W.L.L.C is just Life!

Francis shoves the door open, barely fitting in the doorway with his pot belly. The hair on the top of his head is rapidly thinning, his age getting the best of him as his pale skin gains another ten creases by the day. He points at me.

“Stasia, you’re up.”

“Oh no, Francis,” I shake my head. “I’m off in 30.”

“Then you best make this one quick,” he snaps back. “I don’t want him waiting. Now come on.”

I roughly set my lipstick down, reluctantly standing from my bedazzled seat and rolling on my black gloves as I make my way to Francis and into the main section of the tiny nightclub.

He leads us, briefing me on this “high paying client” who requests a girl who can mix drinks, the client that the girls were talking about. It only goes in one ear and out the other as the intense irritation at my dragged out work night takes up all of the space in my head. 

However, this all changes when I see him standing there. Etta didn’t tell a lie, he’s dressed nicer than most of the men who frequent this club, a fitted wool suit with a top hat to match. I quickly flip into work mode, plastering on a smile as Francis introduces me.

“This is one of my best girls, Stasia,” he says. The man only stares stiffly, smoking a pipe out of the corner of his mouth. “She’ll make whatever drink you want.”

Francis retreats, but not before tapping me on the butt, nearly making my smile drop. Nevertheless, I place my hand on the man’s chest.

“Hi, mister fancy,” I seductively smile, rubbing my hand up and down his shoulder. “Want to play a game?”

He doesn’t loosen up, only gives me a cold nod as his eyes scan my body.

“If I can guess one thing right about you, we go into that private room over there,” I point to a magenta curtain across the floor. “Alright?”

“Alright,” he speaks for the first time, his voice low and gravely with a Delta accent.

“Hmm,” I place my gloved finger on my chin. “You look like a man with a story…I bet you got a million of ‘em up here,” I tap on his temple. “…But none you’re willing to tell me the truth about.”

The client pauses, his eyes boring into mine as he softly nods again, blowing his pipe smoke the other way.

“Well, how about you take me in that room and tell me some lies?”

I grab his hand, leading him behind the velvet magenta curtain and into one of our biggest private rooms, latching the metal clips closed on either side to ensure our privacy. Across the room from us is a matching velvet sofa, a full bar on the wall to the right of it. I’m usually the only one using this private room, as I’m the only girl who knows how to mix drinks — Such talents come in handy in a profession like this.

He’s awfully quiet and timid, not doing anything without my instruction. I don’t mind it, much better than the overly pushy and slightly drunk clients I’ve dealt with before. I push him toward the couch, pulling his thick coat off. When he falls onto the sofa, I follow him, straddling his lap.

“You’re so tense,” I take his hat off and place it on the couch, beginning to massage his biceps. “Relax a little.”

I see him struggle with it, taking a deep breath and holding his eyes closed for a moment as I continue working on his arms.

“What do you want me to make you?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you wanna make me.”

“Come on,” I chuckle. “You’re dressed this nice and don’t got a drink of choice?”

He shrugs again, eyes more focused on my body rather than the question at hand.

“Alright…” I swing my leg over his, standing up and heading to the bar. 

I first pour a shot of bourbon, my heels thudding against the old carpet.

“Here, to loosen you up,” I hand it to him.

Once I return behind the bar counter, my quiet client downs his shot, finally speaking to me first.

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t remember?” I smile, setting up my drink supplies. “‘Stasia, he called me. Short for Anastasia. But I got ten different short names besides that.”

“You like ‘em?”

“As much as the next person.”

“But what you want me to call you?” he interrogates.

“No one’s bothered to ask me before”, I say honestly. “I think I prefer Anastasia. That’s what I was given so that’s what I’ll take.”

“Anastasia,” he nods, testing how the name sounds on his tongue. “Where you from, Anastasia?”

I answer in between shaking his iced drink. “Alabama, originally. But my family moved us down here a few years ago.”

“Mmm. Why’d y’all move?”

I laugh, pouring his drink in a glass. “You sure asking a lot of questions.” He doesn’t laugh, only stares at me as he leans back on the sofa. “We left for my daddy’s work. You know it’s a depression these days, gotta adjust to what you can make work.”

“I know it,” he nods.

I’ve slipped out of my heels by the time I’m walking back around to him, chilled drink in hand. I straddle him once again, placing it in his.

“Every sip you take is an item of clothing gone.”

He immediately takes a swig. I giggle, that one shot of bourbon has turned him completely loose. As promised, I take both of my glittery gloves off, resting my arms on his shoulders.

“So tell me about yourself, mister fancy.”

