After the run-in with Marco, everything else about the evening seemed to be exactly the same as usual. She ran drinks, a couple of different kinds, and flirted her way into a hefty pile of tips, at least from most of her tables. Mr. Gold's table, apparently, wasn't keen on her service that night. Belle took note, and hoped beyond reason that the key holders there wouldn't complain about her. She couldn't afford to be complained about.
When she was changing backstage, Ruby swooped in – perfect timing, as always, and gasped, "What are you doing?" she gasped, rushing forward on her tiptoes, squeaking, "no, no, tug that suit back on. I just borrowed this," she held up the polaroid, "and we are taking your pictures."
Belle glared at her, "You know, the idea of these pictures almost got me in trouble tonight, Ruby." She was clearly not playing around, and the girls all stopped moving and tugging on clothes to pay attention.
"What do you mean?" she asked, "I got that table eating right out of your hand, honey," her smile faltered, wondering what she had done to actually ruin anything or put Belle in harm's way. Ruby might not have been the sharpest crayon in the box, but she wouldn't purposefully hurt anyone.
Belle's features softened, momentarily. Ruby didn't mean to cause any problems, but she had to know. So Belle's sympathy, at least guided her tone, even if her words weren't meant to be cushioned and soft. "One of them tried to follow me, Ruby," she explained, "he barely took no for answer, and even then, Mr. Gold – of all people – came and interrupted. He was so mad at me; I didn't even get a tip from the table."
Ruby looked crestfallen, like someone had kicked her kitten in front of her or something. Belle felt bad, but she really did suffer the night because of it, and Ruby rushed forward to embrace her. "I'm so sorry, Belle," she murmured against her still done-up curls. "I didn't think that was going to happen."
"Me neither," Belle admitted, returning the hug with a little less animosity than she had before. Ruby had a way of doing that to people, softening them up. She supposed that was why she was so good at this job.
Belle sighed as Ruby pulled away, hands on her shoulders, and a grin all new on her features. "It'll be okay though," she nodded, "it was a fluke. After you get on the cover, little boys will be too intimidated to even talk to you." She giggled wildly and grabbed for the camera again.
This again? Belle frowned. "Ruby, I don't think –"
"Nonsense," she was cut off. "Just have a little fun, Belle," she urged. "You don't have to submit them, if you really don't want to." Ruby whined the last part, but held the camera up anyway, "I already borrowed it from the front," she pouted, and Belle looked entirely skeptical. "If anything, you can keep them and give them to your next boyfriend as a little something for the wallet." She winked and Belle really rolled her eyes this time.
It was hard to say no to Ruby's hopeful face, particularly when Ashley was standing behind her and grinning like a fool. Between the two of them, it was like telling a child they couldn't go to the park. "Okay," Belle's shoulders slumped and both girls squealed.
"I'm going to help!" Ashley declared, her golden curls bouncing as she rocked on her tip-toes. "I'll direct the shots, and you take them, Ruby!" Ruby nodded eagerly, and all of a sudden, before Belle could even register it, they were on both sides of her, the rest of the bunnies were shaking their heads or going about their nights, and Belle was being brought into the empty front of house.
She was exhausted, but they took her in front of the stairs first, and Ruby and Ashley could have worked for a major magazine, because they ordered her on how to stand and how to smile and how to look over her shoulder and when she should wink and laugh, and things Belle thought were ridiculous, but they asked her to do it anyway, and took her all around the club, posing her over tables and on the stage, by the time they finished it was nearly two in the morning and Belle had over two dozen polaroids that she didn't know what to do with.
They were still squealing with laughter, but they were the only ones in the club and Belle had to change, still in her gold bunny suit. The other girls had to get back to the group housing that some of the girls had, but Belle was expected to get back to her father's apartment. She wished she could just go back with them, but her father would panic in the morning, so she assured them she'd be fine, though they insisted on at least waiting for her to be dressed, and walked out with her.
