by J. A. Huss
I’ve been sitting in his office asking him about his time in the service for most of the morning. He’s not particularly forthcoming, but I like him and I don’t wanna leave just yet. It doesn’t take Dr. Eldridge, who kinda reminds me of my mom, to tell me that I like Pete because he seems like the kinda guy I wish I had had as a dad, instead of my actual dad. Maybe I can get Doc Eldridge and Pete together! That’d be badass.
The blood on my shirt is mostly dry now and it looks kind of like a Rorschach test. When I stare down at it what I see is the sexiest woman I’ve ever met wrapping her gorgeous legs around me, and that makes my dick jump. Consequently, I’m not looking down at it, because I don’t want Pete to get the wrong idea. Never can be too careful.
“Jesus,” I say, “So what kind of missions were you running?”
Pete takes a bite of his corn dog (the lunch buffet at the club features corn dogs, presumably so that the girls can wrap their mouths around them while they’re giving lap dances to the lunch crowd. That’s just smart marketing) and studies me.
“Classified ones,” he says.
“Oh. So you were in Cambodia?”
“How long you serve?” Pete asks.
“Four tours.”
“And nobody ever told you what the hell ‘classified’ means?” he says, as he takes another bite.
I take a bite of mine too and we both chew in silence for a second.
“So how’d you wind up owning a strip joint in Vegas?” I ask him.
“You this inquisitive with everybody?”
“I dunno. I kinda stuffed down my inside voice for a long time, but lately I’m making an effort. Just trying to be a part of society or some fucking thing.”
He eyes me, nods. “Yeah… I get that.” Then he finishes off his corn dog, throws the stick in the trash, wipes his hands, and says, “Girl.”
“Girl got you to Vegas or girl got you to open a strip club?”
“Yep,” he says. I really like this fucking guy.
“Where is she now?”
He pauses for a moment. Then he turns in his chair and points to an urn sitting on the shelf behind him.
“Oh. Sorry.” I say.
“Nothing to be sorry about. She saved me when I thought I was past saving, we were together for a long time, then she died in her sleep with my arms wrapped around her. That’s about as good a life as a man can hope for.”
I start feeling kinda misty and I’m not sure why. I didn’t know her. Hell, I barely know him, but still something about the way he says it hits me in just the right place.
“There’s gotta be more to that story,” I suggest.
“There is,” he says. Period. Full stop. OK. I can take a hint.
I finish my corn dog too and toss the stick and napkin across the room into the trash can on the far side. (Four years as power forward on my high-school varsity team. You can’t fuck with my corn-dog-stick tossing game.)
“So, Pete, can I ask you a question?”
“You have been all morning.”
“Fair enough. Can you fire Maddie?”
He looks at me like I’m making him tired. Probably because... “What’s that, now?”
“I’m just trying to help her.”
“By making her lose her job?”
“C’mon, man,” I say, “I don’t know exactly what the deal is, but you and I both know that fucking guy is gonna be back. Whatever she’s into, she needs to disappear. But she’s so goddamn stubborn, she’ll just keep showing up until some something gets broken that can’t be put back together.”
“She’s an adult,” he says.
“Okay, fine.” I decide to change up my argument. “But you and I both know Maddie’s not supposed to be here.”
“No?”
“No. You know her. She’s not like the other girls who work here.”
Pete leans back, puts his hands on his belly. “Yeah? You know a whole lot about the other girls who work here?”
“Well,” I say, somewhat hesitantly, because I can already see where this is headed. “I—”
“Stephanie has a kid and was left high and dry by her old man. She tried about fifteen other things but couldn’t cover the bills.”
“I know, I—”
“Meredith trained to be a ballerina, got a knee injury, this is a way she can dance and make a living at the same time.”