“Smoke,” he corrects me.

“Smoke,” I nod. “You tell me some truths now. Or lies, I’m free to listening to either.”

“Well, we just came back,” he looks up at me, eyes glued to mine. “Throwing a party for some of my people in the Delta.”

“We?” 

“Me and my brother,” he takes another sip. 

“Where’d y’all come back from?” I ask whilst removing my dress. This game never lasts long, and it was never intended to. But the more he talks, the more I wish I had on more so he could keep going.

“Chicago. We stayed up there seven years.” All of his answers are just discreet enough to keep me in the dark. Even after we’ve spoken, I feel like I have no idea who this Smoke is.

“Y’all military?”

“We was.”

“There are some stories you can tell me,” I grin.

Smoke doesn’t. Instead, I hear the ice in his glass begin to shake as his hands subtly quiver. He looks down at them, a look of grief and frustration on his face as he internally asks them to stop. 

I’ve seen PTSD before, plenty of soldiers come in with the wish to forget what they saw in those trenches. I should’ve known better than to ask. Smoke’s demeanor has changed and he fights back tears.

“Shh, shh,” I place my hand over his, stroking it with my thumb. “We ain’t gotta talk about it.”

He shakes his head as if to shake the memories out of his brain, taking one last long sip of his drink. 

Not much more talking happens before I’ve pulled his lips to mine — Smoke kisses me hungrily, like he’s trying to get so caught up in our kiss that he can’t think about anything else, anywhere else. It’s when he’s finally on top of me that he pulls my hand around his neck, placing pressure as to ask me to squeeze. I comply, keeping my hand there as passion flows through his lips. He removes my last article of clothing, a flimsy pair of fishnet stockings. They’re thrown to the floor as he pushes my legs apart, undoing his belt.

He loves me slowly, emotion filling each one of his thrusts as he grunts and groans in my ear, keeping his head buried in my neck. I cradle his head as he holds my legs open, power in his thrusts. 

The club has nearly emptied out except for a few girls gathering the last of their things by the time Smoke and I are done. Before he leaves, he thanks me, something no one’s ever done before. He leaves me with $50, a $35 tip — A bigger sum than I’ve ever received in one go. I catch myself wanting to see Smoke again that night…

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📍 The Johnnie Ram Club || 9:00pm

 Francis has already spoiled my mood by the beginning of my shift, demanding I pay him some random amount of money that I earned — A percentage that seems to ebb and flow as he pleases. 

“Half, Stasia. We ain’t going through this again.”

“That’s five times my highest rate. You didn’t even find this client for me, Francis,” I argue back. “He walked into this club on his own free will, the hell I’m paying you for?”

“For bringing you to him, damnit. I give you a lot in this world, girl,” he points in my face. “And you ain’t been nothing but ungrateful. Now you give me my money or you go home for the night, your choice.”

I stare at him for a moment, not bothering to hide the hate in my eyes. They stay on him as I pull out some of Smoke’s money from my bra, counting off $25 and throwing it at his feet.

“You lucky I’m doing this today,” I spit, turning my back to him.

“You always do, honey!”

As I walk into the main room full of couches, poles, and stages, I see one very familiar face. I try to speed past him, not in the mood to be harassed and groped by this returning client — Why Francis hasn’t yet to bar him from entering? His money. Give that man a dollar and he’ll do anything.

I’m not quick enough. The client has already spotted me and jumped off of the couch by the time I’m halfway across the room.

Eddie isn’t a good looking man, not by an any means. He’s whiter than Francis, a phenomenon that I didn’t think possible until I saw it with my own eyes. His straggly brunette hair rains dandruff on me whenever he’s near and his smell ain’t so hot either. Nevertheless, Francis continues to let him in, as long as his dollars are right.

“I was looking for you last night, angel,” Eddie smiles, displaying his brown teeth. “Just the thought of you gave me blue balls. I just wanted to jump on you.”

“I’m off tonight, Eddie,” I lie, averting my head in order to avoid his breath. “I only came in to cash out. Another girl will have to take you tonight.”

“Oh, but you’ll stay for me won’t you? I got cash,” he gets closer than I’m comfortable with, his small frame making him look up at me.

I look away, ignoring Eddie and his typical pushiness. It’s not until I feel his bony hand on my breast that I turn back to him. His arm is wrapped around my waist and his hand rests on my boob — He just stares at me, not speaking or anything, just wears a stupid smile as he holds me.

Trying not to cause a scene, I push on his chest, afraid I might break a bone with how thin he is. Even so, he’s got the grip of ten men, not letting go even when I push him with all of my force.

