Dr Stanton Boxset

by T L Swan

  I laugh and sip my drink. “Tonight, we are going dancing. Screw bar Luco.”

  3

  Five years later

  Ashley

  The moving trucks come to a stop in the wide street, and my eyes flicker over to the back seat. “This is it, baby.” I smile.

  Owen looks out of the window towards our new house and I feel my nerves flutter deep in my stomach.

  It looks okay.

  The house is two-story with faded yellow weather-boards. It has a large veranda that wraps around the house. Climbing roses scale the posts, and a cobblestone path leads up to the front steps. It looks welcoming. I glance back and forth up the wide street and the neat manicured lawns of the well-kept surrounding houses.

  “It looks so nice, doesn’t it?” I smile at him through the rear view mirror.

  He nods as he holds his blanket tightly between his little fingers. His angel face is staring out the window in awe.

  This will be the new start we need.

  The last few years have been hard—harder than hard for me. My big dreams are just a distant memory now.

  I met a guy, got engaged, and was happy for a while, until our relationship broke down. All while putting myself through med school.

  I had big dreams of being a hotshot surgeon until I fell pregnant. It wasn’t planned and I don’t know how it happened, but it did and I didn’t find out until I was showing. I’d had the contraceptive injection and it should have worked for another twelve months. I never even considered that I would be in the two percent of the female population who it didn’t work on. I didn’t get a period, so I didn’t miss it when it didn’t come.

  It was shocking, it was devastating, but now, looking at the little boy with the perfect face in the back seat who has taught me how to adult, I count it as the biggest blessing of my life.

  He was always meant to come—always meant to be my son.

  The timing was just off, that’s all.

  I’m over it now, over the whole stigma of being a single mom.

  The disappointment of shattered dreams.

  I’m over the urge to go out and have fun with people my own age. I do grieve the loss of opportunity to fall in love for me. I wanted to marry for passion and true love.

  I’m resigned that this is my life and that I made this bed I’m lying in. If I can just scrape through my final year of residency experience at the hospital, Owen and I can move to a quaint little country town where I can open a medical practice, work as a general practitioner, and make enough to pay the bills. Hopefully I can save a deposit and Owen and I can have our own home. I smile at the endless opportunities we have.

  Who knows? Maybe in ten years when Owie gets a little older I will meet a nice divorced man with grown children and fall in love. I guess the saddest realisation is that Owen doesn’t have a father figure to grow up with. My ex fiancé didn’t want to keep up the visits, and now wonders why he’s an ex.

  We grew apart. The final straw came when I realised I would pretend to do assignments every night, just so I didn’t have to go to bed with him. I didn’t even want him touching me. How could I have ever contemplated marrying him for life?

  I tried to hold on for Owen’s sake, but when it became clear to me that he didn’t really care if he saw Owen or not, I decided to walk away.

  Owen deserves better. I deserve better.

  So, here we are in Los Angeles. Our new hometown. Jenna flies in tonight and is staying with me for six months to get me settled so I can find some part time work and childcare. Jenna is my angel. I couldn’t have done any of this without her. I park the car and smile broadly as I open the back door.

  “Out we get Owie.”

  He smiles up at me and grabs his little comfort blanket and book from the seat, climbing awkwardly out of the car. I bend down and straighten his shirt and pants. “Are you ready to see our new house?” I whisper with excitement.

  He smiles as he looks at the house in awe, and we walk hand-in-hand up the path toward the house.

  I shuffle through my bag to find the keys that we have just picked up from the agent. I feel my nerves flutter. This house feels too extravagant for us, but I have a plan as to how I’m going to pay for it.

  I didn’t want to live hours away from my mom and be unhappy in a dump.

