CHAPTERTHREE
POPPY
Glitter and sweat stick to my face. It’s been a hell of a night, but at least after I went out for the second time, I was able to stay focused on the clients. Now that it was over, I could feel the glooming cloud begin to descend on me once again.
I pull my tips out and start to count. Money always makes me feel better. I’m surprised to see that I’ve made more than twelve hundred dollars for the night. It’s only Thursday, so not really one of those super busy days.
I’m thinking the influx in cash has to be the tourists and other visitors coming to New Orleans for Christmas next week. They must all be in a holiday spirit.
I take my time to wipe off the heavy makeup from my face and reach into my bag to pull out some moisturizer. As I pull out the small container of face cream, my hand grazes my buzzing cell phone. It’s so late at night I instantly think something’s wrong.
“Oh, come on.” I groan as I look down at the screen and see that it’s a text from my mother.
I don’t want to respond. I know if I do, it’s just going to be another reason my day will go to shit. I love my mother, but the woman is really freaking intense. Everything with her is like a freaking competition. If I’m a dancer, she’ll say something about me being the lead dancer. If I make a thousand dollars, she’ll say I should have made two. Growing up, it was as if nothing I did was ever enough. For my mother, being the best was the only thing that would ever make her proud. It’s an aspiration that I never was able to achieve.
As a child, my mother would put me in beauty pageants and other competitive competitions, but it just never was something that I wanted to do. It didn’t matter to my mother. She wanted me to be a winner. She did her best to explain to me that I should always strive to become the best and that I should fight harder when I didn’t, but to me, it just felt like she was trying to make me into something I’m not.
I did like the performing aspect of the competitions, though. I guess that’s why I love dancing at the Diamond Dancers now. It gives me the outlet to fulfill my need to perform without having to worry about who’s judging me or if I’m going to be better than someone else. I make good money, and the people seem to have a good time watching what I do. That’s all that matters.
The phone buzzes in my hand again, and I know if I don’t answer, she’s going to get frantic with her messages. “Fuck it,” I mutter to myself as I swipe my phone awake and send her a reply.
Me: Hey Mom, sorry I missed your texts. I was already in bed.
Mom: Bed, didn’t you have to work tonight? Don’t tell me you’re slacking off.
Me: No, not slacking off, Mom. I just had an early night.
I roll my eyes as I have to lie to my mother about what I’m doing tonight. Not that I’m out dancing but about what I’m doing to earn more tips or how I can impress people more with even more extravagant costumes. I just don’t have the energy to deal with that tonight.
Mom: Oh, well, get some rest. Text me in the morning when you wake up.
Me: Okay.
I let out a deep groan as I toss the phone back into my bag.
“Sounds like bad news?”
I jump and turn in my seat to see Corentina walking toward me. “Girl, you need to make some noise or something. You scared the hell out of me.” I chuckle and put a hand on my chest, trying to calm my speeding heart.
“Sorry about that. I saw you on your phone, didn’t want to disturb you.” She pulls up a chair and sits down next to me. Her gaze pins me to the spot for a second before I turn back to the mirror and continue to take my makeup off.
“Uh . . . so what’s up? This a business visit?” I look at her through my peripheral and see that she’s still observing me. I’m starting to feel like an animal at the zoo.
“No, not a business visit.” She crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head to look at me.
I drop my cream on the table and wipe the last bits of makeup from my face, “Well, is it to tell me that you’re in love with me because the way you’re staring at me, I’m starting to get ideas.” I laugh, trying to break the tension.
She shakes her head and looks away, “No, not that I wouldn’t fall in love with you. You’re so hot.” She gives me a wink before she continues. “I’m here for a wellness visit. I came to see how you are doing.”
Trying to keep the smile on my face is harder now. Everything inside of me struggles to keep upright and not slouched over in her lap, crying. “I’m fine. I had a great night. I really feel like things are starting to turn around.” I strain and make myself smile wider just so she can believe me.
“No, you’re not Poppy.” Corentina puts a hand on mine, and almost instantly, the tears start to stream down my face.
“Oh, Cor.” I sob, and she pulls me into a hug while I let it all out. After a few minutes, I pull back and wipe my face, “Jeez, I’m sorry. I’m a wreck. How did you know?”
She smiles at me. “Poppy, I know you’ve been having a hard time. I know the real you from the Poppy that’s just out there to put on a show.” Reaching into the bottom drawer of my vanity, she pulls out the vodka I had a shot of yesterday before she gets up and grabs two plastic cups from the water machine. “You don’t have to put on a show for me. You know that right?” she asks as she comes back to me and pours the both of us shots of vodka.
“I know. It’s not just you. I feel like I have to put on a show for the world. I can’t let anyone see how much I’m hurting, or it’s just going to take me that much longer to stop. I just can’t have anyone worrying about me. You know the old saying, fake it until you make it.” I shrug one shoulder and grimace slightly.