by Laura Lee
I take a moment to think about how I want to say this. “Gavin, what are you doing? Why does it matter who sees me naked? We both agreed that nothing could happen between us after yesterday. Have you changed your mind or something?”
“I can’t change my mind, Kat...even if I wanted to. It’s bad enough I did what I did yesterday.”
“It took two of us to do that, you know.”
He sighs deeply. “True, but I’m the one who’s in a position of trust at that school. It doesn’t matter that we’re not breaking any laws. Eighteen may be old enough to consent, but being with you still compromises my professional code. This is only my third year of teaching and I’ve already broken the cardinal rule. They warn us about being attracted to our students when you choose to teach secondary ed. They go into great detail about how to avoid this exact situation. Yet here I am.”
“And you blame me for that?”
“No, I don’t blame you. We met over the summer and I’ve never taught at McKinley before. I would’ve definitely been more cautious had I known your real age, but it is what it is. Hell, who am I kidding? I probably wouldn’t have cared even if I did know. I can’t seem to help myself where you’re concerned. Age is relative anyway—my parents have a fifteen-year gap between them and they’re the happiest couple I know. In my opinion, the only time it matters is when it’s illegal.”
“Well, good for you that I was legal to the day then, huh?” I smirk. “You’re much too pretty for prison.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Not funny.”
I shrug. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“No, you’re using humor as a defense mechanism.”
“I already have a shrink, Gavin. I don’t need another one.”
He flinches. “Why do you have a shrink?”
I gesture toward our surroundings. “Do you really have to ask? You’ve met my mother and she only scratches the surface of my fucked-up life.”
“Why do you live with her anyway?”
I probably look as confused as I feel. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you live with someone who is clearly…unfit? What about your father?”
“I don’t have a father; never have.”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “Kat, I’m going to put on my teacher hat here. You have resources. I know you’re eighteen, but you’re still in school. You don’t have to be in this situation.”
“Trust me, I know all about my resources,” I sneer. “I’ve been in and out of foster care since I was a toddler. I know it works out for tons of people, but all I’ve seen are the flaws. I voluntarily left when I became a legal adult and I have no intention of signing myself back in. Under any circumstances.”
“But what about maintaining your grades? Getting into college? I’m sure living under the same roof as that woman makes it challenging.”
“Take off the teacher hat, Gavin. I don’t need another guidance counselor either.”
He blows out a breath. “I’m just trying to help.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “If I need your help, I’ll ask…but don’t hold your breath. I may be young, but trust me when I say that I’ve lived through a lot. And I’ve survived this long with stellar grades to boot. Surviving is what I do.”
Gavin steps closer and uncrosses my arms. Wrapping me in a hug, he says, “Surviving isn’t living, Kat.”
I melt into him despite all the warning signals going off in my brain. I count ten deep breaths before I step away.
“I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“Okay…you’re right. We can’t be alone like this; I don’t trust myself. But know that I’m here for you—in a strictly platonic capacity, of course.”
“Of course,” I mock.
“Right,” he nods. “I think it’s best from this point on if we keep our distance as much as possible. I meant what I said about being professional—in class, if you need my help, that’s what I’m there for. And if you need help outside of it, I’m still there for you; with my classroom door open. We simply have to make sure we never see each other outside of school.”
“Wow, you’ve given this some thought, huh?”
“I think it’s necessary. Don’t you? I can’t fathom any other way to make this work. When I’m near you, something primal takes over. I know you have the same reaction, even though you constantly fight it. If we always have the guarantee of witnesses, there’s no way we can compromise ourselves. Kat and Gavin don’t exist at McKinley. Starting tomorrow, we are Miss Kennedy and Mr. Cooper.”
“So from this point on…it’s as if we just met on the first day of school?”
He smiles. “Maybe the third day would be better.”
“Right,” I laugh.
“Right.” He opens the door and steps over the threshold. “So, I’ll meet you tomorrow then.”
“Ten-four, Mr. Cooper.”
“WELCOME TO OUR HOME, KATHERINE.”
I hang my head. It’s a submissive gesture that I’ve learned over the years when coming to a new place. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson.”
“Oh, please, Katherine,” Mr. Anderson says, “there’s no need to be so formal. You can call us Judy and Pete.”
“Okay.”
I clutch my garbage bag of belongings to my chest. It isn’t much but it’s all I have moving from one home to the next so quickly. That’s what happens when your mom gets arrested for a DUI and you have no other family to crash with. Today’s my fifteenth birthday and she insisted on celebrating with a trip to Dairy Queen. Too bad she already got a jump start on the celebration before we left the house.
“Okay, Katherine,” my social worker, Martha says, “You know the drill. I’ll check back in with you later in the week. Try to get some rest tonight; it’s been a long day.”
Judy touches my shoulder gently. “Honey, let me show you to your room so you can get settled. After that, we have a little treat for you. Ms. Perry said you’re celebrating a birthday today.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I don’t need to put you out any more than I already have.”
