STRONGER by Lexie Ray Page B

I’ve gotta get on stage.”
    We all left the office together, Mama locking the door behind her. I remembered all the cash inside the safe.
    Cocoa and I dashed into the kitchen. “That better be the Don’s order,” she threatened as one of the cooks put the final touches on a set of plates already arranged on a tray.
    “Of course it is,” he answered. “I don’t want to get my throat slit.”
    Cocoa snorted before grabbing the tray and positioning it on my shoulder, not giving me a chance to think about what the cook had said. It was a lot heavier than the first.
    “Walk as slow as you need,” Cocoa said. “It’s a lot of food.”
    We picked our way across the floor, the smell of the food wafting into my nose and reminding me that I’d skipped dinner. The nightclub was almost completely full and there was still a line outside.
    Reaching the Don’s table, I realized their martini glasses were empty again. These guys were drinking like fish.
    Cocoa unloaded the tray again and I tried to stay still, shifting my grip as the weight changed with each plate removed.
    “Let me go take care of those empty glasses for you,” I said with a wink, trying to take initiative. Cocoa nodded and bent forward to arrange things on the table, giving the entire table an up close and personal view of the precarious state of her breasts.
    I made my escape with the tray, handing it to Blues to conceal behind the bar.
    “How’re you making out with the Don?” she asked. “I can see his boner for you from here.”
    I blinked, barely managing not to turn around and see for myself.
    “Four more martinis for the Don and his companions,” I said.
    As Blues mixed the cocktails, the curtains parted. The entire room erupted in applause as Mama took the stage.
    “How is everyone doing tonight?” Mama asked, taking the microphone from the stand. Customers and girls alike responded with whoops and hollers.
    She looked beautiful with a spotlight, the beads on her strapless top shining. Mama looked like she belonged there.
    “I hope everyone enjoys their night with us,” she continued after the whistles from the crowd died down a little. “Let my girls know if there’s anything they can do to make it more pleasurable.”
    The word “anything” dripped with innuendo. I wondered what Don Costa might ask of me and experienced a pervasive wave of dread.
    “Now, for your musical entertainment,” Mama said, smiling.
    She replaced the microphone in the stand but didn’t leave the stage. It suddenly dawned on me why Cocoa had said tonight was special. Mama was going to sing.
    A single pianist started playing, a saucy but intricate flurry of keys. Tears sprang to my eyes before I knew what was happening. It was a cover of Etta James’ “At Last.” It was one of my mother’s favorites.
    I stood, transfixed by her incredible voice. Mama had soul. The conversations throughout the club were hushed, almost in awe of her performance.
    I snapped out of the spell Mama had drawn over me like a heavy veil. Blues put the last glass on the tray and lightly smacked my hand when I tried to take it.
    “Here comes Cocoa,” she explained. “Don’t spill the Don’s drinks.”
    My roommate swept the tray up again and smiled at me.
    “Mama’s voice is like a dream, isn’t it?” she asked. “It’s like everything’s gonna be okay while she’s up on that stage.”
    I agreed, but found myself wondering what happened when Mama came down out of the spotlight.
    We delivered the drinks to the Don’s table.
    “Sit down,” he said quietly. “I want to enjoy this performance with my girls.”
    He scooted away from the table and patted his lap again, spreading his arms for both Cocoa and me. Without exchanging a glance, we perched on his lap. I balanced as lightly as I could, trying to ignore the hand trailing up my bare leg. As long as Mama was on the stage, everything was going to be okay.
    Mama smiled sweetly as the pianist ended the song with a