Red

by Kim Jones

  Holy fucking shit. I’m losing my mind.

  I continue the show, removing my glasses, and freeing my long, red locks. I flip my head over, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth on the way back up. I watch his lips part and make out the word ‘damn,’ before I drag my eyes away, fighting the shy smile forming on my face. I’m going through the motions, dancing, splits, pulling my hair, but all I’m thinking about is the way he looks at me.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? Men always look at me like that when I am on stage. I’m a fucking stripper. My purpose is to dance, theirs is to look. I finish out the song, making sure to concentrate on everyone that isn’t him. When I walk off, Corey is there waiting with a drink. I greedily grab it and let the slow burn of vodka wash away any and all thoughts of Devil’s Renegade Regg.

  Chapter Two

  My Best Friend and His Best Friend

  Ten Months Ago

  “Red! Phone!” I close my eyes, silently sending up a prayer that whoever in the hell is calling me at five in the morning doesn’t want anything more than to bid me goodnight. I’m on my twelfth and final hour of work; the last thing I need is for someone to ask me to cover their shift. I drag myself to the phone at the bar, the result of my all night binge is catching up to me and I know I’m about to crash.

  “Yo,” I say in greeting, declining the bartender’s offer for another drink. That’s the last thing I need.

  “Hey, babe. Long night?” Luke’s voice fills the phone and despite my sore cheeks, I smile. Most of the girls wear a sexy, sultry look when they dance. I always smile, but twelve hours of it is taking its toll on my face. I’ll no doubt have crow’s feet by the time I am thirty.

  “Is it that obvious?” Luke’s low rumble of laughter has me smiling again. It’s been almost two months since I’ve last seen him and his presence is missed.

  “I just wanted to check on you. Haven’t seen you in a while.” Luke doesn’t attempt to hide the concern in his voice. After five nights of constant work, endless drinking and line after line of powder, my exhausted body demanded sleep. And at his house, I got it. It wasn’t unusual for me to show up at his place on my days off and claim his spare bedroom. I sleep better when Luke is around. He is like my security blanket. He isn’t always in the room, but his presence is always there. Here lately, I’d fought my demons on my own. Luke was a busy man. It was time for me to become less dependent on him and more on myself.

  “Yeah, I know you got a lot going on with the club and all. I’m proud of you, by the way.” Luke’s hard work has paid off and I know it won’t be long before he has the reins.

  “Thanks, Red. But, you know I always have time for you.” His words cause me to frown. Luke is such a good guy. I will never understand why he took on a burden like me. “Come see me. I’m off today. We’ll hang around the house and catch up. I’ll cook for you.” I laugh at his offer.

  “You mean you’ll buy something for me to cook.”

  “I mean, if you insist.” His playfulness has me missing him more. There are no clocks in here, but from my experience, the ache in my feet and the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ in my system, I know it’s quittin’ time.

  “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  My shitty little single wide isn’t much, but it’s home. The trailer park is full of people ranging from senior citizens to gangsters and everywhere in between. On any given day, it’s not unusual to find a cop or a hearse blocking the small, gravel drive. Thankfully, this morning there is neither. It reminds me of the home where I spent six years of my childhood. I don’t know why I stay here. I can afford to move, but instead, I’d rather stay here and taunt myself with memories that still give me nightmares. I thought over time they would make me stronger. But, strong is something I’m not.

  I drag my sorry ass out of the car, fishing my keys out of my pocket to unlock the flimsy door. It would only keep an honest man out. Hell, a child could kick the damn thing in. The smell of stale smoke and last night’s supper hangs heavy in the air. Damn fried food. The lingering odor of fried chicken will be here for days.

  I take a quick shower, scrubbing the sweat and filth from my body before brushing my teeth, and throwing on a pair of sweats and a tank. One of the great things about mine and Luke’s relationship, there’s no need to impress. He’s seen me at my worst and my best, but he most often sees me like this. I throw a few things in a bag, grab my tennis shoes and sprint through the house, trying to prevent the smell of cooking oil from clinging to my freshly laundered clothes.

  When I’m safely in my car with the doors locked, I look back at the fading brown siding of the mobile home. Staying on top is hard. I’ve worked my ass off to be in the spotlight. My face on a billboard and tips from horny men are all I have to show for it. I don’t have a nice home or a nice car. My old Mustang is on its last leg, and a new used car is in my near future. But, I have to keep working. I have to keep up the fight to stay where I am. Girls walk through the doors of Pete’s everyday looking for a job. And most of them have the potential to replace me. They’re prettier, smarter and easier to get along with than I am. But, as long as I’m pulling the big numbers, the guys assure me I’m not going anywhere.