After putting her suit in the back with all the others, the three young women walked out of the back door. Belle pulled her coat tighter around herself and walked in the opposite direction from Ashley and Ruby, who were linked arm in arm as they went.
It felt strange, to be out when no one else was, and Belle's inch heels clicked on the pavement. There didn't even seem to be a taxi to hail, so she walked, head down and steadfast toward her destination. It was odd, to hurry home with fear. She never got scared, and yet, practically running down the streets in the middle of the night – that was fear.
Her feet carried her as quickly as they could and truth be told, she was lucky enough that the apartment building was only a twenty minute walk away. Perhaps the longest twenty minutes of her life, seeing the people in night look at her, watching her like she had done something terrible: murder, drugs, adultery, whatever it was people thought women did in the dead of night.
None of that was Belle's life, even if the polaroids in her pocket told the world differently. Ruby wanted to go through them the next day, before their shift began, Belle was still skeptical, but the pictures were taken, and that was done. They existed, whether they were used or not. They'd probably sit at the bottom of her drawer forever. That seemed like the fate Belle would have picked, but she would honor her promise to Ruby, she decided, as her hands fumbled in her purse for her key.
She slipped into the building, climbing up the stairs, and into the unlit apartment. One more night, a hundred dollars clutched tightly in her purse, and she slipped through the abandoned living room. It used to feel so homey, now it was just two people living together. Belle loved her father, but they really only saw one another in the morning, and he felt ashamed.
He couldn't provide for his daughter, and that was the most humiliating thing in the world, she heard him say on the phone, a drunken rant to his brother in Tulsa. He tried though, and as she walked toward the hallway to the rooms she noticed something: there was a mug on the coffee table, and Belle felt a pang of guilt, he must have tried waiting up for her.
For a moment, Belle hoped the pictures with the money was worth having him stay up – and filled with guilt and a heavy weight of exhaustion, Belle slipped into her bedroom and had barely a moment between her head hitting the pillow and the wave of deep sleep that washed over her.
Her father woke her up at six the next morning, much to Belle's displeasure and she dragged herself out of bed to get some breakfast – make breakfast – and see her father off. As she watched him tug on his hat and take his briefcase, Belle leaning in the kitchen doorway. He was so lost. He had been ever since her mother died.
All Belle could do was climb in the shower and get her day started, she wouldn't be able to get back to bed anyway. So she trudged to the bathroom, peeled her pajamas off and climbed in the shower, only to find it freezing. She jumped out with a yelp. Utilities needed to get paid. Her thoughts drifted to her purse: she knew where that money would be going.
She took a less conventional approach, washing her hair in the sink and only standing in the shower long enough to soap herself up and rinse. Her lips were blue by the time she climbed out, and got to the litany of things she had to do to attempt to look like a person before she headed to the club at four. It was going to be another long night, and she had to make sure she at least attempted to look halfway decent.
Covering up the bags under her eyes, painting her eyelashes, using lipstick, and doing her hair, all of these things were automatic, her hands moved, each tool applied with a hand that moved without connection to the thousand ways her mind went. She turned on the radio in the bathroom, signing quietly to herself bouncing in her robe without the fear of someone seeing her. It was liberating, really, to have no one watching her.
She could do as she pleased, putting her hair in luxurious curls before curling herself up on the couch with a book, just to do what she wanted, just for a little while. It felt like she was never doing what she wanted, and the quiet time, when no one else was in the apartment and she wasn't cleaning or cooking, or waiting on people, she could take care of herself.
So she did. She buried her nose in the crease of the book, breathing it in like one might a summer day, or fresh baked cookies. It still smelled like her mother's perfume, one of the few things that was utterly worthless, and yet, priceless at the same time. A Tale of Two Cities had always been her mother's favorite – a woman of words, her father would say, and Belle kept it, finding it to her liking as well.
