HUNTER (The Corbin Brothers Book 1) (37 page)

“I don’t envy you for that,” Blue said, pouring herself a glass of milk and leaning on the counter.

Since Blue was a bartender, she rarely came in direct contact with our customers. She was kept busy all night by drink orders from the girls serving the tables. However, once in a “blue moon,” as we all laughingly called it, a customer would take a shine to her and ask her to dance or sleep with him.

She always cheerfully agreed, enjoying the intermittent nature of these occurrences — as well as the added boost it gave to her paycheck. We all tipped out the bartenders at the end of the night. But the real money was always made from the bedroom business.

“Any fun plans for today?” Blue asked. Her oversized T-shirt swallowed her whole and made her look younger than she was. She was petite to begin with.

“Not really,” I said. “Maybe I’ll run to the corner store a little later and get some more hairspray. Gotta redo this hairdo. You need anything?”

“Nah, I went yesterday,” she said. “Got some awesome new nail polish. Purple glitter — my favorite.”

“You’ll shine tonight when you’re mixing all those drinks,” I said.

“That’s the idea,” Blue said over her shoulder, rooting through the refrigerator until she came up with the eggs. “I’d offer you an omelet, but I’m sure your breakfast was far superior.”

“Don’t be jealous,” I teased her. “I was just lucky enough to come across Mama in the kitchen this morning.”

“I’m going to start getting up earlier,” she grumbled, cracking the eggs in a pan that she placed over a burner instead of the grill.

“See you later, then.”

I left the kitchen and climbed the stairs. Girls were starting to stir. I heard the faint buzz of televisions from behind some doors. Two of the showers in the bathroom were running.

Mama’s girls were starting to wake up for the day.

When I was back in my room, I shed the kimono and pulled on a pair of jeans and a Yankees T-shirt, sipping on the tea the whole time. I knew that chamomile was a calming brew, most often taken before going to bed. But I always buzzed with energy. It helped calm me down.

I looked again at my reflection as soon as my tea was done. The hair needed some serious tending to, but I couldn’t do a thing without hairspray. Little kinky curls had sprouted right out of the braids. I looked a mess, but I was only going to the corner store. There was nobody to impress there.

Ready to go, I left and locked the room. For the most part, I trusted all the girls. But I knew the moment I let my guard down, something I valued might go walking out of my door. I chalked it up to the bad neighborhood I’d grown up in. I could never leave the door unlocked when I was leaving the nightclub or going down to work a shift.

“Morning, Cocoa,” Shimmy mumbled, slipping by me and into the bathroom, rubbing her eyes.

“Afternoon,” I called after her, grinning. The only time you couldn’t find Shimmy dancing was right when she woke up. She was definitely not an early bird.

I jogged back downstairs and knocked on the office door. It was located right by the kitchen.

“Come on in!” came the muffled reply.

“It’s me, Cocoa,” I said, pushing the door open. “Just ten dollars, please, Mama.”

“I remember,” she said, smiling and still in her curlers and terrycloth robe. “I’ve got it right out here for you.”

She held out the bill and I took it, stuffing it into my little purse. Mama made a notation in the open ledger in front of her. I knew it was where she kept all of our accounts of the money we made and took out. It was Mama who’d drilled into my head to not leave anything of value in the rooms. She made all of the girls keep their earnings with her, effectively operating as the bank of the nightclub. She said it was so she could keep our money safe and that we could withdraw any amount of our earnings whenever we needed to.

I’d never personally had a problem with the system, but two of my former roommates did. Neither of them trusted Mama to handle their money properly.

I wasn’t sure that Jazz had left the nightclub with even a penny to her name.

“I’ll see you later,” I said, stepping out and closing the door.

I left the nightclub via the back — an exit that led out to the alleyway. It was a silly idea to come strutting out of a closed nightclub on a busy sidewalk, meaning the front door entrance. Mama encouraged us to do things outside of the nightclub, like shopping or recreation, whatever we wanted to spend our money on. But she pushed us to be discreet.

Everything Mama did, she did to protect the nightclub. It was much more than a business to her.

It was home to all of us.

The back door shut heavily behind me, the click letting me know that the lock had automatically engaged. I had a key to get back inside, but not all of the girls did. Most of them had to push the bell to get let in.

I held my breath as I walked by the dumpster. The warm day made its odors waft into the air even stronger than usual. Then, I emerged into the sunlight. People bustled down the sidewalks, even in this part of town. There was always something special about being a part of the crowd. When I didn’t have makeup on and wasn’t trying to impress anybody, I liked the anonymity. I was just a regular girl out here.

“Hey, hot stuff! You a Yankees fan? What base do you think I could get to with you?”

Well, not all the time. There were some things I couldn’t hide, like my long legs and tight ass. Nothing could camouflage those.

A group of construction workers cackled as I walked by, holding my head high and giving the appearance that I hadn’t heard them. I had to remember to bring my headphones next time. Even if they weren’t plugged in to anything but my pocket, they gave me an added level of security.