“Okay, I get it, I just—”
“Patricia’s just kind of a sexual deviant with low self-esteem, but y’know, they’re not all gonna be stories of plucky underdogs.” Pete almost cracks a smile. Almost. Then he says, “Stop trying to make up for your fuck-up by forcing yourself on the situation. Looks to me like you and her are finding common ground”—he nods at my bloody t-shirt—“such as it is. So just give her some space and stop trying to play hero. That ship has sailed.”
Shit. Pete just knows how to get right to the heart of a motherfucker.
“Maddie’s a good girl,” Pete says. “She’s a smart girl. She’s gonna be OK.”
“I just wish she’d take some help and not feel like she has to fucking do everything on her own all the time.”
“No, you don’t.”
“What?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
“Because then she wouldn’t be her.”
Again, right to the fucking heart.
He stands, which I take as my cue to stand too. Pete says to me, “I’m not much of one for telling another man what he should do or how he should be, but…” He puts his hand on my shoulder and walks me to the door. “I know Raven already told you this, but it feels like it bears repeating. Because, you know, you’re stupid.”
“Thanks.”
“If you really give a shit about Maddie, find a way to show her you do. Not get her to forgive you or think anything about you, just show her you’re grateful for her. Think of it like giving a gift. You give me a picture to hang in my office, you don’t get to tell me where to hang it, or when, or even if I do. You just give the gift and walk away. Give her a gift. You get me?”
I turn to face him. I nod. "Yeah. Like my friend Lobsang once told me. Give of yourself freely. Have no attachment to the outcome.”
“Sure. Whatever. Just don’t be a fucking asshole.”
“That is also a way to say it.” I shake his hand. “You’re a wise man, Pete—Uh. What’s your last name?”
“Don’t matter much. And I’m not wise, I just got lucky to know somebody once who helped me learn some shit that set me right.” He looks over to the pretty urn behind his desk, then back at me. “Hell, kid, I was probably even stupider than you once upon a time. So… there’s still hope.”
He nods his head and I walk through the door of his office and down the stairs, thinking about how much I really do have to be grateful for. I mean shit, I’m still alive. And I’m in love with my best friend’s kid sister. And she, at the least, keeps letting me fuck her, so I feel like that’s an encouraging sign.
I do need to show Maddie how much I’m thankful for her. He’s right. I need to give her a gift. One that shows her I understand where she’s at. What she needs. Something that’s only for her and isn’t at all about me.
I just need to figure out what the hell that is.
Chapter Eleven - Maddie
I wake up from my after-work nap to the smell of pumpkin pies baking in the oven.
Because it’s Thanksgiving. Or will be tomorrow. Annie, Diane, and Caroline are making pies for a dinner they’re going to with some old friends from college.
They invited me, but I declined. I don’t actually know those friends from college, seeing as how I was a mess almost the entire time I was there and didn’t actually get to know anyone, Diane, Caroline, and Annie included.
It’s been years since I did anything on Thanksgiving. Last year I was just starting the wedding planner stuff, so I pretended it was another work day and kept working. The year before that… I think for a minute. Same thing, only it was the multi-level marketing stuff. I
was running online giveaways for an early Black Friday sale. The year before I think I was trying out new recipes for the pet bakery.
Jesus Christ. Thanksgiving is like an endless reminder of how many times I’ve failed over the past few years.
My phone rings so I turn over, fish it out from under my pillow, and stare at the screen.
My mother.
No, thank you. I force it to go to voicemail and stuff it back under my pillow.
I bet Evan and his husband are having a nice dinner for Thanksgiving. I bet it’ll be all fancy and shit too. I bet he wouldn’t mind if I invited myself over. But it’s all too much effort. The phone call, the asking, the accepting, the everything. It’s just too much effort when I can just stay right here in this bed and pretend Thanksgiving is already over.
My phone dings a voicemail notification, and I’m just about to press the icon to see what she had to say—probably something simple, like, Happy Thanksgiving! We miss you!—when a soft knock at my door stops the screen tap.
“Come in,” I say.
