The Lights of Tenth Street

by Shaunti Feldhahn

  Marco stuck his head out the door and hollered down the hall. “Phone for you, Ronnie!”

  Ronnie turned, confused. “For me?”

  “Hurry it up!” Marco was gesturing her toward his office. “I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes.”

  Ronnie headed back up the hallway and sidled over to Marco’s desk, staring at his face. She hadn’t given anyone the club’s number. If this was a setup …

  “Hello?”

  “Ronnie, is that you?” The voice was high-pitched, anxious.

  “Mom! I’ve been trying to call you! Are you okay?”

  There was a long pause. “Not really, baby.”

  “What happened? What—”

  “Honey, it’s too long to go into. But you can’t reach me at home, not for a while. I wanted to give you a number where I’m staying and … and ask you a question.”

  Ronnie scrabbled on the desk for a sticky note and a pen, aware of Marco’s curious gaze. “Go ahead. What question?”

  Her mother read off an unfamiliar number. “I’m staying with a couple named Tom and Angela Dugan in town.”

  “Who?”

  “You don’t know them, baby. It’s a long story.”

  Ronnie started to ask another question, then sat up straight. “Mom … how did you get this number?”

  “Well, you’d said the Challenger Restaurant, so I called information.”

  “Oh.” She heard a tapping noise and looked up to see Marco standing by the door, pointing at his watch. “Mom, I’ve got to get back to work. Can I call you later—”

  “Ronnie, I need money.”

  “What?”

  There was a long sigh. “I had to go to the emergency room. My arm’s broken. I was … I was hoping you’d made enough money by now that you could send some home. The hospital bill will be several thousand dollars. Even five hundred will help.”

  “Mom, I—”

  “I’d understand if you don’t have it, I just—”

  “It’s not that, it’s—” Ronnie broke off. The tide was rising, and she was about to be swamped. She had no choice. She squared her shoulders and stood. “Mom, I’ve got to go back to work right now. But I’ll figure something out: and call you first thing in the morning.”

  A small voice. “Thank you.”

  “And, Mom—don’t go back to Seth.”

  “I got a restraining order, you know.”

  “You’re kidding! You’ve never—”

  “It’s a long story. Go back to work, sweetheart. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Ronnie hung up the phone and turned as Marco bustled back toward his desk and sat down, making busy about his meeting preparations. When she just stood there, he looked up, irritated.

  “What?”

  “My mother needs money for some medical bills, and I need money for a tuition payment.” She blurted out the words before she talked herself out of it. “I’d like to have an audition.”

  “Well …” Marco’s voice lingered on the word. He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I’m glad to hear it. Sorry about your mother, of course.”

  Ronnie stood, stiff as a board. “Of course.”

  “We have an amateur night coming up on Monday. Will that do?”

  Ronnie nodded, not trusting her voice.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Honey, you ready to go?” Sherry Turner leaned out the car window and hollered toward the open kitchen door. “We’re going to be late!” A distant voice wafted through the doorway. “Hold on, I forgot my laptop.”

  Sherry groaned as her husband hurried back out the door, carrying case in hand. “And why do you need your computer?”

  “Well,” Doug’s face was sheepish as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the family minivan, “I have to make a final decision on this big Silicon Valley deal. So after church, I really need to run to the office for a couple hours.”

  Protests erupted from the backseat.

  “Daddy, you promised!”

  “But the picnic …!”

  Doug turned in his seat, backing quickly down the driveway. “Look, it’s only two hours. You can go and I’ll join you after—”

  “No way,” Sherry said. “The picnic will be over by the time you get there. If you have to work, go in the evening. The kids haven’t seen you all week. You can eat junk food with them, play a little softball, and then go into the office after dark.”

  “Well … all right …” Doug heaved an exaggerated sigh.

  “Good.” Sherry saw a small smile playing at the corners of her husband’s lips. She whacked him on the arm, trying not to grin. “Hey! That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Isn’t it? You just wanted to get us all nervous so that we actually end up glad that you’re going to the office tonight.”

