The painted dancer bit her lip sharply to ignore the other pain, waiting to smile until the warm red blood tanged her tongue one more time, crossing her arms behind her back and drawing them sharply up as she stepped off the nail which had begun the pain. In a flash of red and black she was across the stage, spitting blood into the corner as her back was turned and whispering a word of caution to Emili as they passed, bare feet endlessly turning away from one another. The bold face in the wings belonged to Andrew, heartless and stern, but with an eye for art and beauty rarely surpassed in the city.

When the music ended five girls stood panting in the back, facing upstage, to see which would be chosen for the next dance. It was audience choice, and Seth was already striding on, ready for whichever partner he might receive. Maia’s foot burned beneath her and her mouth was already filling with blood again, but it would most likely be her night. Pain often came in threes.

Seth stood behind each girl as the audience cheered, more loudly for some than others, and after Maia’s shouts no other had a chance. Four sweaty relieved girls fled into the wings as Maia, alone, slipped into dancing shoes and struck a pose. It was ugly work in a dingy club, and with every step of the first spins she saw teeth and eyes leering gleefully from the crowd below. Two bodies clenched and arched into a tango, sharp, brisk, and rough, just as the first kiss of the dance would be.

The shoes’ pressure had stopped the blood, fortunately, yet Maia fought tears as she slipped her feet back into the open air. The overhead light swung gently, reflecting off the sweat on Seth’s back as he changed.

“All right?” he asked, turning around.

“Just my foot. Don’t worry.”

He faced the corner again, nodding lightly. She stared at the floor, wishing he were anyone to be cried upon. Her face was vacant beneath the makeup, and her dress was still fastened. From the corner of her eye she watched his shoes on their way to the door, carrying him along in a tired shuffle.

“Want me to walk you home?”

She laughed, looking up only briefly.

“Didn’t you ever learn that girls take hours to be ready to go anywhere, even home? I’ll be fine. Get on home.”

He looked at her for a minute, as if puzzled, then turned back to the door.

“Night.” And finally he was gone. Maia snapped out the light in case Andrew were still there. Another night like the last few would be unbearable just now.

She let herself into the apartment quietly, slipping the deadbolt into place and waiting till her eyes adjusted to the light from the streetlight outside. In the kitchen, she sipped a glass of milk lightly, staring at the wall and listening as the church bells sang the two o’clock song. She should have been in bed by now. Far-off branches played dances with the shadows on the walls. She swallowed her nightly handful of pills, three different kinds, sipping slowly until the glass was half empty, then swirling the milk and pouring the rest down the drain. There were soft white splatters on the walls of the sink now, but those could wait till morning. Maia crossed into the bedroom, drawing the curtains across the windows. In the middle of the night she awoke to find the pillow damp, but she was quickly asleep again.

Red-eyed, the waitress set a plate of pancakes in front of the man with no tie. Her hands shook as she poured the coffee, but he was fortunately too intent on his breakfast to notice.

“Thanks, Maria,” he mumbled.

“It’s Maia,” she whispered on her way back to the kitchen, “Maia.”

In no time, her face was flushed with steam from the hot dishes. The cook was behind again, and Maia cringed to think of her customers’ irritation. Across the room Sally beat crumbs off her apron.

“It’s a rowdy bunch out there today,” said Sally.

“Yes,” said Maia, “I gathered.”

The balloon man was in the park again today. Maia passed him, barely nodding, as he smiled and waved, cheery blue eyes twinkling a happy day. She ducked her head and pushed on, trying to forget the soft puffy clouds of the sky and wishing she could drown out the children’s laughter. A robin ambled across the path amidst a swarm of red and yellow leaves, and she paused briefly to avoid trampling or frightening him, but that was all.

A young man passing turned her cheeks red with a comment, but Maia was used to those and only stepped faster. The mother who walked her baby every afternoon was busy trying to calm some wild squalls, and Maia escaped notice for once. Not so when she passed the priest, who blessed her, as always, as she skittered by. She spat when safely past him, hoping the trick her mother had taught her would eventually do its duty and get rid of unwanted religion.

