Fanfic Friday

“The Huntress at Sunset”

A REVISED continuation from last week's chapter.

Chapter Seven

For a moment, Alondra thought she was dead.

Then she realized that she had merely fallen backwards. Apparently something in the sight of the gun had triggered something in her body that made her faint and fall out of the way of the bullet just as Ms. Gillian fired her gun. Had she had time to operate on her first instinct and leap forward to grab hold of the gun, it might have been a different story, but fortunately, she did not do that.

And yet she was still not out of trouble. Ms. Gillian was already standing up and walking toward her, gun in her hand, to make sure that Alondra was as dead as she appeared to be. Alondra started to get up, felt faint, then rolled the other way just in time to hear a gun shot close to her right side. Apparently Ms. Gillian still hadn't given up on her.

Alondra rolled away again and again Ms. Gillian fired, still determined to make sure her former pupil was dead. Alondra wondered why Ms. Gillian was going through all this trouble to kill a person who was terminally ill, but it didn't matter. If Alondra gave Ms. Gillian time to talk to her, Ms. Gillian was sure to kill her first. Yet if Alondra just lay on the ground and tried to move by rolling, Ms. Gillian was sure to kill her anyway. Unless...

Alondra felt a rock under her leg. She picked it up. She glanced at Ms. Gillian's face. Did she dare --

The Alondra who first trained with Ms. Gillian would have bothered to finish that question. The Alondra who was actually there at that moment already knew the answer even before she threw the rock.

Through a stroke of luck, the rock hit Ms. Gillian in the face and made her drop her gun. Before she could grab it again, it was in Alondra's hand.

"I'm sorry," Alondra said, but only after she fired the gun into Ms. Gillian's heart...

To be continued...

Cuento de Mi Id

“Le Démon de Midi”

Tanith looked into the mirror and despaired. Her short oh-so-fashionable haircut, her diamond earrings, her new dress -- none of them had done the work she had hoped that they'd do.

She looked into the mirror hoping to see a well-preserved woman of 39; instead she saw an old hag of nearly 40. And in the absence of clothes and makeup, what she saw was even worse.

Her breasts were no longer "dirty pillows," merely sloppy ones. They were no longer capable of being fluffed into shape. Her buttocks sagged, her belly bulged obscenely, an varicose vein crept like a spider up the side of her leg. All this and more she saw until finally she could no longer stand it and she hurriedly dressed to cover herself.

Once more immured in cloth, she turned to face the mirror and saw that the image had changed. Instead of the redheaded harridan she had looked upon earlier, she now saw a young girl of perhaps sixteen or eighteen, clad in the type of bikini she had once worn when she had not yet started to fear exposing her waist to the light of day. The girl had a boyish figure barely marked by her walnut-sized breasts.

This was one girl, thought Tanith, who would never have to fear the eagle eye of the voyeur. One girl who, despite her physical shortcomings, still maintained the aura of beauty that most men craved.

Tanith approached her and wondered what such a figure was doing in her mirror. She glanced behind her but no one was there. She glanced off to the sides, but she was alone on either side.

Then where did the girl come from?

The girl gestured and tapped on the glass.

Tanith closed her eyes and prayed for the figure to go away.

She opened them and the red-haired girl was still there. Waving at her. Gesturing at her. Taunting her.

Until Tanith finally turned around and left the bathroom, ignoring the wildly gesturing figure in the mirror behind her.

***********************************************************************

Later that night, she met Andre. Andre, who was so young and handsome. Andre, who was so young and naive. Andre, who was not so innocent and yet still earnestly desired to be tutored in the venereal arts by an older woman.

"My God," she said at dinner, "you've obviously read too many French novels."

The boy blinked and she realized that he probably did not read. None of his generation read. Only her generation read.

Never mind. There were other ties between him and her, and any boy diplomatic enough to describe her nude body as "Rubenesque" had to have some intellectual savvy about him.

