by Jana Aston
On Saturday morning Vince gets up before I do, per the routine that’s been set all week. Except it’s Saturday, so it kinda sucks and catches me a bit off guard. He told me he had work to do, kissed me on my forehead and left. I was half asleep due to an early-morning round of sex so I didn’t protest. It didn’t even occur to me that it was Saturday until I awoke some time later and realized I had nowhere to be.
And that I had no plans with Vince for the weekend. Or in general, really.
I wonder where he’s at. The club? His law office? I don’t even know where his law office is. Downtown, he said, when I asked if he ran the law firm from the club. He laughed. I suppose the idea of a bunch of lawyers working out of a gentlemen’s club is rather ridiculous.
It occurs to me that I wanted to take more of an interest in his hobbies. Just last night he watched the new episode of Married at First Sight with me because I told him it was my hobby. Which is true—it’s sort of a hobby, right? Watching reality television? It is for me, I decide, and I don’t think anyone should judge anyone else’s hobbies. Besides, I find it both relaxing and informative so it’s more of an educational hobby.
In any case, I should take an interest in Vince’s hobbies. It’d be so wifely of me.
As luck would have it, I have just the idea.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Okay, where do I start?” I eye the pole and take a test swing around. By swing I mean both my feet are firmly on the floor, one hand on the pole, and I let the momentum of my upper body swing me around.
“Well, you can start by taking off the stripper heels. If you break your ankle Vince is going to kill me.”
“They’re just my regular fuck-me heels. Stripper heels seems offensive, no?”
“Just take them off.”
I sigh and kick my heels off, pushing them out of the way with my toe.
“We don’t even offer dance classes, but you’re oddly convincing.” Staci frowns like she’s not sure how she’s found herself here. We’re on the main floor of Double Diamonds in a sort of side room. It’s off the main entrance, but it was empty and the lights dimmed, kinda like a section in a restaurant that hasn’t been assigned a waitress. There are two poles on this stage and it’s a little bit quieter in here because we’ve turned the speakers off—the music from the main stage is more than loud enough to reach us, but this way we can talk. “Are you sure Vince said this was okay? I don’t want to lose my scholarship.”
Err. Technically what I told her is that Vince wouldn’t mind. I don’t think I said he said it was okay. When I said he wouldn’t mind I meant that as my impression of what Vince’s feelings would be, not an actual conversation.
“That’s a positive attribute, don’t you think? Being convincing?”
“Sure?” Staci shrugs like she’s completely indifferent to the value of a convincing argument. Or the ability to get someone to teach you how to pole-dance.
I wonder why she called her job a scholarship? Is it some kind of bullshit strip club lingo? I should know the lingo.
“Why did you say ‘scholarship?’ Is that some kind of word that means ‘job?’”
“No.” Staci glances over at me like I’m the one not making any sense. “I’m in law school at UNLV. On a club scholarship.”
Right. A club scholarship. I’m about to ask what the hell that means when Staci’s attention is diverted.
“We’re in training,” Staci says to a guy who attempts to come in and watch. I smile and wave because I appreciate the support. If I was actually trying to earn money as a dancer it’s good to know I have tip-earning potential. Plus I’m in workout shorts and a sports bra, my hair in a ponytail, so it’s not exactly like I’m putting forth a real effort here.
“Who comes to a gentlemen’s club at eleven in the morning?” I ask Staci once the guy has left.
“Guys who work overnights, usually. Sometimes retirees. Lonely people, mostly. The world is filled with lonely people, Payton, just looking for a little human interaction wherever they can get it. I’ve got a weekday regular who comes in, drinks coffee and reads the paper. Says he likes the chairs.” Staci shrugs again.
“Oh. That’s sad.”
“Some of them are just regular perverts, if it makes you feel better.”
“It does a little.”
