isabella [h.s.]

twenty nine

**in new york,
concrete jungle where dreams are made of,
there's nothin' you can't do
now you're in new york**

ISABELLA

I'm staging an intervention. Well, not really. In reality, I'm just going to track down Tina when she gets here and ask her why she's been acting so weird lately, like why she's been working so much and why she hardly replies to my texts anymore. I'm aware that I sound like a needy friend, but I kind of am a needy friend. At least, right now I am. Besides, Tina is my best friend, my ride or die, the person I used to spend the majority of my free time with, drunkenly dancing in our piles of money after a shift or spending our off days strolling along Fifth Avenue. I miss her, and I'm concerned about her, so I'm going to ask what's been going on. I suppose that's not really an intervention, as such, more of a conversation, but it just sounds cooler when I call it that, so I'm going to stick with it.

I'm in the middle of fiddling with the clasp of my new black diamanté stripper heels when I spot her walk into the dressing room, her hands adjusting the green wig she's clearly just put on. When our eyes meet in the mirror, she holds my gaze for a second before spinning around and heading out of the room again, and I almost fall off the platform of my shoes from the speed I jump off the chair and rush after her. "Tina, wait up!" I call as I shove open the dressing room door, letting it swing closed behind me as I finally catch up to her in the corridor.

Seeing as she's pretty much got no other option, she finally turns around to face me. "Oh, hey, girl," she says with her usual friendly smile, her tone just as casual as if we just talked yesterday, instead of the few weeks it's really been. "What's up?"

"What's up?" I echo, letting out a small scoff of disbelief. "What's up with you? Why are you running away from me?"

"I'm not running away from you," she replies, laughing like I'm being silly. "I just thought I left my eyeliner in the bathroom."

"Can we cut the bullshit?" I say in exasperation, truly not understanding why she's being like this. Our friendship has always been simple, easy, no drama and no stupid miscommunications. From the first time we met here at the club, when she grabbed me after a dance and told me where to get some real stripper shoes that wouldn't fall apart, we've pretty much been inseparable. I don't know why that's suddenly changed, but I think I deserve an explanation. "You know we don't bullshit one another. What's been going on with you lately? You haven't responded to any of my texts."

"I've been working," she reminds me. "You know that."

"Yes, I know, and that's completely fine, obviously," I say, both of us pausing to smile at another dancer who swans past us before disappearing into the dressing room. "I just don't understand why you've been flaking on me, why you've been so distant. Did I do something to make you mad?"

Her eyes flash with a look of surprise. "No, of course not. What would you have done?"

"I don't know, that's what I'm asking you," I reply. "You've been working so much. Every time I ask if there's extra shifts, Trey says you've taken them all."

"I don't think there's a problem with that," she laughs. "Am I not allowed to make some coin?"

"No, of course you are! That's not what I'm saying, I-" I let out a sigh, rubbing one of my temples. "I'm just wondering how you're doing. You know, like in all contexts." When she just blinks back at me, I lower my voice a little. "Are you having troubles with money or something? You know you can come to me, I can't count all the times you've helped me out."