“Hey,” Annie says, peeking her head in first. “You awake now?”
“Yeah.” I yawn. I’ve taken to sleeping after work lately. I think it’s probably a bad sign because I’m not actually tired when I get home. Just… uninterested in doing anything else but crawling back into bed. Which I realize might be a sign of depression. Which isn’t surprising because I think I am actually depressed.
This is not the life I imagined for myself. At all.
“Good,” Annie says. “Because I wanna talk to you about something.”
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” she says, sinking down onto the mattress next to me.
I sit up a little. “What is it?”
She looks out my window, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. “You know David?”
“Sorry… Which one’s David?” She fucks men for a living, so David could be anybody.
“My high school boyfriend? The one I tried to make it work with when I came here?”
“The one getting married?”
“Yup,” she says, sadly. “Him.”
“Sure,” I say. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well…” She hesitates. “He’s not getting married anymore.”
“What?”
“Yeah. So I called his fiancée last week—“
“Oh, shit, Annie. Why?”
“Just to say congratulations—”
“Oh, Annie…”
She shrugs. “Yeah. But I couldn’t let it go. Anyway, I did. And I said all the right things, and behaved like the most reasonable responsible adult, but… it didn’t quite work out the way I’d planned.”
“Fuck. Did she flip out on you?”
“Noooo,” Annie says. “No. That’s not what happened.”
“Then what the fuck happened?”
“He… called it off.”
“Sorry? Called off… the wedding?”
She smiles weakly and nods her head. “Yeah. Like… he called me last night and told me that my call to her made him start thinking about us and—”
“Awww, fuck,” I say.
“—and even though I didn’t mean to, looks like… I broke them up.” She throws her hands up. “Shit! I give up, Maddie. I just can’t do anything right.”
God, I know that feeling. “OK. OK. But it’s not your fault he broke it off,” I say. “I mean, if he still loves you, he still loves you. And no woman wants to marry a guy in love with someone else.”
“I get that,” she says, still sounding so defeated. “But he seemed happy enough before I made that call.”
I think about that for a second. “No,” I say. “No, he’s the one who called you to tell you about the wedding. If he was so happy, then why did he bother to do that?”
“I know. I think about that too. That maybe he was feeling me out, or trying to make me jealous, or whatever. And it worked. Because I came apart with that news. So, I think maybe he did do it on purpose. But I could’ve let it go. Just moved on and let him have his life.”
“What’s the point in that?” I ask. “I mean, then you’d both be miserable. Like two ships passing in the night. Star-crossed lovers and all that bullshit. No one needs regrets like that.”
It occurs to me there’s a lesson here. And it’s for me, not Annie.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe because you always know what to do.”
“Me?” I scoff. “Are you kidding? I’m a mess!”
“No,” Annie says. “You’re like… I dunno, the Mount Everest of common sense. You always think things through. You always have a plan. You always have new ideas on how to get what you want. And…” she says, then takes a deep breath. “You have limits. Lines you won’t cross just to get something. You’re loyal. And honest. And generous.” She smiles. It might be the first real smile I’ve seen on her face in weeks. “I admire that. I admire you. So… I just need to ask you this, OK? And I need your honest opinion, no matter what it is.”
I’m still a little dumbfounded that she just called me the Mount Everest of common sense. Not to mention all those other altruistic qualities I absolutely do not possess. But I say, “OK. Shoot.”
She draws in an enormous breath, like she needs a lot of courage to say these words, and then she asks on the exhale, “Do you think I’d be a terrible person if I went home and tried to work things out with him? Like, say I’m sorry for not realizing how much he meant to me? And promise to make it up to him if we can just start over again?” She places a hand on my arm, squeezing lightly. “I know I’d be leaving you guys in a terrible spot with the rent. But I’d pay you everything I could. I’d give you my share for two months, so you guys could find another roommate.”
