The Young Wives Club

by Julie Pennell

  Madison let out a sigh. It was induced by boredom and anger, both directed at her no-good boyfriend who had recently told her to give him some space and let his fans think he was single.

  “It’s better for the appeal of the band,” he had explained earlier that day as they shoveled cheap Thai food into their mouths five minutes before they had to set up for the show. Little did Madison know when she had ridden off with Cash that she’d be free labor for the band. The guys were constantly asking her to help do things like pick up their food so they could get some last-minute practice in. They even had her hook up some of the instruments before the shows, like she was their roadie or something.

  “The only thing I came here for was to be with you, and that’s the only thing I’m not actually doing,” she had said, stabbing her green curry chicken with a chopstick.

  “You know . . . you’ve been a real downer since this trip started.” He squeezed his lime over his pad thai.

  “Excuse me! My boyfriend spends every day in these amazing cities sleeping off his hangovers instead of exploring with me like he promised,” she said. “And then he spends the nights flirting with groupies, telling me to pretend I don’t even know him. I’m sorry, but do you really expect me to be all bright and cheery?”

  “Oh, c’mon . . . it’s not like you didn’t know this was how it was gonna be.” He chugged his can of Coke. “You wanted an excuse to get out of Toulouse and away from that weird shit you had going on with that guy. I saved you. . . .”

  Madison rolled her eyes. “Whatever!” She had stood up, closed the Styrofoam container, and stormed out of the bus, taking a deep breath of the Alabama air. She perched herself atop a fence surrounding the parking lot as Cash’s words replayed in her head. “It’s not like you didn’t know this was how it was gonna be.”

  Actually, that wasn’t true at all. She had naively envisioned them eating at restaurants written up in Time Out and TripAdvisor, not living on takeout from restaurants that were this close to failing their health inspection.

  She’d thought they’d check out the aquarium in Atlanta—she had always wanted to see a shark up close—but Cash had insisted on getting high and playing games on his phone. She had pictured them strolling hand in hand as they checked out the botanical gardens in Mobile, but instead she ended up just lying in the uncomfortable tour-bus bunk bed as the guys practiced their new song, “The Worst,” for what felt like the hundredth time.

  And now, she sat alone in the dive bar sucking down the most awful gin and tonic she had ever tasted, wishing for the night to be over already.

  Her phone vibrated, shaking the sticky round-top table she sat at. HOME showed up on the caller ID. She didn’t really want to talk to her parents—they were already disappointed with her for how she’d handled things with George. But she figured talking to someone, even someone who was mad at her, at this point was welcome.

  “Hiya,” she answered as she walked outside in the dimly lit parking lot. “What’s up?”

  “Sweetie, I think you should come home,” her mom said without preamble.

  Madison let out an audible sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you—I needed to do this, Mama!”

  “No, darling. You don’t understand . . . you need to come home to see your daddy.” There was a long pause. “He’s not doin’ so well.”

  “What do you mean?” Panic gripped her chest.

  “Well, he was having trouble breathing this morning.” Her mom’s voice sounded shaky. “I took him to the emergency room, and the doctors found some fluid around his lungs. They thought about draining it, but since the chemo’s not working, it would just come back.”

  “Oh my god.” Madison put her hand over her mouth. “So what’s the next step? What do we need to do now?”

  “He’s been through so much and hasn’t been feeling good for a while.” She took a jagged breath. “Mads, he’s decided to go to hospice.”

  “What’s hospice?” Madison asked, tensing.

  “It means the doctors are gonna make him comfortable for his final days. . . .” Her words slowly trailed off. “It’d be good if you could get back here soon. We’re not sure how much longer he has.”

  A lump formed in Madison’s throat. She’d watched her dad waste away for the past year, the poison slowly seeping through his body. But he’d borne it all, still laughing at her jokes when they sat on the porch and still taking his morning walk. And now he was choosing to let go? It hurt her heart to think how miserable he must be to come to that decision.

