by Joe Zito
The clock on the wall by the bar displayed large red numbers showing 1:50 a.m. And she still had not moved from the spot on the floor and the man lying next to her was still dead as can be. “You have to get up Lauren,” she told herself weakly. “You just can’t sit here all night.” But she didn’t move. She couldn’t. The ordeal had traumatized her and she thought that if she moved, the man would suddenly come alive and grab her by the ankle just like they do in the movies. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll try to get up.” Her mind drifted away once more, back to her day from twelve hours ago. Drifting, drifting.
The car behind her slammed their horn making Lauren jump, startling her out of her daydream of a better life. She moved ahead. After a quick trip through town she arrived at Cherrybombs. She sat there in the back parking lot for a moment with the car still running and her mind on anything but taking her clothes off tonight. The radio was on at a low volume. A newscaster was giving a report of the recent terror that has come to the town of Bludenhale, Indiana. ……and not since the tragedy of the Bludenhale Massacre of 1974 has this town been on edge and this scared for a long time. Police are doing all they can to catch the perpetrator of these crimes. They are urging people especially women not go out after 9 p.m. and if they do they ask to be within a group of people for safety. In other news, two teenage boys distributing religious literature have gone missing and…….. A serial rapist was on the loose and as Lauren turned the volume down on the radio a wave of sickness spread throughout her mind and stomach at the thought of her son being the twisted sicko tormenting innocent women all around town. Her mind crumbled. What if it’s Michael? Oh dear god. And it’s all my fault because I am a horrible mother and I was never around when he was little. She wiped her eyes that were beginning to tear up and got out of her car, paying no attention to the homeless drunk laying by the dumpster. She opened the back door to the club and a blast of loud music came roaring out at her. It didn’t even phase her. Very loud rock and roll music was part of her job description and she didn’t mind. Her favorite band after all was AC/DC and she always made a point to have her dance routines accompanied by the Australian rock gods. She made her way to the dressing room that all the girls had nicknamed the outhouse. After dropping off her overloaded purse full of stripper gear, (g-strings, assorted panties, bras, deodorant, perfume, tampons, and cherry scented lube to apply to her nether regions so her pussy stink wouldn’t overwhelm her customers during lap dances) she went out to the bar area. Jack, the owner of the club, was pouring whiskey in a row of small shot glasses. He had a white dish towel over his shoulder. He greeted Lauren with a smile and an offer of deep brown liquid fire. She accepted his offer with a smile and a look in her eyes that said she really needed it. Then she remembered her episode earlier in the bathroom and she opted for a sprite for now. She lit a cigarette and looked over at the stage where a girl was half ass dancing. Lauren rolled her eyes and blew out a breath of cancerous smoke from her mouth.
“What the hell do you call that,” she said to Jack sarcastically.
He gave her a wink, “Give her time Lauren.”
She rolled her eyes knowing that the girl wouldn’t get far with the lack luster dance moves she was doing on stage. Lauren gazed at herself in the mirror propped up behind rows of dark brown whiskey bottles. Her image seemed distorted through all the smoke and glass. She wondered if her life would ever get straightened out or would it just keep going on the way it was, all distorted and out of shape like the reflection of her hard life face staring back at her. The music came to a stop and the girl came off the stage unaware of her bad dance routine. Lauren took another drag from her Marlboro light 100 and saw a picture of Amy Smith in a gold frame behind the bar sitting next to an unopened Jim Beam bottle. She remembered how scared she and some of the other dancers were after Amy died by the hands of some psycho in the back parking lot three years ago. She was a good dancer; had a messy stage show with all that blood though, she thought to herself. She liked Amy and use to give her advice on dancing and the business, but she also felt for her because of what happened to her mother in 1974. Lauren remembers sitting around the table at dinner time when she was fourteen, listening to her parents talk about the Bludenhale Massacre and how frightened it made her knowing that someone had killed three people in the town where she lives. She shivered at these thoughts from the past.
“I sure miss her,” Jack suddenly said as he saw Lauren looking at the picture of Amy.
She reached out and put her hand gently on his and said, “Yeah, I know you do.”
Somehow the time had crept along like a ghost ascending an attic staircase and it was nine o’clock.
Showtime.
By now Laurens hangover was subsiding and she was ready to entertain the drunks and factory workers condemned to small time life as if they were sentenced to it by Satan himself. As usual, the announcer on stage made another cheesy intro and ‘Touch to much’ by AC/DC began to play over the p.a. Lauren made her way onto the stage that was covered in hot, sexy red light. Cat calls and drunken banter roared from the crowd and Lauren loved every minute of it. Sweetheart, this is what you were made to do, she thought. She whirled herself around the shiny chrome strippers pole centered in the middle of the stage. Once upon a time that same pole dripped with the blood of Amy Smith. Not anymore.
