Chapter 1

The intoxicating, almost seductive smell of cigarette smoke lay heavy in the air. Long, gray tendrils coiled around the oak tree. It was tall, having seen myriad generations come and go. Now, in it’s old age, vines entangled in its branches, choking the life from it. Spanish moss hung in ungainly clumps, swinging in low, clumsy arches. The cigarette butt was released, still smoldering, to fall on the dead grass. The whole of the county was in an official drought; it was a miracle that the grass had lasted as long as it did. The burning nub was ground into oblivion by a pointy-toed black stiletto. The shoe itself didn’t appear all that expensive, and the toe and heel were scuffed. Black satin laces were wrapped around a slender ankle, which was attached to a long leg. Those legs were the kind of legs that every woman wanted-long, pale, and slender. They were the kind of legs that no one keeps hidden; provocative legs, made for a provocative woman. And indeed, the owner of these legs appeared to be a provocative woman. She was leaning back in a plastic, white, green and purple lawn chair, blowing smoke from her fresh cigarette into the summer night sky.

The harvest moon shone down on her benevolently, causing a small halo effect. Even with the light surrounding her chestnut hair, she looked wicked. It was probably the heavily applied kohl lining her brown eyes, and the dark red lipstick applied liberally onto her lips. She blew another puff of smoke into the air and rose slowly, stretching every part of her body, a coy smile on her face. The man driving down the road in his old Chevy pickup couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at the spectacle, and the elderly couple across the street gazed at her with utter contempt. Those impossibly long legs carried her towards her home, a small one-story house made of wood. The white paint was cracked and peeling, and the screen door hung loosely on one hinge. She strutted up the three concrete steps, pushing the broken door aside with all the poise of a model going down the runway. As she disappeared into the house the green Chevy pickup began to move again- he had stopped to look at her, and the old man and his wife turned away, muttering about the indecency of young people nowadays.

The thin black heels made a sharp click as they hit the wooden floorboards of her house. She dropped the cigarette in a bottle green glass ashtray, allowing the toxic smoke to invade her nostrils for a few more moments before continuing through the house. She navigated through the narrow hallway, at the end of which was her bedroom. That room smelled more of smoke than the rest of the house, and a faint scent of cheap beer lingered there also. On a wicker bedside table there was a black plastic phone. Her hand coiled around it, red nails tapping the numbers impatiently. The phone rang, once, twice and then a hoarse voice answered at the other end. “Whaddaya want?”

“Sammie, it’s me,” her voice was low, even husky, “I’m gonna be a little late to work tonight. Had a little trouble with some...folks.” She said the last word like it was part of a secret code only she and Sammie understood.

“Of course, Lana darling.”

‘Good. I’ll see you there.” She slammed the phone down on the receiver and flew to her chest of drawers. It was wooden and a horrific shade of lime green, but it had been on sale at the store, so Lana bought it at once. She rifled through the drawers, grabbing random articles of clothing. Once satisfied, she left her bedroom and went down the hall to the bathroom. There, she whipped off the casual clothes she had been wearing, exchanging them for something very much different. The black stilettos remained, but now she wore a red bodice and small black skirt over it, complete with fishnets. A quick look in the mirror ensured that her make-up had not smudged. With a self-satisfied smile Lana exited the bathroom, heading for her front door. She plucked a long overcoat form the hook by the door, threw it on-it covered all of her clothing- and stepped outside.

She inhaled the crisp scent of the air, marveling at how pure it could be; she usually smelled cigarette smoke or alcohol wherever she went. Lana stood there, her head thrown back, proud and wild like the hunted wolf. Her arms snapped up, perpendicular to her body and she exclaimed, “I’m coming to town, boys!” Lana had flair, a certain attitude if you will. It was on the way she carried her head when people stared at her, pointed at her clothes. She didn’t get upset, even if it was just because her mascara would smudge if she cried. Lana was an actress to the bitter end. She appeared confident, even over-confident, although she may be sick or upset inside.

She strutted across the dead lawn to her car, a GMC red pickup. She hated it, but it was her parent’s car and had already been paid for. In this type of town, you took what you could get. Small towns in the Southern countryside were not financially well endowed, as Lana had learned. But that aside, she enjoyed her life there. It could be seen in the spring in her step, in the vigor with which she flung the car door open, showering flakes of rust-colored paint all around her.

