by ANDREA SMITH
“Well I’m not sure ‘date rape’ is the correct term, Bren, we weren’t actually on a date. Come on - he was drunk; we were making out. It just got out of hand, that’s all.”
“No - that isn’t all. Did you at any time tell him ‘no’ Samantha?”
Here she went. Brenda was notorious for going off on tangents. She was a woman of principal. She believed in causes and I had a feeling that this was one of them.
“I don’t remember, Bren; possibly. Probably. But he was drunk, you know? He was all hot and bothered. I probably shouldn’t have even put myself in a position like that; but what can I say? I got Lindsey out of it, right? She is worth ten of the rat bastard.”
“The rat bastard? So is that what you’re calling him now?”
“Actually, Slate came up with that name. It is fitting though.”
“Your marriage is so over; why don’t you just go ahead and file, Sam?”
“Uh - Brenda? Don’t you think I should at least discuss it with Jack? I don’t think the answer is blind-siding him like that. What purpose would that serve?”
“Sometimes the element of surprise can work in your favor, Sam. It gives you the power initially. We both know that Jack is all about power and control. In most cases, I would agree with you; not with him. Think about what I am saying, okay?”
“I will Bren. I promise.”
CHAPTER 20
Over the next three days, Slate summoned me each day to come by; each day I texted back that I was ‘unavailable’. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him; I missed the hell out of him. I was still smarting from that whole ‘this isn’t what we’re about, Sunny’ speech. He was actually right; knowing that, I needed to distance myself just a little bit so that I wasn’t left picking up the pieces of my heart.
On the fourth day, I got a phone call, not a text message this time from Slate.
“What’s up Diamond?” he asked; his voice was terse.
“Hey Slate,” I said, “Just doing some domestic shit here, you know? Gotta keep the rat bastard happy.”
I could almost feel his scowl over the phone.
“Well you’re not doing shit to make me happy, babe,” he said flatly. “Maybe I need to do some trolling to see what I can do about that.”
I wasn’t going to play this game with Mr. Twenty-Six Year Old Biker Hottie; that was for damn sure.
“Do what you’ve got to do, I guess.”
“I will babe,” he said, doing his best to enunciate the word ‘babe.’ I heard a resounding ‘click.’
I guess that was that; it was over. In Slate’s words: we appeared to be no longer ‘active.’ I wasn’t going to piss and moan about it; I had promised myself that from the get. I would miss the great sex; the mind-blowing orgasms, but I had to face the reality that this was all that he was willing to give me. I wanted more; I wanted it from Slate, but I would likely be old and grey before that ever happened. He had made that perfectly clear.
If nothing else, I now knew that I was capable of enjoying great sex; I knew that I yearned for intimacy and closeness. That was something that neither Jack nor Slate was willing to give me. I certainly wasn’t going to act like some ‘over-the-hill’ matron that was all dried up. If nothing else, Slate had given me the realization that I still had some good years ahead of me in that arena.
I decided to go back to work. I wanted to dance. There were other clubs in Indy; clubs where I would never have to worry about running into Slate or any of those fucking OMC club members. I was going to start looking immediately.
I had started back with my Pilates and kick-boxing classes at Foxy’s. Vonda was tickled to see me again.
“You look fantastic, girlie! My sister was flipping out when you quit Jewels, you know? She said you were one of the best. What was up with that?”
“Oh you know; just got tired of living a secret. I was afraid my hubby would get wind of it eventually and then I would have hell to pay.”
“I hear that,” she remarked, nodding her head. “Well anyway, sweetie, it is good to see you back here.”
I worked out extra hard all afternoon. I had tons of frustration and conflicting emotions gnawing me up inside. I needed to deal with them constructively. I was exhausted by the time I pulled into my driveway.
It had been over a week since my last conversation with Slate. I checked my track phone and a wave of disappointment swept over me when I saw that I had no text messages or voicemails. I supposed that he had moved on to someone else. Perhaps it was Garnet. I erased his text messages and voicemails. I changed the name on his contact number from Slate to ‘Asshole.’ It somehow made me feel a bit more in control.
I shoved all thoughts of Slate and Garnet from my mind as I grabbed clean underwear and pajamas from my dresser and hit the shower. I took a nice, long cold one.
Later, I sat in front of the television munching on a salad and sipping a glass of wine that the local news ran a story about several secret indictments being handed down by a federal grand jury which may implicate several members of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club in racketeering and conspiracy. The news reporter was doing a live telecast standing on some corner in Fort Wayne, Indiana which apparently was that chapter’s clubhouse.
My mind went back briefly to the big-mouth, asshole biker from Fort Wayne that had been in the club the night I had tried to dance for Slate. Slate had been royally pissed at me for still working at Jewels. It had been the night that he had thrown a dollar on the floor for me to pick up. It was the first night we had fucked; the night of my first orgasm. If truth be told; it was the night that I started falling in love with Slate; a road to nowhere.
