Gabriella Montez was a good woman most days. Monday through Friday from seven am until five pm, she was a preschool teacher. She would leave her little apartment on the strip and drive all the way out to a nice suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of Las Vegas' city limits. The soccer moms still gleaming with sweat from their morning spin classes lined the sidewalk in front of the elementary school. They rushed their kids out the sliding minivan doors and screeched off across the parking lot (because their Starbucks mobile order was waiting, of course). Gabriella met the little kids at the entrance with a welcoming smile and a bundle of papier-mâché daisies that she passed out to each of her students. On Sunday she attended church and called her mother in Albuquerque. She served food to the homeless, pulled weeds at the community garden, and walked the dogs at the animal shelter. Sunday morning until Saturday afternoon, Gabriella Montez was as good as good could get.

But every Saturday night that all changed.

Because on Saturday night, she turned into a heartless dominatrix called April.

She performed a ritual of sorts to channel her dominatrix alter ego. It started with a stick of incense from Hot Topic called First Rain. It filled her already congested bathroom with a smell like dewy grass and mud on a humid Spring morning. She dropped it upright in a little yellow and green vase with culturally appropriated Aztecan patterns from Pier 1 Imports. She twisted her soaked brunette locks onto the crown of her head and clipped it in place. A playlist of Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, and Cradle of Filth rang out with demented lyrics and haunting instrumentals. She used a dark palette to give herself dramatic, smoky eyes and a light foundation to create ghostly skin. With every careful stroke of eyeliner and meticulously glued fake eyelash, April rose to the surface from the murky depths of Gabriella's deepest subconscious.

Gabriella doused the incense in the sink and checked her reflection one last time while April stalked just behind the glass in the mirror. She threw a black corset, stiletto boots, and leather shorts into an old Adidas gym bag and set off for Madame's Dungeon of Desires.

Madame was a tall woman without the nine-inch stilettos, but she wore them anyways to tower over anyone who crossed her. She had a permanent frown and unamused gaze fixed on her features. It was this serious stare that always intimidated Gabriella because she could never tell what it was that Madame was truly thinking. Happy or sad, excited or bored, it was always the same stoic gaze out of those flat grey eyes like a one-emotion-fits-all mask.

Madame founded the dungeon in the late 90s to service BDSM and other kinks. Since they were located within Las Vegas, which was in Clark County, the law forbid them from prostituting like the brothels outside the city could. But Madame found a loophole. As long as the client only touched himself, the workers couldn't be considered prostitutes. The inspectors still hadn't found a good argument against it yet, so they operated in a very narrow shade of grey.

The building was a gorgeous Victorian era castle with stained glass and a tower where Madame kept her office. The layout in the basement was designed in a circle. The hallway was ring-shaped and lined with doors into the private rooms, and each of those rooms had another door on the opposite end leading to the communal dressing room in the very core of the circle. Gabriella had to enter through the back of the mansion, the stepping stones leading her between the iron fence and past the garden to the back patio. She lifted her gym bag up to the door lock and the ID badge in her wallet made it unlatch. After a claustrophobic walk down a hazardously narrow spiral staircase, Gabriella lifted the bag again outside her door and walked straight through to the dressing room.

Passing between the rows of dominatrices in various stages of undress, she came to her spot. "Late," Gold said. Her name wasn't really Gold, of course, like Gabriella's wasn't really April. But Gabriella wouldn't know what else to call her since Madame forbid the workers from sharing details about themselves – including their real names. But Gold seemed fitting for this woman. She really was gold, everything from the streaks of gold in her blonde hair and the gold corset and gold stilettos.

Gold spoke in an English accent Gabriella long speculated was fake, but that wasn't why Gabriella disliked her. Rather, it was from her inability to mind her own business and an obsession with being Madame's favorite.

"What are you, keeping tabs on me?" April snapped, because Gabriella never could have.

