by JA Huss
“Mmmm,” I say, taking a sip of tea. “Thanks, I needed this.”
“OK,” Raven says, settling back in her chair and bringing her legs up so her knees are in front of her. “So I met Pete a while back. Before Carolina died. They were running the strip club already and I was working there. Pretty much just doing what you were doing. Being defensive and haughty.”
“Hey.” I laugh.
“Truth, Scarlett, truth.”
“Whatever.”
“I was about your age too, maybe a little younger. I’d just had a baby, so I was kinda desperate.”
“Wait,” I say, looking around. “You have a kid?”
“I did,” Raven says. She looks sad all of a sudden. “I gave her up for adoption.”
“Oh,” I say. Jesus Christ. I have no clue who she is right now. I mean, I’d assumed I knew who she was, but clearly I have no idea.
“I got pregnant and my boyfriend left me. I had a job, but it was just waitressing. The two of us together could afford the place we rented, but me alone?” She laughs. “Not enough tips to take care of that. So I was gonna get an abortion and just erase that part of my life completely, but dumbass me wandered into one of those health clinics run by nuns and shit, so they talked me out of it.”
“Oh, that sucks,” I say.
“No,” she says. “Not really. I mean yeah, I was really pissed off when I found out they only ran that free clinic to like, talk bitches like me out of getting abortions. Like… I got rage-y with those do-gooders and started screaming and yelling. But they gave me a home. Sent me to live with this couple who were looking to adopt, who took care of me, and sent me to therapy, and bought me an insurance plan so I could get prenatal care, and gave me money for school. Shit like that. And at first it was like… yeah, I want all your free shit, but you can’t have my baby. I mean, it felt like a transaction, ya know? And I was all emotional like pregnant women get, and well, it was not pretty. But in the end I did decide to let them adopt her, and they said we could have one of those open adoptions, ya know? Like, I could remain a part of her life if I wanted. They were actually cool about it. The only catch was that I’d have to move out because that would make it all too weird.”
I try to picture her. Young. Desperate. Sad.
“And it was… well, a little bit harder than it sounded to pack my shit after I gave birth and just leave her behind.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
She shrugs. “It was the right thing to do. I wasn’t strung out or any bullshit like that, but my history was checkered with so many bad decisions. I just… I just pictured her life without me versus her life with me and… decided she was better off, ya know?”
“So you left her behind?”
“Yup. I took that money they gave me for school, got on a plane to Vegas, and used that money to rent a place and start again.”
“As a stripper at Pete’s?”
She nods. “I stumbled in there one afternoon after finding a flyer. A red one with black writing and an illustration of a devil swinging around a pole.”
I am actually incapable of words right now. My mind is racing trying to fit all the pieces together, but I can’t. They make no sense.
“I was drawn to those dollar signs too,” she says, looking over at Brandon with a smile.
I glance at him just in time to see him smile back. Well, sorta. His lips kinda tilt upwards a tiny bit.
“And that’s how it started.”
“But… but what does that have to do with—?”
“I came into the club holding that red flyer and Pete took one look at it and said, ‘Not hiring.’ But Carolina was there, and she took it from my hand and gave me another one—this one was white and had all the same stuff on it. Same text, same dollar signs, same picture—but with one change. There was an angel swinging around the pole, not a devil. And she said, ‘I think you meant to bring this one, right, dear?’ And I said, What?’ And then she winked at me, winked at Pete, and he said, ‘You can start tomorrow at five AM. You’ve got morning shifts.’”
Things aren’t coming full circle. I have nothing to say about this story except… “What the fuck?”
Raven smiles at Brandon again. Like there’s something underneath that explains everything and I’m not privy to it. Then she refocuses her attention on me. “Carolina had this deal with a local church. Desperate girls would come to them—kinda like I went to those church people when I was pregnant—and sometimes they’d send them to Pete’s.”
“I’m sorry, wait. What? The church would send them to Pete’s?”
