Rocket Queen

chapter one -- stacy

I am awoken by the sun shining into my eyes through the open window and the oh-so-annoying beeping of my alarm clock. I sit up, sighing as I stretch my arms above my head and switch off the incessant beeping. It's 3:00 pm and I have 4 hours to shower, do my hair and makeup, put on some clothes, and get to the club before my shift starts.

I yawn and rub my eyes sleepily as I drag myself out of bed and stumble into the kitchen. All the windows are open, but it's so hot outside that the apartment is still warm enough that I'm not cold even though I'm not wearing anything but my underwear. It's hot as Satan's ass crack in LA in August, but Kate and I can't afford an apartment with air conditioning, so the windows are always open. We live on the top floor, which is nice because it means hardly anyone ever tries to rob us. It's too much work, climbing up all the stairs. It's definitely not any fun when you're drunk and wearing 5 inch stilettos either.

I yank the fridge door open and peer inside, swearing out loud as I realize there's nothing inside. I don't have time to go grocery shopping before work today and I know I'll be too tired to go after, so I scribble a note for Kate and tape it to the fridge. I hope she sees it when she gets home, but with Kate I never really know when she's coming back. I love her to death, but she's terribly unpredictable. I guess the same could be said for me.

Shaking my head and grumbling to myself, I stomp into the bathroom and slam the door behind me. I try to ignore the growling coming from my stomach as I turn the shower on and strip naked. I turn on the radio next to the sink before stepping under the stream of hot water, sighing blissfully as the water soothes and relaxes my sore muscles. I scrub my body clean, covering myself in bubbles head to toe as the bathroom fills with steam and music. I shave my legs, wash my hair, and clean last night's makeup off. Once I get out of the shower I wrap my body in a towel and dry off a little before moisturizing my skin with vanilla scented body lotion. I brush my teeth and put my long brown hair in rollers to give it some shape.

I put on my pink silk robe and grab the radio before heading back to my room and sitting down at the vanity next to my bed. I sigh, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My skin isn't the worst, it's clearer than most and I only really get breakouts around my period, but the dark circles under my eyes seem to be permanently fucking etched there.

I tap my foot to the music pouring from the radio as I apply my makeup. Humming along to the Girls, Girls, Girls by Motley Crue, I brush black and blue shadow over my eyelids, line them heavily with black eyeliner, and put on 3 coats of mascara before gluing on fake lashes on top of that. I lightly dab on some blush – just a little to brighten up my irritatingly pale skin – and paint my lips blood red. The finishing touch is a generous amount of glitter on and around my eyes. By the time I'm done, I'm grinning proudly at the girl I see in the mirror. I'm wearing enough makeup to make my Jesus-freak conservative parents pass out, but they're all the way back in Michigan and anyways, I think I look hot as hell.

I stand up from the vanity and walk over to my closet. It takes me about an hour to decide what to wear, but when I'm finally done, I look amazing. I've got on an extremely tight red dress with an eye-catching black cheetah print, strappy black heels, and my slightly oversized leather jacket. Underneath the dress is my favorite black lace lingerie set which I'm hoping will get me some extra tips tonight at the club.

I take the curlers out of my hair, fluff it up a bit with my hands, and then drench my head in Aquanet. I grab my purse – containing my wallet, keys, cigarettes, lipstick, and mascara – before heading out the front door and locking it behind me.

I hurry down the stairs to the "lobby" of our apartment building, then out onto the bustling street. I light a cigarette and smoke as I walk the few blocks to the club I work at, which is just a few doors down from the Sunset Strip. The night was shaping up to be pretty good. That is, until I saw the cops outside of the club. Fear rushed through me as I ran up to one of the officers. Usually I'd never speak to a cop if I wasn't actively being forced to, but I needed answers.