“Let me the hell go, Eddie,” I say, stumbling backward over my own heel. “Let me—“

“He bothering you?” I hear from behind me.

Eddie finally releases me from his clutch, looking at the client behind me. It’s none other than Smoke. Usually I can’t remember a face, especially from a one-time client — But I’m sure this is Smoke, his face looks the exact same as last night. Only…Today he wears a natural smile, showing off a gold grill that I must’ve missed last night. 

“No it’s—“ I wipe my hands on my dress, ridding myself of Eddie’s germs. “I’m okay.”

“Oh,” he tilts his head, stepping in front of me and toward Eddie. “‘Cause it looked like this nigga was harassing you. Is that what it looked like to you, ma’am?” he looks back at me.

“I don’t want no trouble,” Eddie rapidly licks his red and cracking lips, putting his hands up. “I’ll see you later, angel.” He makes a pathetic attempt at winking at me.

I shiver at the memory of his cold hands on my body before turning to Smoke.

“Sorry you had to see that,” I say.

“Nah, I’m glad I did,” he smokes a cigarette. “Who let him in here?”

I simply shake my head, not wanting to talk about Eddie any longer than I have to. Looking around the club, I see almost no one here. Sure, a few regulars with their regular girls. But Smoke is the only newcomer around. 

‘I might as well earn my $25 back,’ I think to myself.

“You care for a room and a drink? I’ll make it for you myself.”

His smile grows wider, nodding before taking my hand. “Lead the way.”

We head for the magenta room, same as we did last night. But this time, when we walk in, all of that tense and timid energy has dissipated. Smoke takes his own jacket off, walking over to the couch and spreading his legs, completely relaxed. In the process, he’s taken his suit off as well, only being left in a white t-shirt, accentuating his muscles.

“You have a drink of choice tonight?” I tease. “Or you want me to pick for you?”

“How ‘bout a Sazerac?” his eyes scan my body as I slip out of my heels, heading to the bar.

“A Sazerac,” my eyes widen. “And how the hell do I make that?”

He laughs. “It’s an Old Fashioned, but meaner. You gotta add absinthe and sugar cubes straight outta New Orleans.”

I didn’t think he was able to talk so much after our last encounter. But now he walks with a chillness to him, in great contrast to the cold and serious demeanor he held yesterday.

“I’m sorry, baby. We’re fresh out of sugar cubes tonight.”

“Don’t e’en worry about it,” he assures me. “You’re enough sugar for me.”

Giggling, I beginning to make an Old Fashioned with added absinthe and lemon. Just like yesterday, Smoke begins asking questions.

“Remind me your name, mama.” 

“Anastasia,” I remind him, feeling slightly offended that after everything, he doesn’t even remember my preferred name. 

“Anastasia what? You gotta introduce yourself with your full name to gain respect around here, baby.”

I eye him. “…Anastasia Riley.

“Where’d you learn to make drinks, Anastasia Riley?” 

“Before he was a miner my daddy worked at a bar, damn near ran the place,” I find myself quickening my pace, longing for Smoke’s touch again. “Taught me how to mix from an early age.”

“These folks paying you real dollars around here?”

“Some of ‘em,” I shrug. “Others pay in credits, ain’t no difference to me”

He eyes me, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me you working in the fields too.”

“No,” I assure him. “But some of my kin do, so I give it to them. It don’t bother me none.” 

Walking over to him, I place the drink in his hand, but he sets it on the side table. Once I straddle him, he crosses his watch-lined wrists across each other on my ass, locking me in place.

“What’s got you so bold tonight?” I ask, scooting closer to him.

“That’s how I am, baby.”

“Mm,” I hum. “Not how I remember it.”

He brushes off my comment, simply pulling my head in for a kiss. Smoke is faster today…rougher. I have no issue with more demanding clients, but his quick turn around caught me off guard tonight. He lightly spanks me, his other hand holding my head tightly as our kisses intensify. Smoke pulls my dress up from the bottom, exposing my fishnets.

“You want it?” he asks in between hisses, palming my ass harder now.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Hard or soft?”

My laughter escapes me, forcing me to break our kiss. “You a whole different man tonight.”

He scrunches his face up, finally acknowledging my remarks. “What you talking about, baby?”

“Wasn’t you here last night, mister fancy?” I joke. 

“No,” his brows furrow. 

Mine do the same as I tilt my head, not seeing where he’s going with this.

“No, I’m sure you were. Navy hat, a little scared? — Much more than you are tonight.”