  I wanted to come home to a beautiful house each day. I want Owen to be proud to have friends over. I want to make new friends, adult girlfriends, and be able to ask them over for dinner without being ashamed of where I live. I have a job interview tomorrow at a club, working behind the bar. I’ve never done anything like it before, but with the freedom of moving where nobody knows me, I don’t care anymore. For the first time in forever I don’t care what people think of me. For so long I refused to work in a nightclub. It was as if I was ashamed of what I had become…

  A single mother who worked at night in a club to support her kid.

  A failure.

  I thought that, down the track, if Jenna moves home and we are short on cash, I could find a young girl from the hospital that may want to board with us. That’s the plan anyway.

  I slowly open the large front double doors. Owen gasps and I grin.

  “Wow,” he whispers.

  I bite my bottom lip to stifle my broad smile as my eyes scan the large room. There’s a grand foyer with high ceilings and a lounge room to the left. I open the door to the right and find a double garage.

  He squeals in delight.

  I laugh out loud.

  We walk through to the end of the hall and find a large, slightly dated kitchen, with a second living area and dining room with a bathroom off of it. A large bedroom with its own entrance is at the side. This will be Jenna’s room while she is here, and there’s another small bedroom to the left. I put my hands over my mouth in disbelief. Oh my God, this house is fucking fantastic.

  I love it.

  Owen runs ahead in excitement up the carpeted stairs. “Where’s my room? Where’s my room?” he calls out.

  I run up the stairs after him, and stop dead when I get to the top. Holy shit. This is… are we in the right house? Three bedrooms, a bathroom, and then double doors at the end of a large walkway.

  I open the double doors and my mouth drops open. A parents’ retreat, a lounge area that opens onto a large bedroom, with its own bathroom and a walk in closet. Double doors open to a balcony that looks out onto the street. Windows and expensive drapes are on every wall. It’s slightly dated, but hell, it’s the best damn house I have ever seen. I beam at the sound of Owen’s squeals of delight.

  “This room, I want this room!” he calls.

  I run up the hall to the other end of the house and find him in the front room, and take him in my arms. “Do you like it, baby?”

  For the first time in a long time, I feel proud of myself.

  He nods as he grips my legs, and the sound of the moving truck out front stops us.

  He laughs out loud. “I like LA, Mom.”

  I take him in my arms and squeeze him hard. “Me, too, baby. Me, too.”

  * * *

  I sit in the waiting room as my eyes scan the other girls while we all wait for our job interviews. I glance down at my attire and cringe.

  I’m overdressed.

  I don’t mean overdressed as in over the top clothing. I mean I’m literally overdressed—wearing too many clothes. These girls are all gorgeous. Gorgeous hoes.

  Cheap looking, busty, gorgeous hoes.

  I frown as a disturbing thought runs through my mind. Fuck! What kind of club is this?

  I quickly take out my phone and Google:

  Club Exotic, LA

  My phone takes forever, and I get the ring of death as it thinks. I glance up to the interview office. Thankfully the door is still closed.

  Shit, hurry up and load, you stupid thing. I may need to run like the wind to get out of here. In the job applications it didn’t say anything questionable… or did it? I quickly open the interview confirmat
ion email and scroll through it in a panic.

  Surely not.

  I was appalled at being a bartender, but maybe this is normal bartender attire?

  I smirk at how different applying for a medical position and a bartender position really is.

  Subject: Application

  From: Club Exotic

  To: Ashley Tucker

  Congratulations, Ashley.

  You have been successful in securing an interview with Club Exotic. We look forward to meeting you at Club Exotic, 59 Palmer Street, LA at 11am on the 7th of next month.

  We pay above average wages, have an excellent career development pathway plan, and we are recruiting ten team members to join our beloved crew.

  Please RSVP within seven days of receiving your invitation.

  Club Exotic

  I frown and scroll to the top of the screen. When was this email sent? The 5th of last month. Hmm, this interview was the reason we had to get here by yesterday. Surely seedy places hire people an hour before their shift, not one month out? I glance back over to the girl sitting across from me. She’s wearing cheetah print lycra tights with sky high stilettos, and the words from that selfie song run through my head.