The following week I heard about another opening for a pole dancer at a club nowhere near Jewels. I had seen something posted on the bulletin board at Foxy’s. There was no way that I was going to let Vonda know that I was going to apply for it. I wasn’t sure how close she and Janine were, but probably close enough that it would get back to the girls at Jewels and I couldn’t risk that happening.
The name of the club was ‘Sharkey’s and it offered the lower class clientele though it was purported to be ‘biker free.’ That was good enough for me.
I was only able to pull two shifts per week for the hours I wanted. It was enough. I worked both Thursday and Friday from 5:00 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. It was on a bus route so that would work out fine.
The dancers there also had stage names so I simply stuck with ‘Diamond.’ I had called Brenda to let her know I was back in the work force. I knew she was not pleased about it, only because she worried about me, but she didn’t voice her opinion other than to say, “Whatever makes you happy, Sam. I know you’ve been kind of down lately.”
She knew that Slate and I were no longer ‘fuck buddies.’ She hadn’t hid her relief about that from me at all.
I showered and waxed Thursday afternoon in preparation for my debut at Sharkey’s. I had taken my wig out of mothballs, shampooing and styling it at home. This club didn’t offer any help with hair and make-up, so I brought my case of cosmetics from home to store in my locker there. I was fairly certain I could handle my own make-up having watched Margo go through the paces many times.
I selected one of my dance costumes from the trunk of my car where I kept them in a wardrobe bag, and headed to the bus stop from the Park and Drive.
Sharkey’s offered private dancing rooms for customers willing to pay the high dollar amount. There was a glass partition that allowed the customer to see the dancer; however the dancer could not see the customer.
I wasn’t particularly thrilled about that part of it, but Juanita, the manager, had assured me that no customer requests for stripping or fondling by the dancer should be tolerated. Plus, there was no way that some pervert could get to the dancer because of the glass enclosed compartment. There was just enough room to do some simple glides, and then climb and twirl the pole in the center.
I asked Juanita if the customers who bought this individualized service pleasured
themselves while watching. Her response was simply, “Don’t think about it; just dance.”
(Oh yuck!)
My first evening on the job I had three private dance requests. The customer would pick the song and as the music started, a black velvet curtain would open so that whatever customer was on the other side of the glass could see me on the lighted mini-stage take the pole.
The dancers received a flat rate of fifty dollars for each dance; the club got thirty; the customer could then put an additional tip in the slide in drawer at the end of the dance if he (or she) so chose. I received a total of eight dollars in tips for those three requested dances. It wasn’t so bad by the third dance; in some ways it was almost better than having to dance in front of horny, sweaty men that you could see.
By the end of my shift my first day on I had collected about three hundred dollars total. Definitely not as good as what I had netted at Jewels, but I was new and needed to build a following. Juanita assured me that I had what it takes; she expected my Friday cache to be much larger. It really wasn’t about the money with me; I didn’t need to share that with her though.
As predicted, Juanita was correct. My haul for Friday was over five hundred dollars. I was starting to get into the groove there; I liked the other dancers as well. Most of them were college girls; just barely past twenty-one which was different than those who danced at Jewels. They didn’t make me feel ancient though; they were sweet and looked to me more as if I was their big sister.
The second week working at Sharkey’s I had received a call from Jack. The minute I picked up the phone, I could hear the cold anger in his tone.
“Why did you change the password on our savings account, Sammie?”
I immediately froze, my throat constricted by fear but then I realized there was nothing Jack could do to me over the phone.
“I think you need to answer that question first, Jack. What are you trying to hide?”
“I have multiple business dealings going, Sammie. I simply needed to ensure that I was the only one having access until I finalized them; I didn’t want you thinking that the money was at your disposal for bills or other expenditures until I had an opportunity to see how my investments were panning out.”
(That was so much freaking bullshit; Jack obviously had me pegged as an idiot. Perhaps for now, that was safest for me.)
“You mean that some of that massive amount of money in our savings is not really ours?”
“Correct; I deposited some cash that I received as a result of some independent loans; promissory notes that I signed. So those funds are strictly for re-investment opportunities to cover the repayment of the notes with interest, plus profits made from the investments targeted.”
(Yeah right you lying rat bastard!)
“Oh, okay. I guess I understand, Jack. You know I’m not nearly as well-versed as you in financial matters. I was just trying to see if we had enough funds for paying off the rest of Lindsey’s tuition this year since it was after the end of the semester.”
“Yes Sammie; that is fine. I transferred funds from the savings into the checking account that will more than cover that so you can go ahead and pay that to the registrar. You will find all of that information in the file marked, “Cornell” in the desk drawer.”
“Okay Jack; will do. What’s your schedule look like?”
“I will be traveling for another four weeks; then I will be back in Indy for Lindsey’s spring break.”
“Fantastic,” I said, genuinely relieved for the additional reprieve.
“So don’t worry honey,” he said, “I will continue to handle any necessary transfers from our savings to checking, okay? You don’t have to worry about that part of it.”
“Okay Jack,” I said cheerily, “That’s fine with me.”
