by David Boyle
He picked up the promotional postcard and stared at it. It made him nauseous to think of men drooling over his only child, harboring carnal thoughts, possibly acting on them. A series of heart-wrenching images arrested him: What else does her job require her to do besides dance? Does anyone touch her? Follow her? He wanted the questions to cease but they wouldn’t. He remembered the last heated argument they had had about her work. Part of him wanted to slap some sense into her then and there but he knew that would only have pushed her away. In fact, Alexia, after listening on one occasion to her father voicing disgust for her profession, had sworn she’d walk out and never speak to him again if he kept complaining about her choices. She was free, she had told him for the last time, to live a life she deemed appropriate and up to her own standards. At that moment he realized it would break him if his only child deserted him too; his wife’s leaving him for a relationship with a wealthy man had been emotionally and financially disastrous enough. Alexia was all he had left and under no circumstances would he be willing to let her go—having her on her terms was far better than not having her at all. A sensation suddenly came over him, persuading him to alter the course of his and Alexia’s life. He loaded his bag with his unwashed laundry and hurriedly left the laundromat.
Having arrived at Under Lights, he pulled into the rear lot. To his left he saw a parked car. Straight ahead, stained and dented, the rear entrance doors to the club—the screen door swinging back and forth in the moderate breeze. He got out of the car, approached the building, and shouted through the screen. “Excuse me...is anybody here?”
A strained, raspy voice hollered from the end of the hall. “Yeah, I’m here. Who wants to know?”
“Leonard Rivers. It’s urgent I speak with you.”
“Come in. I’m down the hall in the office. Follow the arrows.”
Leonard started down the corridor, making mental note of the various pictures hanging to his left and to his right: pinups of dancers, promotional flyers from beer and cigarette companies, miscellaneous propaganda. They did not camouflage the paint peeling from the walls, the dim lighting, or the chipped, dingy floor tiles. Just before the office, on the left-hand side of a flight of stairs, he spotted a picture that pained him, a glossy 8x10. A girl stood in a sensuous pose, a bra strap in her mouth. Written at the top of the card: School Girl Rivers. Everybody’s Fantasy. At the bottom: Live! Five nights a week. For your pleasure.
Leonard tore the poster from the wall and entered the owner’s office. The owner, a portly middle-aged man with a thick mustache and short curly hair, got up from his chair. “Who are you? What do you want?” he asked, noticing with irritation the shredded poster in Leonard’s hand. “What? She didn’t complete a lap dance for you? Left you with blue balls?”
Leonard, on the verge of throwing a punch, restrained himself. “No, asshole. This is my daughter. Say another word and I’ll cripple you.”
The owner took a step back. “Easy does it. I was joking, all right? Half the time I get these customers coming in here complaining about my cover charges and my drink prices. But they can’t stay away from the place. Most of ’em got these beautiful wives at home—sweet, faithful wives—yet they come here and go crazy over any girl I put on stage.”
Leonard’s breathing intensified, his face reddened. “Look, pal, I don’t want to hear about your little porn shop. I want you to—”
“Don’t call this a porn shop, my man. I operate a legitimate business. I pay taxes just like everybody else. My licenses are up to date. Hell, if I was providing such a terrible service, why do I have a full house every night?”
“Because people are screwed up in the head and have no idea what family values are all about.”
“Spare me the lecture, pal. I’ve heard crap from every politician that passes through this town. Those hypocrites, all of them, got a little ‘something’ on the side. But on TV they’re always preaching about the importance of children and family and community—the bullshit we’ve been sold since the Big Bang. So get off my back and get to the point. Why are you here? I’ve got books to balance.”
Leonard stepped toward the man. “What’s your name?”
“Phil.”
“Well, Phil, Leonard here is going to make this real easy. I want you to fire my daughter. Got it? I don’t want her working in this dump. Is that point clear enough for you?”