As she flipped the delicate pages, reading about the doomed love of Sydney Carton and the lovely, kind Lucy, she dropped her head back, careful to not crush the hair she had worked so hard on, letting it spill over the arm. She closed her eyes, stemming tears from falling. There was something so tragic in it, something so familiar and heart breaking in this. Maybe it was her exhaustion getting to her, mingling with the smell of memories, and the knowledge of the unfortunate, self-sacrificing end of the hero, but Belle had to close the book and pick herself up, putting it back in the dresser where it was safe, and would continue to smell of vanilla and honeysuckle.
She'd just make dinner, she decided. It'd be on the counter when her father got home, and she could eat before she left, give herself a chance to digest before she put on the bunny suit.
It was a process, but Belle liked it. She might not have been the best cook, but she made things with love, and meatloaf and mashed potatoes were as much of a meal of love as any. It was her father's favorite, and he had stayed up the previous night… so she spiced up the chop meat they had in the fridge and shoved it in the oven, working on the potatoes while it cooked.
Honestly, the world of domesticity was something Belle could do – there was a rhythm to it, a pride in accomplishing tasks, but I always seemed so small – so… immediate. The enjoyment had not extension outside of her and some future husband who might not ever exist, really. She wanted more for herself. She didn't want to be a Bunny forever; she didn't want to end up like Regina, even if she was practically managing the place with the accountant Ruby seemed so fond of – or maybe it was just getting him to fidget. Whatever the case, running a club didn't exactly have the humanitarian aims Belle thought herself better suited for.
She needed to get back to Northwestern to finish though. She washed the pans she was using with a sigh, maybe one day. It didn't do anyone anything to dwell on the past. She had to move on – she'd done it so many times, Belle was surprised she hadn't crumbled yet. Maybe she wasn't meant to crumble. The world around her could fall to pieces, and there she'd be, standing as tall as ever, just waiting out the storm.
The storm of pans ebbed though, and she made up two plates before wrapping up the leftovers and tucking them away. One plate got a wrapping and had a note carefully etched on the notepad, "Sorry for keeping you up, Dad. Hope this makes up for it!" signed with a heart and a B, before she took to the table, eating another dinner alone, or was it a late lunch? She supposed it didn't matter.
She finished eating quickly, no need to take her time and washed the plate – hating to leave them sit, and went to her room, taking the money out of her purse. Her fingertips brushed the stiff corners of the polaroids, and she paused – a strange desire to look at them, to decide privately, what she would do coming over her, before she squashed that feeling down. She had no time for it; instead, she put the money in the coffee can under the bed, hidden from her father, to be taken care of tomorrow. Making breakfast, getting ready, reading, and taking care of dinner took up more time than she anticipated and she needed to get to the club, not arguing with the landlord over utilities.
She tugged on her coat over her belted dress, pictures still bouncing against one another in the purse as she walked out, locking the door behind her.
The walk to the club in daylight was far less intimidating. She could stride confidently, rather than bury her head in her chest, hoping no one would notice her, and the sounds of the city were alive, real.
Making it to the club at the same time as few of the other girls, Belle smiled and greeted them, more concerned with getting upstairs. Ruby was already there, apparently pacing, and stopped dead in her tracks when Belle walked in. "Oh thank God!" she breathed, one hand on her forehead, the other on her hip. "I was so afraid you got mugged or killed last night, I barely slept a wink!"
"I'm fine," Belle smiled at the overdramatic girl. She walked forward and gave her a hug, just to let her know she was corporal and not a figment of her addled imagination.
Ruby hugged back enthusiastically, squeezing the air out of Belle's lungs before suddenly pulling back, allowing her to breathe again. "The pictures!" she squeaked, "You have to put them in before seven tonight!"
"I haven't decided I'm going to put them in yet, Ruby," she reminded her again and slipped the strap of her purse off of her arm, unzipping it to remove the Polaroids, which seemed to attract the attention of the newly arriving Mary Margaret.
She was taller than Belle, but shorter than Ruby, standing between them like a grade school line by height, and peered. "You took the pictures?" she asked, a tired smile on her face – someone else hadn't gotten much sleep yesterday either.