Gold didn't respond but bent over the counter and leaned up to the mirror, filling in her eyebrows with a sparkly gold pencil. Gabriella poured out her dominatrix attire onto her counter and paused for a moment to close her eyes and take a deep breath. This had to be the perfect performance…one only April could deliver.

April stepped into the room in a pair of thigh-high leather stiletto boots. She slammed the door shut and the room fell pitch black. Her fingers reached through the darkness and rested on the light switch for a moment before sliding the dimmer up halfway.

Tonight's victim was a regular at the dungeon. She didn't know his name, but she knew he was homeless by the fateful day she served him soup at the shelter. He didn't seem so ashamed, but Gabriella couldn't handle the recognition. She was so stunned by the unpleasant surprise that she accidentally overfilled his bowl onto her wrist. She cussed and excused herself to the back to ice it, but the burn of that encounter always remained with her. It was a good thing then that Gabriella wasn't here. Now he had to answer to April who, unfortunately for him, knew how to work a riding crop.

April approached behind the man kneeling on the ground with his trembling hands in the air. She reached for the handgun, but the moment she held it in her grip, she could feel that this one was different than the props they had used before. Heavier, more metallic, more…real.

Did he bring a real handgun into the dungeon? Gabriella thought and immediately took over again. One voice told her to end the roleplay, but the April in her whispered that being a snitch wouldn't get her any more gigs.

Without a moment left to reconsider, she made her decision. "Give me your money," April said in a low, growling voice. She pressed the handgun firmly into the back of his skull.

"Please," the man cried, "you don't have to do this!"

"Shut up!" shouted April. The handgun began to wiggle in her grip as he rattled with fear. "Give me your wallet."

He sobbed, "I don't have any money."

She cocked the gun. "Give me your money, now!"

He squealed, "No, please!"

"I said now!"

"I don't have any money!"

Her eyes bulged in her lead like she was tempted to use that gun for what it was really built for. It wasn't often that she lost patience with the desperate men in the dungeon, but this guy was pushing it. It felt like they had been at it for nearly ten minutes already and he still hadn't touched his zipper. She wondered if it wasn't about getting off anymore…maybe he wanted her to actually kill him. She asked, "Do you want to die tonight?"

He squeaked, "No." His hands went down to his pants.

"I'm not going to ask again. I will fucking kill you. I'll splatter your brains on this concrete if you don't give me your fucking wallet."

"Please," he cried.

"Any last words?"

"Oh, fuck!" He heaved and snatched a tissue out of the box on the coffee table so fast it tumbled onto the floor. Gabriella regained control and set the gun on the end table. He tossed the used tissue away and slowly crawled back onto his feet. "Wow! Thanks, honey. That was the best session I've ever had. You should consider acting."

"Do you want an appointment this time next month?"

"You got it, April." He turned towards the door.

"Wait!" She called out to him. "You forgot your…um." She timidly pointed to the gun.

"Oh shit," he chuckled, "thank you." He shimmied the weapon into his pants between his belt and beer gut. "Take it easy."

"I intend to."

Before the door between them could even come to a complete close, she had already released the tie on the back of her constricting corset. She went through the back door into the communal dressing room where two women she knew by the names Diamond and Velvet were already inside. Gabriella approached her mirror and eavesdropped as she dragged a fresh make up wipe across her chest to remove the contour from her cleavage.

Velvet plopped her foot up on the swiveling chair by her counter to untie her black knee-high boots. She said with a strained voice as she wrestled with the shoe, "I've heard of girls getting scars from the laser. I don't think it's worth the risk."

Velvet had a big-eyed and round-cheeked baby face framed by brunette locks that she always failed to keep contained in a messy bun on the crown of her head. Gabriella thought she might be a librarian by the way she talked in a constant whisper and kept to herself like a bookworm, but there was no way to confirm that without breaking Madame's code.

