by Chris Keane
An immense man in a t-shirt that read “My dick tastes like Chapstick” stood at the door; the stone-faced bouncer scowled at the doctor as he walked by but didn’t ask for a cover charge. Inside, the place looked surprisingly modern. A giant horseshoe bar flashed pink fluorescent lights. Up above, a stage equipped with four shiny silver poles in a diamond configuration shimmered. In a dark corner, a small sign glowed “VIP Room.”
Dr. Sewall quickly scanned the bar. The place was packed with clientele that reminded him of an Army psych ward. At the end of the bar, a lecherous old man moved his lips slowly as he stared. To his right, a sad-looking man in a button-down looked up from his beer and flashed him a creepy smile. Dr. Sewall found a stool next to the businessman he had seen in the parking lot. The guy seemed friendly enough and made chitchat with him until a rail-thin girl in a blond wig stepped on stage.
Even in dim lighting, Dr. Sewall could make out a set of ragged incisions across her stomach: the result of a botched Cesarean section. Her fake breasts were far too large for her tiny frame. A mound of dark pubic hair overflowed from her bikini bottoms. The whole time she wiggled her minuscule butt across the stage to “LA Woman,” the doctor felt someone burning a hole in his back.
When the song ended, he turned around and saw the same bouncer leering at him from the door.
Dr. Sewall turned toward the businessman and asked, “What’s with Mr. Chapstick?”
“He probably had the shirt printed up himself. What a douche!”
“He keeps staring at me.”
“Yeah, he’s been clocking me all week. I think he screws the girls. Fucking townie.”
“Not from around here?”
“Hell no! I’m trying to set up some big box stores up here. How ‘bout you?”
“I’m a doctor in town.”
“Really? That’s beautiful! Come on, do a shot with me, Doc.”
“That’s not a terrible idea.”
A ponytailed bartender appeared like Satan in cut-off jeans and quickly poured two shots.
“I’ve got these,” the doctor replied quickly, setting his credit card down on the bar.
The businessman raised his shot glass high in the air.
“Cheers, Doc!”
“You got it,” he replied shakily, his clammy hands barely gripping the glass.
It burned going down. The bartender had said it was Jose Cuervo, but it tasted more like the moonshine his granddad had concocted in the family garage. Nasty stuff.
After the first dancer finished her set, she wandered over to their part of the bar. Up close, her body reeked of cheap perfume and sweat. She smiled at Dr. Sewall with crooked yellow teeth, contorting her body like the girl from The Exorcist. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Two more!” the businessman said, handing the bartender a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
Dr. Sewall watched as his new friend quickly downed the second shot. He took a deep breath and then did the same.
The bartender handed him his change, but he waved her off. “Keep it.”
“Thanks!” she said brightly, rolling up her t-shirt to show him a shiny red bra.
“Can I get a lapper, sweetheart?”
“Not my department. Sorry,” she replied, tugging down her tee, “but let me know if you want any nose candy. And yes, we do take credit.”
“Yeah, right,” the businessman said sarcastically, as she vanished behind the bar. “What does she think, it’s nineteen eighty-five?”
“Huh?” The doctor stared back at him, confused, red-faced, and breathing heavily.
“You okay, bud?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m just beat. I think I’m gonna take off,” Dr. Sewall grumbled.
“Nah, you just got here. I promise, no more shots.”
“Maybe just a little while longer.”
A moment later, the place went absolutely nuts as the emcee yelled, “Welcome to the stage the always sexy, always fun, always flexible CRYSTAL!”
Dr. Sewall stared at her in all her glory. She had on white lingerie complete with a lacy garter belt. She looked like a Victoria’s Secret model. Her voluptuous body was almost too much for the doctor to handle. When his wife died, so had his libido. But the other morning, Crystal had lit a fire in him. And tonight she was throwing gallons of gasoline on top.
“Now we’re talking!” the businessman said.
