She didn't know what to do, if she should do anything. She just broke so many Bunny rules. Well, she didn't really break them, not herself, but it was the point, and she was outside when she shouldn't have been and with a patron – which she shouldn't have been. She darted up the stairs, hoping she hadn't been gone for more than five minutes, but when she glanced at the clock it had been nearly ten and she was going to die.

Belle grabbed her tray and scooted out to the floor as fast as her heels could carry her, after she put on a fresh layer of lipstick. Her hair was mussed though, and the lipstick very clearly new. Mary Margaret walked up next to her and whispered, "Where have you been? Regina might kill you."

"I… just needed air," it was mostly true, and wouldn't hurt anyone for her to say it. I'm going to catch up, don't worry. Mary Margaret gave her a baleful look and sighed, clearly not at ease. "I'm fine," Belle smiled, "I swear."

Mary Margaret sighed softly, examining Belle's face. M&M had the mother complex, perhaps more so than Regina, who was supposedly the Bunny Mother, and here she was, just with one look seeing everything she needed to see. "If you need anything," Mary Margaret said softly, "you can talk to me, you know."

She was too good to be true. She leaned over and wrapped her arm around Mary's shoulder, "I know," she smiled warmly, genuine, and Belle squeezed her one more time. "If I need anything, I will." That seemed to satisfy Mary Margaret and they exchanged sweet smiles before parting ways, Belle still feeling conflicted about what had happened, but somehow, okay with keeping it a secret from Mary.

It was time to focus on the shift. She had to do her job, and she had already been gone for fifteen minutes. When she made a sweep around, Mr. Gold wasn't back at the table. She supposed he was waiting, avoiding suspicion, since it was all too obvious what talk did to people in this town, and she pretended to pay no mind, serving other drinks, smiling, flashing hip whenever she could scrounge an extra few bucks out of anyone.

The rhythm was easy to reestablish and Belle wondered at what point it had gotten so easy to do this job, so easy she didn't have to think about it. It was a blessing in some ways, not questioning herself at every turn, but a curse in others, able to fixate on anything else in the absence of unrelenting questions about her skill set on the job.

She tried to keep her mind off of it though, attempting to not blush like mad when Mr. Gold finally entered the club again. She stood stock still, their eyes met for only a brief moment before Belle had to turn away, afraid she might drop the champagne flute she was placing down for someone's date, and smiled, asking if she might send over a Bunny to take their picture as a souvenir.

The mindless things helped, and as the night drew to a close, as the club started to close and the patrons dissipated, Belle was more than happy to collect the last bunch of checks and tips before the front of house would be abandoned. When she made her way to the now vacant table, where Mr. Gold and his associates had been sitting, Belle was surprised. A fifty dollar bill sat folded in half, poking out from under the glass where Mr. Gold had been sitting. She pocketed it quickly, and bit her lip – a thousand thoughts crossing her mind: hush money for multiple incidents of the evening, a misinterpretation of her role as Bunny, an expectation laid bare on the table… all of these things were possible, but Belle couldn't be picky. They needed the money, and that put her tips over two hundred for the night. It was like a dream come true, wrapped in a lot of overwhelming nonsense.

She just hoped the nonsense would go away as quickly as possible, and she scurried backstage, Regina's scrutinizing gaze following her as she passed. No one was changing, just huddled together speaking in hushed whispers about what was going to happen. The announcement was all the others could think about. Belle's mind couldn't have been farther from that room, however. It was still lodged, back against the wall in the alleyway, trying to decipher why she felt a familiar ache when he kissed her and how a veritable stranger could know just the right way to kiss someone stupid.

Her dreamy eyes floated upward and back toward her mind, only snapped into reality by the sharp cut of Regina's voice. "Not your finest night, Ladies," she stated with a tone so matter-of-fact, it felt almost like she mentioned the weather. "But, even with that mediocre performance," Belle felt more than half responsible for that, "Hef was downstairs all night looking at your pictures. Five of our very own stood out and are in the running for the cover."

The envelope in her hands was slowly undone, Regina's pristine nails pulling at the glue and centimeter by excruciating centimeter getting closer and closer to just who would be able picked out of everyone who had put their pictures in. "Patience, girls," she laughed and the envelope snapped open all the way.

A steady buzz picked up amongst the crowd, the energy in the room was just growing more frantic, like a hive. Regina cleared her throat, the crowd still clearly excitable, but simmered down so instead of being heard, the energy was merely felt, a palpable sea of vibrations. "Our first lucky girl is Bunny Dawn," the bright eyed, blonde bunny squeaked in excitement, "Bunny Ashley also submitted promising photos," Ruby squealed louder than Ashley did and squeezed her hand tight. Regina gave them a sharp look, clearly wanting to finish the list. "Bunny Tia, congratulations," one of the only African American girls in the club looked positively shocked: Belle was glad, at least, that her hard work was paying off, like Tia always said it would.