  Doug shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “Hey—I’m under attack here. I’m taking the fifth for my own protection.”

  Genna piped up from the backseat. “So you’re coming, Daddy? Right? You’re going to watch my song?”

  Doug looked in the rearview mirror and smiled. “Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Late that night, Doug set a stack of papers down on his desk and rubbed his temples. The numbers just didn’t add up. No matter how he tried, he just couldn’t find a way to make it work.

  A letter from the IRS sat at the top of the pile. The nail in the coffin.

  “Therefore, we cannot approve your requested tax structure …”

  He stood and placed the spreadsheets back into a holder on his desk. Mary would organize all his evidence into nice, neat briefing books for the board meeting on Wednesday. Not that it would matter.

  The board was expecting his sign-off, and Jordan was already planning two years down the road as if it were a sure thing. He snapped his computer bag shut with a little more force than usual. Why did he always have to be the bearer of bad news? At least he was keeping the company healthy and on track. Jordan would just have to understand that as attractive as some of these partnerships looked, they didn’t make financial sense.

  Doug tried to stretch out the tension in his neck and shoulders. He needed one of his wife’s back rubs. He smiled ruefully to himself and reached for his coat. With the way this day had gone, he needed more than that.

  He glanced at the bronze clock on his desk. Ten-thirty! Sherry was probably already asleep.

  He headed for the elevator, his steps soft on the plush carpet. At ground level, he exited the elevator and headed for the door, his shoes clicking on polished marble. He stepped up to the security station and nodded to the guard as he handed over his employee I.D.

  A few moments later, Doug steered his car through the parking lot. He pulled up at the darkened security booth and waited while the camera sent his license plate number through the verification system. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. It was a lot quicker when the guards were on duty. After a minute, the gate slid sideways. Doug’s wheels bumped over the pressurized grating that would sound an alarm if someone tried to slip into the compound as he drove away.

  The dashboard clock read ten-forty-five as Doug pulled onto the freeway and headed north. His stomach growled, and a thought entered his head. He pushed it away.

  A few minutes later, the thought came back. Just for a few minutes.

  He gripped the steering wheel tighter. No. He clicked on the contemporary Christian station. A few minutes later, he turned onto another freeway and saw the inevitable signboard.

  Just for a few minutes, to unwind. The food was pretty good.

  Doug shook his head and tried to block out the signboard, but the small thought had become a vise grip, pulling him toward the exit. Just like so many things in the last few months. He didn’t want to resist.

  He took the exit, made a right turn, and pulled into the parking lot. He had a feeling of unreality as he stepped out of the car, paid his cover charge, and entered the building.

  The music was pulsing, and the darkness enveloped
him. His legs took him toward the light, toward the thumping beat, toward the flashing lights on the stages. He slid into an empty table and waited a moment as the anticipation grew, then slowly looked up at the nearest stage. His mouth went dry.

  Ronnie saw the new customer sitting alone and sidled up to him. “Hey there, what can I get you tonight?”

  He jumped and turned away from the nearest stage, where Tiffany was dancing. Ronnie didn’t glance up at her friend. It was all getting really old. And amateur night was tomorrow. Her mind shied away from that thought as she repeated her question.

  “What did you say?” The man was clearly trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry … what?”

  Behind their one-way mirror, three men scanned the room as the camera operator did his stuff. The lead watcher leaned forward and tapped on a monitor. “Who is Ronnie talking to?”

  The computer guy glanced at the picture on his monitor, and worked some magic on his keyboard. He frowned. “He could be a previous contact, but it’s not a certain match. But if it is him … wow … we’ve got another bull’s-eye. Should we send it in?”

  “Yes.” The other man watched his colleague press the buttons that would send the camera shot to the verification center. His eyes turned to the next table along. “Continue, please.”