  I pull the envelope containing my check from my purse. Maybe I’ll have enough to put a deposit down on an apartment. Luke is in the real estate business and has offered to help me, but I refuse to take any charity. I make enough money to get myself out of this shit hole, I just have to back off the coke for a while and drink cheaper Vodka.

  Pay to the order of: Denny Deen

  Denny Deen. A name just as tainted as my career. Actually, being ‘Red the Stripper’ was an improvement over who I was before. I don’t know why the great state of Mississippi gave me a name like Denny Deen. I guess Jane Smith was already taken. Like always, when I see my name printed in front of me, I think of my mother. I wonder what she was like. I wonder if she had red hair too. I would give anything to meet her, but chances are she’s a lot more fucked up than I am.

  I’m exhausted. Getting lost in my thoughts does this to me. As does long nights of work and sudden realizations of how shitty my life is. I’ll forget tomorrow, and then sometime next week, I’ll be reminded again.

  I rest my head on the steering wheel, knowing what I have to do. Guilt begins to settle in my gut. I know Luke ain’t stupid, but if he is aware of my addiction, it isn’t because he’s ever seen me do it…this time. He helped me get clean a few years back, but I’ve fallen off the wagon-so to speak. Luke hates drugs in all forms, and I refuse to be high around him. If I did it now, I wouldn’t be worth shit by the time I got to his house. The high would only last about thirty minutes, and considering the amount I’ve already ingested, the inevitable crash would only be worse. But, if I don’t do it, I won’t make it there. Thoughts of getting some decent sleep, Luke’s protection and his face have me pulling my stash from the hidden compartment beneath my console.

  I measure out a line on the square mirror, put the straw to my nose and inhale. Before it has a chance to take effect, I pour the remaining powder out and snort the rest. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to have it at Luke’s place, but I know the real reason. I fucking want it. I slide my finger over the residue and rub it on my gums, then hide the mirror and straw before turning the key and listening to my car purr to life. Jimi Hendrix is on the radio, Biloxi, Mississippi is in my rearview and I’m back to floating in the clouds. And it’s exactly where I want to be.

  ***

  Luke’s house is located just across the Forrest County line. A long gravel driveway lined with pines leads you to a beautiful log cabin home surrounded by tress and nothing but bright morning sky. It’s peace on Earth. The huge shop behind the house serves as a clubhouse for the Devil’s Renegades MC. The club was originally formed in Lake Charles, Louisiana, but has branched out to several other states and cities including Hattiesburg, Mississippi. This is the chapter I’m sure Luke will be President of very soon. I feel pride swell
in my chest at the thought of my best friend wearing that P patch so proudly.

  I grew up around the club and consider myself biker trash just as much as orphan trash. The foster home I was moved to when I was nine had ties to the MC. I wasn’t sure of their exact connection at the time, but now I assume it had something to do with the drug trade. When the man serving as my dad sent me to the clubhouse on a delivery, I came face to face with the scariest man alive. Pops, the chapter president, took the bag from me and made me promise to never bring anything to them from my dad again. I didn’t know how I would explain that when I got home, but I never had to.

  From that day on, the club always seemed to look after me. Birthdays, Christmas and Easter might not have meant much at home, but the club always made it special for me. When I met Luke, he insisted I meet his grandfather-his idol. You can imagine my surprise when I found out it was Pops. Luke’s father tried to keep him away from his grandfather as much as possible. He feared Luke would be influenced and take the same path and end up like Pops. Realizing he couldn’t keep him away, Luke’s dad gave up. It’s a small world when you realize the boy who once saved you is the grandchild of the man who also saved you. I guess life has a way of showing you where you belong.

  I pull up and Luke’s outside waiting. His comfort attire of nothing but basketball shorts has me rolling my eyes. The boy never wears a shirt. Not that he should. I’m sure if he did, women would be rioting in the streets, demanding him to take it off.

  “I should have known your hour would be two,” Luke says, pulling me into his arms for a hug.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get my shit, will ya.” He grabs my bag and leads me inside. The scent of his home is clean, masculine and nothing like mine. The place gives a whole new meaning to the term ‘bachelor pad.’ Not a thing out of place or a speck of dust can be found. I am such a shitty housekeeper, that I’m sure he’ll be ready to kill me by the time I leave.

  I stop just inside the kitchen and stare at the counter lined with ten different boxes of cereal. It was a luxury I wasn’t offered growing up, and when Luke found out he always made sure to have plenty on hand when I came over. The reminder of the hunger pains I endured as a child has me unconsciously rubbing my stomach. I feel the tears building in my eyes as my mind floods with flashbacks. Years I lived in a home where dinner was served when the mom wasn’t high or wasn’t on her back. Men paraded in and out of our house as if it were a brothel. And some of them had a fetish for young girls. I can still smell the stench of their sweat and feel the roughness of their hands.