“What for? She’s a grown woman, a bright kid. She can make her own decisions. If you guys are at odds keep me out of it. Take your broken-home woes elsewhere.”
“I’m not going to say it again, jerk-off. My little girl has more brains than the other trash that works here. This is beneath her. You do what I ask... or else.”
“Or else what? Don’t threaten me. Nobody threatens me. You don’t just walk in someone’s place of business and push people around.”
“I just did. You let me walk right in here. And I never pushed you, never touched you—yet. This is my daughter we’re talking about. And yes, if you don’t do what I ask you’ll make me angry. I’ll leave the rest of that scenario to your imagination.”
Phil pointed to the door. “Get out of here, Leonard. Take your problems elsewhere. It’s always somebody’s kid. What makes yours so special?” He threw his arms up in frustration. “I have one too somewhere. The bastard won’t talk to me. So go knock on some other door, all right?”
Leonard turned and left the office. On his way out he punched the wall, his fist breaking a sizable hole in the flimsy sheetrock.
“What’s your problem?” the owner yelled. “God damn maniac! How ’bout I go to your office and destroy it? Get lost!”
“This isn’t over,” Leonard shouted.
Another card game was in session. Once a month Leonard and his friends got together and played poker all night. Stew, Jacob, Will, and Earl had been Leonard’s closest friends for a long time. Leonard chose to do things that distracted him from thinking about the way his daughter had been living her life, but playing cards and working overtime provided only temporary relief. The five of them were in the middle of a game and now on their third round of drinks. Cigar smoke hung in a cloud over the table; a half-eaten bag of chips gaped open in the middle. Stew took a drag of his cigar and blew the smoke toward the ceiling, then returned his focus to his cards. “So how’s the kid doing, Leonard? Where’s she tonight?”
“She’s working, Stew. Why?”
“Just making conversation. It’s Sunday night. She’s usually here cracking jokes with us, like one of the guys.”
Leonard wasn’t in the mood to deal with such a question. He had kept Alexia’s job secret for a long time. On many occasions he had lied about her having a part-time job across town or made up stories about her visiting friends. The guys never questioned his explanations. Since the talk he had had with his daughter the other day he was feeling especially sensitive. “Yeah, she’s doing a little office work for some executive across town. Then she’s going to visit her friend Jody.”
“Jody? Who’s Jody?” Stew asked.
Everyone’s attention fixed on Leonard, who wanted the interrogation to stop. A twinge of anxiety was rising inside him. “A friend, I told you. Now deal the cards and let’s get on with it.”
Stew retreated. Will leaned back in his chair and extinguished his cigar in the ashtray. “Guess what, fellas? I found a new place in town. A gentlemen’s club, if you know what I mean? You bring the cash, they provide the ass.”
Leonard’s heart started palpitating, his mind spinning. Was Will referring to Under Lights? Had he been there recently? Will elaborated. “Right before the bridge is a little place called Spinners. I think I paid the rent there this month. Get my drift?”
The guys laughed. Their reaction only egged Will on. “You should see these broads, man. They do things that my old lady has never done—or wouldn’t do, not in this lifetime or any other. These babes are limber too. They—”
“Enough!” shouted Leonard. “We get the point. Can we
just play cards, god damn it?”
Will smirked. “What’s up your ass, Leonard? Since when does this topic not interest you? I remember you and me having some good times a while back, some wild nights. I guess that’s why your ex hit the road, huh?”
Leonard lurched across the table and swung at Will, grazing his jaw. Jacob grabbed him and wrestled him to the floor, while the men sprang from their seats and assisted him, putting an end to the minor scuffle. The situation calmed down, Will rubbed his face and shook off the punch. Leonard was trying to calm himself. “I’m sorry, Will. I think the booze got to me tonight.”
“No sweat, Lenny. Shit happens. I have a tendency to shoot my mouth off sometimes.”
“Are we cool?” Leonard asked.
“Yeah,” Will said. “Forget about it.”