He stares at me, his expression changing from confused, to deep in thought, to realization all within a few seconds. 

“…You a fuckin’ lie,” he mumbles.

“Sorry?” 

He breaks out into a laugh. “You mean to tell me my twin brother walked his scary ass in here and got some pussy?”

Twin brother? 

My hand flies to cover my mouth, pulling myself off of him and sitting on the couch.

“I could get in trouble for telling my other clients to you,” I gasp, completely breezing over the fact that this ultra-relaxed Smoke isn’t a Smoke at all. “S— So who the hell are you?”

“Stack,” he smiles wide, holding his hand out to shake. I do so, feeling more awkward than if I had left him hanging. “Confidentiality ain’t a problem, ma’am. I won’t tell.” He gets up, beginning to put his suit back on. But I’m afraid I can’t fuck you if Smoke already did,” he sucks his teeth. “It’s a damn shame.”

Once he puts his hat back on, he pulls cash from his pocket, the same way his brother did. I shrink in humiliation. I should’ve known this wasn’t the client from yesterday. No one is a reserved mess one day and a boasting spirit the next. 

As if they planned it, Stack hands me $50, far surpassing what I planned to make back tonight.

“For your troubles,” he cheeses, his grills now being a telling difference between him and Smoke. “You have a nice night, Anastasia Riley.”

I stay put on the couch as he unhooks the latches, running into Francis on his way out. When I listen closely enough, I can lowly hear their conversation over the club music.

“Gone so soon?” Francis asks. “She’ll let you do anything you want to her, trust me. Did you see her tits?”

Motherfucker.

My hands go clammy with embarrassment as Stack politely declines, mentioning something about other commitments. 

“Did you pay her?”

Please say no, please say no, please say no—

“Nah, not tonight,” Stack fibs. “Maybe I’ll pay Miss Riley a visit another time.”

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Buzz of the Smoke-Stack twins has finally reached me. Not only from girls at Johnnie’s, but through literal word on the street too. I passed plenty of folks on my commute home through the Delta last night who had the names Smoke or Stack in their passing conversations. I had no way of knowing, but these people spoke about them like legends, myths from years ago that they never thought would return. I only moved here a few years ago, nowhere near eight.

Regardless of the rumors surrounding them, I’m enjoying getting to know Smoke myself. He seems to be doing the same — So much so that he invited me out. It was a fancy restaurant, fancier than I’ve ever been in at least. Smoke turned out to be more of a gentleman than I expected, holding doors open and ordering my meal for me. Our small talk was short lived, quickly turning into a conversation like none I’ve had before. He acted interested, really interested, in what I had to say. He wasn’t too keen on sharing details of his own life, but it bothered me less and less the more he showed interest in mine. 

Eventually, I shared with him my dream of moving to Hollywood and becoming a film actress — Something I’ve been too embarrassed to tell any of the girls in the club. But Smoke doesn’t laugh at me how I expect they would. Instead, he invites me to that party that he told me about. A Juke Joint down at the old sawmill, telling me it ain’t much, but if I want creativity and some good blues, it’s the place to be. 

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I work tonight.”

“Alright,” he nods, respecting it. “What if we pay you for the night?” 

There’s no time to answer his question before something catches my eye. Behind Smoke, right over his shoulder, I see a small short frame, scraggly hair in patches lining his head.

“I— I gotta go, Smoke,” I say, grabbing my bag and hat.

He frowns, following my gaze and seeing Eddie staring intently at me as I walk away.

“Wait, wait,” he follows after me, leaving bills on the table. “Who is that?”

“No one,” I roll my eyes, walking out of the door with Smoke hot on my trail. “A client. One that I don’t want to see in the club, ‘specially not outside of it.”

“He do something to you?” he asks with the same tone his brother had when he saw Eddie yesterday.

“It’s fine.”

“That ain’t a no,” he eyes Eddie through the window. “Well if you leaving, at least let me drive you home first.”

A smile grows on my lips, trying my best to forget about Eddie staring at me from his seat. “I couldn’t—“

“Don’t do that, Anastasia,” he sighs. “I want to.”

“I ain’t even going home, Smoke,” I laugh.

“Where you going?”

“You remember the audition I told you about? The one for the film in California?”

He nods. I feel silly for ever believing that he’d forget my name, not when he hangs on to every one of my words like this.

“I been looking for a dress for it. I want to make a good impression when I fly out there.”

“I’ll pay,” he says without hesitation.

I laugh again, shaking my head. “I’ll take the ride, Smoke. Keep the money.”

“I got it to spend.”

