Guess who’s sitting at one of the front tables,” Angela said as they changed costumes.
Dani already knew. She’d spotted Manny Spiven the moment she’d hit the stage for their first routine, and it had taken all her willpower to block out his offensive presence.
“Manny,” Angela continued. “And he’s with that cute guy I told you about, the one from New York.”
Who cares? Dani wanted to say. Manny Spiven is a rude, horrible, disgusting pig.
“Want me to set you up?” Angela asked, adjusting her feathered headdress.
“No thanks,” she answered coolly. I wouldn’t go out with one of Manny Spiven’s friends if he was the last man standing.
“Then I’ll bag him,” Angela said, quite happy at the thought. “I’m not letting this one slip away.”
As far as Dani was concerned, Angela could do what she liked.
Unfazed by her complaints about Manny, Angela had tried to fix her up on several more blind dates, all of which she’d declined. It seemed that Angela had an endless supply of men, and unfortunately, most nights she brought one or the other back to the apartment.
Lying in bed at night, Dani could hear the vigorous sounds of Angela’s lovemaking coming from the next room. Had she made a mistake moving in with Angela? Sam could be right—maybe she wasn’t ready to be out on her own.
One morning she’d noticed money on the kitchen table. When Angela emerged from her bedroom, wrapping a satin robe around her, she’d asked her where it came from.
“That’s from Petey,” Angela had answered casually. “He told me to buy myself a present. What a guy!”
Dani was naive, but not that naive. Was her roommate getting paid for sex? Everything seemed to indicate that she was.
“I still don’t understand what Manny did that was so terrible,” Angela said, leaning into the dressing room mirror and adding more blush to her already overrouged cheeks. “He’s a man, honey, they’re all horny. What’s the big deal about that?”
“I told you,” Dani answered patiently. “He grabbed me, then yelled all sorts of rude insults when I pushed him off.”
“The guy’s feelings were probably hurt,” Angela said. “Y’see,” she added knowledgeably, “you gotta baby ’em. Deep down they’re all little boys.”
“I don’t have to baby anyone.”
“You sure babied that Sam guy,” Angela remarked. “By the way, he called this morning.”
“He did?” Dani said. “You never mentioned it.”
She hadn’t heard from Sam in over two weeks. She’d been wondering where he was and why he hadn’t called. She really wanted to see him. He was her safe zone—always there to protect her.
“Sorry,” Angela said, pushing up her cleavage.
“Showtime,” yelled the stage manager. “Get your asses onstage, ladies.”
No time to call Sam back now; he’d have to wait.
“Don’t forget to take a peek at the cute guy,” Angela reminded her as they lined up at the side of the stage. “And remember—you blew it, so now he’s all mine.”
In the next number some of the girls were topless. Dani had elected not to go that route, although she was certainly tall enough and the director had urged her to do it, claiming she would make more money that way.
“I prefer to stay dressed,” she’d insisted.
“Hey, babe, your call,” he’d replied. “Although what difference it makes beats me—you can see everything you got as it is.”
This was not exactly true. Minuscule as her costume was, it still covered certain body parts that she didn’t care to put on view.
Angela was contemplating going topless. “I gotta get a tit job first,” she’d said. “My boobs ain’t what they used to be.”
“You’d actually do that?” Dani had asked, quite shocked at the thought of parading half naked in front of hundreds of strangers every week.
“Yeah, maybe. I got me a surgeon friend who promised he’d do it for nothing, only I gotta do him a small favor in exchange.” She’d winked. “Know what I mean?”
Unfortunately, Dani was beginning to realize exactly what she meant.
The girls hit the stage to the sound of Sinatra singing “Come Fly with Me,” a perennial favorite. Dani managed to scrupulously ignore Manny, who appeared to be leering up at her. However, she couldn’t help taking a quick peek at the guy with him. Angela was right, he was exceptionally good looking, young, dark, and extremely handsome.
He caught her looking and averted his eyes. No sign of interest there, which was fine with her. Angela could have him; she couldn’t care less.
By the time they finished their third number she was tired and her feet hurt. Two shows a night was tough and she couldn’t wait to get home.
As soon as they hit the dressing room, Angela was on the move. “I gotta get going,” she said, grabbing her street clothes and hurriedly dressing. “I’m saying hello to Manny, then he’ll have to introduce me to the stud, and who knows what’ll happen then?”
Dani knew exactly what would happen then.
Idly she wondered if Angela would get paid for it, although Manny’s friend hardly looked the type who’d have to pay. He was too movie-star handsome; girls were probably tripping over themselves to get near him.
“See you at home, sweetie,” Angela called, racing from the dressing room.
“She’s such a whore,” remarked Ellen, one of the dancers—a flat-faced, thirtyish redhead.
“What?” Dani said.
“I repeat—she’s such a whore,” Ellen said, carefully peeling off her black fishnet stockings. “I can’t imagine why you hang around with her.”
“I don’t,” Dani said flatly. “I share her apartment. And you shouldn’t call people names.”
“Doesn’t do much for your reputation, dear,” Ellen remarked, wriggling her toes. “You seem like a nice girl.”
I am a nice girl, she wanted to yell. I’m a nice girl caught in a difficult situation.
But she didn’t say a word.
After she’d changed out of her costume, she called Sam from a pay phone. He wasn’t home.
