by Jada Ryker
Marisa tamped down her anger at Tara. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Brandon’s chin firmed. “I am not going to get hurt, Marisa. I am going to figure out why there’s a disconnect between Taylor’s online persona and her real life.”
“Take my advice, Brandon, and just let her go. As your friend, I don’t want you hurt.” Tara’s smile was nearly blinding in its innocence. “I know Marisa agrees with me.”
Pushing her chair back, Marisa slung her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s go powder our noses, Tara.” She circled the table to stand at Tara’s shoulder.
“Oh, I don’t need to—”
“Your nose is so shiny, it’s blinding the waiters.” Marisa ruthlessly dug her fingers into Tara’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
As Marisa and Tara entered the restroom, a figure followed them inside.
“Parvis! You can’t be in the ladies’ room!”
His face impassive, Parvis planted himself at the door. “Tara, you dragged your entourage to this restaurant and insisted upon joining Marisa and me. You ignored our polite demur and plopped yourselves down with us. Explain yourself.”
Tara crossed her arms. “You should ask that old hen Verna to partner up with you on your investigative reporting. When it comes to digging up dirt, she’s not a shovel...she’s a freaking one-woman excavator. She told me where you and Marisa went.”
“Marisa’s neighbor has superhuman hearing and she loves to tell what she knows. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here, Tara.”
“I’m protecting Marisa from making the mistake of trusting you. Parvis, you pretended to be someone else. You lied to Marisa. You used her to get information for your stories.”
Marisa opened her mouth. Parvis raised one hand to stop her. “Tara, you may not know, but Marisa’s addiction support group kidnapped me. They wanted to make me understand I had betrayed them when I wrote a story about the support group, its activities, and its members. I spent some time with them after that, and something happened to me. I had an epiphany, a light bulb went on over my head, or it was a pivotal moment. Whatever you want to call the realization, it was a turning point in my life. I could choose to stay the person I was, or I could choose to change.”
Tara narrowed her eyes. “Wow, Parvis. I am speechless.”
He rolled his eyes. “Why do I find that hard to believe?” He advanced, and stop inches from Tara. “Do you believe people can change, Tara?”
Tara leaned against the counter. “I think the concept of being able to make positive changes in our life must be the backbone of counseling. If there was no chance of success, would people go to therapists and psychiatrists? And none of the twelve-step programs out there, for alcoholism, drug addiction, overeating, you name it, would be around if people thought there was no hope for change. Long answer to your question, Parvis, yes, I believe people can change.” She smiled slightly. “I just don’t believe you can change. Your ruthlessness makes you a ton of money. It’s too lucrative for you to change.”
* * * * *
Parvis tugged his keys from his pocket as he and Marisa left the restaurant in the falling dusk. “How am I going win over Tara?”
“Considering how well it worked with Verna, perhaps Tara will remember your bumbling, shy alter ego, Russell Meeks. How can that ruthlessly short hair and those huge, chunky glasses, along with the baggy clothes and fake pot belly, fail to have gone straight to her heart?”
Parvis covered her hand where it lay loosely on her lap with his. “Do you like Parvis or Russell better, Marisa?”
“I think you’re a blend of both, and I like you just as you are!”
Laughing at the look of consternation on his face, Marisa slid her hand out from under his.
Although it was late in the evening, a dusky gloom allowed her to see the other cars. The summer breeze catching the tendrils falling loose from her brown ponytail, she craned her neck, peering around the parking lot.
“Are you looking for our friend in the white Camry? I see plenty of white cars, but I don’t see a Toyota Camry. What did you say Dreamus said her name was...Anna Pikestaff. Are you sure you don’t know anyone with that name? You are a human resources director. Could she be someone you fired?”
“I can’t think of anyone, Parvis. I don’t see the car either. Let’s head to the strip club. It’s about time for Sarah to hit the stage.” Marisa shook her head as Parvis accelerated out of the parking lot. “By the way, thank you for dinner. It was great, and even though we had gate crashers, nobody shot at us.”
