Dark Hollows

by Steve Frech

  I stop paying attention to her and go back to scanning the floor. The cocktail server arrives with my beer.

  “Bud Lite,” she says, placing it on the table.

  “How much?” I ask, going for my wallet.

  “Eight bucks,” she says.

  I take out a twenty and hand it to her. “Keep it.”

  Her face lights up, and she gives me a wink. “Thanks.” She tucks it into her corset. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Will do.”

  I have no intention of drinking my beer. Between the stress and lack of sleep, if I have a sip of alcohol, I’ll be in trouble. I need to stay sharp. I still have plenty of cash at the ready from this morning.

  I keep a lookout in case Veronica has slipped on to the floor without my noticing. I check the burner phone, which has no messages, and my personal phone, which only has messages from Sandy.

  The song reaches its conclusion. Ashley has her legs wrapped around the pole. She leans back, and does one last rotation with her torso parallel to the floor. She pulls herself back up, and slides all the way down the pole. She playfully crawls across the stage to take the money from her admirers. She allows a few of them who are holding larger bills to tuck them into her G-string.

  “Ashley! Ashley! Ashley!” the voice booms over the speakers. “Give it up, guys! Keep those dollars coming! Keep those drinks flowing! Next up to the stage, please welcome the ever-so-delicious, the ever-so-sensual, the ever-so-sexy Veronica!”

  A slower, sultrier song begins to play.

  I sit up in my seat and lock my eyes onto the stage.

  The intro to the song plays, beginning with heightening notes that crash into a guitar melody. She steps out from behind the curtain. The guys roar their approval.

  It’s her—the woman who passed herself off as Rebecca Lowden, but not the woman I saw yesterday at the celebration in The Hollows. I have a hunch Veronica Sanders doesn’t know what she’s become a part of.

  Like the dancers before her, she’s only wearing heels and a thong. Unlike the other dancers, her routine is slow, seductive, and hypnotic. The shoddy red hair dye from the day we met is gone, replaced by her natural brunette. She’s undoubtedly beautiful. The crowd agrees, not by applause, but by its muted response. Everyone watching is mesmerized. She’s not doing a pole dancing routine. This is performance art. She plays to the guys next to the stage, but not nearly as much as the other dancers. She takes in the whole room. From the moment she begins to move, she has everyone under her spell.

  The song builds towards its climax, she slinks up the pole, holds it with one hand while facing the crowd, crosses her legs around the pole behind her, and spins. On the last note, the lights go out. Everyone cheers, but there is the noted absence of catcalls, and whistling. The lights come back up, and she smiles. She playfully picks up the bills that carpet the stage. Arms reach out to eagerly tuck bills into her G-string. She has to have just made hundreds of dollars in a matter of minutes.

  I get ready to make a beeline for Hank, but I don’t want to approach the stage while she’s still there. I don’t want her to see me. Not yet.

  She scoops up the last bill, winks, and disappears behind the curtain.

  I’m out of the booth and heading for the side of the stage before the curtain stops moving. Two other guys have also left their seats and are approaching Hank.

  “Oh my, Veronica!” the DJ calls. “Give it up for Veronica one more time! We’re gonna take a little break to give you guys a chance to grab another drink. Maybe get yourself a private dance with any of the lovely ladies you’ve seen here tonight! Don’t go anywhere! We still have some of the hottest ladies who want to have some fun with you coming up in just a few minutes, here at Whispers!”

  The music resumes, but the volume is mercifully lower. Conversations, however, still require almost shouting.

  I reach the side of the stage. The two guys have already beaten me there and are talking to Hank. One of them is a middle-aged businessman. The other looks like he’s in his mid-twenties, lanky, and wearing glasses. Both of them have money in their hands.

  Hank looks at me as I take my place next to them.

  “You here for Veronica?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “All right, gentlemen,” he says with all the panache of an auctioneer. “Here’s the deal. She only does one VIP dance. It’s up to you to decide who it’s gonna be. Got it?”