  “I’ll get on the first bus I can,” she told her mom, her voice cracking. Clouds moved over the half-moon, casting an eerie haze over the parking lot.

  “Okay,” Connie said softly. “Just keep me posted on your timing. I’ll come pick you up at the station.”

  “I’ll look up the schedule right after I talk with you and call you back tonight.” She paused. “Mama?”

  “Yeah, darlin’?” the sweet voice on the other end said.

  “Whatever happens, we’re gonna get through this together.” The tears started welling up in her eyes.

  “I know, baby.” Connie sniffled. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Madison wiped her cheeks dry. After she ended the call, she took a moment to gather her thoughts. She’d known this was coming for months, but nothing could have prepared her for this moment. She choked back a sob, then pushed her hair out of her face and headed back inside the bar.

  The group of girls was giggling at something Cash had just said.

  “Cash, I need to talk to you,” she said, pulling on his arm.

  With narrowed eyes, he whispered, “I’m busy,” then turned his attention back to his fans.

  “It’s important.” She tugged at him again, and he begrudgingly walked with her over to one of the high-top tables.

  “My dad isn’t doing well, and I have to go back home.” Her eyes welled up. “He doesn’t have much more time left.”

  His face dropped. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Mads.” He put his arms around her and gave her a hug.

  “Thank you,” she said, resting her head on his muscular shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of his cedary cologne. His hand moved in a circular, soothing motion on her back.

  “So, how are you gonna get back?” he finally asked as they pulled apart.

  “Well, I was thinking we could take a Greyhound. I have to look up the schedule, but would you be able to leave first thing in the morning?” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket to begin searching for tickets.

  “Babe, you know I can’t do that.” He sighed. “I’m really sorry about your dad and all, but I can’t leave the band. They need me.” He looked over at the guys, who were now doing body shots off the girls.

  Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for us. I can’t just leave.” He shook his head and gripped his beer bottle tighter.

  “I don’t think you understand the situation,” she said, her eyes narrowing. She slowly emphasized each word: “My dad is dying.” Her voice broke on the last word.

  “And I told you I’m sorry, babe. I really am.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “But you can’t expect me to just pick up and leave right now, can you?”

  “Oh my god . . .” she said, shaking her head. “Oh my god.” She stared at him, and for the first time she saw what everyone else around her did: an arrogant, narcissistic guy who only cared about himself.

  “What?” he said, pushing his long black hair out of his face.

  She scowled at him. “I just can’t believe I wasted so much time on you.” She thought back to all of their arguments and breakups, and the moments she put up with his rude, cavalier behavior. She had forgiven him and taken him back more times than she could count. And for what? To just keep getting hurt like this?

  He just shrugged and took a swig of his beer, completely unaffected; after years of fighting, it was like he’d become immune to he
r anger.

  She’d been in love with Cash for so long. But was it love? She shook her head. Love wasn’t fighting and crying and wondering how many other girls he was sleeping with on the side. Maybe she didn’t know what love was, but she knew it wasn’t Cash.

  Madison grabbed her bag and turned to him, putting a hand on his chest one last time. “Don’t call me.” She walked out of the bar and didn’t look back.

  43

  claire

  “NO REGRETS?” KIMMY asked Claire, sitting on the floor of her living room. The girls were stretching their legs after their final workout session.

  “I’m gonna admit,” Claire said, touching her toes, “when you first suggested this, I thought you were crazy. Heck, I thought I was crazy when I said yes. But it’s been really fun.” She smiled at Kimmy. “Your studio is gonna be amazing.”

  “Thanks,” Kimmy said. “That really means a lot to me. I just hope the rest of the town feels the way you do.” She sighed. “I mean, it’s not like I can advertise on the church bulletin board.”

  Claire laughed, imagining how that would go over. “Maybe not, but I have some social media tricks we can use to get the word out.” The night before, she’d brainstormed creative ways to market the place. She’d even researched starting a YouTube channel where Kimmy could teach the workouts to girls all over the world.