“Oh, I know you do. I’ll let you know when I need it. Today ain’t that day, though.”

Smoke silently obliges, placing his hand on the small of my back and leading me to his car. Eddie stares at us until we pull off, and Smoke’s grip on the wheel tightens — But he makes the decision to obey my wishes, and ignore it. It only makes me like him more.

————

📍Dress Shop || 11:00am

I use some of the cash I earned from Johnnie’s to buy a simple white dress, nice enough to make a good impression, but modest enough to conceal my profession. As I exit the store, a satisfied smile on my face, I spot an all-too-familiar man across the dirt road. He crosses, sporting a sly grin as he walks through his own cigarette smoke.

“Y’all are just everywhere, huh?” 

“You got a face I wouldn’t mind seeing everyday,” Stack shrugs. He looks down to my bag. “What’s that?”

“Just a dress. Bought it for my audition in California next month.”

“Mm,” he hums, raising his brows. “You an actress?”

My cheeks go warm, feeling a little embarrassed telling a client what I really want to do. “Hopefully one day.”

“I got a few connection out there, you know. A few no-good niggas who may know a guy. I could hook you up if you want,” he says, pleased to have something to contribute.

“Y’all and your handouts,” I shake my head.

“Not a handout, an offer,” he points at me. “Smart businessmen take offers, Miss Riley.”

“Well, I ain’t a businessman and I never claimed to be smart, Stack. So now what?”

He nears me, my head tilting up as his frame towers over mine. “So now you tell me why I smell my brother’s cologne on your person.”

I scoff, hiding how caught off guard I am at his comments. I’ve grown so blind to its potency I completely forgot to keep it in mind when hugging Smoke this morning.

“That’s none of your concern now, is it?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “Or maybe I want to know how serious y’all are before I do anything else.”

“He’s a client, Stack. Just like you are. That’s all I’ll say,” I bluff, attempting to walk past him.

He places a hand on my waist, stopping me.

“That’s all I am to you, Anastasia?” he says, oddly close to my ear. “A client.”

“You can be whatever you want to be, Stack,” I roll my eyes, pushing his hand off and continuing my trek home. 

As long as you pay, I think.

But then I think of Smoke — I wouldn’t make him pay. Hell, I find myself wanting to pay him to spend time with me more often than not. It’s an odd feeling in my stomach, to fall for a client like this. If he wasn’t so good to me, I’d call it scary. 

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📍 The Johnnie Ram Club || 8:00pm

I barely get through the door before that fat old white man stops me for the second night in a row, pulling me into the dingy and barely lit “office” in the back of the club. 

“What now, Francis?” I huff.

“I give you chance after chance, Stasia. I’m a very forgiving man when it comes to you in this club, and that’s out of the kindness of my heart.”

Bullshit, that’s ‘cause of the money I put in his pockets.

“Did you know that a high — Very high paying client saw you out today with another client. Just out in the daylight like it was your husband or something,” he stresses. “How does that make you look, Stasia? Parading around like a taken woman when you got men waiting for you here?”

“The twins are the highest paying clients I got, Francis — The highest paying clients you prob’bly ever gon’ see,” I snap back, in disbelief that he continues to bring up Eddie like I give a damn. “So if keeping them close is a problem for you, find me a man who’s gon’ pay me more.”

“Oh I did, sweetheart,” he smiles, his missing teeth drawing more attention than his present ones. “He might’ve cussed me out all kinds of ways, throwing a tantrum like I never seen — But he’s willing to pay. A lot more than what them twins paying.”

“No,” I shake my head. “Hell no, Francis. I am not servicing that fucking freak.”

“But you are, darlin’. For three times what he pays normally? — You can do anything for an hour, baby.”

Rage boils inside me, in utter disbelief that he continues to pimp me out to weirder and weirder men for a cut of money that he doesn’t even deserve. I decide I’m not doing it, turning my back to Francis and walking toward the biggest private room we have, itching to make a drink for myself before Eddie even shows up.

That doesn’t happen. I should’ve known from the lack of pushback from Francis when I left the room. Once I latch the curtain closed and turn around, my eyes adjust…And I’m face to face with Eddie. He’s shirtless, coils of hair littering his chest as he leans back on the sofa, his legs spread. Grinning, he licks his browning teeth, patting his lap.

It angers me for him to sit where the twins sat — They’re ten times the man he is. Either way, the twins ain’t paying for my flight to California, nor my room and board. At least that’s what I tell myself, maybe I’m too full of humility to allow myself to take what they offer.

I can do anything for an hour.