But enough about his mind. What, pray tell, about his body?

She looked forward to seeing it again, naked, upon her bed.

She could not get finished with her meal fast enough, she was so anxious.

She felt just like a schoolgirl -- only she could not remember having been so horny back when she actually had been a schoolgirl.

"Home, James," she said with a smile as they got into her car.

Andre drove and Tanith watched him drive. The redheaded girl in the rear view mirror watched him too.

No!

She glanced at the mirror but the girl was gone. Not for good, she feared, but -- to where?

She glanced around and the boy drove on.

"Lose something?" he asked.

"No," she said.

Nothing save my innocence, she thought. And I lost that a long time ago.

She waited for the young girl to show up again but she did not.

Then they arrived at her apartment.

She let him in, glancing at all the mirrors as they entered in order to make sure it was safe.

Middle-aged women should never have mirrors, she decided. Too tempting. Too revealing. And all too dangerous.

She offered to fix Andre a cocktail while he got undressed, and he smiled and let her do so.

At least he will never need to fear a mirror, she thought. Not for a long time. And even then -- no, men at my age don't fear mirrors any more than he does. They don't have to. They always look so old and distinguished -- they're constantly being compared to fine wine.

As for us women, it's different. Time is our enemy, not our lover. Gather up your maidenheads while you may, for once the big three-oh crops up, they'll be gone forever. And old age is just as harsh on virgins as it is on whores.

She turned away from the dark glass looking out upon the street and looked back toward her bedroom door. A stream of light was escaping beneath the door. Andre was already in there -- and ready. Yes, that was the fun part about young men -- they were always ready.

She picked up a full cocktail glass. And then she picked up a glass for herself.

She smiled and glanced at the front door, checking that the lock was turned, the chain put on. She looked around and saw that the phone was unplugged, the windows locked, the shades drawn, and the outdoor light off.

Good, she thought. No interruptions.

She walked down the hall and knocked on the bedroom door. No answer. But then there did not need to be. She pushed the door open with her back and entered.

Just in time to see that Andre, in turn, was entering somebody else.

It was the red-headed girl from the mirror.

The two of them were in bed together and they never looked up. Not even when Tanith dropped the glasses.

The glasses fell unharmed upon the floor and divulged their liquid contents onto the carpet.

Tanith ran forward, hand over mouth, a scream at the edge of her lips.

"Andre," she said. "How could you? I thought--"

"Just what did you think?" said the girl in a familiar voice.

She was no longer wearing a bikini. In fact, there was no disguising the fact that she and Andre were quite nude. Which allowed Tanith to see everything.

Everything.

"Get out of my place!" she shouted.

The girl just smiled. And gestured.

Toward the bedroom mirror suspended above Tanith's night table.

It was empty now. Void of all reflection.

But that's impossible, thought Tanith. It's just glass. Only glass.

She touched it and like Alice in the old storybook, she was surprised to see her hand go through the glass. All the way through.

Amazing, she thought.

Just simply amazing.

She never saw the girl start to gesture again behind her until it was too late...

*********************************************************


"I came by for my tutoring session and I just found her like that. The door was open, the windows unlocked, and the blood ... God, the blood--"

"Calm down, Mr. Miller. Scenes like this can happen to anyone. Are you certain she wasn't experiencing any type of depression or emotional crisis?"

"No, not at all. Oh, she did say something about her fortieth birthday coming up. But still that's no reason to do something like this. God, the way she looked ..."

"How about witnesses?"

"No, no one at all. But I think someone might have been in the apartment before I got here. I noticed one of the pictures were gone from her mantelpiece. I used to see it almost every time I came over. A young girl in a bathing suit. Might have been her niece or even herself at a younger age -- they both had the same type of hair. The minute I saw that picture gone, I knew something was wrong. I knew it."

