A loud honk from behind her made her jump and drew her eyes from the homeless man to the rear-view mirror. The Charger was behind her, the driver giving her the universal signal to move her ass. She returned the gesture and pulled out into traffic, heading across town to work. After four blocks, she'd forgotten about the glassy-eyed vagrant. In four hours, she would wish she hadn't.
Bunny pulled into the parking lot of The Tawdry Tail, which was a terrible name, even for a strip club. It was there she worked for a man named Randy Cox, which was a terrible name for any human being. Still, she told herself every day, it was better to work at Randy Cox's Tawdry Tail than to be unemployed.
There were three things about Randy that were ever present and took a little getting used to. The first was his cheap suits, though this was by far the least offensive of the terrible trio. After all, when you're saddled with the moniker of Randy Cox and own a strip club, expectations tend to be low.
The second was his fondness for cheap cigars. Harder to get accustomed to than the garish suits he wore, mostly due to the pungent aroma of the stogies, it managed to put more than a few people off. Randy himself admitted to hating the things but couldn't seem to stop smoking them.
Last but not least was the small, round, balding man's tendency to sweat profusely. While not exactly Randy's fault, very few people could deal with the perpetual sheen that coated his skin. It wasn't that he smelled of body odor, it was that he looked like he should. Something about Randy and his clammy hands just made people uneasy.
Bunny always thought it was a shame. For those who got past his many failings were rewarded with knowing a genuinely nice man. A nervous and shy fellow who covered it all up with a good bit of gruffness, but a nice man all the same. In the five years she'd worked for him, Bunny could say with all honesty that she never once had the urge to shoot him.
When she entered through the heavy steel door, Randy was sitting at the club's bar, nursing his drink of choice (a tequila sunrise) and talking with Bruno, the bartender, who more resembled a fallen Greek God than a real person. On the stage, Marty the janitor was sweeping up, mumbling to himself, not unusual for the rather slow-witted fellow.
Bunny strolled over to the bar, waving at Marty as she went. Bruno nodded and smiled as she stopped to drop a kiss on Randy's bare, damp head, getting a snort out of him in return. It was their usual routine, unchanged for years, and though neither of them would admit it, they enjoyed it.
"How you doin' tonight, Buns?" Randy asked as she slid onto the stool next to him.
"Same as always. Can't complain," she replied, accepting the cold beer Bruno slid her. "You?"
"Same as always. Can't complain," Randy smirked.
Bunny took a long pull off the beer and smiled. "Good to know that some things never change."
Randy laughed. "Except the faces backstage. Which reminds me, Rosie called in. Has the flu or some shit. Whatever. I'm moving you to center stage tonight. You can do that AC/DC routine you've been working on."
"Sure," Bunny nodded. "No problem. Anything else I need to know?"
Randy shrugged. "Tammy quit."
"Finally," Bunny chuckled.
"Finally. ‘Bout time, too. She threatened to once more, I was gonna fire her just to make an honest gal out of her," he said with a smirk.
They shared a laugh over it for a minute as Bruno answered the phone, exchanged a bit of conversation as they finished their drinks, and stood to head their respective ways for the night ahead. Bunny heard Bruno telling Randy that another girl, Sonya, had called off with the flu. They knew with certainty it was going to be one of those nights.
Backstage in the inappropriately named dressing room, Bunny found several of her co-workers going about their own nightly routine. She greeted them all with warmth, even the ones she wasn’t as fond of, as she moved to her locker and started to undress.
The locker held something she kept though it depressed her beyond words. Tucked into the corner of the door was a picture, taken at her graduation from the Academy. Young and smiling in her dress uniform, glowing with pride at her accomplishment, it was a Bunny from a different time. One when she'd had hope and believed that dreams could come true.
She stared at the picture for a moment as she always did, the soft chatter of the girls behind her a stark contrast to her memories from the day the photo had been taken. It was all she had, besides those memories, to remind her that for a brief, shining moment she’d lived her dream. They’d stripped her of her uniform, her badge, her sidearm, and her medals. All that remained were those memories and a photograph.
"It's bullshit, you know."
Bunny was pulled from her melancholy by Sheila’s unmistakable snide tone from behind her. She thought of saying something, but chose not to, unbuttoning her shirt and ignoring the other woman. It wouldn't make her go away, but it was worth a try.
"I said, it's bullshit," Sheila stated again, louder this time.
"I heard you," Bunny told her as she hung the shirt in the locker. "I was just ignoring you."
Sheila snorted. "Ignoring me? Who do you think you are?"
"What's bullshit?" Bunny asked as she kicked off her boots.
"You get center stage," was the answer. "It should’ve gone to me."
Bunny shrugged and tugged her pants off. "Take it up with