I almost laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s not even a question. “Annie,” I say, sitting all the way up to look her in the eyes. “Why wouldn’t you? I mean…” And I have to word this carefully, so I don’t make her feel worse. “You’re selling your body for money. No offense, but there is no way going back to life without that makes you a terrible person. And anyway,” I say. “You only get one soulmate in this life. And if he’s yours, then he’s yours. There’s nothing you can do about that. So, shit… Go for it.”
She smiles, but a tear falls down her cheek. “I’m going to miss you.”
I lean in and hug her. “Yeah, I’m going to miss you too.”
“And I hope you work things out with Tyler, ya know?”
I put my hands up. “OK. Let’s all just slow down.” Because I know Annie. Somehow, in spite of all the awful shit she’s seen and done, she manages to hang onto the adolescent dream that true love is out there and waiting for us and if you kiss the right frog and all that bullshit, a prince will come to rescue you. I think she has to think that shit to get through her days. Like she’s sleepwalking.
But I’m wide awake.
So I change the subject and we talk a little more. Just details about when she’s leaving and so forth.
Tonight, she’s decided. She’s already packed.
Which makes it abundantly clear that she didn’t need my permission, she just wanted it. Which I appreciate in some disproportionately affecting way. It means… well, that I mean something to her. And that makes me feel good.
She tries to give me her portion of the rent because Caroline and Diane wouldn’t take it. But I refuse to take it too. I have money saved for Carlos. And since that’s a losing battle if ever there was one, I decide I’d rather use my money to help people I love. Carlos Castillo can fuck off.
Caroline, Diane, and I see her off a few hours later. We help pack up her car. She doles out things to us she won’t be taking with her. And it’s not hard to see the sadness on my other roommate’s faces when they accept her work clothes and shoes.
They don’t want this life anymore, either. They’re envious, but not in a mean way. Just… a longing kind of way.
We stand in the drivewa
y and wave until her car disappears into the desert.
And then the three of us sigh and go back inside to the lives we have yet to leave behind. It also occurs to me that I have no car now. So I have to ask Diane for a favor. She agrees, of course. We work totally different hours, and that’s what friends are for, right?
But I hate asking. I hate it. I feel like I’m going backwards. Like I’m at the bottom of Mount Everest now, and I haven’t even taken one step up yet.
I sleep until my alarm goes off for work, and then I drag myself out of bed on Thanksgiving morning, ready to go out and be thankful for… absolutely nothing.
I don’t know if it’s surprising or not when I walk into work and find more than a dozen men already there eating breakfast.
I guess it’s not. I mean lots of people hate the holidays, right? Lots of people have no one and nothing to look forward to on these days, myself included. But lots of people also have the day off. Which means they can sit at home and feel sorry for themselves or go out to a strip club and pretend for a while.
These folks just seem to be pretending early. I’m betting most of them are broke or drunk by noon and sleep the rest of the day away.
I’ll be off by noon too… and then what?
Yup. My life is just as awesome as the customers at Pete’s on Thanksgiving morning.
My shift goes quickly because there’s a ton of girls in here today. Everyone wants to work a holiday, I remind myself. And the morning shift is popular for some reason. I tell myself it’s because I’m such a terrific manager. I’ve got five extra girls on the schedule and by ten o’clock, the place isn’t… full. But it’s filling up.
I don’t do any dances. I give my stage time to another girl who needs the money. I also need the money, but I don’t have kids, and I don’t have to take them to their grandparents this afternoon, and I don’t have to meet anyone’s expectations today at all.
So I just sit in the downstairs back office—Raven’s office, but mine when she’s not here—and do stupid things like check time cards over and over.
My phone rings just before I’m about to start cleaning up to go… home… and even though it’s my mother and I don’t feel like talking to her, I answer, because it’s a holiday and that’s what you do. Smile and be nice. Infamous words from Raquel the Friendly Stripper I have tried to live by ever since she handed them out.