"Now calm down, Mr. Miller. We'll get it all straightened out -- though to tell the truth, I hope we can get our hands on whoever stole that picture. Anyone crazy enough to steal from the scene of a suicide like this -- Christ, they'd be crazy enough to do anything. Although I doubt they had anything to do with your teacher's death. There is just no way any living human being could get her to plunge her hands into the mirror like that. The angle's just too wrong."

"So I guess it had to be suicide. What else could it be?"

Fanfic Friday

“The Huntress at Sunset”

A continuation from last week's chapter.

Chapter Six

"Alondra," said the grey-haired woman Alondra had once known as her Shepherdess. "So good to see you after all this time. I trust that all is well with the family?"

"Why, yes, it is, Ms. Gillian," said Alondra as she climbed onto the porch of the woman whom she called Ms. Gillian. "And how are you?"

"Not as fast as I used to be, but fortunately, I don't need to be," said Ms. Gillian. "Thanks to you, there are others who are younger and faster who can take over where I left off so right now I'm sorta semi-retired."

"Semi-retired?" asked Alondra, lifting an eyebrow in Ms. Gillian's direction.

"Well, a person in my profession never completely retires, no matter how much she or he may want to," said Ms. Gillian. "Even if we're lucky enough to avoid some of the -- shall we say -- involuntary retirement that takes place in this profession, there is always a need for the more experienced among us to help out the less experienced. As much as I would like to say otherwise, I trust that I will never be truly retired until I'm six feet under. And hopefully, I'll die in such a way that I will not require the services of one of my former students at my burial site."

"Oh, please don't talk so morbidly, Ms. Gillian," said Alondra. "You'll live longer than you think."

"If you say so, Alondra," said Ms. Gillian. "If you say so. But the war never ends and we who have fought in it don't have the option of pretending otherwise, regardless of whether we be huntresses or shepherdesses."

"If you truly believe that, why did you let me retire?" asked Alondra.

"I did not 'let' you do anything," said Ms. Gillian. "You had already made plans to retire once the new generation was able to take your place and I could see no reason to interfere with your plans. After all, you had sacrificed much in the course of the war. It would be petty of me to deny you a privilege you had already earned."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," said Alondra. "Because I have something to say to you."

"Would you like to have a cup of tea first?" asked Ms. Gillian.

"You know I never drink tea," said Alondra.

"Then how about some coffee?" asked Ms. Gillian.

"You make coffee?" asked Alondra.

"Hey, I've actually learned something during my time here in the States that doesn't involve fighting you-know-what," said Ms. Gillian. "Care to have a sip of my humble efforts?"

"No, thanks," said Alondra. "I'll just say what I have to say and go."

"Thinking of coming out of retirement?" asked Ms. Gillian.

"No, not really," said Alondra. "As a matter of fact, I'm soon to be permanently retired. You see, I'm dying."

"Oh, no," said Ms. Gillian. "Are you certain?"

"You know me, Ms. Gillian," said Alondra. "If the doctor tells me I'm dying, I make very certain that he's telling me the truth."

"Has the man given you any options?" asked Ms. Gillian. "Because I know a woman in London --"

"That's sweet of you," said Alondra. "But everyone I turn to in the medical profession says there's no hope."

"I'm so sorry, Alondra," said Ms. Gillian.

"Don't be," said Alondra. "Because I think I have an idea how to get out of this."

"White magic?" asked Ms. Gillian.

"No, I already talked to Laurel about that and I don't think it would work in my case," said Alondra. "Besides, if things go as planned, I won't need white magic. You see --"

"Wait!" exclaimed Ms. Gillian. "What do you mean, 'if things go as planned'? Do you honestly expect your condition to reverse itself or something?"

"No," said Alondra. "But I was talking to this woman about my options and she said --"

"Who exactly is this woman you were talking to?" asked Ms. Gillian.

"It's not important," said Alondra. "Anyway --"

"On the contrary," said Ms. Gillian. "It obviously is important or else you would have told me just now."