  “Can I get you anything? You hungry or thirsty, or both?” As the words left her mouth, Ronnie realized her customer didn’t have a menu.

  “Um—” the man straightened and smiled briefly. “Sorry, yes. Both. I’d like your buffalo wings, a club sandwich with your house sauce, and a small Caesar salad.”

  Ronnie glanced over with a smile. “Gee, for a man with no menu, you certainly know your way around this place. What can I get you to drink?”

  “Ginger ale, please.”

  Ronnie looked up from her order pad. “Would you like a beer? Drink special? Our Challenger Tooters are only five dollars tonight.”

  The customer shook his head. “No thanks.”

  Ronnie smiled and moved toward her other customers. A few minutes later, on her way toward the kitchen, she glanced back. The new customer was slumped in his chair, not looking at the stage, rubbing his temples. His blue shirt looked expensive but bore all the wrinkles of a long day.

  Ronnie found herself feeling sorry for him.

  Doug sat with his head in his hands.

  Lord, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I break this thing? I’ve even memorized the menu! I have a beautiful wife and children, a great job, a great church—why do I keep doing this?

  The music was pounding, pressing in on his brain, making it hard to concentrate. He sensed someone nearby and turned his head.

  The girl up on stage was gyrating right at the edge of the runway, her gaze fastened directly on him. He was trembling. A moment later, a ten-dollar bill was in his hand, then in her garter. He took several shallow breaths as she gave him a big wink and turned to the next man along. By now there was a crowd of men around the end of the runway, all panting for the slender, circling figure. Doug watched, captivated, as she collected dozens of bills, then finished her dance with a flourish.

  He crept back into his seat, and his hand brushed something on the table. His buffalo wings and ginger ale had arrived. He picked up a wing and bit into it, only to quickly lay it back down.

  He groaned and pushed the food away; then stood, threw two twenties on the table, and grabbed his coat off the other chair. He headed for the door, pushing past the bouncers, past a group of people waiting to enter, out into the cold air.

  He jerked open his car door and tossed his coat on the passenger seat, then climbed in and slammed the door. He laid his head against the steering wheel and wept.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The dressing room was a hive of activity. A dozen girls were staked out in their own little corners, holding whispered discussions with their supporters, glancing at the competition from behind heavily made-up eyes. The winner tonight would get five hundred bucks, cash, on the spot. Plus a guaranteed job offer. They’d heard the money only got better, and they wanted in.

  Tiffany teased Ronnie’s hair in front of the mirror, reminding her of all they had practiced. She’d had her roommate slinking and strutting around the apartment in one of her best outfits, getting her routine down pat. And then when Ronnie started getting nervous, she’d brought out the Valium.

  When they’d arrived at the club, Ronnie had demanded two beers in quick succession. Several of the other girls in the contest had been popping Ecstasy and looked happy as clams, but Tiffany—her demeanor now crisp and professional—had advised against it.

  “Wait until you win, then you can celebrate. Otherwise, the X will make you lose your focus. We can pop some later.”

  “It’s only two minutes, right? You said it was just two minutes.”

  “Yes, just two minutes.” In the mirror, Ronnie saw Tiffany roll her eyes. “Ronnie, you need to chill. I would say ‘take a chill pill’ but you already have!” She giggled. “You’re going to have so much fun, you’ll wonder why you haven’t done it before. I don’t know why this bothers you so much.”

  On one side of the two girls, two great beings stood, their faces solemn. On the other side hovered a small group of cackling figures.

  A dark figure whispered the words to Tiffany, and out poured the earnest lies from her mouth. He gave his shining foe a smug look, and kept a crooked talon firmly hooked into Tiffany’s head. Despite their pitiful efforts, the noble enemy would never keep the new girl from felling. And they certainly weren’t going to touch the dark figure’s existing prey.