Wild faces of bearded men and sweaty long haired females flew past Laurens field of vision as she spun around the pole. The music blasted in her ears and she felt as one with the stage. She was at home.
Near the back of the main floor, just in front of the bar, a group of young boys, (probably in their twenties but more than likely not) were yelling and clapping and hooting like half buzzed college boys at some lame frat party. One of the boys, who looked a little younger than his drunk ass friends, was sitting in a chair in front of the table. They were cuttin’ up with him, grabbing him by his shoulders, jerking him back and forth like a drunk uncle would do to his nephew at a family reunion. The kid couldn’t have been older than seventeen by his looks. He forced an embarrassed smile from his buddies’ actions. From the stage Lauren could see the table in the back and she did notice the younger kid sitting there amongst all these noisy drunk folk wanting to see some tits and ass and oh dear jesus just maybe a little bit of her sweet, sweet honey pussy. She fell to her knees and mocked making out with herself by wrapping her arms around her waist and then her shoulders. That beautiful green started flying in onto the stage floor. She laid herself down flat on her stomach and slowly pushed her back end up high as it could go. Leaving herself in that positon she inserted her thumbs under her black g-string and slowly started to pull them down, but only just enough to show the beginnings of her vagina. She pulled them up quickly and positioned herself back on her knees where she rubbed in between her thighs and over the front part of her panties. She could feel herself getting wet. The thought of masturbating full force in front of seventy people went through her mind just as it always had when she performed on stage. She didn’t want to lose her job though and kicked that thought out of her mind. You can play with yourself later in the outhouse when you’re done sugar ok, she thought. And most of the time she would, even as girls would walk in and out, and sit bare ass naked in front of a mirror spraying themselves with perfume and applying lip gloss, getting ready for their five minutes of glory whoring themselves out, slithering around a black tiled stage under bright shining lights. Somehow during the storm of loud voices, Lauren couldn’t stop staring at the kid sitting at the table, with that look of anger and embarrassment contorting his face. As she gazed through the crowd, the noise seemed to fade away until it was completely silent and it was just her on the stage and the kid sitting in the chair; the rooms only light was a bare light bulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling, separating the woman and the boy. They both were silent for a moment ant then the boy spoke.
“Hi mom.” He said with an expressionless face and in a straight lifeless tone.
Lauren
s heart quickened at the sound of his voice. It was her son Michael’s voice.
The birth of a scream formed in her throat but was trapped by her shock of what she was hearing.
“How have you been mom? I haven’t talked to you in a while. I can see you’ve been busy at work.” The boy said.
Still, that trapped scream hid in her throat. She stood half naked, frozen to the stage floor.
What’s happening? What’s going on? It’s ok Lauren you’re just having a panic attack. Shit’s gotten a little crazy lately that’s all. Just get ahold of yourself dammit!
“Why were you never there for me mom when I was growing up? You tried a little but not hard enough,” his face still blank, void of emotion.
Then from out of the shadows from behind the kid sitting in the chair, appeared a young girl with long blonde hair. It was seventeen year old Lauren. Her face was covered in semen; a mask of guilt and failure upon her face. In her arms she was carrying a bundled up blanket. Inside was a small child. It was her son Michael when he was a year old. A haunting melody of a female voice singing a lullaby sifted through the room like mist.
The boy sitting in the chair suddenly stood up but it wasn’t the same person. In Laurens eyes she could see it was her son Michael. He stepped forward as if to make his way to her. She covered her mouth as if to stifle a scream but her emotions came tumbling down over her when thick tears fell from her eyes.
“All I wanted from you is to just be there; show me that you care and love me mom. Was that too hard for you to do?”
Lauren reached out her hand as if to touch her son.
She cried out, “Michael, I’m so sorry that I was never there for you. I was just a kid when I had you. Please, oh please forgive me. I want to do better.”
The lullaby was piercingly loud in her ears. So were the cries of the small child who she perceived to be her son Michael.
“Sorry I was such a burden on you mom,” Michael said.
“No, no honey you never were a….”
Her sentence was cut short when all of a sudden the hallucinogenic image of her son began to melt down to the floor in a piping hot bubbling mess of fleshy gore.
Lauren finally released that trapped scream in her throat. The room began spinning. She put her hand to her head, trying to ease the dizziness she was feeling. And then she hear someone say, “C’mon lady, don’t just stand there. Show us your tits.” And then, “Yeah, drop those panties.”