"Well, if you really want to know it, it was Persephone," said Alondra. "Anyway, I was talking to her--"

"Persephone?" asked Ms. Gillian. "Of all the people you chose to get advice from, you chose to get it from Persephone?"

"So?" asked Alondra.

"You know Persephone's record," said Ms. Gillian. "You know her character. She has never confessed any guilt over having killed your former colleague Keisha and she never seems likely to. Why should she -- of all people -- want to help you?"

"I don't know but the point is that she does," said Alondra. "She wants to turn me into a vampire so that I won't die and I for one --"

"She wants to what?" asked Ms. Gillian.

It had been a long time since Alondra had seen Ms. Gillian so angry. Even when her best friend was killed by vampires, she showed less emotion about the death than she did now.

But she was definitely angry now. And judging from the way she was staring at Alondra, it was not just Persephone she was angry at.

"Please tell me that you don't plan to go along with Persephone's plan," said Ms. Gillian. "Please tell me that you -- the brightest and most talented of all the girls I've ever taught -- are not that stupid."

"I'm not that stupid," said Alondra. "But I am dying. So I told her --"

"Tell her you changed your mind," said Ms. Gillian. "Tell her you made a mistake. There's still time to make amends for your mistake. Do that and we can both forget this whole thing never happened."

"I can't do that," said Alondra. "I'm dying and she's the one person I've talked to so far who has given me a realistic alternative to death."

"She's fooling you, you know?" asked Ms. Gillian.

"Yes, I suspect so," said Alondra. "But I can't afford to not take the chance. Like I said --"

"You're dying," said Ms. Gillian. "Well, there's only one response I can make to that."

Ms. Gillian opened her purse and fumbled for something. What it was, Alondra did not know. A handkerchief? A tissue? Pills?

Then Alondra saw Ms. Gillian take out a pistol and aim it in Alondra's direction. Before Alondra could move or say anything, Ms. Gillian fired.

To be continued...

Cuento de Mi Id

“Monica”

Monica discarded her clothes on the lake shore because she was certain that she would never use them again. She could have discarded them on the beach at Padre but that would have attracted attention -- and attention was the one thing she did not want at this point. So she discarded them on the other side of this lonely old lake -- and was pleased to note that there was no one around to notice.

Of course, that had been her whole problem all along -- there was never anyone around to notice anything she did. For a long while, she used to fantasize about blowing her head off with a shotgun, just to get their attention. But she was past that point now. And anyway, the last thing she welcomed at this point was attention -- because if nothing else, it might lead to interference. And Monica did not feel like being interfered with.

She took one last glance at the woods around the lake as if suspecting unseen voyeurs and then she laughed at herself. There was no one out here. And even if there was, so what? She had already made up her mind about what she was going to do. So there.

She noticed with faint humor that her wristwatch was still on. It had been a present from her mother -- one of the few presents from her that Monica wore on a regular basis. She took it off and placed it within a discarded shoe.

Then she took one last look at the woods, crossed herself and stepped into the lake.

Funny how old habits die hard, she thought. She hadn't been to Mass in ages and yet she still felt compelled to offer a quick prayer to the Virgin Mary as she stepped into the water. After all, this was the last time she would ever go into the water. If ever she could use a prayer, it would be now. And yet the thought of prayer made her feel like a hypocrite. After all, the Virgin Mary couldn't very well forgive her for what she was about to do. Not even God could do that. Indeed, as a Catholic, Monica knew quite well that what she was preparing to do was one of the worst deeds any true Catholic could ever commit. Yet that did not stop her.

For she wanted to die. And if dying meant burning in Hell for all eternity, so be it. It couldn't be any worse than the present hell she had ever lived here on Earth. Nor could it be any worse than the hell that awaited her ever since her blood test had turned up HIV-positive. Just one time was all it had taken. And it wasn't even all that good a time either. At least, not for her. And now she was paying for it. But not in the way that the Good Lord had intended.