Diamond argued, "Waxing is just such a pain in the ass. Literally." Diamond had dark skin and the most modest outfit with tight faux leather bicycle shorts that reached half way down her thighs and a tight fishnet shirt beneath her navy-blue corset. Gabriella noticed early on that the way she carried herself and spoke was always so quick and clever. She had a way with words like few others Gabriella had met inside or outside the dungeon. But she also seemed so serious and efficient. Gabriella envisioned her rushing around a law firm with pens overflowing her blazer pocket and a large stack of case files.

The pink door with a glittery white star spanning across the wood blew open and Sharpay announced herself, "I've had enough!" She scooped up the makeup sprawled across her hot pink counter back into her Louis Vuitton tote and ranted, "Whenever I complain to Madame, it's always the same bullshit excuse. The client is always right. Do I look like a retail worker?" She forced a comb through her mane of teased blonde curls when the handle snapped off. "Damn it!"

Velvet picked up the few pieces from the carpet and offered, "I have hot glue at home if you want me to fix it."

Sharpay shook her head. "I'll buy a new one." She sighed and lamented, "If only daddy hadn't cut my allowance, then I wouldn't have to put up with any of this bullshit." The room fell silent, apart from the muffled sounds of whips connecting with skin and groans of pain from the surrounding rooms. Sharpay shrugged and asked, "What did I say?"

Velvet shyly scratched behind her ear and whispered, "You know Madame's rules." It was an inarguable point. Madame wanted everyone to keep their outside lives private. Period. She apparently had even fired a worker for friend requesting a client on Facebook and dismissed another bunch for having a group text. As curious as Gabriella was about the lives of the other women in the dungeon, she knew it wasn't wise to disobey Madame.

Sharpay looked over her shoulder at Velvet and asked, "Do you always follow the rules, even when they oppress you?"

Diamond interrupted, "Did you say oppress?"

Sharpay answered, "Yes, it means to be restrained."

"I know what it means, Sharpay. I'm just surprised you could confuse it with professionalism."

"So you think it's professional for a job to forbid you from talking to your coworkers about anything else besides work?"

"It doesn't matter what I think of the code." Diamond shrugged. "But I do think I want to keep my job so I will follow the code."

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "Relax, Diamond. I pinkie promise I won't tell a soul. Go on, tell us about you. What do you do?"

Diamond countered, "For all you know, this is what I do."

Sharpay teased, "What are you, scared?" She crossed the room, plucked her cropped fur coat off the back of the door, and swung it over her shoulders and said, "I'm not going to pretend that my life ends the moment I leave this dungeon any longer." Gabriella approached her counter on the opposite wall and packed her things, but she instinctively looked up at her mirror and made eye contact with Sharpay already staring at her from over her shoulders. A mischievous smile grew across her face, concerning Gabriella. "I'm going to say it."

Gabriella turned around and found herself inches apart and face-to-face with the blonde. She leaned back away from her and asked, "Say what?"

"We should all get drinks."

In a panic, Velvet said, "Drinks? Are you crazy? We could get fired if Madame finds out."

Sharpay argued, "If she finds out, which she never will. We just have to keep our pretty little mouths shut. Sounds easy enough, right?" Diamond was pretending not to hear any of the conversation, so Gabriella shared an apprehensive glance with Velvet.

Sharpay said, "Fine." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the floor, visibly bothered.

Gabriella said, "It's nothing personal."

Sharpay promised, "I'll never ask again."

Gabriella reached beneath her counter and took out her bag full of regular clothes – a pair of high waisted jean-shorts and an old sweater. As she changed, Sharpay walked to the door with designer bags hanging off each arm. She opened the door and froze in the doorway, then turned back and stepped inside again. She walked all the way back to the others and quietly announced, "I'm not asking, but I'll be at the coffeeshop off the strip at noon tomorrow. I think it'd be such a pleasant coincidence for all of you to be there too."

It was Sunday – the Lord's day. And was Gabriella really considering meeting with a fellow dominatrix for coffee in the middle of the afternoon on the Lord's day?

She stirred the goop of honey into her tea much like how the thoughts stirred in her mind. She should obey Madame's code. She should pray and call her mom like every Sunday before. She should keep April in the dungeon, but what she really wanted, no, needed was friends.