* * * * *
As they approached her stage, Diana smiled as she recognized Marisa. When Marisa and Parvis scooted into two empty chairs at the edge, Diana twisted her body in a graceful wave.
As a compulsive body builder, Diana had a strong, muscular body. Daily weightlifting and constant exercise kept her fit, and her long black hair and beautiful face kept her from appearing too masculine for the taste of the primarily male customers.
“Diana appears to be somewhat older than the other ladies but holds her own with them,” Parvis said as Marisa set up her stack of dollar bills in front of her.
On their way to the strip club, Marisa had wondered if she’d be embarrassed by naked bodies and Parvis in the same room. Carefully, she tested her emotions. Nope, not a hint of mental squirming. Perhaps the time she’d spent here over the years had rendered her immune to discomfort. She smiled slightly as she crossed her legs and her denim skirt hitched up her thighs. “You’re being kind with the ‘somewhat’.”
Parvis carefully mirrored Marisa’s movements to build his own stack of dollars. “Kind?”
“Diana is at least twenty years older than the majority of the dancers. You may remember the game she plays with her customers. She gets them to ball up their currency and throw it into her g-string. She needed to differentiate herself from this herd of late-teens and twenty-something strippers, and the game helps her stand out.” While the dim lights helped disguise the laugh lines at Diana’s eyes and mouth and her muscular body was in better shape than the majority of women her age, it was impossible to hide the effects of gravity with a g-string.
Diana laughed as she caught the eyes of the men sitting at the stage, and those crowded behind them. “Come on, guys! Whoever throws their balled-up bill in my g-string first gets the first dance!”
As the men around the stage enthusiastically balled up their bills, comprehension dawned in Parvis face. “Oh, I noticed it when we were here months ago! It’s ingenuous!”
“It’s the perfect way to capture the attention-challenged strip joint customers. Well aware of the competitive nature of males, Diana makes the first dance of her set into a game. It’s always a huge hit, both with the older men and the younger guys.”
“Trinity!” Diana turned to Marisa and Parvis. “How are you, sweetheart?”
“Oh, yes,” Parvis snapped his fingers, “‘Trinity’ is the name you always used at the club. I think it fits you. Marisa, Trinity...now I have to wonder if there’s a third personality in there.”
Marisa turned to look at him, startled. There’s no way he could know about Tyme, my personality fragment. “Are you psychic?”
Diana stood in front of Marisa. Her nearly naked body, with the huge breasts and trim waist, glistened under the lights. Marisa remembered that Diana always rubbed baby oil on her skin prior to dancing, since the slick substance highlighted her muscles and smooth skin. Above average in height, Diana was Amazonian in her six-inch spike heels. Diana smiled at Marisa, and held out her black leather g-string.
Marisa balled up her dollar, took careful aim, and lobbed the ball.
Diana moved the g-string and adroitly caught Marisa’s ball.
Parvis laughed. “She cheated to catch your ball!”
Diana smiled seductively as she glided toward Marisa on her Lucite heels. The dancer reached down and stroked her hands up the black leather straps crisscrossing her well-developed calves, up her ta
nned thighs, along her ribs and under her breasts.
With a sinuous twist of her arms, Diana took Marisa’s hands in hers and gracefully pulled Marisa to her feet.
Swaying with the slow rock music, Diana slowly slid her naked torso up Marisa’s body. The dancer’s long, dark tresses slithered over Marisa as Diana bent and rubbed her face in Marisa’s neck like a playful cat.
“Oh, Marisa, honey, it’s so great to see you!” Diana purred in Marisa’s ear as her hands danced around Marisa’s waist. “I haven’t seen you since all of the excitement several months ago. What a rush! I actually got to help catch a murderer!” Diana turned her head to look around her stage as her hands roamed lower toward Marisa’s ass. “I love seeing you and you’re great for business! The guys are lining up around the stage three deep, to watch two hot women together!”
“I’m glad to see you too, Diana.”
Diana kissed Marisa’s cheek as she pulled away. “Is this your boyfriend?” she asked as Parvis draped his arm over Marisa’s chair as she sat down.
