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"You know you don’t have to do this, right? If you need something, if there’s something that you haven’t told us, if you need to hide away, we’ll help you get where you need to go. Dancing isn’t your only option."
"No, no, it’s nothing like that. I just don’t know what I’m thinking. If anyone found out I was doing this and it got back to my parents, they would…" Threaten to disown me. Again. It’s a theme in our house.
Roxy’s sympathetic; she furrows her brow, squeezing my arm in support. Then, her face lights up, and she snaps her fingers. "Wait, I might have just the thing." Spinning on her heel, she disappears down the hallway, returning a few minutes later. "This was in one of our costume lockers."
She hands me a mask and a set of wings. Both covered in black feathers, like those of a fallen angel, each piece iridescent and layered in shimmering black. Covering most of the face, wrapping around the side of the head but leaving the mouth unobscured, the mask is utterly beautiful.
I can see it. On stage, hidden yet not. Dancing, free and independent.
"I can really do this," I whisper, tears threatening to spill.
"You’re goddamn right, you can," Roxy cheers.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. My hands shake, and all my nerves from this morning transform from apprehension to pure, unadulterated excitement. Before I can dwell, Roxy plows through, like she was made for business.
I’m instructed to wear the mask and wings while practicing to get used to the weight of wearing them on stage, and she gives me the names of a few shops that sell lingerie, costumes, and other items I might want to dance in. Knowing my face will be covered gives me the last confidence boost I needed, and I’m already bouncing through ideas in my head of things I can wear on stage that would go beautifully with the feathered angel wings and mask.
"And you’re cool wearing scent-block? I noticed you already are." Roxy continues with the basic new-employee rundown.
"Yes, of course. I don’t wear it often, but I have pills from the OFA if I need them."
"Ooh, lucky duck, those are the good ones. They last like a week, too. If you run out or are in a jam, Ophelia always carries extras, and there’s usually spares in the office. Dr. Rubens from the OFA—"
"I’ve met him."
She nods, "He’s a decent guy. Anyway, he’s been visiting local clinics in South Loop, working with the doctors, making sure we omegas get the prescriptions we need, so you can always go there, too." I appreciate that she doesn’t comment on my obvious connection to the OFA. Being an OFA graduate, I’m aware I’m out of place, not only at Queenie’s, but also in South Loop.
"It’s a well-known secret that omegas work here, but without any scents, no one can tell who's who, and we employ a lot of betas, so that helps. Still, it should go without saying, if you ever have trouble with a customer, grab literally any employee and they’ll descend like locusts. We protect our own. Being Dante’s club, no one really messes around here, especially with the dancers, so you should be good, but best to be prepared."
It hadn’t even occurred to me I should worry about being pawed or grabbed at, but now I sure am. I say weakly, "Okay, no problem."
"Okay. Yay! I’m so excited for you. Well, everyone will be here soon, it’s almost opening time." She walks behind the bar to pour herself another glass of water, then unzips her velour top, revealing a hot pink bustier covered in sequins. Then she cracks her neck side to side, some kind of pre-game ritual, warming herself up for the night ahead.
We say goodbye and I walk back to my car, still parked at C-Block, and climb in, then drive home to the Hills. On the way, I think about how different my life would be if I chose this. I could just be here. I could leave all the trappings of high-society behind and be all the happier for it. But my family would never forgive me.
Chapter 4
Imogen
My parent's estate is large enough that sneaking in and out without running into them isn't a problem. Their staff on hand continue their work as though we're not here, and my parents do the same, the class lines alive and well between these walls.
I slip in through the nearest back door, through the kitchen and notice Gerald, the cook, giving him a friendly wave. We have an awkward relationship. He loves to cook, obviously, but ever since I was young, even before my designation came in, my mother watched what I ate. I've had a lot of practice walking past his scrumptious meals in various stages of preparation, the aroma of fresh herbs filling the air, but I maintain disinterest, ignoring the desire to shovel his duck fat confit into my mouth.
Gerald offers snacks as he prepares meals when my mother isn't around, and even though she can't see me and wouldn't know if I indulged, I usually say no. Today is one of those days. I'm still riding a high from dancing on stage at Queenie's, but as I step deeper into the house, my anxiety rises. Sneaking around the back stairwell, I creep upstairs and into my room without running into anyone else.
I dig out a suitcase and begin rifling through my belongings, trying my best not to grab everything my fingers touch. I enjoy dressing up and looking pretty, which means a lot of luggage. But it's not like I'm moving out, so I don't need to take everything. I'm just… staying away for a few days.
Long enough for my parents to come to their senses and cancel the engagement or for me to get this living out of my system and come back home to face my future, get married, and settle down. Whichever comes first.
I glance at the door that leads to my secluded nest in the rear of my bedroom, contemplating which toys to bring from the side table by the bed. Settling on an inflatable knotted vibrator, along with a couple of other toys, a blush creeps up my neck as I imagine using them later tonight. With my bag filled with vibrators, slick-wicks, lingerie, and nighties, I make my way into the bathroom.
Head buried in the cabinet beneath the sink, I didn't hear her come in until my mother's heady gardenia scent announces her presence.
I take a moment to pause, fixating on the array of lotion, soaps, and oils, before steeling myself and standing up. With my hands full of toiletries, we exchange a tense glance before I walk past, hastily stuffing the items into another bag, feeling the weight of her ultimatum like a sharp stab in my heart.
"Going somewhere?" One perfectly shaped eyebrow lifts high on her face, a surprising feat considering the amount of fillers she has to keep her expressions ageless.
"Yes. I'll be gone for a few days, maybe longer."
