Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(44)
“I know you. I do not know your aunt and uncle. I trust you. I do not trust them. Even if Glitterati is in danger, even if you offer to help and she turns you down, then you have to let her be the best judge of how to live her own life and back off.”
My face had twisted into a grimace, but I couldn’t help it. Nor could I lie. Hannah was right, I didn’t like deceiving folks. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I don’t know if I can do that. If she were one of my kids and she were in danger, I couldn’t—”
“Then I’m not telling you anything.” She lifted her chin. “Furthermore, I’m going straight to Hank when he gets in and telling him why you wanted to work here. And then you’ll be fired and you’ll never find her. Nor will you be able to finish bringing The Pony’s financials into the twenty-first century.”
Ugh. When had she gotten so tough? Hannah from my childhood was sweet and shy. When she performed as her stage name—Goldie—her persona was also sweet and shy but to an exaggerated degree. Who knew she had gumption beneath her soft-spoken exterior? Not me.
“Fine.” I lifted a helpless hand, then let it drop to my thigh. “I promise, I will talk to her first. If she doesn’t want her parents to know where she is, I will not tell them I found her.”
“That means you’ll have to lie to your family and say you couldn’t find her. Are you going to be able to lie to them?”
I worried my lip, unwilling to pacify her with half-truths. “How about if you arrange for a call? Then, if she doesn’t want our help, I can tell them the truth. I’ll say I was able to speak with her through an intermediary, but I don’t know how to contact her or where she is.”
Hannah opened her mouth, presumably to contradict something about my suggestion.
I could guess which part and quickly added, “An intermediary who would prefer to remain anonymous. I will not let anyone know who arranged the call.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Fine. That’s acceptable. We have a deal.”
We shook on it, but she continued to nod thoughtfully, her eyes moving over me, considering.
“What is it?” I asked. “You look like there’s something more you want to say.”
“I suppose there is.” Hannah gave me one more wary once-over. “But before I get to that, I want to drop some wisdom on you.”
I barely concealed the instinct to roll my eyes again. What kind of wisdom did Hannah Townsend possess that I did not possess? I had four kids, she still lived with her mother. I’d moved across the country and then back again; I didn’t think she’d traveled beyond the southeast USA. I’d lived through a hellacious divorce, but I’d never seen or heard about her dating anyone. And if she had, believe me—folks would have talked loud enough that even I would’ve heard. Hannah Townsend and her momma were the subject of so much gossip in town, the local newspaper should’ve started a weekly column years ago.
Point was, like me, she had limited life experience and had grown up sheltered until she suddenly wasn’t. What could she possibly tell me that I didn’t already know?
Despite my doubts, I leaned my hip back against the desk and waved my hand between us. “Okay. Go for it. Drop your wisdom.”
“I've been doing this a long time. I've been dancing here for a long time. And in my experience, there's a couple of different reasons why people turn to this profession. Few folks are here as a Plan A. There are some exceptions. But for the most part, exotic dancing is a Plan B or C or D or E. For me, it was a Plan C.”
Hannah pushed her fingers into her blond hair and paced across my office. She turned when she reached the window and leaned back against the sill, folding her arms. “People think, since dancing is rarely a Plan A, that we’re all exploited. But what they don’t seem to grasp is that no matter what your profession, if you're desperate, you're more likely to be taken advantage of. If you're a janitor and you don't feel like you have any other option, or if you're a computer programmer or a doctor or a lawyer or a waitress or a stay-at-home parent—whatever it is—if you’re doing a job because you don’t feel like you have any other options, you're probably being exploited.”
Struggling to swallow past the sudden thickness in my throat, I absorbed her wise words and I felt dually humbled. First, I’d been so wrong about Hannah. She had wisdom to impart, loads of it, and I was a close-minded raisins for brains for assuming she didn’t.
Second, what she’d said resonated soul deep. When I was with Kevin in Vegas, when I’d been desperate, I’d been exploited. I’d never admitted it to myself, but being desperate meant that I’d been easy to manipulate. Standing up for myself had been impossible. My desperation meant he’d had all the power.
“Did you know your cousin was an addict?” Hannah asked.
“I did.” I nodded, watching my friend carefully. “She got in with a bad crowd and has been using since she was fourteen.”
“Hank doesn’t allow any drugs here. If he finds out, then you’re gone and you’re never allowed back. Heather hid it well, but being an addict meant she was desperate. I think he could sense her desperation, though he didn’t know the real reason for it. Hank is the one who trained me, taught me how to do this job. He taught me how to exploit rather than be exploited. That’s how you stay safe and keep your sisters safe, too.”