Dr. Sewall shifted in his seat as he watched Crystal wrap her long thin legs around a pole, like a nymphomaniac gymnast. “Healthy girl…” the doctor managed to get out.
“Hell yeah! She’s built like a brick house!” the businessman screamed.
Immediately, Crystal headed for the corner of the stage and made eye contact with Dr. Sewall. He watched in awe as she gyrated her body to “Teenage Dream.” The businessman, obviously thinking she was targeting him, stood on his stool, waving a wad of bills in the air. But Crystal walked right past him and stood in front of Dr. Sewall.
The doctor reached into his pocket, took out a crisp twenty, and handed it to her politely as she wildly waved her breasts inches from his face.
“Yeah, Doc! You’re the mother-fuckin’ man!” the businessman shouted.
Even the most lethargic patrons sprang to life, salivating for their turns with Crystal. Out of nowhere, she hopped over the bar, grabbed the doctor by the hand, and guided him into the VIP Room.
Inside, it was nearly too dark to see. But Crystal knew her way around and found a comfortable couch in the back corner of the room. She sat him down and jumped on his lap squealing loudly, “Thanks for coming!”
“You were amazing up there.”
“It was for you. It was all for you. Here.” Crystal deftly popped a bottle of champagne and poured some into a couple of cheap plastic cups.
“Who bought that?”
“You did!”
“I don’t recall,” he chuckled.
“You have no idea. They tag all kinds of shit on guys’ cards. Then the guys wake up the next day not remembering anything. Even if they do, they’re usually too embarrassed to fight it.”
Dr. Sewall struggled to read the label, raising his eyebrows. “Dom?”
“You look like a man with excellent taste,” she cooed, slipping off her top. “But this is on the house!”
She grinded her body against his and then took his hands and pushed them onto her bare breasts. The doctor looked worried as he cautiously caressed her breasts.
When she reached down in between his legs and unzipped his pants, he panicked.
“Wait!”
She retracted her hand, and pulled him in for a kiss, probing his mouth with her tongue. As the fire down below burned hotter, he squeezed her breasts harder, losing himself in the moment.
“Oh, Doc,” she moaned. “That feels amazing!”
Then, from out of nowhere, he felt a sharp crack on his shoulder blade and fell onto the cold hard floor. He looked up and saw Mr. Chapstick standing over him like the grim reaper.
“No touching the girls!”
“What the fuck, Derrick? I told him to!” Crystal protested.
“Them’s the rules!” Mr. Chapstick bellowed, as he dragged the doctor across the floor by the collar.
Crystal scrambled out the door where Dr. Sewall lay at the entrance crumbled up in a ball.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want an icepack?”
“Yeah,” he grumbled after a moment, wondering if his collar bone had been snapped.
Dr. Sewall’s shoulder was killing him, and he was starting to feel a walking hangover from the tequila shots earlier. Slowly, he pushed himself up off the floor, seeing stars from the pain shooting through his shoulder blade.
“I’m going to…head home,” he muttered.
As he passed the bar, the businessman sprang from his chair.
“Hey, what the hell happened in there?”
Dr. Sewall just stared back at him, dazed. Crystal pointed to Derrick, guarding the VIP room with his arms cr
ossed and a smirk on his face.
The businessman shouted at the bouncer, “I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got! Even that lame-ass t-shirt! You have no idea who I am!”
Derrick moved to strike him, but one of the dancers who he had been hanging with at the bar got in between them.
“Calm down, baby. How about a dance?”
As the businessman was whisked away to the VIP room, Dr. Sewall stumbled out the door toward the comfortable confines of his Saab.
10
Crystal
Crystal sat at the edge of her plush queen bed sweating like a pig, her head pounding. It reminded her of waking up after a night of partying back in the day. But she hadn’t drunk much while she was working and sucking face with Dr. Sewall last night.
In some way, hooking up with a hot, older doctor was a fantasy come true. But it was also an indicator that something was very wrong with her. As much as she would like to believe she had dropped off those brownies as a thank you, deep down she knew that there had been an ulterior motive.
