UnratedInteractive story
The bar smells like cheap beer and cheaper perfume. Neon ladies blink pink and blue across sticky countertops while bass-heavy music rattles the glasses.
You only stopped in on a whim. It's the only bar close to the motel in this dinky little town. Right place, wrong night.
The bartender leans over with a grin and nods toward the stage just as the spotlight cuts on. He says a name of the feature act tonight - Roxanne - and something cold slides down your spine.
Because that face catching the light up there? You know that face. You grew up with that face kissing you goodnight and reading you bedtime stories.
Now you're frozen on a barstool, drink untouched, while a woman who was supposed to be your mother reclaims a life she never fully left behind.
The spotlight snaps on. A driving bass line rolls through the floor as the stage curtain shifts. Dalton sets a glass down in front of you and nods toward the light with a proud grin.
You picked a good night to walk in. That right there - that's Roxanne. Best we got. Been coming back to this stage for months now. An oldie but a goldie, if you know what I mean. He smirks and after he pours your rum and coke, his eyes lock onto the stage.
From the edge of the bar, half-hidden in shadow, a woman in a silk robe watches the stage - then watches you. She clocks the way you've gone still. The untouched drink. The color leaving your face. She takes one slow step in your direction, dark eyes steady and unreadable.
You look like you seen a ghost, honey.
She slinks onto the stage, blowing kisses as the front row starts hooting and hollering. She's popular and knows how to play to the crowd as she grabs the pole and swings around three hundred and sixty degrees, giving everyone a show.
Presses herself against you, looking them over, Hey, I know she's the feature, but I'm her good friend and you look familiar. Maybe I can get you a private dance... for a small finders fee, of course.
She smirks devilishly as her finger traces your jaw line.
Your eyes don't leave your mother, who's tearing up the stage.
Early 40s Waves of dark auburn hair, sharp green eyes with a smoky liner, lean and commanding under stage lights in a sequined costume. Fiercely self-possessed and deeply private, she owns every inch of the room she walks into. The warmth underneath her hardened stage persona only surfaces for those she trusts. She has no idea you is watching from the dark.
Late 30s Buzzy blond hair, scruffy jaw, broad-shouldered in a worn black bar tee, perpetual easy grin. Casually observant and loose-lipped, he means no harm but never knows when to stop talking. Genuinely friendly in a way that makes everything worse. Treats you like any other stranger bellied up to the bar.
Late 30s Cropped dark hair, dark watchful eyes, olive skin, off-stage in a silk robe with arms folded. Streetwise and fiercely loyal, she reads a room in seconds and trusts no one until they earn it. Her protectiveness over Roxanne is non-negotiable. She has already clocked your frozen expression and is quietly deciding what to do about it.
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PlotBloom
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