Moonlight & Vines by Charles De Lint Read Free Book Online Page A

crash of breaking glass was loud in the confined quarters of the dressing room.
    Jennifer shook her head. “I’m not cleaning that shit up,” she said.
    Nita looked up from the mess she’d made. The rush of utter freedom she’d felt clearing the table top had vanished almost as quickly as it had come.
    â€œSo who asked you to?” she asked.
    Jennifer pulled a chair over from one of the other tables and sat down beside her. “You want to talk about it?”
    Nita bit back a sharp retort. Jennifer wasn’t her friend—she didn’t have any friends—but unlike ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the world, Jennifer had always treated her decently. Nita looked away, wishing she hadn’t sent her shot of whiskey flying off the table with everything else.
    â€œLast time I was up, my ex’s old man was in the audience,” she said.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo the only way I could keep my visitation rights with Amanda was by promising I’d get a straight job.”
    Jennifer nodded, understanding. “The old bad influence line.”
    â€œLike she’s old enough to know or even care what her old lady does for a living.” Nita was really missing that drink now. “It’s so fucking unfair. I mean, it’s okay for this freak to come into a strip joint with his buddies and have himself a good time, but my working here’s the bad influence. Like we even want to be here.”
    â€œI don’t mind that much,” Jennifer said. “It beats hooking.”
    â€œYou know what I mean. He’s going to run straight to a judge and have them pull my visiting rights.”
    â€œThat sucks,” Jennifer agreed. She leaned forward and gave Nita a quick hug. “But you gotta hang in there, Nita. At least we’ve got jobs.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œAnd you’d better go see Eddie or maybe you won’t even have that.”
    Nita shook her head. “I can’t do it. I can’t even go out on the stage again tonight.”
    â€œBut . . .” Jennifer began, then she sighed. “Never mind. We’ll figure out a way to cover for you.”
    â€œAnd Eddie?”
    Jennifer stood up and tugged down on the hem of her miniskirt. “That’s one you’re going to owe me, girl.”
2
    When Nita stepped out the back door of the Chic Cheeks in her street clothes all that remained of her stage persona was the shock of jet-black hair that fell halfway down her back in a cascade of natural curls. She was wearing faded blue jeans that were tucked into cowboy boots. The jeans had a hole in the left knee through which showed the black fabric of her body stocking. Overtop of it was a checked flannel shirt, buttoned halfway up, the tails hanging loose. Her purse was a small khaki knapsack that she’d picked up at the Army Surplus over on Yoors Street. Her stage makeup was washed off and all she wore now was a hint of eye shadow and a dab of lipstick.
    She knew she looked about as different from Lilith in her leathers and lace as could be imagined, so Nita was surprised to be recognized when she stepped out into the alleyway behind the club.
    â€œLilith?”
    Nita paused to light a cigarette, studying the woman through a wreath of blue-grey smoke. The stranger was dressed the way Nita knew the club’s customers imagined the dancers dressed offstage: short, spike-heeled boots; black stockings and miniskirt; a jean vest open enough to show more than a hint of a black lace bra. She wore less makeup than Nita had on at the moment, but then her fine-boned features didn’t need it. Her hair was so blonde it was almost white. It was cut punky and seemed to glow in the light cast from a nearby streetlamp.
    â€œWho wants to know?” Nita finally asked.
    â€œDoes it matter?”
    Nita shrugged and took another drag from her cigarette.
    â€œI saw you dancing,” the woman went on. “You’re really