That was three down though, and with only two left and a sea of hopeful faces, Belle was the most composed, next to Mary Margaret anyway. "Second to last," Regina drew out, increasing the tension in the room by twofold, "Bunny Sue," the sure-footed red head from Texas (no one really knew her story) hollered so loud Belle nearly jumped out of her seat, leaving Regina less than pleased. "Just one name left," she smiled out at the crowd, each person leaning forward, except for Belle, of course, and collectively the breathing in the room stopped. "Bunny Belle."

The silence was palpable as it sunk in. Belle blinked rapidly, not even making a sound as Ruby clapped her on the shoulder and even Ashley emphatically congratulated her.

The world seemed to stop in that moment, only to restart when Regina began again: "Congratulations to those of you who were chosen. You'll be expected at the club by noon tomorrow for the final selection. I suggest," her eyes jumped from one candidate to the next, a flat expression on her face, "you dress to impress. That is all. Good night, Ladies."

There was a mix of celebration and disappointment in the room after Regina left was obvious. Some of the girls stemmed their tears, others were completely unable, but Belle felt numb. She didn't know how she felt, of if she even felt accomplishment at it. Ruby couldn't be happier, declaring that she and Ashley had done everything they could to help her, and couldn't be happier. Even Ashley, who was direct competition, was chattering excitedly to both of them.

Belle was distant though, not that they noticed, with their conversation floating over her head as she put on her day clothes, buttoning her out-dated dress up the front and slipping on her flat shoes – her feet screaming in relief as she abandoned the heels for the night. "You don't look happy," Ruby finally stated, standing in front of Belle as she tugged on her coat.

"I'm just overwhelmed," Belle shrugged, honesty colored her well, when it was harmless. The feeling came from a number of things, true, but Belle was not going to divulge.

Ruby sighed and looked her from head to toe, "Well you have to get un-overwhelmed," she sighed, "and we need to dress you for tomorrow. You are not meeting Hugh Heffner dressed like a dumpy housewife."

"Ruby!" Mary Margaret chimed in, "That was rude."

"Doesn't mean it's not true," at Mary Margaret's harsh look, Ruby sighed, "I'm looking out for her best interest." She wrinkled her nose and looked at Belle. "Let me help you – come to my apartment in the morning," she smiled, "Gran will fix us up something and you can try on whatever you want." Belle didn't know, and her expression must have reflected it, because Ruby sighed. "Let's just give you the best shot possible. You too, Ash, just come up and I'll take care of both of you."

Ashley nodded feverishly. Belle didn't want this like the other girls did. She tried, of course, because other people wanted her to, but the hopeful looks on their faces, Belle wasn't – she wasn't a cover girl, not for Playboy. She'd never seen herself as such, but somehow, there were forces working that pushed her in that direction, something others saw that she just didn't – or couldn't at this point.

Whatever the case, Belle sighed. "Thank you, Ruby, but I think I'll be fine. I have a new dress I can wear." It wasn't a complete falsehood. The dress wasn't exactly cover of a magazine, but it was her, and if she was going to impress them with herself. If that wasn't enough, she wouldn't be on it, and that was that.

"Fine," Ruby sighed, "but call me if you change your mind. Gran goes out after nine, so if you want food, come before. If you don't, whenever you decide you need my expertise…" she giggled, winking at her. Belle rolled her eyes and laughed, tugging her scarf out of the locker.

She tugged the blue-green-gold paisley fabric around her neck to keep the cold out and sighed. "Alright girls, I'm heading out. Exhausted," she breathed, emphasizing with the drop of her shoulders and rolled eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Each bid their own idiosyncratic goodbye, and Belle waved before exiting the club. It was another late night, just another day lost in the hustle of Chicago streets. Belle was just one of many players, but she refused to let herself be pushed around. She worked to help herself.

As she started the twenty minute walk back to her apartment, Belle became vaguely aware something that wouldn't have caught her attention any other night. Maybe it was just the slow speed the car was travelling at, but a black vehicle was travelling at a maddeningly slow pace behind her. She picked up her pace, remembering just what Mr. Gold said: she got herself into a world of trouble, whether it was with him or the men at his table, he hadn't been clear, but either way, she couldn't imagine good things.