“Let’s focus,” Staci says, directing my attention back to the task at hand. “First thing you want to do is sanitize your pole. They’re cleaned between each dancer and every night, but it’s a good habit to learn.” Staci squirts her pole with a bottle of spray sanitizer before handing it to me along with a clean towel. I’m still doing my best not to laugh at ‘sanitize your pole,’ but I do my best to keep my giggles in check and follow instructions.
“Next, we stretch. Normally you’d do this backstage, obviously.”
“Obviously.” I nod along as Staci leads me through a series of warm-up stretches. “Is this a club policy?”
“No, it’s common sense.”
“Sure, that makes sense too.”
“Okay, now which is your dominant hand?”
“My right.”
“Good, me too, so you can mirror what I’m doing. We’ll start with a basic wrap-around. I’ll show you once then we’ll go through it step by step.” Staci grabs the pole with one hand and swings, hooking the pole with one leg as her body rotates. Back arched, she completes a few rotations on the pole before straightening, her foot returning to the floor, hand still on the pole as her momentum comes to a stop. “Easy,” she says. “Now I’ll show you step by step.”
It’s a lot easier than it looks. A whole lot. I’m on my third attempt when we’re interrupted by another wannabe customer. I figure Staci will direct them to the main stage as I twirl badly around the pole, but when I come to a stop I realize why she’s not saying anything.
It’s Vince.
He doesn’t look impressed.
“No.”
That’s all he says. No. He doesn’t even blink but a muscle in his jaw most definitely twitches. It’s enough to send Staci on her way, Vince not breaking eye contact with me as she exits. It’s a small stage, elevated only a few feet off the floor, but I still have the height advantage over Vince. I place a hand on my hip and toss the other in the air in a gesture meant to imply ‘what the fuck.’
“I’m taking an interest in your hobbies,” I explain, because clearly he’s not understanding the effort I’m making here.
“Get down.”
“Get down? I’m not a cat.”
“Payton,” he starts then stops, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and rubbing his forehead with his hand. I wonder if he’s about to tell me he’s going to count to three? I’d be totally into that. “Please get down,” is what he says when he opens his eyes again. It’s a bit of a letdown to be honest.
I didn’t come here to pick a fight so I grab my heels and step off of the platform, stopping directly in front of him. I drop my heels on the floor and then use Vince for balance as I slip them on one at a time, smiling at him when I’m done.
“Staci wasn’t busy, she said it doesn’t pick up until after lunch. It’s just retirees and newspapers until then so I wasn’t really distracting her.” I bite my lip, wondering if I should reimburse her for lost tips. I should, I decide. “Also I told her it was okay with you, so don’t be mad at her. It’s not her fault.”
“My office,” he instructs as he turns, holding an arm out to indicate I should walk in front of him.
I do, following the path I recall from the week prior. It’s so loud in the main room of the club that I can’t hear my heels click against the floor, or Vince’s footsteps behind me, but I know he’s there because I can feel him hovering directly behind me.
Vince closes his office door behind us as I plop onto the same chair I sat in last week, sitting across from his desk. I cross my legs and arms, prepared to defend my right to learn how to pole-dance, but Vince surprises me by not sitting. He stops at my chair and p
laces his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning down until we’re inches apart.
“What would possess you to show up here half naked and think I’d be okay with it?” He says it softly, his voice gravelly and seductive.
“I told you, I was taking an interest in your hobbies.” My own voice is much less confident in my reply. Less confident in my plan than I previously was.
“Payton, you cannot be here dressed like that.”
“Why not? Everyone else is.” Excellent opening argument, if I do say so myself.
“I’m not married to everyone else,” He looks surprised that he mentioned it, the marriage. I do enjoy the reminder that he’s aware that we’re married. Also, it really seems to bring out the alpha male bullshit in him, which I love—as long as I still get to do whatever I want, obviously.
“It’s our one-week anniversary,” I point out. I mean it as a joke, sort of. Since he brought it up. But I realize it’s true, it’s been one week since I sat in this exact chair. One week since we got married. A week in which we’ve spent every day together—every evening, in any case. Which is basically like having seven dates.