We chatted for a few more minutes; mainly small talk. Jack wanted to see if I had bought his ‘story’ on the savings account issue. I gave him no reason to think that I had not. I knew without checking that he had changed the password and come up with new security questions that in no way I would ever be able to answer. What Jack didn’t know was that I had downloaded all of the activity on both the savings account and checking accounts for the past two years into an Excel file which I then zipped and emailed to Brenda. I had asked her to save it to her hard drive for me. She did so without question.
I needed to take an afternoon or two and sit down and analyze the activity of both accounts; to try and figure out what type of a ‘shell’ game Jack was playing. Brenda could be a huge help with that. I made sure that I cleared all of the cookies and deleted my activities in case Jack was monitoring me on our home computer.
The following Thursday I was putting make-up on in the dressing room when Juanita informed us that a new dancer was starting this evening and would be here any minute. She asked that one of us show her the ropes, commenting on her way out, “She better already damn well know the poles.”
Several minutes later I nearly dropped my lipstick when I saw the cute, tiny, dark-skinned ‘Emerald’ walk in to the dressing room.
“Oh my God Diamond,” she shrieked running over to me for a hug.
“Emerald, what the hell - you left Jewels? Why?”
“Probably for the same reason you did, Diamond. I was getting way too much heat from Ivan about those bikers being in there all of the time. It worried him sick even though he knew that I was just all about making money for the family. Ivan doesn’t make the money he made in Detroit. He hates that I even have to work, but dancing, it’s just a thing with his pride, you know?”
In a way, I did understand what she meant. I knew that Slate had not wanted me to dance there - or anywhere. It just wasn’t for the same reason though as Ivan’s. He truly loved his wife; they were a perfect example of a team.
“Hey, what about you?” she asked. “Is that why you left?”
“More or less,” I replied.
“I don’t mean to be nosey, girl; but was it because of Slate? You can tell me it’s none of my business.”
“It was in a way,” I said. “It’s kind of complicated.”
“I know you don’t see him anymore,” she remarked softly. “All of us could tell that he had his heart broken. He can be a real ass in that place. There were a couple of brawls in there this past month. That was the final straw for Ivan even though it didn’t involve me. Ivan said something wasn’t right there; not with those bikers.”
I thought about what Emerald said; how in the world had she come to the unlikely conclusion that Slate had a broken heart?
“Emerald,” I said quietly. “Can I ask you two questions?”
“Sure girl, ask away.”
“Have you seen Slate with any other women since I left?”
“Not a one,” she replied, “But then I only worked the three nights.”
I breathed a small sigh of relief. That was something I guess.
“Emerald - would you please not tell anyone else that I’m working here? It’s important.”
“Not a problem,” she assured me, “Is it okay if I tell Ivan though? It might make him feel a little better about me being here if he knows I have a friend like you. He knew you always had my back at Jewels.”
“Sure,” I said with a smile.
Emerald and I both caught the bus after our shift. I led her to believe I lived close to the Park and Drive. She got a transfer to a different bus once she got downtown. She had liked her first day at Sharkey’s though she too, voiced reservations about those private viewing dances behind glass.
“I mean I just don’t like not knowing who is on the other side,” she complained.
“I just try not to think about it, Emerald. By the way, do you care if I call you by your real first name?”
She laughed, “I can’t believe we never got around to that, though the other girls said you were extremely private so I never wanted to cross that line with you. My name is Jackie.”
“Hi Jackie; I’m Sunny.”
CHAPT
ER 21
It was Tuesday and it was Valentine’s Day. Jackie had asked if I would take her Tuesday shift for her. Ivan had gotten the evening off and wanted to do something special with her for Valentine’s Day. I told her that since I had no life outside of the club, I would be happy to do this.
I had bought a new costume special for Valentine’s Day. It was a red sequined pair of boy shorts with a black sequined, low cut camisole top. The top had a big red heart in the middle of it outlined in gold. It was very festive.
I had asked one of the other dancers to help with my hair. She had arranged it up in a high ponytail, with red glitter sprinkled generously over it.
“My God, I never knew that was a wig,” she said, as I had pressed my fingertips into the area near the hairline as she brushed it up into a ponytail to keep it in place. “It looks totally real, especially with the fine little wisps of hair cut all around the hairline.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling. “It certainly cost enough.” I had replaced the one I had worn at Jewels. I had spent about two grand on it; it was worth it. I loved the look.
I was first out on the stage for second shift. It wasn’t really crowded yet; but there were some special events planned for Valentine’s Days to draw men in who would typically be taking a wife or girlfriend out for the evening. One of the promotions offered the private booth dancing at half price; meaning the dancer would get forty bucks, the club zip in an effort to make sure the girls scheduled for tonight were taken care of financially. Juanita was pretty cool that way.
The club had three separate private dancing booths, and from around six o’clock until near the end of my shift, they were in constant use. I had already earned close to five hundred dollars between dances and tips. I had performed six private dances so far this evening.
It was close to 9:30 p.m. when Juanita approached me to let me know that I had a private dance request in Booth 1.
“Damn, I’m almost off the clock,” I halfway whined. “Can’t Lauren take it?”
