Maria goes to Work
Within an hour Maria will be writhing on stage behind the grill of a steel cage, wearing nothing but a pair of killer heels and her killer panties. Her stomach in knots. This heat. She’s sticky, uncomfortable. Her swollen ankles throb with their own heartbeat. Her shoes are cement blocks. I can’t go on I can’t go on I can’t go on. She has to tell him tonight. “Franco, wait up a sec. Franco.” Her dress rips at the split as she runs to catch up with him. Franco turns but doesn’t break his stride. “Franco, hang on, wait up. Franco.” Maria clutches his elbow. Her hands are bright orange in this light, her nails and fingers the size of bear claws. “What is it, Maria?” His breath sags with cigarettes and booze. “It’s just – Franco.” She’s opens her palms. What does she think, that he will read her mind? Tell her Don’t worry Doll, take the night off? This guy? “I can’t go on,” she says. Franco stops. Even though she towers over him, ...