Lana slid fluidly into the interior of her car, sticking the bronze plated key into the ignition. The ancient machine sputtered into life, giving a groan when she floored it. The plastic ‘Mardi Gras’ beads clattered against one another from their position around her mirror. She just peered around them, ignoring her neighbor’s angry shouts as dust clouds rose up behind her. Lana’s knuckles were white as she gripped the wheel, leaning forward in her intense need to reach her destination. She hardly noticed the mile markers go by, the houses and the small shops in the heart of the town. Her foot didn’t ease up on the gas pedal until she saw that there was a ‘Welcome to South Carolina’ sign out of her window. Lana slowed down, looking around furtively, before turning sharply to the right and veering down a smaller road.

Bright lights came from a clearing a small stretch further and as she drew closer, she could here the sound of drunken men fighting and yelling. The pickup rumbled into the lot, stopping with a creaking sound. Lana stepped out, slowly, watching the men’s heads turn in her direction. She didn’t want their attention- not these drunken louts out in the lot. Letting out her breath through her nose she walked daintily around the side of the building to a small stage door. The wall surrounding it was a vague peach color, and the door was matching. She slipped in almost sheepishly, as though she was afraid to be seen.

“Where were you?” The screeching woman swooped over her, glowering out of blue eyes. “I’ve been forced to cover for ya all evening’.” She voice had a distinct New York accent, but she drawled slowly, like the Southerners she was currently living with.

“Sorry Carmen, I had to visit my dad.” Her voice had an air of exasperation to it, and Carmen nodded sympathetically, her expression softening noticeably.

“Poor dear. I’m glad my folks are dead. I don’t know what I would do if I was in your sit’ation.” She took Lana’s coat, stuffing it in an already overflowing closet. She listened to the fast-paced music drifting in from the stage and ushered Carmen to the edge of the wing. “You wait here, darlin’. I’ll ask Sammie when you should go on.” Carmen sauntered off, her red heels clicking on the floorboards.

“Ok, then.” Lana’s voice trailed off into nothingness and she stood there awkwardly. She hated waiting on the edge of things. She wanted to be at home or out there on the stage. She peeked round the musty velvet curtain, watching the performers and the audience with equal curiosity. She was so absorbed in her observations that she didn’t notice Carmen come up behind her.

“You’ll go on next number.” Carmen’s voice shook her awake.

“What’ll I be doing?”

“Dancin’, signin’, showin’ the bums what they wanna see. Just like you always do.” Carmen slapped her playfully on the shoulder and left her, heading off to do God knows what. The saxophone ended its trill and the dancers bowed deeply. While the audience was still clapping, Lana slipped onstage with the others. A makeshift red spotlight fell on her and a loud voice exclaimed:

“Now, the one, the only, Lana!” Regulars of the place clapped wildly, hooting and whistling with delight. The newcomers clapped politely, confused as to what she was going to do. She bent her head, staring at her feet. With a sudden note the music started and she sprang to action. She twirled in a flash of chestnut hair and black fabric, shaking everything she had. She leaned forward, thrusting her chest out to the audience, shaking her shoulders violently. The audience hooted loudly, clapping and whistling at her.

The other women on stage began to dance with her, mirroring her moves to a lesser extent. As the song grew to its climax they all grabbed their skirts by the waist, ripping them off. The various skirts fluttered to the ground like starters’ flags in a race. The clapping and cheering grew louder, reaching the point where it overpowered the music. Lana twirled herself to the front of the stage, spreading her arms out like a hawk in flight, bowing to the crowd.

They went wild. Lana slowly twirled around, ending with her face to the audience, blowing kisses at the audience. She spotted a man in the front, arms crossed over his chest, a dour expression on his face. He sat rigid in his brown suit, far outclassing the others.

“You, sir! Yes, the one in the suit!” All heads turned, searching for the one worthy of Lana’s mention. “You don’t seem to be having much fun here at the Showboat!” She grinned. “Maybe you should come up to the stage!” Lana and the other women let a hoot. The brown suited man was pulled from his seat and pushed to the front of the stage; where Lana bent down to greet him, her smoke smelling breath blowing in his face gently. “Hello, darlin’. Need any help there?”

“I am quite alright. Thank you, miss.”

Lana rose and faced the audience again. “Did y’all hear that? He called me ‘miss’ like I was a real lady an’ everythin’.” She laughed long and loud, and the audience laughed with her.

“Well, aren’t you a lady?” The suit-clad gentleman’s query startled everyone into silence. Lana whirled to face him; he was on stage now.

“I do this for a livin’, an’ you’re stupid enough to call me a lady?” She laughed in his face, and he drew away from her in disgust. “Well, girls, I think we need to teach this gentleman here how to loosen up. Whadda ya’ say?”

“Yes!”