"Ruby insisted," Belle explained, Ruby's grabby hands reaching into the purse and taking them out without a second thought for privacy or permission. She spread them out on the counter, squeaking excitedly as she did. Belle sighed and looked at Mary Margaret, "I still don't know if I'm going to enter."
It did not appear Ruby was going to give her much of a choice and she waved her over with a perfectly manicured hand. "Look at these!" she beckoned them both over, grinning like a fool. "You get to pick three," she looked at Belle who had taken the place on her right.
This was the first time Belle had really looked at them. She couldn't believe it was her in these pictures. She didn't look like that – stretched and posed in positions that made her blush; the woman in these pictures smiled like she knew a thousand secrets, and Belle didn't want to even imagine the nature of those particular secrets. Mary Margaret was silent, and Ruby just grinned. "This isn't me," Belle shook her head, starting to move away from the counter before Ruby caught her arm and stopped her.
"Belle," she soothed, losing the fervor, but not the sincerity. "You have to accept it, this is you," she giggled, "and you have a real shot."
It didn't make any sense, Belle couldn't imagine why Ruby wanted this so bad for her, and she wrinkled her nose. "If this is what you want, Ruby, you need to get it for yourself - I'm not you."
Ruby let out a slow, deep breath. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, and leaned close to Belle. "I can't enter my pictures," she hissed.
"Why not?" Belle was so confused.
Ruby shushed her, putting her finger to her lips and looked to Mary Margaret who was standing there with her mouth hanging open like a fly trap. "You can't tell anyone," she warned to both of them, in as harsh a whisper as Belle had ever heard from her. Both women nodded, but Ruby pressed, "Promise?"
"Promise!" they both echoed, holding up their right hands to signify just how serious they were about keeping their promise.
Ruby tugged Mary Margaret closer, forming a tiny circle. They were, so far, the only girls in the dressing room, but she wasn't going to take any risks. If Regina ever walked in, they'd all be dead. Belle looked up expectantly, and Ruby licked her lips. "I'm not eighteen."
It was a good thing the girl was quick. She clamped her hands over both Mary Margaret and Belle's mouths before they had a chance to ask the same questions in the highest pitched voices they could manage. "My ID is fake," she whispered, "I really needed the job. Please, don't tell," her eyes pled with both of them, "Gran is getting old, she can't work much longer – I'm really helping out."
It took all kinds to work in this place, and for a moment, Belle felt absolutely terrible for pushing. Her muscles didn't tense, but she didn't make a move to speak, and she and Mary Margaret exchanged looks. "How old are you?" Belle asked, in a hushed tone, one that Ruby couldn't elbow her in the side for.
"I started here when I was like… seventeen."
"Like seventeen?" Mary Margaret's voice was strangled, eyes as big as dinner plates.
Ruby practically growled, trying to keep the woman quiet, and she chewed on her lip. "I'm seventeen now, alright? Just… please," she begged, looking so nervous that Belle looked down, just to make sure the ground wouldn't swallow them all up. "I told Regina I could because of my Gran, she said she understood…" Ruby chewed on her painted bottom lip, wiping away some of the make-up. "Cover for me?"
"Of course," Belle replied without a second thought. It wasn't her place to reveal that, and Ruby was a friend, she always meant well, and tried. She was desperate, Belle could understand that, and she let out a deep breath at the same time that Ruby seemed to start breathing again.
Ruby embraced the pair of them again, bouncing back faster than Belle would have expected and then moved to the counter again, giggling. "Now, please pick three pictures so you can put them in the envelope on Regina's door," she said with an odd exasperation, particularly now that Belle and Mary Margaret knew her big secret.
But, she looked so hopeful, and Belle knew the chances she'd get picked were so slim anyway, considering all of the other girls at the club, she rested her head on Ruby's shoulder and looked back at the pictures that made her almost uncomfortable. "What do you think?" She looked from Ruby to Mary's faces, hoping they could counsel her.
