Rita's Office, Backstage at the Magic Box, Saturday, Late Afternoon
This was her club. Rita Heartilly had been just another face in the crowd once, but she'd had earned her place in the spotlight. She could sing, she could coo, she could make a man fall in love with her at twenty paces. The crowd loved her. The bosses even more so.
She'd played by the rules, steered clear of nose candy and bathtub gin, kept her needs modest. All until she'd saved enough dough until she could buy the club, outright. She was still the star, for now anyway, but call it an insurance policy. Looks faded, and pipes got dicey after too much use, but if you got a slice of the pie, year after year, you could retire on that.
One mistake had bitched it all up. Not the bit where she owed money to some big-time players; that could happen to anyone. No, the mistake was letting Angelface swoop in and clear it up. So stupid of her. You don't let guys like Angelface do favors for you, not even if you're warming his bed after the show. Guys like Angelface weren't losing sleep over your best interests, ways to keep your head above water.
She still owned the club, on paper anyway, but he had his filthy hands on everything. Pimping the girls. Bleeding her dry. She'd nodded and played along like a good little girl. Biding her time.
Rita had a card up her sleeve -- one of the enforcers, Leon, was sweet on her. She'd put a little effort in, and now he was wrapped around her little finger. Wasn't much of a card, certainly not an Ace, but even a Jack could save you if you played it right.
This wasn't over. The Magic Box was hers. Sooner or later, Angelface would figure out that he'd underestimated her.
(Open for anyone who wants to talk to Rinoa Rita. The club itself is going up shortly!)
She'd played by the rules, steered clear of nose candy and bathtub gin, kept her needs modest. All until she'd saved enough dough until she could buy the club, outright. She was still the star, for now anyway, but call it an insurance policy. Looks faded, and pipes got dicey after too much use, but if you got a slice of the pie, year after year, you could retire on that.
One mistake had bitched it all up. Not the bit where she owed money to some big-time players; that could happen to anyone. No, the mistake was letting Angelface swoop in and clear it up. So stupid of her. You don't let guys like Angelface do favors for you, not even if you're warming his bed after the show. Guys like Angelface weren't losing sleep over your best interests, ways to keep your head above water.
She still owned the club, on paper anyway, but he had his filthy hands on everything. Pimping the girls. Bleeding her dry. She'd nodded and played along like a good little girl. Biding her time.
Rita had a card up her sleeve -- one of the enforcers, Leon, was sweet on her. She'd put a little effort in, and now he was wrapped around her little finger. Wasn't much of a card, certainly not an Ace, but even a Jack could save you if you played it right.
This wasn't over. The Magic Box was hers. Sooner or later, Angelface would figure out that he'd underestimated her.
(Open for anyone who wants to talk to Rinoa Rita. The club itself is going up shortly!)