  Who wears cheetah?

  Who does fucking wear cheetah?

  Her huge, droopy boobs are hanging everywhere, and her black roots on her bottle-blonde hair looks like a landing strip. My stomach rolls and I glance over at the other women waiting for their turn. I feel my run instincts kick in a little harder. One is wearing a crop top and I can see the bottom of her bra sticking out from underneath, while the other is wearing a dress that is so small, it looks like a shirt. Although attractive, they are all faked tanned to the max.

  Oh, shit.

  I need to go. Fucking hell. I wanted thirty-five dollars an hour. I stand and the office door opens.

  “Ashley Tucker?” The kind looking lady smiles.

  Oh, a lady? I frown. That’s unexpected. I was picturing a middle aged bad porn actor.

  She raises her eyebrows in question. “Ashley?”

  I nod nervously. “Yes, I’m Ashley.”

  She holds her hand up toward her office. “This way, dear.”

  I fake a smile and walk nervously into her office. Oh man, two minutes too late.

  “Just take a seat, honey, sorry to keep you. I won’t be long, girls.” She smiles to the others.

  “That’s okay,” they all reply in unison.

  I fall into the seat and hold my handbag in my lap. Better keep it close in case I need to run.

  She closes the door, sits down and smiles warmly. She is a kind looking lady; a kind cougar looking lady, to be honest. In her late forties, sure, but sexy in a glamorous way. My eyes glance around at her office to see luxurious dark navy walls with silver gilded frames, and on the back wall is a huge mirror. Plants and a large black leather lounge add to the ambience.

  She folds her hands in front of her as she assesses me.

  She has an inner calm about her—an inner confidence—and I feel a little jealousy sweep over me. I would give anything to have that inner calm and confidence.

  It’s such a sexy quality to possess.

  Her wise eyes scan over my face. “My name is Eliza.” She smiles. “So, Ashley, tell me about yourself?”

  I swallow the nervous lump in my throat. “I’m twenty-seven and I’m currently studying medicine.”

  She raises her eyebrows.

  “Impressive. What year are you in?”

  “I’m in my last year.” I smile. It never gets old telling someone that, I’m so freaking proud of myself.

  She narrows her eyes. “How long have you lived in LA?”

  “I just arrived yesterday… from New York.”

  “What brings you here?”

  “A surgeon.”

  She frowns.

  “I mean… I’m going to be a top surgeon’s understudy at LA Memorial hospital. I start in two days.”

  “How exciting for you.” I nod. “How many children do you have?” she asks.

  I frown, I never get asked that question. People always assume that, because I’m a med student, I won’t have kids. “I have one son.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Owen.” I smile. Even saying his name brings out my pride.

  She sits back in her chair. “So, you are here for Owen, then?”

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  She picks up her pen and writes something in her diary. “What are you looking for?”

  I frown in question. What does she mean? A job, you fool. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?” I ask.

  Her eyes flash up to me from her notes. “What position are you here for?”

  I hesitate. “You have more than one job going? I wasn’t aware.”

  She puts her pen down and smiles. “Do you know what we do here, Ashley?”

  I swallow nervously. “You’re a club?” I fake a smile. Please be just a club.

  “Yes, we are a club.”

  Oh. I smile broadly.

  “We are a gentlemen’s club.”

  My face falls.

  “We offer men an escape from their mundane lives—a fantasy, if you please.”

  I go to say something intelligent, but no words will leave my mouth.

  “We have five different positions open at the moment.”

  I stay silent.

  “There’s bar work, just normal bar work, and that pays thirty-five dollars an hour.”

  I nod. “Okay,” I murmur.

  “Then there is topless waitressing where you don’t have to touch or talk to the clients at all. That pays seventy dollars an hour.”

  I frown and swallow the horror in my mouth.

  “We do ten hour shifts, so you can do the math there.”