I inch myself forward, trying my best to disassociate from my own body and imagine myself anywhere else. It doesn’t work. I hesitantly take a seat on one of his bony knees, afraid I might break it. Instinctively, I pull up my strapless dress. 

“No, no. Leave it,” he pulls it back down, his fingers caressing my breast. “I’ve always wanted a private room with you, angel.”

“Is that right,”  I choke out, not daring to look at him.

“Mm-hmm. Just had to get a piece of this,” he runs his hands up and down my sides.

Eddie goes on this way, asking me the strangest questions as his requests get weirder and weirder. I nearly gag when he asks me to stroke his chest throughout our conversation, his shedding chest hair getting caught in my nails. He inquires about my shower routine, how I choose my underwear, and my best description of what my body odor smells like. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I notice that only fifteen minutes have gone by. I blink back tears, preparing myself to tell Eddie how I can’t do this, and leave empty handed. But just as I’m about to wrap up our conversation on how I remove my body hair, he grabs my hand, pulling it toward his crotch. He just holds it there over his jeans, his breath getting heavier. In the span of a few seconds, he’s grunting repeatedly, his stomach tightening and convulsing. It’s not until he brings his mouth to my neck in his arousal that I abruptly stand up, chills running down my body.

Eddie only throws his head back, coming down from his climax with a smile as I stare down at him, adjusting my dress. He pants, looking at me as if we’ve just had the best night of our lives.

“You did so good for me, angel,” he says. “Lay with me for a minute?”

“I— I wish I could,” I stammer, shaken up. “But I really gotta go, Eddie.”

A breath of relief escapes me when he accepts it as truth, pulling cash out of his back pocket and handing me more money than I’ve ever seen in a night. 

…

My face has gone red with the amount of scrubbing I’ve done in this girls bathroom. I ignore the banging on the door as I leave the water running, doing my best to convince myself that the water trailing down my face is from the faucet. My outfit lays on the floor, leaving me in my underwear as I stare at my reddened body in the mirror, smeared lipstick staining my face. I don’t allow myself to think about it too much, afraid that I’ll quit my job where I stand if I do.

Instead, I reapply my makeup as best I can with my tears ever flowing. I look nowhere near as glamorous as I did walking in tonight, but that’s become the least of my worries. As I step into a spare l dress that I keep in my locker — Orange and long, much more modest and comfortable than I’d ever wear in this club — I take one final deep breath, wanting nothing more than to smell that lasting cologne right now.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

Walking past the kind doorman, the scene in front of me is electrifying. Joints in Alabama were never my speed, too much klan and too little music. But this — This was like a dream for anyone who called themselves creative. Women and men alike dance together, allowing themselves to freely enjoy the music without the confines of society. Outside of these walls is none of their business, in here, they are free. In here, I’m not a service provider and my body isn’t a product — I’m a consumer, and it feels damn good to be on this side of the bargain. It isn’t long before Stack and his golden grin approach me, drink in hand.

“You lookin’ fine as Delta wine, Miss Riley,” he laughs. “Everybody treating you good in here?”

I smile, aware of how terrible I look, and aware of how much Stack doesn’t care. 

“This is amazing, Stack,” I look around. “All these people enjoying themselves, never seen nothing like it.”

“We all ‘sposed to enjoy ourselves here,” he hangs his arms around my waist, placing mine around his neck. “Just listen to the music…”

Our bodies press against each other, his lips staying near my ear as our pace fluctuates with the speed of the music. He periodically sips his drink, whispering compliments in my ear each time he does, as if he knows I need them. Just as his hands roam lower, I see his clone walk past us. Smoke and I meet eyes for a moment, my body unable to react before he turns away, walking into a room near the stairs.

“Excuse me,” I break our rhythm, pulling away from Stack and following Smoke into the room.

He’s facing the wall when I enter, spinning around once I close the door behind us. Pipe smoke surrounds him as his eyes roam my body, keeping one hand in his pocket as he always so mysteriously does.

“So how you know him?” he asks, trying his best to act unbothered.

“…He came to the club once. He’s just a client…” I shrink under his gaze.

Smoke shakes his head, a light scoff escaping him as he struggles to keep his composure.

“I spent money on you, Anastasia,” he nods scornfully. “Spent time on you. And you go and lay with my brother—“

“No,” I near him, but he turns away, sucking his teeth. “I never did, Smoke. I didn’t even know you had a twin. But when I realized he wasn’t you, we stopped.”

He pouts his lips, pure disgust on his face as he looks everywhere but at me. Tears threaten to fall as my lip slightly frowns…He looks as if he regrets ever meeting me.