In order to move to Las Vegas, Gabriella had to dump her deadbeat boyfriend, abandon her old friends, and spend every last dime from her student loans on a security deposit for her apartment. If she couldn't go out because she spent her entire evening hunched over her laptop for online classes, it was because she simply had no money left to spend. And everyone she encountered at church and where she volunteered already seemed so wrapped up in their own lives.

Gabriella desperately wanted to talk to the girls, really talk to them about something other than makeup and the best whipping technique. She wanted to know their experience, inside and outside the dungeon. She wanted to finally make a friend in Las Vegas, and this seemed like the only way it would ever happen.

Gabriella left her little sofa and checked the electronic clock on her stove. It said 1:00pm, but she hadn't figured out how to adjust it for daylight savings time yet, so it was actually noon. She tossed her tea down the sink, grabbed a light jacket to throw on, and stepped out into the street.

Through the thin rolled down blinds, Gabriella spotted a figure in pink. She stepped inside and found Sharpay waiting at a table in a light pink polo and a white visor, looking like she just left a tennis match with her sugar daddy. Her brown eyes peered down at the phone resting on the table until Gabriella took a seat across from her. Gabriella could tell from Sharpay's blank look that she didn't recognize her. Sharpay squinted her eyes inquisitively and asked in disbelief, "April?"

Gabriella averted her gaze to the dark wooden table between them and let out a short, awkward laughed, wondering if being unrecognizable without the glamorous makeup was a bad thing. It certainly didn't feel like a compliment. She shrugged and said, "Yes. Believe it or not."

"Wow. You look so…so…"

"Different?"

"Plain."

Gabriella blinked, taken back from Sharpay's bluntness. "Oh. Well, you look dazzling as always."

Sharpay mindlessly said, "Yeah, thanks." Her mouth dropped agape, and her head tilted to the side as if she couldn't tell what it was that she was looking at.

Gabriella felt like a newly discovered alien species underneath her scrutinizing stare. She snapped, "Can you stop staring at me?"

"I just wasn't expecting you, is all."

"I'm plain," Gabriella said, "I get it."

"No, I meant I wasn't expecting you at all."

"You invited me."

"Yes, but I didn't think anyone would show up. Especially you." Again, Gabriella felt that wasn't a compliment. Just when she began to feel that coming here was a mistake, the chair besides her screeched. She looked over her shoulder to find no one other than Diamond. Much like the law clerk Gabriella envisioned her to be, she came wearing a light blue blouse and a black pencil skirt reaching just below her knees.

"Sorry I'm late," Diamond said as she unbuttoned her blazer. She explained, "I had to vacuum my stairs."

Velvet appeared next and silently took her place in the last seat. Sharpay said, "Never thought I'd see this."

Gabriella smiled and shook her head in disbelief. Was this was really happening? Could it be possible that an unlikely group of women (and dominatrices at that) were hidden amongst families and businesspeople in the middle of a Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon? She said, "Where do we even start?"

Diamond asked, "How did you come up with the name April?"

Gabriella smiled and felt blood rise to her cheeks as she answered, "April is in the springtime and I make men cry until they're raining tears. How about you?"

"Rough like a diamond."

Velvet began to giggle, but Gabriella didn't know what for. She asked, "Sharpay, why did you choose a dog's name?"

She held a serious stare for a moment before she answered, "Sharpay is my real name, thank you very much."

The table dropped painfully silent. Diamond cleared her throat and asked Sharpay, "Well…why did you use your real name?"

Sharpay explained, "Reverse psychology. Everyone assumes I'm using a fake name, so they'd never guess it's my real name."

Diamond admitted, "That's actually pretty brilliant."

Sharpay asked, "What are your real names?" Again, the table fell silent, and Gabriella was unsure where to look. "Why is that so weird? We have to know each other's names if we're going to be friends, right?"

Not needing much more to convince her, Gabriella folded. She said, "It's Gabriella."