  Fuck. That’s seven-hundred dollars a shift.

  “We have dancing positions available with no contact at all, which we pay one-hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour for.”

  My eyes widen. Holy shit, that’s good money. I do the math again. Twelve-hundred and fifty dollars a shift? Fuck.

  “We have lap dancing positions.”

  I raise an eyebrow in question. “That’s where you are requested to give our exclusive clients a lap dance. The clients are not allowed to touch you and you have a bouncer with you at all times. Our lap dancers get two-hundred and twenty-five an hour.

  My mouth nearly drops open, and she smiles knowingly. “Yes, that’s right. With tips, our lap dancers earn over two thousand five hundred dollars a night.”

  “Oh…” is all I can reply with. I drop my eyes to the floor. Frigging hell, why can’t I earn that kind of money serving fucking drinks? “W-what is the other position?” I ask.

  She smiles sexily. “Our VIP girls do a full service. They satisfy every fantasy of our clients in a private exclusive part of the club. They are protected with their own bouncers at all times.”

  My eyes widen. “Prostitution,” I whisper.

  She smiles again and nods. “Yes, we have some girls that enjoy that kind of work. We pay them a flat rate of five-thousand dollars a night.”

  I clutch my bag tighter on my lap as my mouth goes dry. I can’t even comprehend that kind of money.

  She stands and comes around to my side of the desk. “Can you stand, dear?”

  Huh?

  She smirks. I must appear so damn green. “Just stand up, sweetie, and let me look at you.”

  “Oh.” I frown. I stand cautiously, and her eyes scan up and down my body as she grabs my shoulders and turns me around to check out my behind.

  Oh hell. Please, Earth, swallow me up.

  “I think you could start out with topless.”

  I shake my head and fake a smile. “No. I’m not really into my boobs. I can’t think of anything worse than walking around with them hanging out…” I hesitate and glance at the door. “In fact, I’m not really into anything here really. I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.”

  “Take a sea
t, dear.”

  Oh God, stop calling me dear, you madam from the best little whore house in Texas. I fall into the seat.

  She points toward the door. “We have literally hundreds of girls try to get a job here. All those girls out there in the waiting room will be unsuccessful today.”

  “W-why?” I stammer.

  “This is an exclusive club. We have memberships that cost a lot of money. Our clients are cultured and intelligent, so we only supply them with women who are of the same nature.”

  I frown.

  “This isn’t a club that offers slap dash women who have slept with every man in the USA. This is a club where men can come and take pleasure in looking at intelligent, untouched women—women who are putting themselves through college and doing this for their precious children. They know that every single woman here is something special.”

  I hold my breath.

  She tilts her head to the side as she assesses me. “It’s very empowering, you know.”

  “What is?” I ask.

  “Turning on powerful men and then walking away.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat as my eyes hold hers.

  “You come here, you make them your bitch so they feel like they may die if they can’t have you, and then you go home to your normal life. Nobody knows what you do… except you.”

  I scowl.

  “Think about it, Ashley. Two thousand five hundred dollars a week for one shift.”

  I clutch my bag tighter.

  She raises a brow. “What holidays could you take your son on? What car would you drive? What designer clothes could you buy?”

  “But I can’t imagine myself doing any of this,” I whisper.

  She smiles. “And that’s exactly why we want you. I don’t want stripper wannabes. I don’t want people trying to be discovered to be famous. I want attractive, sexy, and intelligent women who know what they want from life.”

  The woman does give one hell of a sales pitch.

  “We have medical students. Law students, Psychology students.” She smiles. “We have girls drive four or five hours to work because they can’t get these conditions or this pay anywhere else.”

  Deflation fills me. I can’t do this. Who am I kidding? “Thanks for the opportunity but—”

  She cuts me off. “Come tonight. See how the club operates, meet some of the girls and then make up your mind.” She takes a credit card thing and swipes it through a machine. “This will get you through security.”