Of course, this conversation turned into Ruby picking the most provocative poses, Mary Margaret picking the mildest, and Belle having to navigate the middle ground, leaving her wondering when this actually became a serious conversation. As they muddled through, Belle finally settled on three she felt comfortable with before shoving the rest into her purse again. She let out a deep sigh, holding them in her hand like a set of cards. She managed to pick two pretty mild ones: one standing, her looking over her shoulder on the stairs, and another sitting at the bar with a martini glass, winking at the camera. Then Ruby said she needed something to really stand out, and she insisted picking the one laying on the edge of the stage, one leg hanging down the other forming a kind of triangle over it, on the stage, one hand behind her head in her hair – it was definitely not what Belle would have picked for herself, but Ruby looked so hopeful…
It was a reasonable spread, and even if the last one was a little racy, they put Belle's name on the backs of each, just to be sure before Mary Margaret linked their arms. Ruby, after her confession, was understandably not interested in going near Regina's office. As they walked down the back corridor, Mary leaned her head in, "You sure about this, Belle?"
Belle looked at the pictures again, nodding slowly. "Yea," she breathed, "Yea, I am," and she smiled encouragingly, to prove that she knew what he was doing. Mary nodded, showing her support, even if she was tentative and there sat the manila envelope, ready and waiting on the frosted glass door.
They stood in front of it for a moment, Belle clasping the pictures and Mary holding onto her. "You don't have to," Mary offered comfortingly. She gave her upper arm a little squeeze and Belle stared at it – hanging heavy with other photos. She shook her head, letting the temptation of not doing it get the better of her wouldn't do anything – and she rushed forward, slipping them in: it was done.
There was exhilaration to the act, something that Belle couldn't have anticipated. She did it. Grinning at the prospect, she turned to Mary Margaret, her whole face red, but feeling somewhat at peace. "It's out of my hands now," she put them up and clapped in front of her, rocking on her toes. Yes, it was out of her hands.
Mary nodded, still unsettled, but enough that Belle felt satisfied, and they walked down the hallway, back to the Bunny area. Ashley had arrived since, and Ruby was back to chattering away, tugging on her other suit, that wasn't being cleaned today. It was much less fitting than the glaring red, but chocolate brown worked too. "Did you do it?" Ruby asked excitedly, looking her up and down for any sign that the pictures were still on her.
"I did it," Belle held up her empty hands for inspection and the blonde and brunette squealed. Mary Margaret and Belle shared a look, wondering probably simultaneously how they could be so close in age, and yet… so very different.
They chattered incessantly, rooting her on like it was some kind of race, rather than a silly photograph contest, and that conversation stemmed its way into others as they all started to pull their suits on and get ready for another evening on the floor.
The back room started to smell of powder and make-up, waxy lipstick, and perfume. The laughter, heartbreak, and triumph of their overlapping stories gave the little room life, and Belle, momentarily, forgot that she was just here to make the money they needed to survive, and just lived in the moment, hitching up her royal purple suit and tightening it appropriately.
Everyone had teased her at first: gold and purple, the colors of Mardi Gras, and royalty, and Belle had laughed with them, but had grown fond of the colors, always feeling just a little special because of it.
As she tied her hip strings, keeping them high and tight, everyone's heads snapped up. Regina walked in, slinky wiggle dress with a low-cut, like always, just classy enough to distinguish herself, but also fit in with the theme. "Bunnies," she trilled, and all went silent in the face of her announcement. "Don't rush to leave after your shifts tonight. Mr. Heffner will be going over the pictures, and picking his finalists tonight. They'll be announced at the end of the night."
Tonight? No one had expected that, and the eruption of curious chattering and exciting gibbering was enough to signal the change. The atmosphere in the room took on a nervous, but exuberant energy, leaving Belle just a little bit more on edge than usual, except for Ruby and Ashley who gushed excitedly, renewing the conversation al over again.
Belle was already tired of it by the time the shift started and the club was filling up. It wasn't the busiest of starts, but it was Thursday. By ten thirty, the place would be packed. They just had to get through the bit of build-up.