At work the next day, because of her period and the Everclear, Sherri felt particularly awful. She grew more uncomfortable as the hours of dipping and drinks stretched on. The sharp edge of the corset cut into the skin under her arms, the stays of her uniform dug into her back, and the now-lopsided headband pinched behind her ears. She was terrified her period would bleed through, but if she unzipped her uniform to change her tampon, she’d never get it zipped up again. And if she leaked, she’d have to change into her other uniform, and everyone would notice that she’d gone from paisley to green.

Every time she blinked, her eyes got stuck from glue from her hurriedly applied false eyelashes. Her head throbbed. After two months she could finally walk in the requisite satin three-inch pumps without feeling like Minnie Mouse. For the most part, she’d grown used to the pain, but that day, because she was so bloated, it got to her. Her arches screamed, and her heels stung from blisters. She knew that when she finally slipped the shoes off, her toes would be molded into the V shape of the points, numb and white from lack of blood. She couldn’t wait until the end of her shift, when she could massage her feet with golf balls or roll them on ice. Some of the Bunnies would even sit on the tank of a toilet, put their feet in the bowl, and flush over and over again—and then they went dancing.

If only she could rest for a few minutes. She was forbidden from sitting in front of customers unless she was teaching backgammon to kids in the lounge on Sundays. Bunnies were only allowed to perch for temporary relief. “The Perch” was an actual position she was taught in training, like the Bunny Dip.

At least she could walk, she scolded herself, thinking of her mother’s debilitating illness. Sherri stuffed a three-dollar tip into her waitress wallet as she cleared a table and thought that the pain was worth it. A single table’s tip was the same amount she would have earned after an hour at the insurance agency. Free food, free housing. She was making so much money she didn’t even need to keep track of it, and she certainly didn’t have time to spend her earnings. She loved the feeling of sitting on a pile of cash. The more she accumulated, the more possibilities she saw for her future.

She walked into the kitchen so she could lean against a wall for a moment without getting written up. That was where Bunny Tina saw her. “Blisters?”

Suddenly Sherri wanted to cry—what was it about Tina that made her feel so vulnerable? “Everything.”