Chapter One

Twin Twisters

Tuesday night in Sam Lewis Heights is not like Tuesday night anywhere else in America. For one, Lewis (as locals call it) is in Texas, one of the greatest places in the world. And for two, weekends in Lewis don’t end until Wednesday, sometimes never in the summer. So it was no surprise, on a normal Tuesday night, that Twin Twisters was packed to the max with old cowboys, blonde bimbos, and kids with big dreams.

Twin Twisters is my second home in Lewis. I’ve worked there since I turned sixteen three years ago, and I sat on those barstools long before I could get on to one on my own. See, my uncle Matty owns the bar, named for Texas’ notorious tornado season, and also because it sounded sexy, in a sleazy kind of way. I’ve lived with Matty for as long as I can remember, because my parents weren’t exactly cut out for kids. I’m what the folks in Lewis call a “brothel brat”. My mom worked in an illegal brothel all her life, and probably still does. I suppose my dad was a customer, although I sometimes hope he was actually her boyfriend or something like that. Matty says my momma didn’t really know, or care. She just told him that I was bad for business, put me in his arms, and jumped into her car. Matty figures she went off to Vegas or Atlantic City, but I get the feeling she’s a Texan girl at heart, and I’d bet she’s in some hellhole much like Lewis, working some street or brothel, and maybe wondering what ever happened to that kid of her’s.

I’m not telling you this so you feel bad for me, by the way. Being a brothel brat in Lewis is like being a wealthy white kid in upstate New York: normal. In fact, most of the population either worked in the brothels, or came from them. Most of the dancers at Twin Twisters were brothel brats, actually, and most of them didn’t know their parents either. I’m actually lucky, really, because at least I have Matty. Most of the girls in Lewis had to be raised by the brothel mothers, or madams as some people say, and others by pimps, or themselves. One of the girls, Lessie, lived behind a dumpster next to the Lewis liquor store until she was thirteen, raising money by stealing booze and selling it at a bargain to bums and passerby’s. Finally when she turned thirteen she got a job at the liquor store, standing outside in Daisy Duke’s asking strangers to by her beer so the cops could arrest them. Then at sixteen she came to Twisters, said she was twenty, and started stripping. Now Lessie has her own place, kind of a shack though, and she’s really done great for herself. So if you’re going to feel bad for anyone, feel bad for Lessie.

I’m Mae, by the way. Matty said my mom never gave me a name, so he just named me after the best role model he could think of, Mae West. He says that right after he submitted my name, he changed his mind and wanted to call me Annabelle. It was too late, but around the bar they’ve taken to calling me “Mae-belle”. This busy Tuesday was no different.

“Mae-belle, baby, when you getting out of Lewis and going to school?” Cassie shouted as I slipped on to a bar stool and nodded at the regulars. Cassie was Matty’s girl, and a brothel brat herself. She had milky brown skin, thick wavy hair, full lips, and big almond eyes, but her momma still swore Cassie’s daddy was a rich white man from Southern California. Cassie was one of the lucky few that got to grow up right in the brothel, alongside her mom. Until she met Matty she worked in the brothel herself, booking tricks and doing paperwork. She was never interested in turning tricks herself, even though she has no problem with the working girls or the madams. Pimps, though, she says, are bad for business. They rip you off, overwork you, and treat you bad. The madams, Cassie insists, are so much better. They know how a woman deserves to be treated.

Anyway, back to Tuesday. I gave Cassie a look and sipped my Coke. “You know I can’t go to school. I don’t have the papers. Besides, I’m too old for high school.” I know. Pathetic, right? Here I am, nineteen, and I’ve never been to school. I didn’t even go to kindergarten! Everything I know, I learned from Matty or the girls at Twisters.

“I know, baby.” Cassie wiped a cup and looked up at me, and for a second I wondered what it would be like to be Cassie and Matty’s daughter, to not only know my parents but to have loved them all my life.

One of the dancers, Corie, interrupted my thoughts. “Mae-belle, sweetie, you working tonight?”

I laughed. “When do I ever have the night off?”

“I’m waiting for you to get a big date,” she shrugged. “How ‘bout that cowboy over there?” Corie flipped her bleach blonde hair and pointed a chipped red fingernail at one of the tables in the corner.

My first thought was out-of-towners. The boys at the table were my age, dressed nice, with scruff on their chins and a twinkle in their eyes. Then I recognized it: that heaviness of the shoulders, that tinge of shame in the way they laughed. They were brothel brats that had found their way out, found a way to make a bit of money. But they were still brothel brats at heart.
I took a good look at Corie’s “cowboy”. He was the smallest in the group, just a scrawny little thing in dark wash jeans and black button down shirt. He needed a haircut, bad, and could probably use a few good meals. But, like a puppy in the pound, the kid was adorable. And as I checked him out, his gaze wandered from the tall guy with the poofy hair that talked with his hands…to the bar, where I sat.

Our eyes locked, and a lazy smile spread across his face. He turned back to his buddies, motioned to the bar, and slipped out of his seat. I watched his easy saunter with interest, and Corie chuckled.

“I don’t get your thing for cowboys, but have fun.” She shimmied back to her pole, looking over her shoulder to toss me a wink. I rolled my eyes before she could even turn away.

My cowboy had made his way to the bar and leaned against it, giving me a quick once-over before smiling goofily. “I’m David,” he announced, thrusting his hand into mine.

We shook vigorously. “I’m Mae,” I smiled, looking into his honey brown eyes. There was no denying David was cute, and interested. But something made me uneasy, and I held back.

“Buy you a drink?” David said, a flirty lilt to his voice.

I pretended to consider before replying, “I’m actually the bartender. My uncle, Matty, owns this bar.”

David’s bullshit meter started buzzing, but he stayed flirty. “Do you tell everybody that or just the guys you’re not into?”

Grinning, I cooed, “No, I only tell that to the guys I really like.” With that I slowly switched my way around the bar and leaned on the counter across from David. “So, can I get you a drink?”

“No shit,” he said slowly, his eyes showing me his mix of astonishment and wariness.

See, I forgot to mention: In Lewis, I’m quite the catch, and that isn’t me being cocky. Think about it this way. Most people in Lewis were born in Lewis, about half to the girls in the brothels. Of all the brothel brats, somewhere around half were abandoned on the streets and left to fend for themselves, making their own money, typically in illegal ways. So basically, a quarter of the Lewis population had at one point been homeless and were probably still pretty poor. As for the rest of the folks in Lewis, a quarter were involved in the whoring business, a quarter were permanently drunk or in gambling debt, and everyone else at least had some involvement in undesirable business. So while I did work at a bar, I not only had real family, I had family that owned something tangible, something worth a little money. So, by Lewis standards, I was fairly wealthy and less risky than most girls on the market. So it was only natural for Brandon to start picturing dollar signs while clinging to his disbelief. Because, really, nobody had the luxury of family and wealth. Not in Lewis.

“No shit,” I answered with a smile and a wink as I passed David a glass of whiskey.

He tossed it back, grinned, and sighed. “Even more reason to want to take you home.”