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a corner proper. It was more like a “right around the corner” store. It was the closest place to the nightclub. The employees there probably wondered why so many pretty girls frequented it.
     
    “Hello,” I called cheerfully as a ringing bell on the door announced my entrance.
     
    “Hey, Cocoa,” Jimmy called from behind the counter. He was a sweet kid — several of the girls had enormous crushes on him. Jimmy was very much the boy next door.
     
    “How’s business today?” I asked, heading into the beauty aisle.
     
    “Not bad,” he said as I perused the cans of spray. “How’s business with you?”
     
    It was just a polite question. Jimmy didn’t actually know how I earned the money I spent in the store.
     
    “I can’t complain, Jimmy, I really can’t.”
     
    I located the brand I wanted and brought it to the front. A case of nail polishes glittered on the counter. I wondered idly if the purple sparkly one was the type Blues had picked up.
     
    “You have yourself a great day,” Jimmy said, presenting me with my plastic bag and change.
     
    “You, too,” I replied warmly.
     
    My errand was done, but I wasn’t ready to go back to the nightclub, yet. I wanted to enjoy the feel of the sun on my skin before it set and I went to work.
     
    I passed by a few more bodegas and a homeless shelter before reaching a dingy park. This wasn’t a great part of town to linger, but during the day, it was mostly harmless. Certainly no worse than the place I’d been raised.
     
    I sat gingerly on a dilapidated concrete bench, gazing at the park’s lone tree. It was in full leaf, the green foliage rustling in the wind just audibly over the dull roar of people and passing cars. A wino’s head lolled on a neighboring bench, but I didn’t mind. It was nice to be relatively alone, outdoors in the daytime. Working at night didn’t often give me the chance to be out in the sunlight.
     
    When no less than three bums approached me for change, I decided it was time to go back. There were probably other parts of the city where you could sit and enjoy the outdoors without getting approached by the homeless, but this wasn’t one of them.
     
    I walked back to the nightclub, enjoying the last of my freedom before getting ready to work. When I let myself in the back door, the kitchen was a flurry of activity. A majority of girls were getting their first meals of the day, still fuzzyheaded and in their pajamas.
     
    A chorus of “Hey, Cocoa” rose as I walked in to grab a banana to take upstairs.
     
    “Hey, girls,” I said, waving. “Don’t forget — meeting at five-thirty before we go downstairs to open.”
     
    I pointed at the whiteboard to emphasize my words and left, eating the banana. I didn’t like my stomach to be super full before work. It made me self-conscious despite Blue’s assurances to me that I wasn’t fat and never could be no matter how much pizza I wolfed down.
     
    Once in my room, I turned to a dog-eared page of a beauty magazine that had circulated through the rest of the girls. I encouraged them to share the publications they didn’t want to hang on to anymore with everyone. A little table downstairs in the lounge hosted all of the “community” magazines. Some of them were several years old, but still held valuable information.
     
    This magazine in particular featured a how-to section on braids. I’d always had trouble braiding my own hair. It was something Granny always did for me when I was younger. I could do it on my doll and other girls with no problem at all, but I had to take special efforts to do the same styles on myself.
     
    I took my mussed braids down and combed out my hair. If I let it go naturally, I’d undoubtedly have a fro. It was that kind of hair — unruly and impossible.
     
    I parted it to the side and glanced down at the magazine. Following the directions exactly, I painstakingly wove the wiry strands together, smoothing the way with the comb and new can of