“Nonsense, young lady,” Pete argues. “First of all, you’re not putting us out. Judy and I have opened our home to kids like you because we want to help. You are part of our family for as long as you’d like. And part of being included in this family is celebrating our special days together. Judy makes the best chocolate cake you’ll ever have.”
“Um…”
“Oh, Pete, give the girl a few moments to collect herself,” Judy chides. She starts leading me down the hall. “C’mon, sweetheart. We’ll get you settled and if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll have some cake. You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Katherine.”
I’m stunned. Up until this point, I’ve never had someone welcome me into their home so warmly. Especially not when they get a call from social services at nine o’clock on a Sunday night.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Could this possibly be the one home that makes a difference? Is my life about to turn around? I smile to myself thinking about the possibilities.
I wake up sweating from my dream and take a few moments to catch my breath. God, where did that come from? I haven’t thought about the Andersons in years. After the trial, I pushed them into the tight little box of ugliness that I store in the back of my mind. I made a conscious decision to not think about them after that; I didn’t want to give them any more of me than they’d already taken. So why now? Why can’t I stop thinking about all the horrible things that happened to me in their home?
I run my hands through my hair and flop back onto the pillow. I stare at the ceiling and run through the last couple of weeks in my head. Gavin has to be the reason why my subconscious is strolling down memory lane. He’s the only new variable in my life—it’s the one thing that makes sense. Since I’ve met him, all sorts of emotions that I thought were long dead have floated to the surface. What is it about that man? How can one pers
on I barely know affect me so profoundly?
I take a long shower to ward off the chill. It’s a little early but I decide to head into school since I have nothing better to do. I make my way through the breakfast line in the cafeteria and glance up at my seating options. Since it’s so early, most of the tables are empty. As I scan the room, I happen to spot the one person that I shouldn’t be seen with. Despite this, I find myself heading toward him. He’s standing against the wall observing the students so I choose the table directly in front of him.
As I take a seat, I say, “Good morning, Mr. Cooper.”
My back is to him so I can’t see his expression but I imagine he’s smirking. “Good morning, Miss Kennedy. What are you doing here so early?”
I shrug. “I’m taking advantage of my free breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day, you know.”
“I’ve heard that a time or two.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
He chuckles. “Apparently at McKinley, the new guy gets stuck with cafeteria duty a lot. I’m on the schedule three days this week.”
“Is that the administration’s subtle way of hazing?”
“It’s not so bad at the moment,” he replies quietly. “Potentially dangerous, but not unpleasant.”
I preen a little. “Really?”
“I take that back,” he says stiffly.
Huh? It only takes a second for me to comprehend as Dylan sits at my table.
“Hey, Kitty. You’re looking mighty fine this morning, as always.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, hyperaware of the man standing within earshot.
He smiles. “What? You’re not going to return the compliment?” He motions to himself. “You know you’re dying to tell me how hot I am.”
I laugh. Dylan’s cockiness is definitely a constant. “Yet somehow I refrain.”
He leans over the table and presses the back of his hand to my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Mr. Taylor,” a deep voice grumbles behind me. “Didn’t I already warn you about keeping your hands to yourself?”
Dylan looks over my shoulder and narrows his eyes. “Mr. Cooper, I believe what you said was, ‘Keep your hands where I can see them.’”
I stifle a giggle because I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he said. Gavin doesn’t seem to appreciate the reminder.
“Don’t make me say it again, Mr. Taylor.” I see him walking to the other side of the room out of the corner of my eye.
“Seriously what the hell is that guy’s problem?” Dylan gripes. “He’s been riding my ass all week.”
“Maybe the PDA policies were much stricter at his last school,” I offer lamely.
He scoffs. “Or more likely, he’s just an asshole. This is going to be a long year.”
You could say that again, I think. Gavin and I set clear boundaries that I’m already pushing. Sure, some of his comments weren’t entirely professional earlier, but I was the one who sat so close in the first place. I need to remind myself that being within whispering range is too intimate. Neither one of us seems able to control ourselves around each other. And that’s not a good thing, I remind myself. Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll start believing it.
I SOMEHOW MANAGE TO MAKE IT THROUGH the rest of September without any further student/teacher transgressions. I can’t say I haven’t thought about Gavin but keeping our distance seems to be working. In class, he treats me like any other student. He doesn’t ignore me, but he respects our invisible boundary lines. It really is as if we met on the third day of school. Hopefully one of these days, my hormones will get the memo. Those still react as strongly as ever whenever we’re in the same room. And many nights when I’m alone in bed remembering his touch.
Sadly, I’ve also ended the month without a viable means to support myself. Every place that’s hiring only needs someone to fill shifts during school hours. All except one, that is. I stare at the purple neon sign proudly boasting, “The Finest Gentleman’s Club on the Oregon Coast”. As if that’s something to be proud of? I take a fortifying breath and open the doors to The Pitiful Princess. I’m surprised by the brightness inside. It’s only four o’clock so they’re not open for business yet, but for some reason, I expected the place to be much darker.
