Then, after taking one final look around, I pick up a brassy blonde hair extension and set it on fire before tossing it inside the locker and slamming the door shut. A chemical burning scent drifts to my nostrils, and I giggle a little. Perfect. All those hair extensions are probably ultra-flammable, and Dolly’s going to come in to find a burning pile of ash tomorrow morning. Satisfied with my work, I grab my bag and turn to sprint out of the locker room, but not before pulling the fire alarm. Immediately, a loud wail fills my ears, and in fact, I can already hear footsteps pounding in the distance. Help will be here soon enough, so there won’t be any real damage to the building or anyone inside. The only person who’ll be affected is that bitch Dolly, and she deserves it. After all, no one messes with Hadley Renfrew because I’m a bad girl who won’t stop for anything or anyone, no matter the consequences.
2
HADLEY
I sigh, rubbing my eyes with the back of my fists as my mom continues with her long-winded lecture. This is the last thing I need right now, seeing how depressed I am as it is.
After all, I’ve been fired from my job at Club Z, and it’s hit me harder than I thought possible. No one ever thinks that they love being an escort, much less working at a secret sex club, but the fact is that I really enjoyed the position. The nocturnal hours were no big deal, and I loved getting dressed up in little bits of nothing to meet handsome men. Even better, I loved making those men come harder than they ever have before, but now it’s all gone. Poof. Totally vanished.
I guess my manager has a point. Arson is a serious crime, so actually, I’m getting off easy, but still. This whole thing sucks because without my job, I’ve had to move in with my mom in New Jersey and now Patricia’s letting me have it. Really, I only have myself to blame for getting fired from the Club Z gig, but that won’t keep me from stewing in my own misery for a little while.
“Hadley, are you even listening to me?” Pat exclaims while snapping her fingers in front of my face to grab my attention. I look up at her with a blank expression because I wish she’d just let me go back to my room already. Seriously, I feel like I’m fifteen years old and just got caught smoking a joint in my room, it’s that juvenile. Then again, I guess I should be used to Pat’s long lectures by now because my mom literally gets paid to talk. She’s a pastor with the local Presbyterian church and has been for several years now.
I sigh again. Sometimes, it’s kind of hard to believe we’re related. I suppose Pat and I look a little similar because we both have blonde hair, curvy figures, and nipped in waists, but aside from our physical characteristics, we’re not alike in the least bit personality-wise because my mom is super conservative and old-fashioned. She believes in Jesus, the Holy Spirit, God, and the Coming of the Second Kingdom, in that order. Plus, while I like to wear sexy, sassy clothing that show off my curves, my mom makes a conscious effort to cover up and dresses in turtlenecks all the time. Literally, it could be eighty degrees, and she’s in a heavy turtleneck and a floor-length skirt. Like I said, it’s hard to believe we’re related.
“Hadley!” Pat snaps in front of my face once again and I sigh loudly.
“What?” I roll my eyes like an aggrieved teenager. “I’m listening.”
She shakes her head at me, huffing as she paces the living room. “I can’t even wrap my head around what you’ve done this time. I mean, arson? What were you thinking, young lady?”
“That’s the problem. I didn’t,” I mumble, pursing my lips as I stare down at my hands. “I mean…not really. It wasn’t really arson, if you get down to the nitty-gritty.”
My mom’s gaze is burning a hole into the side of my cheek, and she lets out a loud, disbelieving snort. “Well, all the evidence seems to point to arson, Hadley, and over a silly piece of lingerie at that.” Her tone is one that I’m used to hearing from her, laced with the usual mix of horror, judgment, and total, profound disbelief.
“Yeah, but that bustier was special to me,” I protest. “I was going to wear it during my new show, and I spent a lot on the item. So when that other girl stole it, I had to do something! I can’t just let other girls walk all over me because it would set a bad example.”
Of course, my mom has no idea that I worked as a hostess at a secret sex club because that would be beyond the pale. Instead, she thinks I’m an aspiring Broadway actress jockeying with other women for plum parts, and it’s just easier to feed that illusion. No one, much less a high Presbyterian, wants to acknowledge that their daughter is actually a sex worker.