  We all nod.

  “All right, let’s do it. Who’s gonna start?”

  We glance at each other. The lanky guy chimes in. “Two hundred dollars.”

  Hank gives him a look of pity. “All right, we’re starting with the lowball.” Hank turns to the businessman. “You gonna do better?”

  “Three hundred,” the businessman says with a little more confidence than Lanky.

  “Five,” I say, almost on top of him.

  “There we go. There we go.” Hank nods, and turns back to the young guy. “You still in, Poindexter?”

  He hangs his head, and goes back to his lonely table.

  “Have a good evening,” Hank calls after him. “All right, gentlemen. It’s heads up poker time. My man here bid five hundred. You willing to do five-fifty?”

  The businessman nods.

  “Six,” I immediately reply.

  “My man says six. You got six fifty?”

  The businessman hesitates, and then nods.

  “Seven,” I say.

  Even Hank is a little shocked by my brazenness.

  “My man here wants it,” he says, admiringly. He turns his attention to the businessman. “All right, we’re at seven. You still in? You’ve seen the goods. You know she’s worth it.”

  The businessman thinks. I’m pretty sure he’s got the cash on him.

  “Seven-fifty,” I say.

  They both stare at me.

  “You have to let the man bid,” Hank says.

  “Let him bid eight hundred if he wants to.”

  This is insane, I know, but I’m not going to take the chance of waiting until the end of the night to catch Veronica in the parking lot. I’m sure Hank will probably walk her out, and I’ll get nowhere. I have to get this dance. I don’t care about the cost.

  The businessman looks at me. “Have fun,” he says in a tone that suggests I should do something else.

  Now that I’m alone with Hank, he gives me his full attention. “You ever been here, before?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I like your style. Gotta admire a man who knows what he wants. Let me see the cash.”

  I open my wallet so that he can see inside. There’s a lot more than the seven-fifty in there.

  “Damn, you came to play.” He shakes my hand in admiration. My hand is swallowed up inside his vice grip. This guy is a mountain. “Follow me.”

  He leads me down the darkened corridor. There are curtained booths near the entrance and doors at the back. Some of the curtains are open to reveal empty chairs next to poles that run from the floor to the ceiling. Others are closed and have bouncers stationed outside. Hank leads me to one of the open doors.

  “All right, let me explain the rules to you. You’re gonna get two songs. You have to remain seated with your hands underneath you. Got it?”

  I nod.

  “She can touch you. You cannot touch her. I’m going to be right outside this door. You do anything stupid, I’m gonna come in there and fuck you up. Understand?”

  “Yeah.”

  He smiles to let me know that we’re cool. “Just something I have to say. You’re spending the cash, so I assume you know how this works.”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s a lot to splash out, but Veronica will be very appreciative.”

  “Great,” I say, eager to get this thing going.

  He laughs. “All right, man. I get it. I get it. I’ll take the cash and you can enjoy the dance.”

  I hand him the money.

  “Thank you.” He take
s hold of the door and gestures inside. “Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll go get her.”

  I step through the door.

  “Be right back,” he says, and closes it.

  The room is lit by the purple neon lights overheard. There are smaller, spinning lights mounted next to speakers in the corners. The effect mimics the lighting in the main room. There’s a black vinyl bench against the wall, and a solitary pole in the center of the room. I walk around the pole to the bench, and hesitate before sitting. For a moment, I really wish I carried some disinfectant wipes. I shake my head, sit down, and wait … and wait.

  It’s taking forever. At least, I think it is. Instead of sitting in a strip club VIP room, waiting for a lap dance, I feel like I’m waiting in a doctor’s office. I try to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps, but the thumping speakers rule out any advance warning.

  I haven’t even thought of what I’m going to say. I’ve been so bent on tracking her down, I haven’t formulated what I might—

  The knob turns, and the door opens. Music from the main room floods in.

  There she is.

  She’s standing in the doorway, looking off in Hank’s direction.

