I pulled the letters from my school bag once again hoping to find some small detail that I must have missed. A part of me believed that if I looked them over one last time, a solution would somehow present itself. I am still amazed at how much joy or pain a few brief words in a letter can convey.
At the top of the first page was an illustration depicting the old administration building. I knew it well from the university's website. Below that, a tedious wall of text about how old and wonderful the school was. After that, the words that actually meant something:
Amanda Sykes—is accepted
...
Growing up dirt-poor didn't help with being
accepted
. Despite my looks, to my classmates—the ones that mattered anyway—I was a second-class citizen. At Vanderbilt High, wealth and social status are highly correlated. Lately, I had begun feeling like a dunce for pushing my mother to enroll me in a private school. My classmates were pretentious assholes and the expense wiped out her savings.
From time to time, some wannabe frat-boy would ask me to yet another boring house party. I had little interest in being some rich kid's plaything for the night. Acceptance to their clique beyond back room dry humping was never going to happen. I was from 'the wrong side of the tracks', and even worse, I was poor. Acceptance to the university had the potential to change everything.
Unfortunately, the second letter all but canceled out the first. Looking at the two pieces of paper brought to mind those 'Tragedy and Comedy' theater masks. This document, unlike the first, was concise:
grant denied
.
My mother didn't make much working nights at the hospital, yet she made enough that I didn't qualify for federal aid! Paychecks from my job at the multi-national burger-chain weren't going to cut the mustard in terms of
having it my way
.
All this brought me to the mall, were I stalked a display of stunning Adrianna Papell gowns. I was looking for something that would pair well with the heels I had bought with the last of my meager savings. I did my best to look like I wasn't interested. I didn't want to draw attention to myself and look like I was about to do something really stupid—which I was.
Finally, I grabbed the dress and shoved it up under the front of my hoodie. Since nobody began screaming, "
STOP THIEF!"
as I had imagined, I made my way towards the nearest exit. As I reached the imposing glass entry, an alarm went off.
I panicked and froze. I looked beyond the door towards freedom, snapped out of my stupor and pushed on the cold metal bar. I stuck my hands in my pockets and walked at something like a reasonable pace.
I didn't get far before a patrol car whipped around the building on squealing tires. It screeched to a stop and sat in a noxious cloud of burnt rubber. Two security guards jumped out of the little sedan. I tensed and saw evidence of a donut break on the fat one as they ran past.
***
The trip took half the day since the bus stopped on
nearly every fucking block
. I asked about a restroom at the gas station down the street from my destination and was appalled when the clerk handed me a five-gallon bucket. I was relieved to see a key attached to it by a length of wire. Inside the ladies' room, I removed the stolen dress from my worn-out school bag along with a hammer and a roofing nail.
The old bag was bright pink—a color I had outgrown long ago. I hated it with a passion.
Well now that I am a thief,
I thought with a tinge of self-loathing,
I could get a new one whenever I want
. I balanced the nail over the security tag and struck it with the hammer. The tag popped off with a satisfying
ping!
***
I presented myself to a tall, serious man with bright, beady eyes. He reclined himself to an absurd angle and lit a cigarette. Peering at me from between several stacks of yellowing papers he said, "Kneel and tell me who you are." Seeing my confusion, he directed his gaze toward a miniature California license plate propped up on the desk. 'NEIL', it said. I told him who I was and why I was there.
Neil reasoned that if I
really
wanted to work at the
Boobie Bungalow
, I should make an appointment for an audition. His tepid response to my generous offer wasn't something I had considered. This was not how I had imagined our exchange! I was stunningly beautiful and in peak physical condition, sporting a body that caused men, and often women, to gawk inappropriately. I had only recently turned eighteen. I was
WAY
overqualified for this dump. I had planned to ask for a rather large advance.
"If you pass the audition, Mystique can show you around, explain how things work. You'll need to wear something more appropriate." He nodded toward the corner of the room. I hadn't noticed the woman sitting there, cross legged, in the dim, yellow light. It was obvious that despite Neil's optimism, Mystique would prefer not to show or explain anything, to anyone, ever.
I looked down at my expensive gown and back over to Mystique. She tapped on her cigarette and studied me with mild contempt. Her outfit consisted of a surprising quantity of large, ornate feathers.
"We do a burlesque show on the off-nights," Neil offered.
***
Arms crossed, I shuffled awkwardly to the bus stop on my four-inch stilettos. The way it worked, he explained, was that I would pay the club for the
privilege
of dancing there. He called it a 'stage fee.' The whole thing made me feel like dirt and the steady stream of catcalls from passing cars didn't help my mood. I couldn't wait to get out of that awful neighborhood and off of those ridiculous shoes.
An especially old and decrepit car cast me in a long shadow with its one working headlamp. Loathsome comments poured from its black interior as I bent to reclaim my putrid pink knapsack from where I had hid it earlier. The occupants of such cars referred to them as 'hoopties' and it wasn't long before I heard it again. I forced myself to look ahead as it trailed behind.
"Hey girl, you're looking fine!" shouted the driver.
The mating call of the common hood rat—yippee!
The car sped ahead and then stopped. Its doors protested open. Surrounded by five big thugs, I acted the part of a scared five-foot-nothing girl as they hooted colorful observations concerning my physique. I really wasn't all that scared since I was too busy thinking hard about how I was going to get out of this mess.
The biggest one reached out and grabbed me, his huge hand slid down to cover my entire ass. He squeezed my butt as if testing a package of toilet paper for its comfort and reliability. Another thug snaked in from behind, reached around and cupped my breasts. My nipples stood out firm against the smooth fabric of my gown as his rough hands caressed me up and down.
"Come on girl, I'll show you how we do it down here in the
hood