When the party ended the men dispersed. Leonard sat on the couch staring at the television, the power off. He held the remote in his hand, lost in a daze. He thought back to his outburst during the card game. He couldn’t help wondering what, if anything, his friends had sensed from his reaction. To his left, a picture of Alexia stood on the table. The photo showed two shots of Alexia: one from her days as a kid and the other from only a year ago. He grabbed the frame, stared at the pictures, and felt a fissure of sadness spreading inside him. He traced the picture with his finger. Questions and thoughts of one sort or another inundated his mind: Why do you do this, Alexia? There must be some-thing more for you. Don’t you hear my silent screams for help? I can’t bear to think of my fault in all this. Is this because of...?
He snapped from his trance and returned the frame to the table. He realized that although Will’s comments earlier had angered him his friend was not out of line. Leonard knew he had occasionally acted like Will, often speaking of young women degradingly when they went to go-go bars in the city. But now he had a different picture in mind: his own daughter, his flesh and blood, a shameless erotic dancer, probably earning more than he was, as morbid as it seemed. Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience. If he could some-how change Alexia’s ways he could become a new man. He’d never exhibit such disrespect again for the opposite sex. Never would he take another trip to a strip club or laugh at his friends’ stories about them or lust after the girls earning a living in them. He placed the remote on the floor and fell asleep.
Leonard woke at 7:00 a.m. Having risen to his feet, he wiped his eyes and made his way toward Alexia’s bedroom, where a stream of sunlight found a path through the living room window. Shadows broadened on the wall beside him. Down the short hall he came to Alexia’s room. He knocked on the door. “You awake, Lex?”
“Yeah, I’m up, Dad.”
He was glad she was awake. He went in and stood at the foot of her bed. Alexia had the television on, the volume low, light from the TV flickering about the room, distorting her face.
“How you been, Lex? You’re usually snoring at this hour.”
“I’m a little wired, Dad.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I think there is, Alexia. Maybe you just don’t want to hear it.”
“Hear what?”
“How hard this has been on me...and you.”
“You don’t hear me complaining, do you, Dad?”
“No, I don’t. But I know you better than you think.”
“Are we going to get into this again? It always ends the same.”
“Not this time. I just want it to end... forever. I don’t want to argue—I want you to stop doing this and get something better.”
“Better, Dad? Like what? Waiting tables? Answering phones? Scrubbing toilets? Pushing a pencil in some airless, windowless office? I make more in one night than most of those jobs pay in a week.” A short pause. “I bet I make more than you do.”
“That hurts, Lex. You don’t have to hit below the belt. I like being a machinist. It doesn’t pay all that much but it keeps us going, puts food on the damn table. That job is part of me, can’t you understand?”
“Of course I do, Dad. And, whether you accept it or not, my job is part of who I am, okay?”
“I don’t believe a word of that. But if you really believe it then there’s nothing more to say. You know I’ll love you no matter what. You’ll always be my little Lex.”
A prolonged, uncomfortable silence. Leonard leaned against the door, defeated. Alexia glanced at the television. “Dad, do you know Trish?”
“You’ve mentioned her before. A friend from work, right?”
“Yeah, Dad, you know exactly who she is. She’s going to be running that place some day. I can feel it. She’s been working there for eight years and is like this,” she crossed her fingers, “with the owner. He may put her in charge down the road. He has talked about possibly making a few changes. Trish is really smart and she supports me and I support her.”
“And?” her father said.
“And maybe I can benefit from it.”
He thrust his hands up, incredulous. “How? How the heck can you benefit from...? Forget it. I don’t want to hear anymore about this,” he said, leaving the room.
Next day Alexia and Trish lunched around the corner from Under Lights, at the Midtown Diner. This had become their weekly ritual, to meet up once or twice a week and talk, always being open with each other regardless of the subject. Seated at a booth, Trish held a chicken leg in her hand. “If I keep eating like this, no one will pay to see me dance.”