  “Thank you, Hank.” She smiles, and then steps into the room, closing the door behind her. She’s still in high heels, a thong, and nothing else. She beams as she turns to me. “I don’t know who you are, mister, but I hope you are ready for one hell of a dance.” She finally gets a good look at me. There’s the hesitation, then the slow realization that she’s seen me before. Then comes the recognition. Now, the fear.

  “… shit …” she whispers.

  I stand up. “Wait!”

  She turns to the door. “Hank!”

  I take two steps towards her. “No! Hold on! I just want—!”

  The door flies open, and Hank busts in, ready for business. He sees me standing, and his eyes flash.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he asks.

  “No, this isn’t— I only wanted to—”

  “Why are you standing up? I told you, you’ve gotta be seated with your hands under you. What’s so hard about that?”

  Veronica moves backwards, and Hank steps between us.

  “I just wanted to talk to her,” I plead.

  “We don’t do that talking shit, here.”

  A moment ago, Hank and I were friends. Now, he’s ready to kick my ass.

  “I need to talk to you!” I shout over Hank’s shoulder at Veronica.

  “She don’t want to talk to you, man.”

  “You have to tell me who put you up to it!” I yell towards Veronica. “I have to know!”

  Her eyes go wide.

  Hank steps closer. “We ain’t got time for the weirdos and the crazies. You gotta go.”

  I’m blowing my chance, and if I don’t talk to her tonight, I’ll never get near her again. Panic sets in.

  “Please! Listen to me! Just listen!” I begin to reach for my back pocket.

  Veronica lets out a sharp gasp.

  “Hey!” Hank charges forward, locks my arm with his massive hand, and grabs my neck with the other. He spins me, and slams me up against the wall. “Don’t you fucking move!”

  “No! Please, listen to me!”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Hank yells.

  “She took my dog!” I shout, straining to look at Veronica.

  My comment is so out of left field, that Hank blinks. His grip loosens by a fraction. “The fuck did you just say?”

  I take the opportunity to pull in a breath, but don’t fight his grip. I nod towards Veronica. “She knows what I’m talking about.”

  Hank glances over his shoulder at Veronica. She’s tense, but it’s obvious that she does know something, and she’s listening.

  Hank turns back to me, his face inches from mine. “Keep talking.”

  “Veronica, that crazy woman took my dog, and I need your help. In my back pocket, there’s a photo this woman left for me. I can show it to you so you know I’m not lying. That’s what I was reaching for.”

  Hank glances over his shoulder and waits for instructions from Veronica.

  She watches me, and nods.

  Hank relaxes his grip. “You go slow. Got it?”

  “Yeah. I got it.”

  He lets go of my arm, but keeps the other hand on my throat.

  As instructed, I slowly reach back and take the Polaroid out of my pocket. I bring it around in a wide arc, so Hank can see it coming. He takes it from my hand and studies it. He hands it to Veronica, who brings it close to her face so she can see it in the low light.

  Her shoulders drop. “Shit … You can let him go, Hank.”

  He does so, but stays ready for action in case I make any sudden moves.

  Veronica looks at me, not knowing what to say.

  “Listen,” I say as calmly as possible. “I don’t think you knew what was going to happen, but you’re the only hope I have of finding her and getting my dog back. Okay?”

  She glances at the photo again.

  “All I want to do is talk,” I repeat.

  She looks up and sighs. “Hank, can you please bring me a robe from the dressing room?”

  He gives me one last threatening glance. “Sure thing,” he says, and leaves.

  She hands me the photo. “Let’s go somewhere a bit quieter.”

  *

  We’re standing under the harsh halogen lamp mounted to the wall over the back door of Whispers. Wrapped in a thick robe against the cold, she lights a cigarette. I’m gingerly massaging the spot on my arm where Hank had me on lockdown.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “I’m all right. Aren’t you cold?”

  She shrugs, takes another drag, and leans against the wall.

  “So, what do you want to know?”