  Loriel stepped forward, as he had many times before, to put a hand on Ronnie’s shoulder, to counter the enemy’s words with the loving and gentle challenge of the Lord. His charge was still nervous, knew her path wasn’t right, but looked determined to proceed. And once she did, her ability to be impacted by their message would again diminish. Loriel sighed, his eyes sad. He had seen it so many times before.

  The door near Ronnie popped open, and some half-dressed contestants squealed in indignation as Marco poked his head inside.

  “Two minutes! I need the first three girls in the wings now.”

  He vanished out the door, and Tiffany turned and looked at the girls, a teasing smile on her face. “He’s going to see it all in a few minutes, you know.”

  One of the girls tossed her hair as she finalized her preparations. “Under my terms, Sasha.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. You’re going to do great. You going up now? Well, good luck!”

  The music started pounding onstage, and Ronnie could hear Marco announcing the start of Amateur Night. The audience whistled and hooted, and she clutched her costume in tense fists, picturing all the men she’d gotten to know, all her regulars, seeing her out there tonight. Maybe Maris had been right. She turned to Tiffany, her head clearing despite the beer.

  “How can I do this in front of these people I’ve waited on?”

  Tiffany laughed. “Listen, they’re here for one reason only—to see the girls take their clothes off And you’re here for one reason, too—to take their money. They use you; you use them. It’s an even trade. I don’t know why Maris ever tried to talk you out of it. You’ve been busting your tail all this time, but you haven’t been getting a cut of the real action. Now you can.”

  Tiffany glanced at the clock and helped Ronnie finish arranging her costume. “Remember what I said—from now on, you’re an actress. Make them think they’re the hottest stuff in the world and you are unbearably attracted to them. That you’d jump them in a second if it weren’t for club rules.” She snapped her fingers in Ronnie’s face and laughed. “You’ll get to be a darned good actress up there.”

  “Do you have another beer?”

  “Yeah.” Tiffany pulled one out of a small fridge at the side of the room. “Here you go. Cheers.”

  Ronnie guzzled it, feeling the warmth rising in her skin, the inhibitions finally melting away. She realized Tiffa
ny had taken her hand and was leading her toward the stage.

  “There you are!” One of the production guys grabbed her by the arm. “Ready, Ronnie? The last one is just finishing.”

  He started to hustle her up a small flight of steps, then stopped and looked her up and down. He grinned and flinched as if he’d been burned by her touch. “Yeow! Ronnie, you look hot! Knock ’em dead!”

  Ronnie pushed back the last fuzzy thought of retreat, and gave the guy a sweet grin. Might as well start acting now. She climbed the few stairs to the wings of the stage and straightened. Two minutes. Just two minutes.

  She looked over her shoulder, to see Tiffany give her the thumbs-up. The last girl finished to the sound of whistles and cheering, and the stage went black.

  “Did you see her at the end?” Brian waved a beer like the lord of the manor, one arm loosely about Ronnie’s shoulders as an animated crowd surrounded her. “She had them eating out of her hand. A natural she is, a natural!”

  The DJ chimed in with an admiring but crude joke, and the crowd roared with laughter.

  “Make way, make way, best friend coming through!” Tiffany said as she pushed back into the throng.

  She passed another drink to Ronnie and made another rousing toast to Ronnie’s win. The crowd cheered again, drawing sideways grins from the other patrons of the all-night bar.

  Ronnie was giddy. The Ecstasy was in her bloodstream, five hundred dollars was in her pocket, and all was right with the world.

  Why had she waited this long?

  Loriel hovered outside the pub, tears in his eyes, alone. He was laced with the desperate pain of the Father. The pain of knowing what was to come, of seeing the dreadful path looming ahead of a lost child … the road that so rarely gave up its willing prey. But if it didn’t … Loriel closed his eyes and prayed. The consequences were too great to imagine.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Look, Jordan.” Doug Turner stood at his desk, one ear pressed to the telephone, sorting through some papers. “I get what you’re saying; I’ve known all along. But the board needs my honest opinion tomorrow and I’m going to give it. That’s what you hired me for.”