Sure, she was eternally grateful that he had sent her cancer into remission, but she hadn’t thought of him until some symptoms started to slink back from behind the shadows. Barely detectable at first: a cough, a mild head-ache, some minor fatigue. The tumor was back. While we all lived in some level of denial of death, ignoring something so serious was only going to end in disaster. She needed his help. Again.
She slowly weaved her way to the bathroom, sidestepping the Brookstone back massager, fuzzy bunny slippers, wireless speakers — basically, all of the useless crap that she had acquired when the stripper money was flowing in and she could easily pay her rent with a roll of ones. But that all changed when she had gotten sick.
Just nine months after her diagnosis, medical bills had vacuumed up all her savings, sending her debt through the roof. Even if she wanted to pursue traditional therapy, with no insurance and no money, the chances were slim she could pull it off at a regular hospital. She had no desire to spend her remaining time on Earth as a university lab rat.
Crystal ran into the bathroom and hugged the cool white toilet. Her head jerked forward as a stream of green bile poured out into the cloudy water. She wiped her mouth with her bare arm, took some deep breaths, and used the towel holder to pull herself up off the tile floor.
Standing in the middle of the room leaning on the side of the pink heart-shaped Jacuzzi, her head spun relentlessly, like an amusement ride that had malfunctioned. She leaned over the tub dry heaving, yet there was nothing left but acidic pins and needles piercing her stomach. One small step toward the door and she collapsed backwards, clipping the back of her head on the side of the sink on the way down.
For a while, she lay on floor looking up at the harsh fluorescent lights, tiny white stars flooding her eyes like gnats. She massaged the sharp pain throbbing at the back of her head. She flipped her hand over and saw it covered with blood. She reached into her pajama pocket and grabbed her phone, wondering if she needed to call 911 when the phone vibrated. A text message from Gemma lit up the screen.
“Can u cover for me tonight?”
Crystal hung her head and typed back a message, all lower case — “no way.”
She turned over her other hand and saw a phone number written in jagged blue ink. She punched the numbers into her cell phone and typed.
“Hey Doc, I wuz dreamin’ about you all night. Most of them were naughty. Call me. XOXO Crystal”.
She lay there like a knocked-down boxer, though unlike boxers, she did not actually want to get up. She would love to escape the world for the day, but problems needed solving.
Crystal threw on some clothes and studied herself in the full-length mirror. While she felt like death, there were still no outward signs of her illness. She sighed. Today was not going to be a good day.
The smoky old cab, farting puffs of black smoke into the gray sky, dropped her in front of the dilapidated car lot. Not only had her car been towed, but it had been sent clear across the county! No call. No final warning. She had just woken up one day after a late night at The Spotted Kitty and it was gone. It had taken a couple of days just to find out where it had ended up.
Crystal stood before a large fifty-something guy with thick gray hair and a sleeve of tattoos, pleading her case to him as he stared at her tits. This was neither unusual nor alarming. She had been blessed with a pretty face and a full figure, and she didn’t mind showing them off. Crystal rarely wore underwear except at work, and it was always very obvious; her nipples stretched the thin white cotton of her tank top; her skin-tight jeans hugged perfectly-shaped hips and a firm, round ass. She couldn’t really blame the guy.
“I had a lot of medical bills, so I missed some payments,” she calmly explained, “but I was always going to make it up as soon as I got the cash.”
“The car is still on the property, but it’s not yours anymore. We paid to have the title transferred, and it’s going to a dealer down south later today.”
“If it’s still here, it’s not too late. I will pay extra, whatever it takes.”
Crystal pulled out a wad of cash from her purse — mostly singles — but there were a few larger bills in there too, courtesy of the good doctor.
“That’s a lot of singles,” the dealer replied with a wide, shit-eating grin.
Crystal cringed. She absolutely hated when people figured out her profession in broad daylight. It’s not that she felt ashamed, but her line of work carried a huge social stigma.