She tried not to look over her shoulder again, but it was impossible. The presence of that car followed her, down the block, then another, and Belle tried to make out the people inside, but the windows were tinted so dark she saw her reflection, not the passengers. She hoped it was happy coincidence, that they were traveling the same route. Logically, it was tenuous, but Belle hoped… as she got onto her street… The car accelerated, and Belle swallowed, closing her eyes, sending a brief prayer upwards. If this was the beginning of the end, she wanted it to be quick, and that they'd have the courtesy to throw her into the river so her father wouldn't find her when he went to work…

The back window slowly rolled down, the mechanism that pulled it ringing in her ears. In the middle of night, Chicago was deafening. It might as well have been a gunshot. "Bunny," the simple word commanded all of her attention and Belle tripped over her feet. The voice was not familiar.

Turning her head slowly, she saw one of the men from the table. She didn't know his real name, at the club he went by Mr. Barker, clearly a pseudonym, but he was talking to her and Belle felt like it wouldn't be in her best interest to ignore him. "Bunny," he growled again, clearly impatient with her and motioned her forward.

She tentatively moved toward the car and Mr. Barker rolled his eyes in impatience. "You say a word," he sneered as she approached the window, "One. Single. Word," his voice dripped with every threat she could imagine. A flash of silver, so brief Belle wondered if she imagined it from his hip, she looked in his face. His expression told her she didn't imagine it.

The window slowly rolled upward, their eyes still locked, and Belle ceased breathing. The car pulled away, as slowly as it had come before the engine rumbled and it darted down the street, leaving Belle on the sidewalk, stomach twisting. She felt tears prickling in her eyes, she had just been threatened! Belle French, Playboy Club Bunny, a veritable nobody was threatened.

This was something that happened in a movie, not real life. This whole night was shaping out like something that was more of a crazy novel Ruby would read or a really bad movie. She just had to go inside. She was right in front of her building… She was right in front of her building! They'd know, she realized, they'd know where she was walking – and her father!

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Belle's eyebrows crinkled together, creating deep furrows in her eyebrows. She didn't remember a piece of cardstock in her pocket from before… She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled the little card out, examining it from the streetlight.

R. Gold

Attorney At Law

She blinked, when had that – Oh. That made complete sense. When his hand, on her hip… he must have slipped it into her pocket in the alleyway. The phone number to the office was there, on the front, and she flipped it over in her hands, half expecting it to be a joke, when there was a handwritten message, neatly scripted in black pen. First, there was a phone number, not the same as the front, and then, "If you need assistance. Call any time. –R.G."

Belle trembled. He was right. She was in deep trouble.

Not only was this against club rules: you never took the number of a patron, you couldn't! They were guests, and the bunnies… they only existed in the walls of the club. Outside of it, they were trembling, frightened little girls, desperate for money, or whatever else they were looking for working there. Not any girl decided one that she'd walk around for hours in three inch heels being ogled. There were reasons, and they all had them.

But now, she was playing with fire. The conversation, the kiss, the confrontation, and now this phone number? With all of this she was expected to go into work early and impress Hugh Heffner enough to have him put her on the cover of Playboy? Belle was beginning to think all of her troubles started with those damned photos.

It was a veritable sprint into the apartment building. After shoving the paper back into her pocket, she didn't want to linger, nor did she want to lose or drop her newest contact. R. Gold gave her someone to go to – someone who confused her, but to go to. All she wanted to do was run inside and pick up the phone. Could she?

Technically, it said any time. Did he mean it? Was she really considering it? That was probably the better question. A man she had barely had words with before this, who just sat in her section, ordered his Scotch from her and left a tip – it wasn't adding up. It didn't make sense.

Belle was going crazy; she had to be going crazy. It didn't make any sense. Running her hands through her hair, she was glad she was only entering her apartment building and not worrying about going back to her shift. She just had to get inside, slam the door shut behind her, and lock the door.

It was late; her father would already be in bed. Yes. Belle had a short term plan, and it was enough. She slid her coat off and plopped on the couch next to it. Belle rested her forehead on the arm of the chair, closing her eyes. She couldn't deal with this. She wasn't made to do this: her whole life was turning into a sea of things she wasn't meant to do.

Glancing at the clock, in the bleak lighting, she made out it was nearly one thirty in the morning. She felt guilty, but with what happened on the street… digging into her pocket, she pulled out the now slightly crinkled card and bit her lip.

She couldn't risk it. Belle picked up the phone next to the couch- they finally got the wire that allowed it to stretch out of the kitchen and she tried to turn the wheel as quietly as she could. Her father was down the hall, but still, she couldn't risk waking him.

