Free Cherry Money Baby by John M. Cusick

Cherry tottered over the other girls. She considered the effect, Ardelia in her gown and sneakers, Cherry in cutoffs and blazing red stilettos.
    “Voilà,” said Ardelia. “Now it’s
fashion.
”
    As if this were the secret password, the elevator
ding
ed and the doors slid open. There were five master suites on this floor, including Ardelia’s. Maxwell’s was in the northeast corner, down a length of vanilla carpet, past two pearly double doors. Music, voices, and the chatter of glasses and ice cubes sounded on the other side. Ardelia pulled the silvery handle, grinning at Cherry, and then they were in.
    She couldn’t make out anything about the room beyond its size, so thick was the press of human bodies, satin, and skin. A fog of perfume, beer, and pot smoke hung over the crowd. A yellow feather bobbled toward the bar, an outcropping of someone’s ridiculous hat. There was a woman’s shoe in the chandelier.
    “Ardelia!”
    Something shiny entered the clearing by the door where Ardelia, Cherry, and Spanner stood. The shiny thing pressed a martini glass into Cherry’s hand and swallowed Ardelia in a hug.
    “Maxwell!”
    Maxwell Silver was dressed in a glossy black shirt with the top three buttons unfastened. In her new heels, Cherry had three inches on the man she and Vi had swooned over in
Heavy Metal Pirates.
Maxwell’s hand cupped Ardelia’s lower back. She seemed to lift a little with the pressure. The costars exchanged words from the sides of their equally perfect mouths, Maxwell letting slip some inside joke that reduced Ardelia to giggles. Cherry felt a flash of jealousy and took a sip from Maxwell’s martini. Gasoline and vinegar.
    “Max, this is Cherry,” Ardelia said, gesturing Vanna White–style. Maxwell’s eyes followed Ardelia’s gesture down to Cherry’s toes and up again.
    “Charmed.” He offered his hand, which Cherry moved to shake, but he dived for the martini glass instead. “In the business?”
    “She isn’t!” Ardelia said with glee.
    “Thank Christ. This way.”
    Maxwell took her hand now, and Cherry was dragged bodily through the masses while her mind still wobbled by the door:
Maxwell Silver had checked her out.
    Maxwell held one hand; Ardelia trailed behind holding the other. Bodies parted for their host. Then they were at the bar, something out of Ariel’s undersea bower in
The Little Mermaid.
    “What’s your poison?” It took Cherry a beat to realize Maxwell was addressing
her.
    “A . . . beer?”
    She wasn’t a drinker. You had to stay soberish to keep an eye on Vi, whose hair usually needed holding. But she was no one’s designated tonight. The bartender handed her a brown bottle with a German label.
    “So what
do
you do, if you don’t do what we do?” Maxwell said in his ticklish accent.
    “Bup!” said Ardelia, removing Maxwell’s hand from where it brushed Cherry’s — she hadn’t even noticed it there. “Not this one, Max.”
    “I’m making
conversation.
”
    “On the make, more like it.”
    Maxwell groaned. “She’s such a Mama Hen, isn’t she?”
    Again, Cherry didn’t realize she was being spoken to. She kept forgetting this wasn’t happening on a screen but live, and she was an active participant.
    Ardelia’s hand was on her right arm now, Maxwell’s on her left. “Don’t let those blue eyes fool you. He’s a scoundrel.”
    She was supposed to say something now, and not wanting to look like an idiot mute, Cherry said, “Don’t worry. That play don’t play.”
    It was an old line, but Maxwell cackled. “
‘That play don’t play.’
I love it! Can I use that?”
    Cherry was mid-sip, and by the time she’d lowered her bock lager or whatever it was, a pale hand had snaked around Maxwell’s waist and he turned away.
    Cherry hid behind her beer bottle. “What am I doing here?”
    Ardelia puffed a stray strand of inky hair. “I know, it is a bit much, isn’t it? But I mean it about Maxwell.” The humor left her voice. She was