“This is Parvis. He was here with me, but he looked...different.” Marisa deftly avoided the dreaded “boyfriend question.”
Diana looked at Parvis and threw her head back and laughed. “I remember! ‘Different’ is an understatement! I wouldn’t have recognized him. He must have spent the last four months working out and getting an extreme make over!” Her dark hair swung as she shook her head in disbelief. “You two come and see me before you leave.” Diana blew them a kiss as she moved on to the next customer.
Parvis leaned close to her ear so she could hear over the music and the cheers of the crowd. “She’s very beautiful.”
“Yes, smart and beautiful. She is a very good friend.” Marisa craned her neck, checking out the other five stages. “I haven’t heard them announce Sarah yet. Let’s go sit at a table away from the stages while we wait. It’ll be easier to talk.”
The huge bar was so crowded with men, along with a sprinkling of women, they had to push their way through the jammed bodies. The dancers who recognized Marisa greeted her with hugs and kisses, which slowed their progress even more. As they moved past the booths for the lap dances, Marisa glimpsed serpentine women writhing as they gave the men special dances.
Marisa sighed in relief when she sank into a chair at a table in a secluded corner. “Just think,” she said as Parvis slid into the chair next to her, “it all started four months ago, when you followed me to this very strip club.” Marisa looked around the other tables. She sucked in a startled breath.
“What is it?” Parvis asked, scanning the people around them.
“See the blonde woman over there?” Marisa moved her head a fraction at a couple several tables away from them.
Parvis nodded and casually put his arm on the back of Marisa’s chair. She could feel the heat of his arm behind her.
“When I first started coming to the club, I saw her watching me across the stage. She’s absolutely gorgeous, long golden hair, short black dress hugging her curves, smooth skin, and beautiful face.”
Parvis glanced at her, and back at Marisa. “She looks like a young Suzanne Summers.”
“Exactly what I thought.” Marisa looked down into her glass of Diet Coke. “My drinking was definitely out of control, although at the time I was limiting it to just binge drinking on the weekends. At the same time, I wanted to explore my feelings of attraction toward women.”
Marisa risked a glance at Parvis’ face. He was frowning. “I saw her watching me across the stage, and she smiled at me. I went into the bathroom and she followed me in. We both stood there, waiting, since it was a ‘full house,’ so to speak. As we waited, I saw her eyes travel down the length of my legs. I always wore extreme clothes to the clubs, so she had a great view of my legs. She said, ‘You must work out, you have beautiful legs.’ She moved closer to me, and put her arm around me.
“I was absolutely captivated by her beauty, and I ended up making out with her in the bathroom.”
“I can’t imagine that’s the end of the story.”
Marisa tried to peer into Parvis’ intense blue eyes, but he had turned away to look at the TV mounted in the corner, football players running across the screen and closed captioning snaking along the bottom. She tilted her head to one side. “It was near closing time, and I’d had a lot to drink. The blonde beauty asked me if I wanted to go to Denny’s for breakfast. I was so inebriated I told her no, and I was also too impaired to ask for her phone number! Curses, I thought the next day!”
“Hmm.” Parvis’ eyes were glued to the screen.
Marisa wondered what he was thinking. Focused on the game? Pretending not to be shocked by her story? Truly not concerned? “A couple of weekends went by. One night, I was at the club, drinking and enjoying the shows. The blonde woman was here! I thought to myself, I am not letting this opportunity pass me by again. I went over to her. We sat together and talked and flirted. She told me she had a foot fetish. I had on open-toed shoes. My legs were crossed. She reached down. I shivered when her gentle fingers stroked my calf and my foot.
“As closing time neared, I told her I had thought about her since the night we’d met. I also told her I regretted not getting her phone number.
“She looked at me. Her face was a smooth, blank oval. She stated in a neutral tone, ‘I never give out my phone number.’
“I was surprised. I said, ‘Why not?’
“She shrugged. ‘I have a boyfriend. I find a woman for the night. I have a great time with her, and that’s it. I don’t want any further contact with her.’
