Off the Rails Read Free Page B

future of society and Women’s Issues?
    Who was to blame for this dance of shame?
    Madison?
    Responsible for her own behavior?
    As if.
    It’s the media’s fault.
    When female role models who should be aboard the ship of political consciousness dove into the ocean of being sexy to make money, the whole sea of womankind went to hell. Witness the collection of arms and legs waving and wiggling as though their very lives depended on it. Scheherazade might be proud—if the women were using their intelligence in a creative way, and their lives really did depend on pleasing the oversexed losers screaming at them, that was.
    Alas, the only stories these girls were telling included…
     
    I want prize money .
    I want to prove I’m a total fucking hottie and guys want me. Really. They do…want me… I hope I remember this tomorrow, so I can remember what it feels like to be so wanted .
    Ha! If my dad could see me right now he sure would be pissed. And I used his credit card to pay for the beer that got me drunk enough to do it! Ha! Ha!
     
    Madison was all about the money. Tia? Probably there just because it was a stupid, very unprofessional thing to do. And sometimes even Tia, a mature professional woman, wanted to act ludicrous. It was easy to guess how things went. Being a performer, Madison had a distinct advantage. One does not go to endless cattle call auditions without learning how to make oneself stand out.
    After Wild Ones by Flo Rida rolled to an end, Madison lined up with Tia and the other three girls who were included in the top five. She pasted on a crazy smile, which wasn’t too hard because she was a bit crazy at the moment, and stared out at all the faces she couldn’t see. Those shadowed bodies swaying in the darkness stared back, and the ocean breeze drifted across her skin. Some tall guy with a jet black ponytail lifted his red plastic cup and howled, showing off a wide smile. “You hot, girl. Shake it some more.”
    Madison threw her shoulders back and shook her boobs, bouncing so much her nipples almost popped out. The guy with the ponytail howled again and grabbed his crotch. Madison laughed and shook more because he was so cute, in a silly, oversexed way.
    Jivin’ Jay, the guy with the microphone, wrapped his too-thin arm around Madison’s bare shoulders. “You like this one?” he shouted. “Should she stay up here?”
    In spite of everything her mother had told her about remaining dignified in all situations, Madison looked across the faceless crowd, flashed a smile and waved, arching her back and rising up on her toes. Pathetic, but it did the trick. Jet Black Haired Guy, who’d pushed his way to the front row, stuck both totally inked arms in the air and hollered. He and all the guys around him bellowed loud enough to earn Madison a spot stage left. For someone who was all about the money, that was a good thing, because stage right led to the thanks-for-trying-but-you-don’t-get-the-cash steps down.
    The steps that poor Tia got sent to when the jerks in the crowd didn’t whistle loud enough.
    Tia threw Madison a wide go-get-’em grin, laughing as she climbed down.
    “Okay, girls,” Jay shouted after another girl was sent stage right. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
    Miley’s We Can’t Stop boomed from the speakers and Madison forgot about the drunks, that stupid arrogant ass Mr. Thornton, and she even forgot about the reunion that had freaked her out so much that she’d talked Tia into running away from home. She danced, not for any of the guys watching, but for herself. Well, sort of. Except for the part when she took advantage of the song’s slow beat to turn around, bend over, and skim her hands up her calves and thighs then grab her own ass.
    Because—honestly—five hundred dollars was a lot . Unemployed women needed that kind of money when they were avoiding facing the realities of life.
    The crowd kept howling even after the song ended, and Madison started thinking she