She couldn’t help wondering if he’d found himself a girlfriend. Part of her hoped that he had, because he deserved to be happy. On the other hand, she wished that he hadn’t, because even though she no longer lived in his apartment, it was comforting to know that she was the most important person in his life. Like her, he had no other family.
Once she got home it was nice and quiet. When Angela was around, everything always seemed chaotic. She enjoyed having the apartment to herself; it was cool and tidy.
After fixing herself a can of Campbell’s vegetable soup, she curled up on the couch and watched half an hour of TV before taking a shower and climbing into bed.
An hour later she was awoken by loud music: “Baby Love” by the Supremes, followed by Dean Martin crooning “Everybody Loves Somebody,” and then the Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night.” Willing herself not to listen, she finally fell back to sleep, ignoring the noises now coming from Angela’s bedroom.
In the morning she awoke early, jumped out of bed, and wandered into the kitchen, where she opened the fridge, poured herself a glass of apple juice, and was just popping a piece of bread into the toaster when a male voice said, “Uh—’scuse me.”
She spun around, cheeks flushing, well aware that the baby doll nightie she had on was totally transparent.
The guy who’d been sitting with Manny Spiven stood there, the handsome one from the previous night.
“Who are you?” she blurted, crossing her arms across her chest, soon realizing that it didn’t do much to cover her lower half.
“Uh . . . name’s Michael. I’m a friend of Angela’s.”
Sure. I heard you moaning and groaning last night. Did you have to pay?
“You startled me,” she said accusingly, backing toward the door.
His dark eyes were all over her. “Bein’ startled suits you,” he said.
Michael. Nice name. He does look like a movie star.
She hesitated for a moment before taking flight, running past him to the sanctuary of her bedroom, where she grabbed her robe and quickly put it on, belting it tightly.
“Your toast’s burnin’,” he called from the kitchen. “Want me to pop it out?”
Summoning all the dignity she could muster, she returned to the kitchen, where he was now pouring himself a cup of instant coffee. He’d placed her toast on a plate.
“Thank you,” she managed.
“Coffee?” he offered.
This was supposed to be her kitchen, and he was taking over like he owned it. He had some nerve. “No,” she said stiffly.
“Sorry about walkin’ in on you,” he said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “I was lookin’ for Max, an’ the front door was open.” He chuckled. “Guess they must’ve been in a hurry.”
“Max?” she asked, frowning.
“My pal. He, uh . . . came home with Angela last night. Now I gotta get him to the airport or we’ll miss our flight.”
“I thought you were with Angela,” she blurted.
“Naw, not me,” he said, sipping his coffee and thinking she looked even prettier without all that heavy makeup plastered over her face.
“So you simply walked in here this morning?”
“I shoulda rung the bell, right?” he said sheepishly. “Only, like I said, the door was open, an’ I didn’t know anyone else lived here.”
“I live here,” she said lamely. “Angela and me—we’re roommates.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, nodding. “I know who you are, you’re a girlfriend of Manny Spiven’s.”
“I am not,” she said indignantly. “I hate that rude pig.”
“You do?” he said, surprised.
“Yes, I do. I had the horrible experience of going on a blind date with him once. The pig tried to jump me, and when I didn’t respond, he shouted all kinds of insults at me.”
“That’s not the way he tells it.”
“Excuse me?” she said, furious that there was a Manny Spiven version of their one unmemorable date.
“Did you know that he goes around sayin’ that he’s . . . uh . . . gotten it on with you?”
“What?!” she exclaimed, blushing a deep red. “That’s absolutely untrue.”
“Guess he was makin’ up stories.”
She was so humiliated. How dare Manny Spiven make up lies about her. “I told you he was a pig,” she said fiercely. “A lying pig!”
Michael grinned. He should have known Manny was full of crap.
“Anyway,” she said vehemently, “maybe you should teach him some manners, he’s your friend.”
“No,” Michael corrected. “Business associate. Sure as hell not friend.”
“I thought—,” she said tentatively.
“Manny’s an asshole,” he said, reaching for an apple and taking a bite. “Seems like you found that out for yourself.”
“At least we agree on that.”
“So . . . ,” he said. “Now that we’ve straightened Manny out . . . it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Finally?” she said, big blue eyes meeting his.
“I’ve been watchin’ you for a while,” he said, mentally kicking himself for blowing the opportunity of getting together with her the previous night.
“You have?” she said, surprised and quite flattered.
“Saw you a few weeks back, only just when I was about to make my move, you ran off with some guy on a motorcycle.”
“My sister’s husband,” she said quickly.
“Glad to hear he doesn’t belong to you.”
“What?” she murmured breathlessly.
“That he’s not your guy,” he repeated, giving her a direct stare that made her go weak at the knees.
Before she could answer, Max staggered into the kitchen bleary-eyed and bare-chested, clad only in his crumpled boxer shorts, his hair standing on end as if he’d just put his finger in an electric socket.
“Jeez!” Michael exclaimed, controlling his laughter. “You look like crap!”
“Water,” Max gasped. “I need water.”
“It’s the desert air,” Michael deadpanned to Dani. “New Yorkers—they can’t take it.”
“You’re from New York?” she asked.
“Yup,” he said, standing up. “An’ we’re supposed t’ be on a plane any minute.”
“Oh,” she said, strangely disappointed.
“But I’ll be back,” he said cheerfully. “Soon. An’ next time we won’t let Manny Spiven come between us.” He winked at her. “Will we?”
“No,” she said, and for the first time in her short life she felt a stirring within her that made her want to grab a man and hold on to him forever.