It sometimes felt foreign to be outside of the nightclub. Mama made sure we had everything we needed. There were two telephone lines so that we could call out, so few of us bothered with cell phones — or their accompanying bills. The readily available food discouraged us from eating out very often, and we were all close to one another. I suspected at times that Mama liked it better with everyone staying at the nightclub. She’d recently asked me if I thought it would work better if we had a courier deliver things to us from the corner store.

I liked to get outside as often as possible, even if it didn’t happen every day. I liked to see the world outside, remind myself that there was more than the nightclub. That place was everything to me, as it was for so many other girls, but the outside world had a lot to offer, too.

Finally, I reached the corner store. We all called it that even though it wasn’t located on a corner proper. It was more like a “right around the corner” store. It was the closest place to the nightclub. The employees there probably wondered why so many pretty girls frequented it.

“Hello,” I called cheerfully as a ringing bell on the door announced my entrance.

“Hey, Cocoa,” Jimmy called from behind the counter. He was a sweet kid — several of the girls had enormous crushes on him. Jimmy was very much the boy next door.

“How’s business today?” I asked, heading into the beauty aisle.

“Not bad,” he said as I perused the cans of spray. “How’s business with you?”

It was just a polite question. Jimmy didn’t actually know how I earned the money I spent in the store.

“I can’t complain, Jimmy, I really can’t.”

I located the brand I wanted and brought it to the front. A case of nail polishes glittered on the counter. I wondered idly if the purple sparkly one was the type Blues had picked up.

“You have yourself a great day,” Jimmy said, presenting me with my plastic bag and change.

“You, too,” I replied warmly.

My errand was done, but I wasn’t ready to go back to the nightclub, yet. I wanted to enjoy the feel of the sun on my skin before it set and I went to work.

I passed by a few more bodegas and a homeless shelter before reaching a dingy park. This wasn’t a great part of town to linger, but during the day, it was mostly harmless. Certainly no worse than the place I’d been raised.

I sat gingerly on a dilapidated concrete bench, gazing at the park’s lone tree. It was in full leaf, the green foliage rustling in the wind just audibly over the dull roar of people and passing cars. A wino’s head lolled on a neighboring bench, but I didn’t mind. It was nice to be relatively alone, outdoors in the daytime. Working at night didn’t often give me the chance to be out in the sunlight.

When no less than three bums approached me for change, I decided it was time to go back. There were probably other parts of the city where you could sit and enjoy the outdoors without getting approached by the homeless, but this wasn’t one of them.

I walked back to the nightclub, enjoying the last of my freedom before getting ready to work. When I let myself in the back door, the kitchen was a flurry of activity. A majority of girls were getting their first meals of the day, still fuzzyheaded and in their pajamas.

A chorus of “Hey, Cocoa” rose as I walked in to grab a banana to take upstairs.

“Hey, girls,” I said, waving. “Don’t forget — meeting at five-thirty before we go downstairs to open.”

I pointed at the whiteboard to emphasize my words and left, eating the banana. I didn’t like my stomach to be super full before work. It made me self-conscious despite Blue’s assurances to me that I wasn’t fat and never could be no matter how much pizza I wolfed down.

Once in my room, I turned to a dog-eared page of a beauty magazine that had circulated through the rest of the girls. I encouraged them to share the publications they didn’t want to hang on to anymore with everyone. A little table downstairs in the lounge hosted all of the “community” magazines. Some of them were several years old, but still held valuable information.

This magazine in particular featured a how-to section on braids. I’d always had trouble braiding my own hair. It was something Granny always did for me when I was younger. I could do it on my doll and other girls with no problem at all, but I had to take special efforts to do the same styles on myself.

I took my mussed braids down and combed out my hair. If I let it go naturally, I’d undoubtedly have a fro. It was that kind of hair — unruly and impossible.

I parted it to the side and glanced down at the magazine. Following the directions exactly, I painstakingly wove the wiry strands together, smoothing the way with the comb and new can of hairspray. Such an operation was impossible without hairspray.

After what seemed like hours, my arms aching with the effort of contorting them to make the delicate actions dictated by the magazine, I finished. I used tiny black rubber bands to secure the ends and hid these with bobby pins, tucking them beneath the existing braids. I gave one last spray over everything, my eyes watering at the fumes, and took a look at my masterpiece. It looked really fine.

I stepped outside to wash my hands in the bathroom and was met with a gasp. It was Shimmy, dancing down the hall and tossing an apple up in the air.

“Girl, your braids are amazing!” she gushed. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“From a magazine, just now,” I said, grinning at the compliment.

“You think you could do that on me for tonight?” she asked. “They’re going to throw themselves at you.”

I knew that by “they,” Shimmy meant our customers. She was probably right, especially after I strapped on my push-up bra and did my makeup.

“Of course I will,” I said. Even though I’d just mastered the design, I knew it would be infinitely easier on somebody else’s hair.

“You busy now?” she asked. “I was just gonna watch a movie with Cream.”

“Lemme just wash my hands,” I said.