The phone buzzed, louder than she'd ever heard it. She practically jumped out of her skin with each ring, nervously battling with herself. Should she just hang up? He was clearly sleeping… but then that would be rude… She was about to tear the phone from her ear when a heavy, sleepy sounding voice gruffly answered, "Gold. This best be important." Belle stared at the receiver for a moment, her palms sweating and throat suddenly dry. She should have gotten a glass of water first… "Hello?" he growled.

Patience wearing thin, Belle had to do the brave thing – she just had to talk. "Wait!" She squeaked, suddenly freezing in terror. She was louder than intended, and she heard a creak from down the hall.

The voice on the other end sounded considerably less sleepy, though no less ruffled, "Hello? Who is this?" Belle regretted ever calling, but she was on the phone now and she'd go through with it.

"It's Bun- it's Belle," she corrected herself, a fierce blush cross decorating her cheeks, anxiety fueling the embarrassment. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I – I found your card."

He made a sound rather like a grunt and his voice oozed sarcasm, "Obviously. Just testing it out, dearie or did you need something?"

Belle winced, feeling foolish and twisted the phone cord around her fingers. "I was walking home," he snorted, mumbling something, but Belle couldn't make it out. She pursued her story, "and – and there was a car, it followed me."

"Are you sure it wasn't pure coincidence, Belle?" It rolled off of his tongue so naturally that for a second, she might have thought it was. But she remembered the window, the silver, it all happened and she shook her head vigorously.

He couldn't see it, but she had to protest in some way. "They pulled up," she explained, "next to me – in front of my building – Mr. Barker, Mr. Barker – there was a flash of silver in the car, all he said was something about me saying a word, and then he drove away. Your card – it said if I needed assistance…"

The other side of the line was silent for long seconds, seconds that Belle could feel her heart thumping in her chest; hear her blood rushing through her ears. Maybe he didn't have anything to say. Maybe he hung up. She drew a shaky breath before his voice picked up again, "You said Barker, yes?" she confirmed with a single syllable response and he sighed. "Vincenzo Todio." The name sunk in, though she wasn't familiar with it, and he continued, "Do you live in the Mansion, dearie?"

Belle blinked. "Goodness no," she felt scandalized just thinking about it – living there, like some of the other girls with parties until the morning and people cycling in and out. No, she couldn't have even if she wanted to, "I live with my father."

He snorted. She wasn't sure what that meant, but she didn't like the sound of it. "Any other family in town?"

It was Belle's turn to snort. "No. It's just me and him." She paused for a moment and hastily followed up with, "Is that bad?"

"You'd be wise to get your apartment fumigated, Belle," leave? Belle didn't have anywhere. They were just barely affording this place, even with how much money she was pulling in from the club. "Tell your father he will be staying in a hotel, do not worry about the cost. You will be staying with one of your friends, perhaps the Ruby girl." She was silent. "Do you understand?"

She licked her lips, glancing at the clock, then toward the hallway, her father still sound asleep. "Where do I tell him to go?" she couldn't just send him off, "and how is it getting paid for?" These were important details, much too important to be glossed over, no matter how close it was to two in the morning.

"Leave it to me, dearie. Pack your things. Tell your father the same in the morning and go to the Stonebrook Motel," nicer than what Belle could afford, she noted, "After you leave in the morning, do not return until I tell you." He was stern, but the roughness of exhaustion and anger had ebbed from his voice. These were instructions that he meant, clearly, but he wasn't using the same tone as Barker – Todio – whoever. "There will be a black Cadillac outside, providing you give the address, at ten in the morning for you."

"What? A black Cadillac?" her mind ran to the conversation – yes, the one she was supposed to forget – and she gulped.

An exasperated sigh wrapped around her ear, and Belle shivered. "My vehicle, Belle." She felt a sudden pang of relief, and he continued, "Ten o'clock, sharp." She nodded, rambling off her address – three times –apparently she was speaking too quickly to be heard the first time, and she heard a sort of grunt, "Are you clear on all of this?"

Belle's ear burned from the phone receiver. "Yes, Mr. Gold, of course. Stonebrook Motel, your car at 10 AM," she didn't have much, but it was enough, and she had to feed her father a bogus story about cockroaches and fumigation… When had she really agreed to rely on someone else like this? "Thank you," she finally breathed, "Thank you for the advice."

"No matter, dearie," he returned easily. "You should sleep. Remember what I told you."

Belle nodded silently before licking her lips, "I will." The circulation in her finger was cut off by the tightness of the cord. "Good night, Mr. Gold – thank you again." And the phone clicked on the other end.

With the silence on the line, Belle felt a deep weariness. If she could get even a couple of hours of sleep, she would cherish them, and she dragged herself off of the couch, tiptoeing past her father's door before she entered her own room, dropping onto the bed still in her dress, too tired to even change.