Which is irrelevant because no one gets married after seven dates. Except for the couples on those reality shows I love about strangers marrying each other. Or arranged marriages, I bet they don’t date much beforehand. There’d be no point really, since it’s already arranged. And we all know those marriages have a higher rate of success than the average bozos who get to know each other first.
It’s been fun getting to know him though. Really fun. The board games and the cooking and the talking. The sleepovers and the chatting until we fall asleep. Learning what we have in common, and what we don’t. But maybe he doesn’t want more. Maybe I’m the only one interested in moving this from accidental to purposeful.
“About that.” He rises now, stepping back and putting distance between us, sitting on the edge of his desk, his hands bracketing the desk on either side of his hips. He glances away for a moment and I wonder if he’s finally going to bring up the annulment paperwork again.
For the record, I’m not bringing it up. Like, ever. Unless it’s our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and the statute of limitations on annulments has run out. Wait, I don’t think there is a statute of limitations on annulments. I think that term is meant for crimes, or tax evasion. But whatever, I’m not bringing it up, is the point.
Vince locks eyes with me again for a long moment before letting out a small huff of breath. Then shakes his head a little and smiles.
“Pole dancing is the traditional one-week gift?”
“No. Pole dancing was me taking an interest in your hobbies.”
“Right. I forgot. My hobbies.”
“So I can’t learn to pole-dance?”
“Not here, you can’t.” He crosses his arms and stares me down. “Though obviously I can’t tell you what you can or can’t do, Payton.”
“No, you can’t.” Glad we’re on the same page about that. Seriously, I am ridiculously good at picking husbands. I wonder if I should start a matchmaking business? That would be the ultimate event planning position, wouldn’t it? It’d be like life planning. Oh, my God. I’d be like a life coach. A matchmaking life coach! I really hope I remember this idea later. I lose some really great ideas because I forget to write them down.
“I hope you brought some clothing to wear out of here because you’re not wearing that.”
“I’m wearing twice as much material as I wear at the pool,” I argue. I wonder if I have untapped lawyer potential? I decide it doesn’t matter because I’d much rather plan events than argue with anyone. Plus the matchmaking life coaching thing is a much better idea.
“Then you need a new swimsuit,” Vince retorts. “Or a private pool.”
I roll my eyes. “Listen, Vince. Good news. I have a backup plan for today.”
“I legiterally cannot wait to hear it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“We’re”—he pauses with a look around us—“mini-golfing?”
“Yes!” I nearly bounce with excitement because this was a very good idea. “Because you like golf! And I don’t know how to golf, but I’m an excellent mini-golfer. And you can work on your putting! Great idea, right?”
“With glow-in-the-dark golf balls.” Vince is looking around the place like he’s entered the Twilight Zone. Which he sorta has because I’ve brought him to the Twilight Zone indoor mini-golf course at Bally’s. The entire place is glow in the dark and themed around the Twilight Zone movie.
“Yeah. Is that gonna throw off your game, big guy? Are you already looking for an excuse for losing?”
“Oh, I’m not losing.”
“Says you. I’m an excellent mini-golfer.”
We find the admission booth and pay—well, Vince pays. I attempted to, but he insisted and since I calculator-mathed that seven-hundred-dollar-an-hour billing rate of his I didn’t fight him on it. I pick out a glow-in-the-dark pink ball for myself and ask him if he’d like a blue ball. Then I laugh like a twelve-year-old because honestly, does anyone ever outgrow ball jokes? I hope not.
“I’ll keep score,” I announce and grab a tiny scorecard and pencil. I write our names on the scorecard as Vince slides his credit card back into his wallet. I like the way our names look together. Payton and Vince. Like a team, even though we’re competing against each other, being on the same score card makes us a sort of unit. In my mind at least, and I’m keeping this card forever. I’ll tuck it into a drawer somewhere or maybe put it between the pages of a book like a pressed flower. Which reminds me…
“I like to read!” I announce out of nowhere. I drop my ball in the tee box area at hole one. I wonder if there’s an official term for this or if tee box is it.