She was lost in a spinning vortex of guilt and shame as she watched her former young self, holding her son. She covered her eyes as tears flooded down her face. Bright yellow and white lights suddenly came into view. They blinded her. The room spun and spun and she heard, “Lauren.” Room, spinning and spinning. “Hey, you ok Lauren.”
The voice was familiar but she still didn’t know where she was. All she could see was the mound of steaming flesh that had been her son. A hand took ahold of her arm gently. “Lauren, you ok doll?” And then she recognized the voice. It was Jack and he was lightly shaking her arm as if to wake her from her daze. With eyes full of fright, she looked down at him from the stage. She didn’t even realize she had been standing there for the past minute. The horrifying image of her past self and her son’s painful speech had seized her, leaving her in an immobile state of terror. An amazing sense of great relief washed over her when she finally came out of it and saw Jack standing there looking up at her. She looked in confusion at the booing crowd and flinched at the incoming debris hitting her. Jack jumped up on stage and quickly escorted her off, taking her hastily through the black hole and then to the outhouse where he wrapped her in a blanket and set her down on the couch. The scene was all too familiar to him as he remembered that night Amy Smith had a meltdown on stage. He shuddered at the thought. The idea that his stage might be haunted quickly went through his mind but he dismissed it immediately. He got Lauren a small plastic cup filled with water. He told her to sip it slowly. She did with shaking hands. The terror she was feeling on stage still clung to her even after twenty minutes went by. Jack sat with her until she said she was ok. He reluctantly left her to herself when she asked if she could be alone for a moment and get herself together. Once the door shut to the outhouse, Lauren dropped her tear streaked face into her hands and began to cry.
“Michael, oh Michael,” She said over and over to herself under her breath.
One hour later Lauren found herself sitting in front of the mirror drying her hair after her shower. The image of the boy’s face morphing into her son still lingered with her. She began brushing her wet, matted sandy blonde hair. Meanwhile, Jack was at the bar wiping down the surface with a wet towel. It was 11:00. There was still a decent crowd in the place but things were dying down. Not bad for a Thursday night.
Lauren finished up and made her way out to the bar just as a group of guys were exiting. She sat at the bar and Jack gave her a look of concern.
“Go on home Lauren, no need to stick around,” Jack said.
She knew he was right but this was her prime time for what she called her side job. The problem though is that most of the crowd had left, leaving only her and Jack in the building. That was until a small gust of air came from behind Lauren as the front door opened. Jack rolled his eyes as he wiped the bar harder, knowing that it was almost closing time and more that Lauren would be putting herself out there for this lone stranger that had come waltzing in on this drab Thursday night.
“Sorry buddy, it’s about closing time.” Jack immediately told him.
“Oh shoot. Can a guy get just one drink. It’s been a hell of a day. I’d really appreciate it.” The man looked about thirty six with dark brown hair and a five o’clock shadow. He had dark blue jeans on and was wearing a black wool jacket. Just a regular guy. But he did catch Laurens attention.
She averted her eyes from the stranger and gave Jack a look.
In her raspy voice she said, “Oh now Jack, it’s all right. Give the man a drink.”
“Really Lauren,” Jack said to her under his breath.
Without saying anything, Laurens facial expression was showing Jack, Yeah really. And of course that sexy smile of hers swayed him to let the guy have at least one drink.
“All right buddy what can I get you. Make it quick though. I want to get outta here.” Jack said.
The man was gracious when he said, “Oh that’s great. Thanks a lot. Jack Daniels double.”
Lauren patted the bar stool next to her, motioning for the guy to sit down.
“I hope your old man ain’t gonna be walkin’ out of the restroom to see his sexy woman here with another man.” The man said.
“Don’t worry baby, I’m single. Besides I could use a drinkin’ partner right about now.” Lauren smiled and took a drag off her Marlboro light 100.
“Well that’s good to know,” he told her with a sly smile on his face.
Jack didn’t like where this was going. Yeah, you won’t be single for long, he thought. He poured the whiskey in a shot glass for the man.
The usual bar banter quickly ensued between Lauren and the stranger whose name she didn’t know because she didn’t care at the moment. She just wanted a piece of him to satisfy her need of sexual fulfillment. Lauren sipped her whiskey and took long drags off her cigarette and laughed at the man’s jokes and soon she was giving him her classic bedroom eyes and she suggested going out back.
And off they went somewhere in the deep black of the club where she moved her hand over his crotch and he pushed her up against the wall in the dark next to the outhouse and pushed his mouth onto hers and she accepted his tongue with great ease. And not once did she care or notice Jacks pissed of sigh when she and the man got up from their bar seats and walked quickly hand in hand to the back.