“Parvis, I felt like I’d gotten doused with a bucket of ice cold water. I was not interested in being just the woman of her night, and I told her so. It was a milestone moment for me. As time went on, I found the blonde’s attitude was fairly representative of the attitude of many bisexual women. The female side of their sexuality is for fun only, and that’s it.
“I suppose I took that as proof positive of the outlook of many of my lesbian friends: bisexual women are unstable, crazy, and unpredictable. While I continued to drink, and also discovered painkillers, I decided to abandon the experiments in bisexuality. My drinking was completely out of control, and the line between my lives as Marisa and Trinity wasn’t clearly defined. I was going to work with alcohol in my system, and spending nearly every night at the club. I think I knew deep down something had to give and living two lives wasn’t working.
“After days of drinking, I woke up on my floor. I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten there. I tried to remember, but I had gaps in my memory. My cell phone rang. It was my dear friend Althea. She had fallen and broken her hip. I couldn’t move without throwing up. I was physically unable to go to her when she needed me. I had to call an ambulance and let Althea go through all of that on her own, until I was sober enough and well enough to go to her.” Marisa’s hand was clenched on the table in front of her.
Parvis put his hand over hers. He squeezed gently. “You’ve done a great job of turning your life around. Stop beating yourself up over it, Marisa.”
Marisa felt the prickling of tears in her eyes. She sniffed. “Thank you, Parvis.”
“Why are there people in addition to the dancers on that stage? Although, considering where we are, I’m almost afraid to ask.”
Marisa peered through the dimness of the club, illuminated by the muted lights over each stage. On the stage nearest them, a man was standing between two laughing dancers. Marisa grinned away her tears. “You have the dubious pleasure of seeing a bachelor party in a strip club in action! The man on the stage is the groom-to-be.”
As they watched, the emcee jumped on the stage with the other three. He asked the young man to give him his belt and lower his trousers, so that the ladies could spank him with his own belt.
Swaying on his feet, and grinning like a loon, the groom-to-be complied. His buddies crowded around the stage and cheered the dancers on with drunken yells.
The two ladies helped him un
fasten his trousers. They lowered his pants, exposing plaid boxer shorts. They took turns giving him swats with the belt.
The emcee ordered him to look out in the crowd at his buddies, and give them high fives.
The man obediently raised both arms.
The girls, one on either side of him, each grabbed one side of his boxers. They jerked abruptly, and he was naked from the waist down in front of his friends and everyone else.
Everyone in the strip club howled.
The ladies grasped the arms of the drunken groom and dragged him off the stage. The high energy voice of the emcee boomed out over the sound system. “Get ready for the next group of hot ladies. For your viewing pleasure, Diana is on stage one. On stage two, Brittany can’t wait for you to see her. Stage three, it’s Sarah. Stage four, it’s—”
“Parvis!” Marisa clutched at the hand over hers. “He said Sarah is on stage three. Let’s go. We’ll watch her dance, and then see if we can speak to her after her set.”
Marisa dragged Parvis through the packed crowds of yelling, laughing, and inebriated men and women.
As they approached stage three, Sarah placed her little purse on the high ledge. She turned around. She was dressed in a parochial school girl uniform of conservative white blouse and plaid skirt. Her white knee socks and patent leather shoes completed the girlish outfit. As the men hooted, she pranced around the stage to the music, curls bouncing. As she danced, she removed her clothes until she was down to her white knee socks and shiny black shoes and her white and silver g-string.
There were two empty chairs near the wall, and Parvis and Marisa slid into them. Sarah casually glanced over at them, and then did a double take. She obviously recognized them.
As dollar bills littered the stage, Sarah pirouetted across it. Her black shoe connected with a beer bottle, and sent it careening across the stage in a wild spin. Beer flew everywhere. Sarah’s shoe skidded into a large puddle of the liquid, and she slid madly across the stage in a frantic version of the splits. Swinging her arms wildly, she tried to recover. She caught her foot on the far edge of the stage, and toppled over.