She was approaching the center of the lake now. Her feet could no longer touch the bottom. She started to dog-paddle, then she laughed at herself. Was she deliberately trying to stay afloat? Why not? Maybe if she made it across the lake, she'd find a reason for living. Not likely though. All through high school she had had a lousy social life due to her excess weight and nerdish reputation. Then the one time a boy finally noticed her, this happened!

No more, she thought. From now on, Monica De Sola was her own person.

She dog paddled for a while, and then she started to thread water. Her limbs were getting tired, but still she continued.

She was never going to make it across the lake at this rate, she thought. She realized that now. But then she had never expected to. Perhaps it might have been quicker just to grab Papa's old service revolver and blow her brains out. But this way had seemed more poetic. And scandalous.

She hoped that it would provoke a big scandal. That would serve them right for ignoring her. Of course, if she had been more daring, she could have done the same thing at the city reservoir. But she had not wanted to be noticed. Not yet. Not until it was all over.

And she had a feeling that it was all going to be over real soon...

Three hours after Monica De Sola sank into the center of the lake, a woman emerged upon the west shore wearing only her birthday suit. She glanced at the clothes Monica had left discarded there and then she hesitantly tried them on. The pants were far too baggy and the bra too tight but other than that, they were a perfect fit.

She glanced down at herself for a moment and then she smiled as if she was pleased with what she had seen. Then she remembered the wristwatch which she had dumped out on the ground when she had tried on Monica's shoes. She picked it up, looked at it, and then threw it into the lake.

She then walked into the woods. She was certain that there was a car somewhere close by, and where there was a car, there had to be a road and maybe -- just maybe -- civilization.

She hoped there was. For some reason, she felt as hungry as hell.

Fanfic Friday

“The Huntress at Sunset”

A continuation from last week's chapter.

Chapter Five

"So what brings you here to visit me after all this time?" asked Esperanza as she adjusted the collar on her orange jump suit. "You finally remembered where the prison was located?"

Alondra looked at the bulletproof glass that separated her from Esperanza as she fumbled with the phone and resisted the temptation to look away from the dark-haired woman on the other side of the glass.

There but for the grace of God, Alondra thought.

Then she silenced that thought.

And Alondra whispered, "I'm dying, Esperanza."

"You're what?" asked Esperanza.

"I'm dying," said Alondra.

"Are you sure this isn't a joke?" asked Esperanza. "Because if it is --"

"It's not," said Alondra. "I swear on my mother's grave. I went to the doctor and apparently I have this illness they can't cure. And even Huntress strength can't heal it."

"So you're dying," said Esperanza. "And naturally the first thing you did when you found out was think of little old me. I suppose I should be flattered, but I'm not."

"Please," said Alondra. "I didn't come here to fight."

"Then why did you come here?" asked Esperanza.

"Remember the vow the two of us once made when we were still working together?" asked Alondra.

"How could I forget?" asked Esperanza. "You made me promise that if the vampires ever got you and tried to turn you, I would make sure they didn't succeed, even if I had to kill you myself. And in return you promised to keep the vampires from turning me in the same fashion. I remember that vow just as if it were yesterday."

"Well, you can forget it now," said Alondra.

"Why would I forget it?" asked Esperanza. "Because I'm in prison? Bitch, please. I can probably break out any time I please. And if it meant saving a life from the vampires, I'd be sure to break out. Even if it were you."

"Well, you can forget about saving me," said Alondra. "I'm already dying."

"So you've said," said Esperanza. "But what does that have to do with vampires?"

Alondra replied, "Well, I've been talking with Persephone --"

"You've been talking with who?!" exclaimed Esperanza.

"Persephone," said Alondra. "She's a vampire and --"

"I know who she is," said Esperanza. "What I don't get is why you're talking to her. Are you trying to get her to stake herself or take a long walk in the hot sun? Because those are the only two reasons I can think of for talking to her."

