Then I pulled my hair away from my face and secured it in a ponytail.

It happened often. Still, after nearly three years, it happened. The memories coming back to me. Sometimes it was okay, I could deal. Sometimes it hurt like a mother.

But every year on that day, it killed.

Gray's birthday.

I went back, when I got shot of Casey, I went back to Mustang.

I called beforehand, five times and each time, Grandma Miriam answered and put the phone down on me. I called his cell too but that number was no longer in service. I also called The Rambler, twice, and both times Janie put the phone down on me.

I didn't get this.

So I went to Mustang.

And I drove right through.

Because while driving, on the sidewalk right on the square I saw Gray strolling with a pretty girl about my age, his arm locked around her neck, pulling her close, his face near hers, aiming his dimpled smile straight at her.

So I drove on through.

I'd been gone three months.

Three.

And I'd been replaced.

Really, I shouldn't have been surprised. Before me there was Cecily and Connie, Donna, Debbie, Nancy all the way back to Emily.

For three months I'd had not one thing to smile about but not Gray. Strolling down the street with his arm around a pretty girl and giving her his dimple.

How could I ever have convinced myself that he would want me? A pool hustler. A virgin who, until him, had never been kissed.

I shouldn't have been surprised.

But I was and that hurt like a mother too.

Devastation so complete, it left my heart in tatters.

It killed me to admit it but my stupid, stupid brother was right.

I should have played it safe.

Now I did. I learned my lesson. It took months just to breathe easy, scared my heart would shred with just a breath. But once I succeeded in that, as it healed, I went to work. Layer by layer, block by block, I built a cement wall around my heart. Then, right up next to it, another. Then up next to that another. And another. And another. Until my heart was fathoms deep in concrete.

Fathoms deep.

No one would get near it again.

My mother was a slut, a bitch and a loser. The men she brought into our house were dangerous and she didn't care.

One in particular.

And she didn't care about him either.

My brother saved me then used me to guard the fact he, too, was a loser.

And the first man I loved didn't give a shit I was gone. His grandmother didn't. His friends didn't. I disappeared into the night, left a note about the trouble I was in and he just moved on.

Just moved on.

So I was done. I was through. No one else got to my heart.

And so yeah, some of that cement I used to protect my heart made it to the backs of my eyes, settled around my mouth. So be it.

Smart men took one look at me and they knew. Dumb ones got the point another way and this was usually me laying it out for them.

No one got close.

Ever.

I'd learned to play it safe and that was the only way I'd play it until I stopped breathing.

I heard the car honk and my head turned in the direction of the front of my house.

Then I moved out of my bathroom to my bedroom, grabbed my designer bag from my stylishly flowered down comforter cover and walked on my high-heeled, strappy designer sandals through my house to the front door, out of it and to the waiting car.

"How's my girl tonight?"

My head turned to the dressing room door and I saw Lash coming through.

Lash was my boss. Lash owned the club. Lash had taken one look at me serving drinks in a skimpy outfit in a casino and hired me on the spot. Lash was a tall, built, handsome man who looked as macho alpha as they came but was a closeted gay.

Of all Lash's girls, only I knew that.

All Lash's girls thought he was doing me.

Lash and I let them.

Best boyfriend to have, being the beard to a handsome, rich gay guy, trust me. If I could share this secret without exposing Lash's, I would. Every girl should know it. It would save a lot of heartbreak.

I knew he was gay because Lash was my one and only true friend in this world and I was the same to Lash.

He knew me. He knew everything about me.

And I knew the same about him.

And I knew he'd guard my secrets with his life as he knew I would his.

"Doing good," I replied, looking back at the large mirror with its big, round lights, putting the makeup brush back to my eye and sweeping.

My makeup was already heavy, it was always heavy but that was show business.

"Got a big crowd?" I asked.

"Honey, this is Vegas and my headliner has the best tits, ass, legs and head of hair in this entire fuckin' city and you've lived here almost three years, you know this and livin' here for three years, you know this is sayin' something. Men got dicks. And lotsa them roll in and outta this town daily. So yeah, even though it costs a hundred and fifty dollars to try real hard to see you then leave and spend the next year convincing yourself you caught a glimpse, the place is fuckin' packed," Lash answered.

By the way, I discovered I had two talents.

I could play pool.

And I could strip.

That was to say, strip like Lash's girls stripped.

I was the headliner of Lash's Burlesque Show. Front row seats cost three hundred dollars. The back seats one hundred and fifty.

Lash had twenty girls.

But they all came to see me.

I knew this. Lash knew this. The girls knew this (one of the reasons why my one and only true friend in this world was Lash because even though they pretended, they all hated me behind my back).

Three hundred dollars for a front row and I danced two times during the show. Both times for five minutes, two of those minutes in nothing but sequined panties and spike-heeled fuck-me shoes with two huge, feathered fans held around me and no one ever saw a thing.

I had long legs, great hair, a firm, round ass and a pretty face but it wasn't that.

The way I danced could make a man who'd depended on Viagra for a decade get hard.

So, clearly, the talents God bestowed on me led me to the path of my life.

I'd learned the hard way to follow and not veer off to try and find some ridiculous dream that included imperfect town squares and handsome cowboys with cute dimples but just go where life led me.

Even if that was a burlesque show run by a closeted gay man.

I made serious cake. Lash paid me a mint. And he sent a driver to get me and take me home mainly because the losers in the audience often thought they could fuck with me in the parking lot or trail me home.

Brutus (not his name, what I nicknamed him, his real name was Freddie), my driver was two hundred, fifty pounds of black man on a six foot five inch frame.

The losers who trailed me home drove on by when Brutus got out to open my door.

I also got my own dressing room. This was because I was the headliner.

This was also because Lash knew his other girls secretly hated me.

It wasn't a lavish dressing room with chaise lounges and silk screens.

But it was better than sitting with those bitches who were fake being nice to me.

Lash came up behind my chair and put his hands to my shoulders as I dropped the makeup brush and went for the sequins I'd stick around my eyes.

"Right, Ivey, I asked, you answered, you lied, I'll ask again," he said softly. "How's my girl tonight?"

At his strange question and tone, my hands arrested and my eyes went to his in the mirror.

"I'm doing fine, Lash."

He held my eyes in the mirror a beat.

Then he whispered, "It's his birthday."

My throat constricted.

That was Lash. Something like that, he wouldn't forget.

Then again, the first one he lived through with me I got drunk, blathered out the whole story and ended the night sobbing in his arms.

So that kind of shit made you remember.

"I'm fine, honey," I whispered back.

He continued to hold my gaze. Then he squeezed my shoulders. Then he dropped his handsome head and touched his beautiful lips to my shoulder.

Then he let me go and walking out, reminded me, "You're on in ten minutes."

"Right," I said to his back.

He went through the door.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

God, seriously, I loved Lash.

Then I leaned forward and stuck sequins around my eyes.

I was three and half minutes into the dance.

I could hide the hard in my eyes and around my mouth with makeup and spotlights.

They weren't looking anyway.

All they saw was hair and flesh and all they could take in was the way I moved.

I started in a bra, corset, panties and feathered fans. I had ten sets. Purple with hints of pink and pale pink fans. Emerald green with hints of peacock blue with baby blue fans. Shocking pink with hints of red and red fans.