On the bridge she paused as always, staring into her faded rippled reflection, wishing she could swap places with the girl in the water. The whistle of a far-off steam train jolted Maia from her reverie, and she wrapped her arms around herself and hurried on.

Sam was not standing in his usual corner by Quinten’s market, and Maia paused to stare down the streets nearby, half expecting to see his bright red scarf trailing after him as he dashed to meet her on time. The ‘flu shouldn’t have arrived yet, and usually he was early. She dawdled, staring at her scuffed toes and at the loose bricks at the corner of the market. The clock hit the quarter hour, and she had to go. Was there something she could leave? No, because Sam would never reach it before some urchin or pickpocket found a new treasure and destroyed all evidence of Maia’s wait. She crossed the street, bought her usual half sandwich from the deli there, and left, still wondering about Sam.

He caught up with her a few blocks later, his cheeks so red from the air and his marathon that they matched his scarf.

“What’s a frostitute?”

“Sam!” She knelt down and caught him in a hug, his sandy hair tickling her face. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

He looked at her solemnly.

“Mama said I couldn’t any more. What’s a frostitute?”

“Why? Who said that to you?”

“Is it a bad word? Mama used it. She said you were a frostitute, and that I wasn’t to see you again, and that you wouldn’t be good for me. And I told her you weren’t that, and that you were the bestest friend I had, and that just made her more upset. Are you one?”

She looked at him, brown eyes open so wide.

“It’s not a bad word, Sam, just a grown-up one. You’re not old enough to use it yet. It’s a name for a job some people do. I haven’t done it in a long time, but don’t argue with your mom, okay?”

He nodded slowly.

“Is it a bad job?”

“It’s one I wish I hadn’t done.” She swallowed hard. “Listen, Sam, if your mom doesn’t want you to see me any more, you need to listen to her, okay? I don’t want to lose my bestest friend either, but I want you to obey her no matter what. All right?”

She saw him fighting against the pools in the corners of his eyes.

“But if you aren’t at that job any more, then it ought to be okay, right?”

“Not this time, because your mom said not to. Will you listen to me for a minute?”

He nodded again, eyes even bigger now.

“You really are my bestest friend, Sam. But sometimes friends have to stay apart from each other for a while to grow stronger, and I bet your mom knows that. I don’t want to let you go either, but your mom probably knows better than we do about that stuff. Okay?”

He nodded.

“Now give me a hug and then you gotta go.”

She felt his breath on her ear, the sloppy kiss on her cheek, for what would have to be the last time.

“I love you, buddy. Be good.”

“You’ll always be my bestest friend, Maia.”

“You’ll be mine, too.” She pulled back quickly. “All right, Sam.”

He walked away slowly, not looking back, and she turned quickly, shoved her hands in her pockets, and clenched her teeth as she started back on the road to work.

They were running late, and Andrew was seething with impatience.

“What do you ladies think this is, the ballet? Your men are getting impatient, ladies.”

“It just whets their appetites more,” snapped Emili, “Don’t worry. It’s hard to lose money on a burlesque show.”

Maia looked up from her rouge. “Did you get the nail off the floor, Andrew?”

“Kick it off yourself. I don’t have time for trifles like that. And where were you last night?”

“What does it matter?”

“You’d better not be there again tonight.”

It would go on, night after night. Maia, not a frostitute, but a dancer and a manager’s lover. Small wonder Sam would never be allowed near her again. She stared hard at the floor, trying to remember what innocent eyes looked like.

The walk home was colder than usual, and her feet ached. She touched the few visible bruises, a pale grey in the moonlight, and closed her eyes, wishing for an innocent’s hug to help her forget the night’s steamy embraces. She thought she saw big brown eyes every way she looked, but the shadows lied twenty times. Even the apartment was chilled when she arrived home. The church bells were announcing quarter past three when she poured her milk and swallowed the night’s pills.

Walking to the window, she swirled the milk in her glass and whispered, “Goodnight, bestest friend. Be good.” She swallowed hard, several times, then finished off the milk and the contents of the three bottles on the table.

At the sink for the last time, she sprayed water into the glass, washed the white splatters down the drain, then set the glass upside down on the counter to dry. It would never be half empty again.