"Well, actually I plan to get her to cure m --" Alondra started to say but Esperanza just laughed.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" Esperanza exclaimed. "Persephone ain't no doctor. She's a cold-blooded killer. She killed Keisha, remember? Our former sister-in-arms? Surely you haven't forgotten her?"

"No, I haven't," said Alondra. "But you see --"

"No, I don't see," said Esperanza. "For years, I punished myself because I could never reach your high-and-mighty standards. And now it seems I should never have bothered. Why spend all these years in prison atoning for my crime when you feel perfectly free to sell out and join the opposition."

"You've joined the opposition in the past as well," said Alondra.

"Not to the extent of trying to become a vampire, I didn't," said Esperanza. "And you better not try to do that, either. Because if I ever hear that you went ahead and let Persephone or any other vampire convert you, then I'll break out of this joint and do my damnedest to track you down and kill you! You understand me, Allie? You try to become a vampire and I'll ram a stake into you myself!"

"I guess this call is over," said Alondra as she hung up the phone on her end.

Esperanza put the phone down on her end and just glared at Alondra with an expression that Alondra still felt long after she walked out of the prison.

As she got into her car, Alondra told herself that Esperanza didn't really mean what she had said. That it was just bravado talking, not to mention envy of the fact that Alondra was free to come and go from the prison while Esperanza, of course, did not have that option.

Nevertheless, she felt a chill go down her spine that could not be blamed on the sunny weather...

To be continued...

Cuento de Mi Id

“The Liar”

I’m smiling at the back of some geezer’s head, trying to pretend he didn’t just ignore me in favor of some young slut with tits full of silicon and ribs like a xylophone.

I smile some more as a man makes his way to my stage to tip me. I can tell from here that’s he’s not even pretending to look at my face. But it’s been a long day and my feet ache. Besides, they don’t come in here to look at my face.

The song is almost over and pretty soon I’ll be moving on to the last stage in the room. With luck, that should be my last time on stage for the day.

The man is saying something about how he liked the way I dance and I pretend to believe that he’s really interested in my dancing technique. With luck, I can get a few more dollars out of him before my shift is over. It would be nice to get more, but people his age don’t give up their fivers that easily. Not when they can spend them on drinks. So I may have to line up a few more table dances when I get off the last stage so I can make my quota for the day.

One of my regulars walks in while I’m climbing off stage. With luck, I can talk him into a table dance or two, and if I tell him a real hard luck story, I might even get more than that.

Not that I have to make up too much. My ribs still hurt from where my ex once kicked me and I still have nightmares about the time I almost bled to death on the bathroom floor.

But I won’t tell those stories tonight. Not yet anyway.

And he probably wouldn’t believe me even if I did tell them.

Because they say we strippers lie, you know.

We’ll tell you anything you want to hear if it will make you part with a few large bills.

And, hey, it’s not like you guys don’t make up shit either. Whether it’s the guy with the bandaged ring finger who pretends he’s single or the geezer with the blue pills who thinks he can still get it up if the right girl comes along or the “Christian” who talks about “saving” me from my evil life while he is staring at my tits, it doesn’t matter. There’s always some guy who thinks he can pull something over on me. And sometimes he does. Then again, sometimes he doesn’t.

I should have learned better by now. But I haven’t.

Fanfic Friday

“The Huntress at Sunset”

A continuation from last week's chapter.

Chapter Four

Alondra was still steaming about her sister's response when she got to the cemetery. Once there, she took a moment to calm down so that her best friend Laurel would not sense anything amiss.

Not that Laurel was likely to be all that alert today. After all, today was the anniversary of her late girlfriend's death and though Laurel had dated many women since then, she still made time to visit her girlfriend's grave at least once a year if not more often.

And yet...

"Hi, Alondra," said Laurel. "I didn't really expect to see you here today."

"I know," said Alondra, suddenly feeling quite awkward. "I always meant to drop by because, hey, I miss her too, but for some reason..."