  Kimmy’s eyes widened. “You’d do that for me?”

  Claire nodded. “Of course. I’m grateful for everything you did for me. I know we only did this for a few weeks, but I really do feel a lot better about myself, and I think that’s helping my marriage, too.” Ever since the night she’d seduced Gavin, things had been different between them. She kept catching him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and last weekend after she’d put Sadie to bed, he’d taken the dirty dishes right out of her hand and led her to the bedroom.

  “Oh my god, I think I’m gonna cry,” Kimmy said, leaning over to hug Claire. She pulled back. “Thank you for even agreeing to do this and letting me practice with you. I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to do this on my own.”

  Claire smiled and stood up. “What are you up to tonight? Gavin’s at softball practice until eight, and my mom’s picking my little girl up from day care. Want to go grab a celebratory drink?”

  Kimmy looked up at the clock on her phone. “I have to leave for work soon.” She frowned. “Actually—I should call a cab now.” She stood, and started scrolling through her contacts.

  “Where’s your car?” Claire asked, putting her water bottle in her bag.

  “In the shop. Overheated yesterday. It’s like, do I really need that in my life right now?”

  Claire hitched her bag over her shoulder. “You want a ride?”

  Kimmy glanced up. “That’d be great! Give me one sec, I’ll change there.”

  As Kimmy gathered her things, Claire pulled out her phone and tweeted from @Pastor_Gavin: “So many times we ask ourselves what someone else can do for us. Instead, we should be asking, how can we be the answer to THEIR prayer?”

  The girls drove to The Saddle with the windows down, the breeze ruffling their hair. When they got there, only a couple of cars sat in the dusty lot. “Well, I guess I’ll see you soon?” Claire asked. She was surprised to feel a pang of sadness. She wasn’t sure when she’d see Kimmy again, now that their lessons were done.

  Kimmy paused as she opened the car door. “Wait . . . why don’t you come in? Try out your new moves onstage?”

  Claire burst out laughing. She was joking, right? “No way! You’re crazy, girl.”

  Kimmy put a hand on Claire’s arm, a sly grin on her face. It reminded Claire of Madison, who was always so good at talking her into doing things. “Remember what you told me like thirty minutes ago?” Kimmy asked. “How you thought I was crazy with the lessons, but you were glad you did it after all? I’m just sayin’ . . . it’d feel pretty great to try those moves with an actual pole.”

  Claire put her sunglasses on top of her head, squinting into the sunlight. “It’s one thing to practice a couple of moves behind closed doors, but there’s no way I’m gonna do it in front of strangers.”

  “Oh my gosh. Look around!” Kimmy gestured at the nearly empty parking lot. “It’s five thirty on a Wednesday. There’s no one here. C’mon . . . you know you wanna. It’s an adrenaline rush.”

  Claire could just hear her friends—especially Madison—telling her to do it. “You’ve got nothin’ to lose,” they’d say. They’d be so proud of her. And as much fun and confidence-boosting as the workouts were, she could only imagine what being onstage would feel like.

  “So?” Kimmy nudged her.

  Claire took the key out of the ignition and shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this.”

  Kimmy grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

  Inside, the strip club was dim and hazy, the only light coming from a rainbow-colored string of Christmas lights above the stage and the small red lanterns on each round table. A twenty-something girl with short black hair and dark skin was dancing, but there was no one in the audience. Her body gyrated to the heavy bass in ways that Claire only wished hers could.

  Kimmy grabbed her hand and led her to the stage. “See, no one’s here, so don’t be nervous.” Still in their yoga pants and tank tops from their workout, they joined the girl onstage. The dancer studied Claire for a moment, then grabbed her waist and led her to the pole.