“Music, if you please!” The same upbeat, swing style music began. The women, Lana included, hastily slipped into their skirts, falling into an oval-esque formation. They moved counter-clockwise around the gentle man, stepping their feet over each other, moving faster and faster.

“Stop this!” The man’s deep voice cut through the music and with an abrupt sound of heel son wood the dancers stopped. All the dancers, that it, except Lana. She continued to dance, her arms over her head, rotating her hips provocatively.

“Why should I stop? I stop, I don’t get ‘ny money.”

“You…well….I” The man was struck dumb by this statement of fact. He simply stared in shock as her skirt fell to the ground.

“Now, what’s yer name?”

“Smith. Alfred Smith.”

Lana had stopped moving by now, and was leaning into Alfred’s face. “So, Mr. Smith, are you enjoying yourself now?”

“I, I, uh…” He stammered, growing pale under her intense gaze. She had her hands planted firmly on her hips. He shook his head, a choked noise the only sound he could make.

“Hmph. Well, folks, it’s closing time now, so enjoy yourselves!” She waved goodbye to the crowd, and as they filed out she slid backstage. Carmen and Sammie were waiting there for her, both exuding anger.

“What the hell were you doin’ out there!” Carmen gestured violently, her auburn hair falling in front of her eyes. She had changed into Levi’s and an old T-shirt now, and looked less like a Showboat dancer than an everyday woman.

“I honestly dun know.” Lana shrugged helplessly. “I was feelin’ mean, I wanted to pick on someone.”

‘Well, ya got yer wish. Now go on, ge’ out!” Sammie spoke up from behind Carmen.

“What about my pay?”

“You was late, and you pulled that lil’ stunt. No pay today, darlin’.” He smiled at her and turned away, walking to his private office.

“Yessir.” Lana said, and then “…bastard.” She took her coat from the closet and wrapped it around her, despite the August heat. She nodded a goodbye to Carmen, who gave her a sympathetic look before nodding back.

The parking lot was nearly empty when Lana stepped out into it. She turned around for a moment, gazing on bright sign on the building. ‘Showboat’ it read, and when the show was on, there were flashing lights of the many colors. Well, only white and red, but it did its job. The Showboat was a popular ‘dance club’, especially since it was the only one nearby.

Lana was jolted out of her reverie by someone slamming into her from behind. “Sorry miss, I didn’t see-Oh!” She spun quickly to face the unknown speaker, and was surprised to see the man she had embarrassed up on stage.

“Sorry.” She murmured and brushed past him, heading straight for her old car.

“Where are you going?” Lana refused to answer and tried to continue on her way, but found a pale hand clamped around her right wrist,

“To my car, so I can go home.”

“Is there any explanation for what you did to me?”

“None leaps to mind, if that’s what ya mean.”

“So you embarrassed me for no reason?”

“Well, my job is ta please, and ya didn’ look very pleased ta me. Just tryin’ ta do my job is all.”

“Why do you work here?” The question made Lana stiffen suddenly, and draw herself up to her fairly impressive height of five feet, eight inches. She tugged her wrist violently, trying to break free of his grasp. He simply gripped tighter.

‘Stop! That hurts.” She winced and continued to pull her arm away from him.

“I’m very sorry.” She lifted an eyebrow at him, surprised at the sincerity in his voice. Lana took the opportunity to study him.

“What’s your name, I forgot.” She gave him an apologetic grin, but it was as fake as the smiles actresses give on TV.

“Reverend Alfred Smith.” He released her arm completely, but she didn’t move. Lana was still in a bit of a shock.

“You…you’re a minister?” Her brown eyes grew wide and frightened. “And I did that to ya?” She shifted her weight form foot to foot in anxiety.

“Yes, I am a minister.” He put a hand on her elbow and started to walk her away from her current position. “It’s ok. You were just doing your job, even if it is somewhat sinful.”

Her shoulders tensed and she raised her chin ever so slightly. It was her subtle way of telling him to shut up and get aw far away from her as possible.

“You could stop working there, you know. The pay can’t be that good and-“

“Listen, Reverend,” she placed emphasis on Reverend, making it sound more like a curse than a title, “I don’t need yer prayers or yer sermons. I am perfectly happy with the Showboat, and it’s as good as life’s gonna get down here.” A curt motion of her hand removed his palm from her elbow. “Good night, Mr. Smith.” Lana strode purposefully to her car, pulling the door open with more anger than usual. Once she was inside, she turned the key in the ignition, and hoped the car would start. Once the engine rattled into action, she turned the wheel sharply and sped out as fast as she could. As she checked her rearview mirror casually, she saw the Reverend standing in the dust.