Laurel suddenly stopped smiling. "You didn't come here to see Teresa, did you?"

"Yes, I did," said Alondra. "I know she was your girlfriend but she was my friend too and --"

"And yet you never seem to find the time to come here till today," said Laurel. "It's okay, Alondra. I get it. I remember what you were like when your mom died. She was very special to us too and she still is. I can't imagine what it was like to be in your shoes that day and so I don't blame you for being less than eager to visit yet another person's grave. But something's wrong. I can sense it. You didn't just come here to pay your respects to Teresa, so for her sake, if not mine, be honest. Why are you really here?"

"I'm dying," said Alondra.

"I see," said Laurel. "What of?"

Alondra told her.

Laurel was silent for a while. Then nodded.

"I'm sorry, Alondra," said Laurel. "Very sorry. I wish I knew of a cure for that, but I don't."

"It's okay," said Alondra. "I got a plan. You see, I was talking to Persephone and --"

"Persephone?" asked Laurel. "Why were you talking to her?"

"Because she knows of a way to save me," said Alondra. "You see --"

"No, she doesn't," said Laurel. "I don't know what she told you but there's no way she could possibly cure you. You're just fooling yourself if you believe otherwise."

"She doesn't plan to cure me," said Alondra. "She plans to turn me."

"Don't be silly, Alondra," said Laurel. "Why should she do that?"

"Because I asked her to," said Alondra.

Something in Laurel's face changed. Alondra wasn't sure what it was but she suddenly sensed she was no longer welcome in Laurel's presence.

"How dare you say that to me!" exclaimed Laurel. "You think I would not have gladly paid a vampire to turn Teresa if I thought it would have helped her? But we both know it would not. And yet now that it is happening to you, now suddenly everything is different."

"You don't understand," said Alondra. "I think this might actually help."

"No, you don't," said Laurel. "You're just so scared of dying that you will listen to anyone who will tell you the right little lie."

"No, I'm not," said Alondra.

"Yes, you are," said Laurel. "You just pretend you aren't so that you can save some face."

Alondra replied, "I don't really want to go this route but if you can't provide me a decent alternative --"

"A decent alternative?" asked Laurel. "I'm sorry, Alondra. You're my dearest friend and I really do not want you to die but I meant what I said when I said I can't cure you."

"And yet you think I'm foolish because I refuse to accept that," said Alondra. "I always thought you were better than that."

"And I always thought you were better than this," said Laurel. "I guess I was wrong."

Alondra just shrugged and left the cemetery.

Surely there was one person among her friends who would understand, she thought. Right?

To be continued...

Cuento de Mi Id

“A Day in the Glamorous Life of an Entertainer”

5:30 a.m. You wake up and start getting the kids ready for school. You ignore your ten-year-old daughter when she mumbles something under her breath about you being a whore. You take a quick shower and put on your “mom” clothes: black jeans and a sweatshirt.

6:30 a.m. Your ride arrives. You hustle your kids out the door. You make sure they’re polite to the driver. You ignore the driver’s request for a kiss but you thank him profusely for waking up so early.

7:00 a.m. You drop your kids off at school. You kiss them both and you pray that they did their homework.

Then you look for signs of your ex-husband being in the area and you sigh with relief when you don’t see him or his car. You ask the driver to take you to a doughnut shop. You ignore the calories. It’s only one doughnut and you’re going to be at work for hours.

7:30 a.m. You go home and wave goodbye to your ride. You dodge his request for a quick kiss. You go upstairs to your apartment and you crash for a few hours.

9:00 a.m. You start getting ready for work. You take a long, hot bath. You shave your legs and other body parts. You are sure to use plenty of bath lotion to give yourself that nice scent the customers like so much on the rare occasions that they notice it.

9:30 a.m. You towel off and you get dressed. You take your backpack which contains the clothes you might wear at work. You are sure to include your high heels.