  Claire looked out from the stage. She felt like she’d slipped on someone else’s skin . . . someone else’s life entirely. Kimmy grabbed the pole and did one of the moves she’d taught Claire, a super-low dip that Claire had never been able to get right. Maybe it was the setting, or the pole, or the extreme confidence that washed over her, but as she tried it this time she was able to replicate Kimmy’s move exactly. And it felt powerful. She felt powerful.

  As Claire twirled around the stage to the thumping music, she got lost in a trance of happiness. Kimmy was right—dancing up there on that stage was an adrenaline rush. Kind of like that time when she was performing on the Toulouse High dance squad at the senior pep rally and caught Gavin staring at her from the bleachers. His eyebrows were raised the entire time. They’d been dating for a few months, but it was the first time he’d looked at her like that. Gavin would later tell her that there was just something about her that day that was different. Maybe it was the glitter eye shadow, he joked. Or the way she kept shaking her hips right at him . . .

  But Claire knew it wasn’t just her looks. It had been her confidence. Her happiness. Standing up there on that stage at The Saddle, dancing and feeling free, she’d finally recaptured that confident feeling. She laughed and dipped on the pole and spun around it.

  After a moment, Claire realized the other two girls had stopped dancing. She raked her hair out of her eyes. “Why’d y’all stop?” she asked.

  Kimmy nodded her head into the audience, her lips in a tight, flat line.

  The door to the strip club was propped open, the sunlight streaming in. A team of three police officers stood in the middle of the room, talking gruffly to the owner, and periodically glanced up at the three women onstage.

  Claire leaned against the pole for support, her knees suddenly weak as one of the officers shoved the owner against a table and handcuffed the man.

  “Oh my gosh,” Claire murmured, her hand over her mouth. Kimmy stepped back, her eyes wide. She reached out and squeezed Claire’s hand. Behind her, the two other officers headed toward them. Claire’s heart started racing.

  The officers stopped at the foot of the stage, glaring up at the women. “We need to take y’all down to the station,” said the one with the mustache. “Please come with us.”

  • • •

  THE ROUND WALL clock ticked slowly as the hands reached eight. Claire’s heart continued to race, as it had been doing for the two hours she’d been there. They had taken away her cell phone and put her in a room by herself so she couldn’t
talk to Kimmy or anyone else in the group. An officer had told her something about a drug ring at The Saddle and that he needed to ask everyone there some questions.

  Finally, the door opened and a stout cop came in, staring at a folder. A name tag over his breast pocket read MARSHALL. “Claire Thibodeaux?” he asked, then looked up. “Hey, wait a second—aren’t you Gavin Thibodeaux’s wife?” He stared at her with wide eyes.

  “Uh, yeah,” she said, putting her hand on her forehead. “This is all one big misunderstanding.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to hear it.” Officer Marshall stroked his beard and grinned. “What’s a preacher’s wife like yourself doin’ at a strip club?”

  Claire blushed. This was humiliating. “I can explain everything,” she said, fidgeting with her wedding band. “One of the strippers—Kimmy—I was tryin’ to help her.” She swallowed. “She wanted to get out of stripping.”

  He shuffled through some papers. “But it says here you were dancing onstage?” He looked up. “Can you explain that?” He grinned again, like he was getting some kind of enjoyment out of this interview.

  She gestured to her workout clothes. Gray yoga pants, an orange tank top, and dirty hot pink Nikes. “Do you really think I was stripping, Officer Marshall?”

  He laughed. “No, no. Of course not. So, do you know the owner, Jonny Bernard?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “Has anyone tried to sell you drugs while you were there at any time?” He clicked his pen.

  She frowned. “No.”

  “This Kimmy girl that you were helping . . . did she ever talk about drugs or give you any indication she was a part of a drug business?”

  “No. Was she a part of it?” Her heart sank at the thought of Kimmy lying to her this whole time.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure. That’s why I’m asking you.”

  Claire shook her head again. “I don’t think Kimmy was aware. And either way, she was planning to quit soon. She had an idea for a new business, and I was helping her put it together.”