“I swear ‘fore god, I never slept with him,” I begin, timid. “But Smoke, you know this is my job…”

“But I don’t give a damn,” his voice raises. “It ain’t your job to almost sleep with my brother after you slept with me. It ain’t your job to keep it from me, and it damn sure ain’t your job to meet him again tonight, Anastasia. It’s fucked up,” he points his pipe at me.

I fail at containing my tears, quickly wiping them away in hopes that he won’t see them. “Smoke…” I whisper. “I didn’t know.“

Suddenly, he steps toward me, examining my face. He bends to my level, lightly tilting my head to the side.

“What the hell is this?” he asks, pressing his fingers on my neck.

The spot is tender, feeling like a bruise when pressed. The crinkle in my brow quickly smoothens out as I remember the night I had before I showed up at the Juke. Smoke steps back, wiping a frustrated hand over his face.

“Stack do that?” 

“No,” my head falls, not having planned on revealing my endeavors with Eddie to him tonight.

“Don’t lie to me, Anastasia. Who did that to you?”

“Smoke, please. Let’s just let it—“

He ignores my excuses, walking past me and reaching for the door. I place a hand on his chest, surrendering.

“Okay, okay,” I sigh. “You remember Francis from the club?”

He stares intensely, a skepticism on his face as he waits for the story. “Mm-hmm.”

“After Eddie saw us out today he blew up on me, saying how it’s bad for business because he’s a high paying client. He took a payout. Gave Eddie a room with me before I could stop him. Eddie um,” I gesture to my neck. “I stopped him right after.”

Smoke’s face has turned from confused to blindly furious in a matter of a few seconds, no longer bothering to smoke his pipe. He reaches past me and for the door again, pulling it open and shouting for his brother. He pulls me by my hand nearer to him, giving Stack space. When he enters, Smoke relays the entire story to him, being sure to leave out Eddie’s name.

“You ain’t gon’ believe who did that,” Smoke points to my neck.

“Who?” he looks between us, not putting two and two together yet.

My eyes stay glued to the floor. “Eddie.”

“That dude from the club?” Stacks eyebrows raise. “He set you up with that nigga?”

“That’s what the fuck I said,” Smoke shakes his head.

“Oh, we can handle that,” Stack assures me, his finger on my chin lifting my head. “We can handle that tonight.”

“And you ain’t going nowhere alone ‘til we sure it ain’t a problem no more,” Smoke chimes in. 

I nod, not feeling an ounce of worry for Eddie or what will happen to him. Whatever they have planned, I want them to do him worse.

There’s commotion outside coming from the gambling room. Stack excuses himself, rushing past me and toward the arguing voices across the Juke.

Smoke’s eyes stay on my neck, a scowl on his face. “I don’t like seeing that on you.”

He pulls a few bills from his suit pocket, counting them before deciding to just give the whole thing, holding it out for me.

“Leave that place,” he suggests, sounding less like a plead and more like a demand. “And all those sons of bitches. Leave ‘em all behind.”

I stare down at the money, $200. A thousand different outcomes rush through my head. But at the forefront of my mind is, possibly, the worst one. An image of myself returning to Johnnie’s with a begging bowl flashes in my mind. There are too many undecideds to make such a choice. Whether it be in a week or in a year, these twins will lose interest in me, and I’ll be without a job. I think back to when I first took the job, broke and desperate. I know what it is to not have money, the way people look at you, how they treat you — I won’t ever put myself in that position again. The fear alone makes me shake my head.

“I can’t…” I whisper.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m ain’t,” I say, convincing myself more than I’m convincing him. “But I’m scared, Smoke. I been broke before—“

“I been broke before, Anastasia,” he assures me. “That ain’t gon’ be us no more. I’ll put you in the square, get you a job with Grace and Bo if I have to.” 

‘Us,’ he said. We’re a team.

“I can’t be someone else’s charity case, Smoke. You know this,” my lip quivers, not knowing why I’m saying what I’m saying. “I gotta get myself out of the mud.”

“Do you think Eddie was the only one like that?” he asks, frustrated. “You want to stay holed up in there getting touched on by niggas like that?"

I look down, not letting myself consider the life he’s offering. I’m so used to this, so good at this, the thought of leaving it for men I met only a couple of days ago is too much change for me at once. 

“I have no choice.”

He gets closer, forcing me to look up at him. “You don’t see this money right here?”

“Two hundred ain’t gon’ get me by for as long as I need to get by, Smoke. I just can’t.”

