Ronnie flicked dust into the trash can. “She’s . . . great.” She did a little twirl as she kicked the trash can closed. And then, even though Charlie probably wasn’t the best person to unload upon, she couldn’t help herself. “Her first day at a new preschool was today, actually.”

“Oh yeah? Which school’s she going to?”

For a moment Ronnie considered not telling—it felt like a privacy infringement, and what if Charlie was some sort of pervert and ended up loitering outside Silver Swans? But she felt she knew Charlie well enough—he had been one of her first clients when she moved there. She was pretty sure he wasn’t that sort of guy. And anyway, after she named Silver Swans, he shrugged and said, “I’m not going to even pretend I know anything about preschools. Everything go okay?”

“I think so. She said she had a lot of fun. They had a get-together for the parents while the kids were in there, too. It’s funny to be out in the world after being shut in for so long, but it was nice to see people.”

She glanced at Charlie, then looked away fast. His erection poked through his jogger pants. Ronnie locked eyes with Bethany, the dancer she’d come with. Bethany was tracking the erection, too. The guys were allowed to masturbate in front of them, but they weren’t allowed to get undressed.

Ronnie busied herself by dusting a credenza so she wouldn’t have to look at Charlie for a little bit. At Kittens, the adult establishment in Pennsylvania where she’d gotten her start in this industry and worked until two years ago, dim lighting obscured men’s faces. She’d liked that better. Ronnie would rather men look at her and talk among themselves than try to include her in the conversation. She also liked the camaraderie with the other dancers. With Topless Maids, they always had to go in pairs, but Ronnie was always grouped with different girls, often not the same person twice. She hadn’t gotten to know anybody.

When Ronnie had to leave Pennsylvania, she’d reached out to Dahlia, one of her friends at Kittens, asking if Dahlia knew of any leads for work far, far away that paid decent money. Topless Maids was what Dahlia came up with. It paid way better than the job Ronnie told everyone she was doing—working at the nonprofit group home, caring for patients with mental disabilities. And though she probably could have found work at a strip club elsewhere—she’d even considered Vegas—there was something aspirational about this part of California. Its clean streets. Its quaint, Disneyland-like main thoroughfare. The fantasy-themed playground in the center square where the slides were cheerful, pink-fire-breathing dragons. It was a far cry from dreary Cobalt, which was what she wanted for Esme.