A/N: This story contains both factual and fictitious characters. Names and locations have been changed where necessary to protect identities and locales.

The point of view of each individual will be noted at the chapter's beginning, although obviously there will be a dialogue between Characters. The Main Character of the particular Chapter will be noted.

Thanks for checking out this book, I hope you enjoy it. There are subjects that may make some people feel uncomfortable. It is based on the raw truth of what ends up happening to some of the young people that take their dreams to the Big Easy, only to find it less beautiful than imagined. And there others that are native to life there. or some that actually had grown up expecting such. It can be dirty, gritty, foul and at times downright nasty. Drugs, prostitution, strip clubs of ill repute. It is all here and more.

But through the grit and grime, addiction, violence and pain, there is still hope. And not every tale holds a horrible ending. There are rays of sunshine and sweet magnolia kisses awaiting some. So never give up hope on any of these wilting flowers, for you never know when they may just bloom bright again!
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So let's begin with the main club, the Whiskey Sour. Most of the girls work here as strippers. It isn't the lowest level club in the Quarter district. For the most part, the girls still look good and are worth watching and spending money enjoying time with. Many are just hovering at that place where their vices are soon to take over, thus leaving them left with fewer and fewer decent options.

Stuck in those lower level clubs, one  where they are fortunate to get a fix, let alone money. Or finding themselves all of the sudden, literally on the street, sick and begging for anything to mask the pain, to make existing another day barely  bearable. At the Whiskey Sour, the clientele isn't the worst, nor the best. It's a middle ground, established originally in the nine-teen forties as a gambling club. After multiple owners, it became the Whiskey Sour in the mid to latter seventies.

This is where we find Lucki  Laverro. A petite Italian girl who has been working the clubs for about three and a half years now. She was from the city and came from a long line of working girls. Her own mother got her started at Whiskeys. Jel, her mother was worn out. She bartended now, a sure blessing from the place where everyone had expected her to end up. On the street or dead. It was basically a toss-up. Then the offer of fresh young Lucki in exchange for a Bartending job. It was Angelica's saving grace and the end of Lucki's chance to bail the city.

One of the club favourites, she does a decent job of making money. Young, lithe and strong, watching her perform can go from erotic to athletic. And she is fun. Her deep, smoky laughter can be heard throughout the club, as she works the tables for tips between sets.

As she glances at her cheap knock-off of a Gucci watch, she rolls her eyes realizing she won't hardly have a chance to take a potty break before she is expected back on stage!

Once again, Miss Molly as she is known didn't show and couldn't be reached. Fuck! More and more often she has been flaking out on the club and she has only had her final warning about twenty times. It takes all of Lucki's self-control not to punch her in the throat on the occasions she actually makes an unusual and rare appearance.

Since her mother began bartending, she also has her hand in the scheduling and hiring of the girls. And just when Lucki thought she couldn't dislike her own mother more, she has come to discover that she can actually hate her!

After living such a rotten life herself, one would think a mom would want a better life for her only daughter! Yet Gel just wanted a younger substitute. One she works harder than anyone else. If someone doesn't show, the rule of thumb before was everyone split up the shift. Now Lucki just has to do two jobs - a lot.

She had so badly wanted to take to the highway with her boyfriend, Tony Miloni. And yes, that was his real name. Not Anthony or Antonio, but just plain Tony. He hated the sound of the two names together so much, he just went by T. But he had recently taken to ignoring Lucki. Voice mail, blocks, unanswered texts, not at home or the usual hangouts. Lucki knew he had given up on the little whore dancing on Dauphine. One of the other dancers claimed to have seen him in a car in Mid City with another dame. Not just talking either. She was broken. A huge combination of feelings flooded her. Pain, sorrow, anger, confusion and downright hatred. She was supposed to escape this life! Yet here she was, losing all hope of a better life.

"Lucki" her mother shrieked. in that fingernail down the chalkboard voice of hers.
"Them customers have been waitin' forever for their drinks! And you ain't got much time to get ready for your next turn on the dance floor. Git your tail moving!"

"Oh dear God forgive me" Lucki mumbled. "But I hate her fucking guts." She pasted on a fake smile and headed toward the table, her black and blue hair shining under the club lights. She figured she'd do Catwoman first on stage, it was a favourite.

Or maybe she would get lucky and a plane would crash into the Whiskey Sour and end her whole miserable existence. But no, the name Lucki was a joke. She had never had any and never would. It was a cosmic joke, created by Angelica and whomever jerk fathered her. Gel had told her so many different drunken tales of who her father was, Lucki highly doubted she even knew.

Up on stage, Rosie was beginning her last dance. A beautiful ethereal little thing, she looked like a fairy. She was doing her Rhiannon routine by Stevie Nicks, and surprisingly she was so mesmerizing with her tiny frame and mass of curls, the club almost always went silent during her magnetic performances. Magical even.
She just had that way of turning her act into an art form.