10:00 a.m. Your ride arrives. He requests another kiss. You dodge it. He drives you to the club and he drops you off at the entrance. You go in and you check in with the house mom. Then you go to the dressing room where you ignore the graffiti on your locker and you start changing into your work outfit. Today it’s a blue dress that you bought last weekend. You never wear it outside the club. Only here. And you never wear it when you pick your kids up at school. Never.

10:30 a.m. The club opens. The lights come on. A few customers straggle in but most hang back until lunch time and the free buffet. You’re not particularly flattered by this, but you don’t come here for flattery. You come because you need the money and this is one of the few jobs you can get with your high school diploma that will pay you enough for you to be able to feed and clothe your kids and pay the rent on your $500 per month apartment. And even with that, you often have to use food stamps.

11:00 a.m. The lunchtime crowd starts showing up. Mainly senior citizens and a few blue-collar workers. Occasionally a well-off businessman. But the truly well-off usually don’t arrive until late afternoon. You start getting a few tips but it’s the young girls with hips the size of your forearms that get most of the tips. You mainly get the mean ones who aren’t anxious to waste their SS checks on a woman like you and the poor Mexicans who do their best to cross your “border” with their Roman fingers.

2:00 p.m. The end of the free lunchtime buffet. The crowd dissipates. The club is slow. If you’re lucky, you have made a tidy sum. But you aren’t always lucky. If you’re lucky, you’ve found time to grab a quick lunch from the buffet. But you dare not eat too much lest you lose your job for being too fat. So you play video games in between sets and hope that today your ex doesn’t discover what club you’re working in.

3:30 p.m. The first of the after-work crowd starts strolling in. You dance for a customer and talk some construction worker into letting you have a sip of his beer. You don’t really like to drink on the job but there are times when alcohol seems to be the only way to make it through the day. Even though your kids are out of school, you have no way of picking them up so you pray that they have gone to day care like you asked them to.

5:00 p.m. More after-work customers show up. A rich businessman pays you $500. You don’t get that every day. More often you end up owing the club money. Indeed, this is the first day all week that you have broken even. You hope you get another shot at him but he already has his eye on another girl. A younger, thinner girl. Some of the girls who work here are so thin you can see their ribs and you can’t help but suspect they’re on drugs. But the manager could care less what substances you take as long as you show up on time and the customers don’t complain. Of course, if you’re lucky enough to attract a large crowd of regulars, you don’t even have to show up on time. But you don’t have a large crowd of regulars. And none of the ones you do have have come in today.

5:30 p.m. You’re asked to perform in a special section that is separated from the main club by a wall and an one-way window. Hardly no one goes back here until they are with a dancer so you don’t make any money. You do see one of your co-workers making money in a way that the local vice squad would not approve of. But you say nothing and pretend you didn’t see a thing.

7:00 p.m. You are finally off work. You hurriedly change clothes so that you can leave the club when your ride arrives. Of course, you have to settle up with the management before you can leave. You didn’t make much today so you hardly have anything left when you do leave. Your ride arrives and takes you to the day care center where the lady in charge asks you for money you don’t have. You pick up your kids and once more you ignore your daughter when she calls you a whore. Ironically, you’re one of the few women at your club who isn’t a whore, but she doesn’t care. She picked up the expression from your ex, and you have yet to persuade her not to use it.

7:30 p.m. Your ride takes you to the dollar store where you buy school supplies with what little you have and then to McDonalds where you buy your kids a Happy Meal. You know McDonalds is not the best place to eat, but it’s the best you can afford, and it’s not like you’re in a mood to cook. Your ride takes you to your apartment, where he kisses you on the cheek and asks if he can come up.

You tell him no, but someday you’ll say yes. Your kids get out of the car and you can tell what your daughter is thinking by the way she looks at you. By then, you’re too tired to care anymore. You follow your kids up the stairs to your apartment and tell yourself for the umpteenth time that you’re going to quit your job next week.