“Well, as you can see I’ve got the money, and I’ll give you extra.”
“It’s too late.”
“I need a car and I can’t afford a new one. I’ll do anything to get it back.”
“Anything?” he asked, smiling.
Crystal’s stomach sank as she pictured just what “anything” meant.
The drive home felt like fleeing the seventh circle of hell. Her foot pressed heavy on the gas pedal as thunder and lightning clashed up above. She couldn’t drive fast enough. She felt reckless and out of control, the type of state that had always gotten her into trouble. But she couldn’t get the doctor off her mind. He was like an oasis in the desert. As her car raced up the hill to his practice, she felt totally confused, unsure if she needed a good lay or a shoulder to cry on. Maybe she needed both.
His girl was at the desk again, and she didn’t seem pleased to see Crystal but sent her through anyway. Dr. Sewall stood in the middle of the room reading a chart with a pair of bifocals. He looked like one of the older doctors from the days when she used to watch General Hospital — smoky and sexy. It made her feel like a giddy school girl again.
“How are you?” he asked, sounding cool, almost business-like.
“Did you get my text?”
“Yes, I did. I started to write back…but I don’t really text.”
“Last night got kinda crazy, huh?”
“It did.”
She moved in closer to him, put her hands on his face, and kissed him. He turned away.
“I’m not sure about this,” he said.
“You’re not?” she asked.
“I’m old enough to be your father.”
“But you’re not my father,” she said pulling herself against his body. “And I know you’re attracted to me.”
“I’m your doctor. I’m not sure this is right.”
“What was last night? Just having fun with some stripper?”
He took a step back.
“Don’t worry, I’m not that girl. But…if you stop and think about it. This could be a hell of a lot of fun.”
“I’ve got a patient waiting,” he said curtly.
“Of course,” she replied, walking toward the door.
“Hey Doc?”
“Yeah?”
“Forget it…” Crystal mumbled as she retreated out the door.
The daughter was on the phone, smiling, saying something about a movie date. She spun around in a desk chair as she played with her natur
al red hair. Crystal easily deduced she was speaking with a guy. And someone she liked. Given her current situation, Crystal couldn’t help feeling jealous of her; she was still young and healthy with her whole life ahead of her. Must be nice.
11
after dark
Kurt sounded drunk. It was mid-afternoon and he was slurring his words already. Dante’s ears were ringing from the barrage of bullshit.
“I’m thinking about joining the Army,” Kurt boasted.
“Are you nuts? That’s an awful idea.”
“Why? They always get hot chicks. Besides, it would be SWEET!”
“The Army is not remotely sweet. And you couldn’t even the hack Salvation Army. Any word from Mom and Dad?”
“Nope. And I’m shit outta luck if they just show up here. I’ve got nowhere to crash.”
“Listen. I need your advice about something.”
“Why, what’s up?”
“That girl I was telling you about. I think it’s time to make a move. But I don’t know what to do.”
For the next few minutes all Dante heard from the other end was uncontrollable laughter.
“I’ve got pains,” he snorted. “Pains in my side from this shit.”
“Kurt! Listen to me, damn it!”
“Dainty, I think you probably have a better shot with one of Gram’s garden gnomes.”
“Forget it.”
“Ah, you friggin’ baby. So what’s the deal with this chick?”
“Well, first off, she’s twenty-four, and that scares the shit out of me.
“Amazing! Older woman. She’ll show you the world!”
“Anyway, the thing is, she wants me to watch this horror movie with her tonight, and I think if I don’t make a move it will be too late.”
"Horror movie? You’re totally in brah! It’s just an excuse to get extra cozy.”
Hours later, on the walk to Angie’s house, Dante could still hear his brother’s voice rattling around his head. Somehow Kurt’s encouraging words made Dante even more nervous than he already had been. It was becoming more and more obvious that he was a mess, a true train wreck. Besides, the original problem was still there: Dante didn’t have a clue what to do to take things to the next level and even less of one if he made it there.