Velvet said, "That's really pretty. Mine is Kelsi."

The others looked to Diamond, who was still holding out. Sharpay coaxed her, "C'mon, Diamond. Surely it can't be as embarrassing as Sharpay," she looked to Kelsi who sank into her chair.

Diamond bit her lower lip and looked around as if Madame could be stalking somewhere. She leaned against the table and spoke quietly, "Taylor."

For the first time since Gabriella encountered them at the dungeon, she relaxed. They weren't April, Velvet, Diamond, or Sharpay (well, Sharpay was still Sharpay). They were no longer in the dungeon where a stale animosity hung in the air. Now they weren't competition or colleagues. They were just themselves, girls, allowed to let the conversation flow where it may and naturally learn more and more about each other. It was the most wholesome and unimaginable way she could have met up with a group of sex workers in a Starbucks on the Lord's day.

Gabriella devoted Sunday evening to cleaning her apartment, which was in theme with the day since they say cleanliness is close to godliness. She scrubbed the toilet, scrubbed the shower, scrubbed her oven. She dusted, vacuumed, and wiped down the windows. Heaps of clothes piled up on her bed, so she pulled off her bedding and wrapped it all up like a knapsack. She dragged the makeshift laundry bag downstairs to the complex's laundry room and put in a couple loads. Then as she passed through the hallway, she unlocked her mailbox and grabbed all that had compiled in the past week. She tossed the mail onto her dining room table, sifting through coupons and spam before finding an envelope with no return address. Her name and address were written with a shaky hand by the state of the messy letters. She tore it open and looked inside to find a handful of twenty-dollar bills.

Then her phone rang.

Gabriella recognized the photo through the cracked screen and answered, "Hey mom. I was just about to call you."

"Well I would hope so! It's been hours. I was worried about you."

"I'm sorry. I went to the coffeeshop…with friends!"

Lisa rejoiced, "Oh Gabriella, that's wonderful! Where did you meet them?"

"The restaurant," Gabriella lied. Her parents, although divorced, were both conservative Roman Catholics. If they found out she worked in a kink dungeon, they'd probably go into cardiac arrest, or disown her, or do both at once. So she told them she picked up a night shift at a twenty-four hour waffle house.

Lisa asked, "What are their names?"

"Sharpay, Velv – I mean, Kelsi! And…umm…Taylor."

"I'm so happy for you, but…" her voice drifted away and the line went silent.

"What is it?" Gabriella's eyebrows furrowed and she pressed the phone deeper against her ear, fearing there was bad news about grandma or something else equally terrible.

"Your father emailed me today."

Gabriella scoffed out a short laugh in relief. She knew exactly what this was about and couldn't be bothered to act the slightest bit concerned. She wished her parents hated each other like divorced couples were supposed to, but instead they kept in contact. Unfortunately for Gabriella, this meant that her father could rat her out to her mom for ignoring him.

Lisa asked, "Haven't you spoken to him since you moved?"

"I'm busy. You know how it is during a move."

"It's been nearly half a year, Gabriella. That's no excuse."

Gabriella sauntered into her kitchenette and opened the fridge, squeezing her phone between her ear and shoulder as she spun off the cap to her milk. "I don't know why you care."

"I care because you're my daughter and deserve to have a relationship with your father." She took a deep whiff of the milk and squinted her eyes, deciding just how sour was too sour for milk to still be good. "Hello?"

"I'm here."

"Will you give him a call, please? For me."

She closed the fridge and held her phone up to her ear while pouring the last half gallon of spoiled milk down the drain. "It's between him and me."

"Promise me you'll consider reaching out. I need to get back to work. The nursing assistants are swamped with call lights."

"Okay." Embarrassed she couldn't be independent enough to refuse it, Gabriella quietly tacked on, "Thank you for the money."

"Of course, mija." Gabriella returned her phone to the side table at the end of her couch. She sat against the ripped fabric in the back of the couch and folded her legs underneath her, finding April looking back at her in the useless, broken TV's reflection.