Smoke just stares at me, making me more self concious each second he does. Eventually, he just nods, leaving me with a simple “Alright,” before squeezing past me and slipping out the door. But not before leaving the money on the table, as if he’s giving me one last chance.

As the door slams shut, I collapse onto the floor. Why I’m so dead set on being independent, I don’t know. Maybe it’s my daddy’s dying and mama’s leaving that made me this way. The thought of relying on Smoke’s connections, kindness, and abilities shakes me to my core. More than that, the fear of the unknown may be scarier than the fear of Francis demanding money from me every night.

But the moment Francis crosses my mind, Eddie crosses my mind. I can feel his hands on me still, his knee digging into my skin as his breath infects my neck. I think about what Smoke told me: Will there be more Eddies? Could I handle more Eddies? That thought shakes me, even more than the thought of relying on Smoke. It isn’t until now that I remember all of the groping and the comments and the tears that prickled my eyes after each encounter. I can’t do that for the rest of my life, I won’t. I’m smart enough to know that I deserve more than a life of Eddies and Francis’ — And as I stare at the money on the the table, I finally start to see a new path waiting for me.

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📍  The Johnnie Ram Club || 1:00 am

My leg shaking makes a repeated tapping noise, drowned out my the rain coming down on my cab — The only one I’ve had since my first year in the city, paid for with a portion of Smoke’s $200. I just stare at the building, all of the memories I’ve made racing through my head.

“Ma’am, you either have to get out or pay for the wait,” my driver tells me, staring back.

I take off my black gloves, folding them neatly in my lap before paying my driver. After one last deep breath, I open the car door, running toward the club to escape the rain.

My resignation is a blur. I feel like I’m walking in slow motion the whole time, only hearing my own heartbeat thump in my chest. Francis is where he always is, sitting in his office, the squeaky fan running on its last leg as smoke fills the room. 

“Stasia,” he looks at me. “You aren’t scheduled tonight, are you?”

I don’t respond, only handing him my gloves, a $50 bill sitting on top of them.

“This is more money than I owe you, but I don’t feel like hearing that mouth of yours no more,” I spit.

He stares at the money and then back up at me, getting out of his chair and putting his hands on his hips.

“This about them damn twins?” he asks. “If so, you owe me a lot more than that, darlin’.”

I scoff. “I’m worth a lot fuckin’ more than you’ll ever be able to give me, old man,” I assure him turning my back to him and throwing up a sly middle finger. 

“You turn around right now, Stasia! You can’t leave like this, they ain’t gon’ pay your bills forever. Not like I have!” Francis word vomits, not having the physical ability to run after me.

“Tell Eddie he can go fuck himself, Frannie!” I shout back, walking away. “Join him while you’re at it!”

I leave Johnnie Ram with a smile on my face, never minding the rain. As dignified as I feel, a small and dull fear lights in my chest. Fear of the unknown.

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📍 Film Set Trailer || 3 YEARS LATER

This is one of my biggest films yet. They’ve given me my own makeup and hair artists, my own dialect coaches to push the southern out of me, even my own trailer for my off hours. As I sit down at my vanity, exhausted and ready to end the night, a picture on the side sends memories flooding back. Smoke, Stack, and I on the night of their Juke Joint sits pretty under one of my lightbulbs, hearts surrounding Smoke.

Before I returned to that Joint, rained on and jobless, that was one of the best and worst days of my life. But once I returned, something else was lurking outside of that blues joint, someone else. I barely made in inside in time before Pick-Poor-Robin-Clean and his buddies showed up. 

We know the terrors of the night now, the twins an I. They took hold of my Smoke and never let go that night, even if he was never bit. The moment he shot those few standing klansmen outside of the sawmill, the old Smoke was gone — Perhaps he was already gone the minute we found his brother bleeding out on the floor, or maybe when Stack started talking through the door like he was never down. I’ll never be sure which exact moment my Smoke was gone, but something did change in him that night. Something I’ve yet to get back. 

Smoke and I had plans, at least ideas of one. We threw out concepts of what we’d do after I left Johnnie’s. Maybe live together, start a family, move to the fancier parts of Mississippi. I was foolish enough to still dream so big after the devil visited us that night. But I never saw Smoke’s face after that, our only contact being yearly notes in the mail and weekly checks. Stack visits me more than Smoke does these days, but under a strict oath to leave Sammie and I alive and well. 

I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing Elijah Moore. He showed me the finer things in life in the short time I had him — When to take what I was given and when to demand more. When to pull out a gun or when to light a cigarette instead. Smoke showed me blues like I had never heard blues, safety like I had never felt safety, and love like I had never felt love.