A bald giant right inside the door asks, “May I help you?”
“Um…” Am I really going to do this? “I’m here to see Marcus.”
Mr. Clean smiles. “I see. Are you here for a job interview, honey?”
“Not exactly...but he told me to drop by if I ever wanted to check the place out.”
He presses a finger to his earpiece. “Boss Man, there’s a hot little Latina here to see you.” He pauses a moment; I assume to listen to Boss Man’s reply. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Kat.”
Mr. Clean relays my name and dutifully waits for instructions. “He wants me to bring you to his office. It’s this way.”
I take in my surroundings as I follow him toward the back of the building. The place is much bigger on the inside than you’d expect. And classier, I have to admit. Sure, the occasional platform with stripper poles gives away what you’re really here for, but otherwise, it just looks like an upscale bar.
The bouncer knocks on a door marked, Private. A moment later, it opens and a young blonde saunters out with smudged lipstick.
“Excuse me,” she says as she walks past us.
What the hell? I look around the room and find a lazily smiling Marcus sitting behind a large black desk.
“Katherine, it’s so good to see you! What brings you by?”
Badass Bouncer steps into the hall and closes the door behind him. I lean against the wall, suddenly feeling very strange being alone with Marcus.
“Um…”
Marcus stands and walks over to me. There’s no mistaking the chub he’s sporting, clearly indicating my arrival interrupted something. Pig. No wonder he’s not concerned about Cybil taking clients.
“Tell me, Katherine. Did you decide to take me up on my offer?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit weakly. “If Cybil still plans on moving out, I don’t think I have a choice.”
He smiles. “Of course she does. But you’re also welcome to come along.”
I shake my head. “No…taking my clothes off for money is definitely the better option there.”
He barks in laughter. “I really like your fire. So will my clientele.”
I shift uncomfortably. “So, how does this work? Do I need to fill out a job application or something?”
“No, it’s not quite that involved.” He looks me over hungrily. “You definitely have the assets; now I need to see if you have the stage presence. What are you? A 36D-cup?”
I flinch. “That’s disturbingly accurate.”
“I’m a man of many talents.”
I move to the side as Marcus reaches for the doorknob.
“C’mon, Katherine. I’ll show you to the costume room and you can pick out something to wear for your audition.”
“Audition? Like now?”
“Is there a better time that works for you?” he asks. “I assumed you’d want to start as soon as possible if you took the initiative to show up. Was I wrong?”
“Nope. My bank account certainly isn’t getting any bigger just standing here.”
“Let’s go then.”
He leads me to another private room at the end of the hall with four doors in between.
“What are those other rooms for?” I ask.
We walk inside a large dressing room with racks of clothing on one side and a large vanity on the other.
“Those are the VIP rooms. They’re set up for private parties.”
“And what goes on in a typical party?” I thumb through one of the clothing racks and see that every bra, corset, and teddy are all in my size. I try not to think too much about what I’m getting ready to do as I grab the first red ensemble that I
see.
“Oh, you know, usually bachelor parties and what not. The occasional businessman showing off for a potential client. Couples will sometimes book the room for date nights. Fire code allows a maximum of fifteen people in each room so they’re never too big. They can also be used for private lap dances although we have smaller rooms for those. The VIP spaces are reserved for clients who book an extended dance. If you’re lucky enough to be one of the girls chosen, that’s where you’ll make the most money.”
“So how much money are we talking about?” I hold the lace against my body and look in the mirror.
“The house takes a twenty-percent cut on all private dances which includes booked parties. A two-hour party costs three hundred per dancer. They can request up to three dancers per party and they pay extra for bar services. Your cut would be two-forty.”
“I’d make a hundred and twenty dollars an hour?” Holy shit! I had no idea strippers could make this much.
“For a private party, yes. Don’t get too excited, Katherine. Parties are usually only held on weekends and the client gets to choose his dancers. That spot usually goes to the more seasoned gals but you never know. We haven’t had a fresh face around here in a while. I’m sure you’ll stir some…excitement.”
I bite my lip to hold back my standard smartass reply. “So, on a typical night, how much money are we talking?”
“You’ll take the stage for two songs per shift and you’ll get tips from those,” he explains. “After that, you work the floor for private dances. Most girls aim for at least ten per night. Private dances are twenty dollars each for three minutes, so you’d take sixteen a piece. Extended dances are twenty minutes in length and cost one hundred, so you’d take home eighty.”
I do the math in my head. “So on a typical night, you’re saying I could make a couple hundred dollars?”
“Roughly, yes. On the weekends, slightly more.”
“And how many nights would I work per week?”
“Three to four nights, four-hour shifts.”
“So…you’re saying I could make roughly twenty-five hundred to three thousand dollars a month, working only twelve to sixteen hours per week? Are you for real?”