“That’s good to hear,” Vince deadpans.
I smile, because my outburst was pretty random. I like the way he rolls with my randomness.
“As a hobby. I like to read books as a hobby.”
“That’s an excellent hobby.”
“I didn’t think of it the other day when you asked me what my hobbies were. And I wanted you to know I have a hobby other than eating Cheez-Its.”
“So I should cancel the case of Cheez-Its in custom-made boxes I’ve got on order?”
I blink and side-eye him, not sure if he’s joking or not. I give it a full three seconds of thought before accepting it’s a joke because I don’t think anyone offers custom Cheez-It boxes, but who wouldn’t want that to be real? I stick out my tongue at him and take my shot. The ball stops half a foot from the hole.
“What kind of books do you like to read?”
“Romance novels.” I say it proudly because I don’t care if he is a fancy lawyer, I’m not embarrassed about my choice of reading material. Besides, you wouldn’t believe the number of romance authors who used to practice law but stopped because practicing law was dreadful. I wonder if Vince thinks practicing law is dreadful? Maybe that’s why he owns the club? Because he needs fulfillment outside of work? “Do you hate lawyering?”
“I thought we were talking about reading?” Vince takes his shot, his ball stopping a few inches from mine.
“We were, I got distracted.”
“I love lawyering. I usually refer to it as practicing the law, but lawyering is catchier. I think I’ll send a memo on Monday and ask everyone at the firm to refer to their jobs as lawyering from now on.”
“You really should.”
We both finish hole one in two strokes and move on to the next hole. There’s a family a few holes ahead of us, so we take our time, knowing we’re going to eventually catch up as we’ll move faster as a party of two than they will with a party of four.
“What do you love about it?” I ask.
“I like solving problems. I like helping people who need my help. I like making a difference.”
“But you’re in criminal law, right? So sometimes you have to help criminals?”
“Sometimes, yeah. That’s
how the law works. Sometimes the clients are innocent. Sometimes they’re not. Most of the time they’re just people who made bad choices and need help working through their options.”
“What else do you like about it?”
“I like owning my own firm. I like working for myself, essentially. Being the boss. Taking on the cases that interest me. I like that it affords me the opportunity to do what I want.”
Vince pauses to take his shot. He’s wearing a white shirt, which glows in this light. I’ve never mini-golfed indoors before, but I decide this is fun. Or maybe it’s being with Vince that makes it fun.
“What do you like about event planning?”
“Oh, you know, all those same things,” I joke. I hit my ball and it bounces off the side wall and rolls straight into the hole. “Hole in one!” I do a little shimmy to celebrate. Vince laughs, the lines around his eyes creasing. I love those little lines, they drive me absolutely nuts. He’s got one on his forehead too, this perfect line he gets when he’s deep in thought. I usually see it when I’ve said something ridiculous. It comes out before the long pause while he considers whatever it is that I’ve said.
“Nice. Now tell me what you like about your job.”
“I like helping people socialize. I really do. Which is weird maybe, but it’s not easy for everyone. Like Lydia, she’s not as outgoing as I am. She’d never have met Rhys if I hadn’t dragged her out of the house. She’d have stayed home and made sheet pajamas until she was thirty. Also, I sorta like the budgeting aspect.”
“How so?”
“It’s kinda like a puzzle. I have a budget and a head count and a general idea of what the client is interested in. And then I present a bunch of options, like a giant game of A or B, and help them piece together the best version of their event. It’s fun.”
“You plan a lot of weddings, right?”
“For now.” I bristle. “But I’m working on a very exciting dermatology event.”
“You don’t like working on the weddings?” Vince seems surprised by this fact and it sorta pisses me off.
