod. “I understand. I’ll leave my uniform in the laundry.”
“Thank you,” the manager says, straightening his tie and avoiding my eyes. “I’m sorry to have to do this, Gloria. You’ve been a model employee. But we can’t have our guests worried their privacy will be violated in any way.”
“I know,” I say. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry I did that.”
Outside, I almost trip on my feet and collapse into a boneless puddle of despair when I see the twins leaning on June Bug, their arms crossed in identical poses that make them nearly indistinguishable. The only way I can tell them apart is the glasses on Baron’s face and the sucker tucked into his cheek. He pulls it out of his mouth and tosses it on the ground when I arrive at my car, even though I want to turn around and bolt back inside instead, beg them to hide me in the kitchen or the laundry or under the desk. I don’t care. I just don’t want whatever’s coming.
I know I’ll have to face them, but I’m not ready. But my legs move without consulting my brain, their years of training to run to their master or take the pain of disobedience instilled too deeply to override without conscious effort.
“Hey, Lo,” Duke says, tipping his chin at me.
“Hi.” I grip my empty gym bag that usually contains my uniform, feeling naked without the weight of it against my hip where it’s rested so many years, where my cheer and dance bags have rested.
“Not Lo,” Baron says, watching me from under hooded lids. “Glory Hole.”
“What?”
“That’s your name now,” he says. “It’s ‘Hey, Glory Hole,’ from now on. That’s what you are, isn’t it?”
I swallow hard, my head nodding up and down on its own accord.
Suddenly, I have the irrational urge to laugh.
I am a Jackie Kennedy bobblehead.
Not the real thing. Not poised and beautiful and full of grace. I’m a fake, a caricature, a plastic knock-off that doesn’t even really resemble the woman I’m supposed to be modeled after.
“Good,” he says. “Whores don’t ignore their masters when they say they need to talk.”
Fuck. I close my eyes and inwardly groan. The text last night. I didn’t answer because I was so upset, and then Rylan happened, and everything spun out of control. I waited for them to talk to me at school, but I guess that’s beneath them now.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Here’s how it’s going to go for the rest of the year,” Baron says.
I remember him saying those words on the first day of school, and the scream that breaks free inside me like a volcano is so intense I have to physically clench my entire body so it doesn’t erupt into the night, a geyser of lava that petrifies the entire town like Vesuvius and leaves them all frozen in time, incinerated in their beds and at their dinner tables and in parking lots outside fancy hotels where we look away while businessmen fuck whatever girls and boys are being trafficked that week.
I thought it was over. I want to laugh, I want to scream, I want to step out in front of the armored truck hurtling by on theroad. I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid. Of course I’m not done. It’s never over.
So, I give Baron my most serene smile, and I keep dancing. Like the evil queen in Snow White, I’ll keep dancing until I die. And I’ll do it with a smile on my face, just like my mother taught me.
“You got to be our queen for two years,” Duke says with a grin. “Now you get to be our whore.”
“That’s right,” Baron says. “You know way too much for us to let you go. We can’t have you running your mouth.”
“I wouldn’t,” I protest quickly, grasping at any glimpse of a straw, a shred of hope, the barest glimmer of a crack in the prison cell I’m in. A way out.
Baron goes on like I never spoke. “You’ll be on call for us like before. But you don’t get any of the benefits. No protection. No cheer. No dance. No boyfriends. No friends.”