  “First off, did she give you a name?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not. That would be too easy,” I say, more to myself than to her. “Then tell me everything you remember.”

  She collects her thoughts over another inhalation of smoke. Her cigarette is going quick. She blows the column of smoke into the air as she begins speaking.

  “She came in a few months ago. I didn’t think anything of it. We get women in here all the time. She was wearing this old baseball hat and her was hair down, like she was trying to hide her face. That’s not anything new, either. You should see some of the stuff the guys do. They’re so afraid of running into their neighbor or their wife that they dress like they’re in a spy novel, you know? Anyway, one night, she sees me on stage and pays Hank a shit ton of money for a dance.”

  She looks at me, and lets out a little laugh. “Kinda like you. So, I go to the room and she’s there, sitting down. I start doing my thing, and she says that she just wants to talk. Again, kind of like you.” Veronica takes another drag. “I hate the talkers. I hate the people who either say they want to save you or they want to fuck you. I don’t need saving. I’ll bet I make twice as much as they do, and in half the time.”

  After watching her on stage, I believe it.

  “Anyway, I tell her that I’m not interested in a personal connection, and she says that it’s a business thing. Says she’ll give me five thousand dollars for one night’s work. I’m thinking that she’s got to be talking about sex, right? I tell her no way. I’m not sleeping with her. She says that it has nothing to do with sex, it’s not illegal, and I won’t have to touch anyone. All I’ll have to do is a bit of acting. She gives me a thousand bucks cash, in addition to what she’s paid for the dance, and calls it a down payment. She tells me to meet her at this coffee place in Burlington the next day, and she’ll give me another grand just to hear her out. After that, she got up and left. I figure, hey, I could use another thousand dollars just to hear her out and then tell her no, whatever it is she wants me to do. So, I meet her the next day and we—”

  “What did she look like?” I interject.

  Veronica cocks her head. “She was tall. S
he had red hair, and was wearing that baseball hat again. Gray jacket, I think, and blue jeans.”

  “Did she have a scar, right here?” I ask, pointing to a spot above my eye.

  “Yeah. That’s her.”

  “What color were her eyes?”

  “Green.”

  “Not blue?”

  “No.”

  I always knew that whoever I had seen was not Laura. It couldn’t be. This sealed it. Whoever she was, she had gone out of her way, even giving herself a scar and dyeing her hair, but the eyes weren’t lying. She had been wearing contacts when I saw her.

  “She was cute, but not my type,” Veronica continues, tapping the butt of her cigarette. The ashes drift to the ground like snow.

  “Then, what?” I ask.

  “She lays out this plan. She says that for one night, I’m supposed to pretend to be someone named Rebecca Lowden. She gives me a backstory that I’m supposed to memorize and then, I’m supposed to mess with this guy—the guy being you.”

  “Yeah. I figured that out. Did she tell you about Be Our Guest?”

  She nods. “She said you might ask about it, so she filled me in a little. She said she’d make the profile and book the reservation. She also showed me your page and pictures of the cottage. She was really insistent about that stick thing in the living room. Told me to make sure that you saw me with it, and that I should just kind of fuck with you.”

  “What about your hair?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh, yeah. That was the other thing she was really hung up on. Said I needed to dye my hair red. I guess it was a thing with her, because she did it, too.”

  Whoever this woman is, she’s gone way over the top to get the image of Laura in my head.

  Veronica crushes the stub of her cigarette against the bricks, extracts another one from the pack in the pocket of her robe, and places it between her lips.

  “Keep going,” I say. “I’m kind of in a rush.”

  “I’m trying to remember, okay? Give me a second.” She flicks her lighter and kisses the flame to the end of the new cigarette until it begins to glow. She pulls in a breath, savors it, and returns the pack and lighter to her pocket. “The hair thing was last minute, and it made me feel really weird. Also, she told me to leave your place early in the morning, and to keep the front door open. I asked her why, and she said not to worry about it … That felt a little creepy.”