“Well, not as a matter of course, obviously. Jesus. But if, after talking with them and assessing where they were at and what they needed and so forth, and especially if they had any experience on the street or dancing or whatever, it was the one place where they could work safely. Legally. Make money to feed their kids and pay rent. And not have to be walking the Strip selling their bodies or God knows what.”
“That sounds like a very progressive church,” I muse.
“Judge not lest ye be there, Scarlett.”
Touché.
“So you had the red flyer,” I say.
“And so did you,” she responds.
“Yeah.”
“And when Carolina got sick… well, she was trying to make sure she left something behind. Pete was on board with the good deeds but didn’t want to run it. Desperate girls don’t relate well to a man, he said. By the time they got to the point where they came to him, men had usually been the problem and they needed a woman who understood. And I dunno, Carolina saw something in me, I guess. Potential. Or some business sense, or hell, maybe it was just my sadness after leaving my baby girl behind so she could have a better life than I did.” She shrugs. “And she gave me her half of the business, with the stipulation that I could never sell it. It was mine, but only as long as I stuck around to help others.”
“So that’s why you’re still there. Or were still there before it burned down.”
“No,” Raven says. “That’s not why. Pete signed over my half after Carolina died. Said it was my life, my choice, and I was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. I stayed because… well, I like being the angel in disguise. I like being who I am. I like seeing the girls come in and change themselves. Change their lives. I like guiding them. Playing big sister or whatever. It… it just fulfills me.”
I feel sick all of a sudden. Not because of Raven choosing to be a stripper for all these years, but because I was so, so, so wrong about her.
“You wanna see a picture?” Raven asks, pushing her chair back from the table and standing up before I can even answer. “Give me one sec.”
I look over at Brandon. He doesn’t smile. Just places one finger on top of the remaining cookie sitting in front of him and slides it across the table at me.
It’s an angel. Decorated with a white frosting dress with pale blue flowers as accents. She’s got a gold halo over her head.
This time when I look back at Brandon, he is smiling. He says, “They’re good.”
I pick it up and take a bite. It’s sweet and reminds me of Christmas when I was a kid and my mom used to bake cookies too. Reminds me of happy times, before I fell down the mountain and needed to claw my way back up.
Raven comes back holding a thick photo album, which she opens and places on the table in front of me. She flips to the last page and points to a teenage girl. Black hair, dark eyes, wearing a swim suit and holding up a gold medal.
“She’s on the US team for the next summer Olympics,” Raven says, her voice cracking with… what? Sadness? Regret? Loss?
No. Pride.
“This was the previous year’s world championships. She actually won three gold medals. This picture was taken just after her first win.” Raven laughs unexpectedly. “She thought that was the best moment of her life. She had no idea what was coming next.”
I just stare at the girl. But then Raven sits down, scoots her chair
closer to me, and flips the album back to the first page. There’s a picture of her—young, smiling, looking very tired as she holds a brand-new baby in her arms.
“Does she know you?” I ask, suddenly heartbroken and happy at the same time.
“No,” Raven says softly. “When I left I told her parents, ‘Don’t mention me. If she asks, you can tell her, but not until she asks.’ And so they send pictures every month. She’s so fucking interesting, Maddie. So smart, and pretty, and just… spectacular. Every month I’m just blown away at what she’s doing with her life. And when I think back to all those choices I made—to keep her, to give her away, and then to walk away—well, when I see this, when I see how much I’d have stifled her full potential by being selfish …” She sniffs back the sadness, lifts her head to look me in the eyes, and says, “I did all the right things. Made all the right decisions. And I wouldn’t take any of it back. I have no regrets at all.”
We spend the next hour looking at every single page in that photo album. And then Raven kicks me out. Says she’s having a party tonight and needs to get ready.
Brandon walks me to the door, holds it open for me, and says, “Take an angel with you.” And then he hands me a bag of cookies, which I had no idea he was holding, and as soon as I take it, he closes the door.
I think about everything the whole way back to Evan and Robert’s house.