Sipping a soda, Alexia did not reply.
“What’s the matter, Alexia?” Trish asked. “You look lost somewhere else. Everything okay?”
Alexia smiled halfheartedly. “I don’t know. It’s just my dad, I guess. He hates that I do this. I mean... really hates it. But when he first found out about it he didn’t lay it on thick, you know? He accepted it in his own way. Now it’s backing up on him again.”
“So then what’s the problem, Lex? Are you having second thoughts? You want out? Tell Phil, he’ll understand. I’ve worked at a few of these places and he’s probably the nicest owner of them all. He’s not a total sleaze.”
“It’s just that...” She put down her drink and folded her arms on the table. “I’m making great money. One day I plan to make something of myself. I want to go to school, maybe study psychology or philosophy, or something really cool and challenging like that. I’m not ashamed of doing this to support myself.”
“Who said you had to be, Alexia?”
“No one. I’m just saying, people see the murky side of this business, not the possibilities. Where else would I make even half of what I’m making at the club?”
“You have to admit, Alexia, there are some gross men—lowlife jerks—that come and see us.”
“True. True. But they’re not allowed to do anything we don’t permit. This isn’t a life-long dream, Trish, it’s a stepping stone. It’s temporary. It is for you too, right?”
“Don’t be so sure of that, Alexia. At least you have brains. You finished high school with high marks. You’re honest to the core. You read good books and have a definite direction in life, real goals.”
“You have smarts too, Trish, you just put on an act that you don’t.” Alexia glanced at her watch. “Darn it, I’ve gotta go. I’m running late.” She got up from the table and draped her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll see you soon, Trish.”
“Sure will, little brainy. I hope someday you find what you’re looking for.”
A packed club. Half-price drink specials had brought the locals out in droves. Phil had had busy nights before, but none as hectic as tonight. Trish and Alexia, performing on and off throughout the evening, kept the booze flowing and their boss’s pockets fatter than ever. Alexia, wearing an outfit of leather and lace, danced nonstop, receiving generous tips, as always. Her fans, if they could be called such, seemed to enjoy the show; many had stuffed cash behind her belt or simply threw it up on stage where she picked it up seductively, giving the gawking customers their money�
�s worth. Alexia’s set was supposed to last thirty minutes, at which time she would be relieved by a forty-minute routine by Trish. Alexia looked up at the clock and realized her time on stage had run over by fifteen minutes. Immersed in her routine, in her duty to impress, she had completely lost track of time. Across the room through the swarm of heads and flashing lights she noticed Trish and Phil talking outside his office. Seconds later they went inside and closed the door.
Alexia desperately wanted to get off stage, get some fresh air, but didn’t want to leave the crowd without entertainment—Phil would most definitely have her fired.
Trish came out of the office, made her way to stage right, and replaced an exhausted Alexia. The cheering men hardly noticed the transition amidst the din of the sold-out club. It was as though it didn’t matter who was gyrating on the platform. So long as there was a body, the money train never left the station.
Later that night, as the club was closing, Alexia hung around to talk with Trish. Maybe she could find out what had taken place in the office; the two girls had always been forthcoming about their lives, about the goings-on at work. Why stop now? Alexia went up to Trish as she came around the corner by the dressing room. “Let’s talk on the way home,” she said, “it’s urgent.”
After a long night out with Trish, Alexia woke to the smell of bacon wafting in from the kitchen. She pulled off the blankets, eased herself out of bed, and walked groggily to the kitchen, where her father was preparing breakfast. Standing at the stove, he scraped eggs into a plate for her. “I hope you’re hungry this morning. I hardly slept but I feel good.”
“That’s nice to hear. I slept well too. Smells delicious, Dad.”
“Thanks, Lex. I wanted to talk to you anyway. I remember as a kid the smell of bacon always pulled you out of the soundest sleep. Nothing’s changed, huh?”
