I pursued, trotting across the floor and staying right on his heels.
“What did he say to you?”
I’d been worrying since he’d gone into Maslow’s office. Nothing good happened in that room. The other dancers were called up there to “pay rent.” I had been exempt until my last encounter with Beck made me full enough to be emptied.
Beck didn’t slow in his stride, cutting a swift path toward the exit. “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He drew closer to the threshold I couldn’t cross, the gateway to the world outside. The hellhounds who guarded the doors controlled admittance and exit, and they had explicit instructions: no dancers left the club. So unless I was prepared to meet the business end of their infernal weapons, I had to stay inside.
But Beck… he had to stay too. To give me answers because I wanted them, but also because I wanted… I justwanted.
My hand shot out and caught his arm, squeezing tight. “If it was about me, I have a right to know.”
He could have brushed me off but instead, he stopped. A deep breath made his broad chest swell before he replied, “It wasn’t.”
“Then what was?—”
Beck whirled around and my lips fell apart, eager to let him into any part of me. Then he said, “Listen, kid…” And my jaw clamped shut instead. “It’s business,” he said. “Mine, not yours. Okay?”
I released him with a frown. “I’m not a kid.”
“All right, junior.”
“I mean it,” I insisted, and Beck’s forehead creased.
“I said all right.”
The needy, lustful feelings lessened, overpowered by annoyance. I felt small enough in this place. Weak and fragile. I didn’t need to feel young too. I was plenty grown, and I’d been grown in my life before. But black splotched my memories of the time and person who preceded this one, leaving only bright spots of recollection. Happier times basked in the spotlight like I did onstage. It was where I felt most complete.
Across from me, Beck looked exasperated and ready to leave. I wondered why he didn’t. I wasn’t holding him here, and neither were the hounds. But as long as he would listen, I would speak.
“Don’t call me kid,” I said again. “Call me by my name.”
He heaved a noisy sigh. “All right, Cherry?—”
I shook my head. “Myrealname.”
“I thought that kind of thing was a trade secret.”
It usually was.
Darby had been the first to call me Cherry, claiming I needed something to wear. Considering his penchant for fashion, I thought he meant it literally, but over the past few weeks, I’d learned differently.
Cherry belonged to the Dollhouse. He was a costume I could put on and take off. A barrier between the world and me.
But Beck had broken that barrier. He’d seen me laid utterly bare, and the idea that we’d shared something so intimate while he didn’t truly know me, gnawed at me. I didn’t want to feel like strangers anymore.
“It’s Zephyr,” I said.
Beck arched an eyebrow as if surprised I’d actually told him. “All right. Zephyr what?”
“Just Zephyr.”
His features pinched. “They didn’t give you another name?”