All my bad decisions led me here. To this moment. To that interaction in Raven’s kitchen.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe all our mistakes add up to something bigger. Maybe all the bad decisions were just good ones in disguise.
I have been a failure for seven years. But I learned something from each one. I fell down, but I got back up. Stronger than I was. Better than I was.
And now I need to make the past mean something.
I don’t know what that looks like. I don’t know how I’m gonna do it, but I believe I can. I am nothing if not a fighter.
So I decide to embrace Scarlett. I decide to accept that I strayed, receive the gift of wisdom, and believe in who I am. Both the good and the evil.
I decide, after all, I can be just like Raven.
I decide I can be the angel in disguise.
Chapter Seven - Tyler
“Don’t be silly. I was glad you called. Come on in. Tea?” That’s Rodney. Maddie just thanked him for seeing us on short notice. His salon is fucking beautiful. Wood, and steel, and fine artwork hanging everywhere. As I understand it, he’s THE guy all the hot-shit Vegas celebrities go to. I have a feeling this whole thing is gonna run me close to four figures, which is fine, just weird since I think the last time I got a haircut I spent like three hundred rupees (about five bucks) and traded a bowl of rice that had been handed to me for some reason. (Lady just shoved it at me and said, “Please. You. You.” I figured that if I was looking so rough that she was forcing food on me, it must have been time for a trim.)
“Oh, no, I’m all tea’d up for today, thanks,” says Maddie.
“Tyler?” asks Rodney.
“Um, sure. You got any rooibos?”
“What kind of hair salon do you think I’m running? Of course I do!” He nods to a young guy in a sweatshirt and jeans that are so tight they look like they came from Maddie’s dresser, and Skinny Jeans heads over to where there’s this elaborate, Japanese-looking tea station set up.
I suppose the tea service is gonna be an extra hundo, at least. Jesus.
But it’s not the money. Not really. It’s that with everything that’s on my mind right now, blowing fat stacks on something as vanity-driven as a fuckin’ shave and haircut feels insanely wasteful. But then I remind myself that I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it because it will make Maddie happy. And that’s a good enough reason for me to do pretty much anything.
“So! What are we doing with all this?” Rodney starts running his hands through my hair and stroking my beard. Which I don’t mind necessarily. I’m not a huge fan of people poking and prodding at me uninvited, but it’s his job and whatnot. Like when I get a physical, it’s the doctor’s job to grab my balls and shit, so I let ’em. It’s just not the way I normally like to have my balls squeezed. Now, if Rodney grabs my balls, then that will be something that he and I will have to talk about.
I’ll at least make him buy me dinner.
“Um... Mads? What’re we doing?” I ask. Because I don’t fuckin’ know.
She walks me over and plops me down in the haircutting chair (I guess that’s what it’s called) facing a mirror and stands behind me with Rodney. “So, all this?” She rubs both hands down the sides of my cheeks, tracing my beard with her palms. And I’m getting hard. Oh, fuck. (Well, hell. The heart wants what it wants. So do my big, swollen nuts.) “Gone,” she continues.
“All of it? Off?” he confirms.
She nods. “And then this?” She has her hands in my head hair now. “Let’s just bring it up about this much...” She pulls my hair down in the front so that it’s covering my face and then puts her index and middle finger, like scissors, around a chunk of it.
“Oh, really?” he says. “Because I was thinking we could go this much.” He does the same thing, only a little higher up. They continue this conversation, both of them with their hands in my hair now.
“You think?” she asks.
“Definitely,” he says. “You know, less Chris Hemsworth in Thor and more Chris Hemsworth on the cover of Vanity Fair. See?”
I assume he’s holding up a copy of Vanity Fair, because Maddie goes, “Oh, my God. Yes. Yes. That is hot.” I can’t see what they’re seeing because my hair is now all rumpled, having been man- and lady-handled, and is hanging in front of my face completely. I kind of feel like Cousin Itt from The Addams Family.
My tea is now ready.
Skinny Jeans hands it to me in a heavy, ceramic mug with no handle. I part my hair enough to bring the cup to my lips. Holy shit, that’s the best fucking cup of goddamn rooibos tea I’ve ever had. Nice work, Skinny Jeans.
“OK! Let’s get started!” exclaims Rodney, pulling my hair back from my face, snatching up a pair of scissors, grabbing my beard, and unceremoniously cutting off a huge chunk of it.
“AHHH!” I scream.
Both Maddie and Rodney jump back. “What? What happened?” Maddie yells.
“Nothing. Sorry. I was just fucking around. Continue.”
Maddie rolls her eyes, and Rodney lets out a huge breath and slaps me on the shoulder. “You are bad!”
“You have no idea,” says Maddie.
“OK. You”—Rodney addresses Mads—“out. Go. No distractions. I know how to deal with this. I’ve worked with children before.” Good old Rodney’s got my number, all right.
“Yeah? I should leave?” she asks, hesitantly.
I get it. I don’t want her to go either. Not because of the fucking haircut. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m not actually five. It’s just that being apart seems... hard. I don’t like not being near her and I’m pretty sure she feels the same way. And even though it’s just some hair being taken off my face and head, it’s more than that.
This is the only way she’s seen me since I left twelve years ago. This version of me is who she has fallen in love with. If she goes away and comes back, a whole new person will be sitting here to greet her. Someone who looks like she probably remembers. And that may be a good thing. It may be an awful thing. No way to know. And only one way to find out.
“Hey,” I say, extending my hand out to her. She takes it. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
She doesn’t seem sure. She rocks back and forth like she doesn’t want to let go of my grip. And then Rodney says, “Oh! Shit. I left my good shaving brush in the back. I’ll go get it.” He turns and heads to the back, shooing Skinny Jeans out along with him. Good dude.
Once they’re gone, I fan my hair back away from my face and turn the chair to face Mads. “Hey, kitten, I’m just getting a haircut and a shave. But it’s me. I’ll still be here.
”
“I know,” she says. “I know. It’s stupid, but...”
“No, it ain’t stupid,” I say. “Shit, kid, after everything we’ve been through in the last couple months, it’s not unreasonable for you to think you could come back to find Lady Gaga sitting here waiting for you.”
She squints at me. Peers hard into my eyes. “Are you Lady Gaga?”
I consider. “Not sure. Don’t think so.”
“Because that wouldn’t be the worst. Gaga’s fucking hot.” She smiles. I smile back and squeeze her hand tighter.
“I’ll be here. I ain’t going nowhere. Bank on that shit.”
She nods and squeezes my hand back. Then she grabs up her bag, heads to the door, and throws me one last look over her shoulder. I wink and then make an over-exaggerated series of flamboyant, Vegas magician gestures all around my beard and head, and she smirks, laughs only through her nose, and then walks out, letting the door fall shut behind her.
I swivel the chair back around to look at myself in the mirror again. She’s not the only one who’s a little worried. Shit, I don’t know if I’ll even recognize my own damn self anymore. It’s been probably seven or eight years since I saw my face unobscured by this jungle of protective overgrowth. Because for all the shit I’ve talked about being lazy or not caring – which is not completely untrue – an even truer reason that I’ve allowed myself to look this way is that it keeps people at a distance. It creates a barrier. It hides me.
So. Time to come out of the darkness and into the light.
Rodney pokes his head around the corner to see if Maddie’s gone. “Found it!” he says, holding up a swanky-looking shaving brush with a silver handle. “OK! Let’s do this,” he exclaims, walking over to me.
He grabs a hot towel from a towel steamer and goes to wrap it around my beard and eyes. Just before he puts it on me, I reach out and grab his arm, stopping him. “Rodney... Be gentle,” I implore, with an over-exaggerated need in my voice.
“Oh, honey,” he says, “Rodney’s got you, baby.”
And as he leans the chair back and wraps the warm, damp towel around my eyes, I choose not to think about how goddamn vulnerable this whole thing could make a person feel.