  “Hey,” Luke’s soothing tone cuts through my thoughts, but it’s not enough to make them disappear. The happiness inside me is gone. My endorphins are asleep, and will stay that way until I force them out with another hit of coke. Now, I’m just a pool of sadness, depression and exhaustion. I sob in my hands, my fatigued body fighting hard to keep me on my feet. Just before my legs fail me, I’m in Luke’s arms. He talks to me, tells me I’m safe and he is here. He lies with me on the couch, his strong arms holding me close to his chest. The fear begins to fade. The sobs begin to die. And in the arms of my best friend, I finally give in to sleep.

  ***

  Someone beating on the door wakes me what could be days later. When I look at the clock, I see it is after nine p.m., and I realize the pounding I hear is only in my head.

  “Son of a bitch,” I mumble to the darkness. I look around, patiently waiting for my vision to adjust. I’m not in the living room anymore; I’m now in the comfort of Luke’s spare bedroom. I force myself up and to the bathroom that adjoins it, and find two pain relievers and a bottle of water on the counter. Luke is always so prepared.

  I scrub the sleep from my eyes, letting the cold water from the tap shock me fully awake. I slept all damn day. No wonder I felt like shit. I toss the pills to the back of my throat and nearly drain the whole bottle of water before brushing my teeth and going in search of the only thing that can pull me out of my slump. Cereal.

  I stumble out of my room, glancing around the den as I make my way to the kitchen. Luke sits on the end of the couch, his legs reclined out in front of him on the ottoman while he watches T.V.. When he sees me, he gives me his trademark smirk.

  “You look like hammered dog shit.” I give him the finger, ignoring his laughter. Fruity Pebbles call to me and I fill a huge bowl before curling into his side on the couch. “Feel better?” I give him a nod, already lost in the movie. Steven Seagal will marry me one day. I am sure of it.

  My constant crunching in Luke’s ear doesn’t seem to bother him, but it bothers the hell out of me that he’s staring.

  “What?” I ask, not pulling my eyes from the big sexy ninja on Luke’s T.V. screen.

  “Can I have a bite?” He had to be joking. I look at him and he is staring greedily at the huge bowl in my hand. And he most definitely is not joking.

  “Um, no.” I continue eating, ignoring his stare. Or at least trying to.

  “Just one?” Fuck.

  “No, Luke. You know how funny I am about milk.” It’s true. I can eat after people, smoke after people, drink after people, but there was something about milk that totally grossed me out when it was shared.

  “You’re an ass,” he huffs, trying to move away from me but he has nowhere to go. Because I really am an ass, I scoot closer to him. He makes some kind of grunting noise and I smile at my ability to annoy him so easily. I hear the kitchen door open and the heavy sound of footsteps.

  Shit.

  I’m braless, in a white tank, baggy jogging pants and look like hell. It could very possibly be Steven Seagal and now I will have to work harder to make him fall in love with me. Or maybe just fall into my bed. Either is fine. But the image that comes into view isn’t ol’ Steven at all. It’s Regg. He doesn’t speak as he walks through the house, into Luke’s bathroom and closes the door.

  “What in the hell is he doing here?” I whisper to Luke, wishing like hell I had put on a bra. My words are harsher than I intended which earns me a look from Luke that tells me he thinks I’m crazy.

  “He’s my best friend, Red. Why wouldn’t he be here?” My face falls at his words. Hell, my whole body sags. As does my heart.

  “I thought I was your best friend,” I say, poking my lip out. It’s not exaggerated either. Luke gives me his charming smile that has dropped the panties of every girl in a fifty mile radius, except mine. My frown deepens. He knows I hate that smile. He gives me a wink, which I hate too before telling me words that do nothing to lift my spirits.

  “You’re my best girl-friend.”

  “It’s not the same,” I hiss, just before Regg walks back into the room. I focus on Steven Seagal, the one man who won’t let me down.

  “Red, I mean if you wanted to see me all you had to do was ask. I wouldn’t have kept you waiting this long if I knew you were here.” Regg is all smiles blocking the T.V. and thoughts of him replacing me as Luke’s BFF are forgotten.

  “Well, I know what a busy man you are.” I shoot him a wink and he takes the seat right next to me. He doesn’t look confused about me being right up under Luke, I guess he’s aware of our relationship.

  “Is that Fruity Pebbles?” he asks, getting way too excited. And just like Luke, I ignore him too. “Can I have a bite?” He leans over into my personal space, way too close to my delicious food.

  “No. Go away,” I snap, but he is undeterred. Bastard.

  “Please?” He pokes his lip out and I would laugh if not for the seriousness of the situation. This is my cereal we are talking about.

  “Dammit,” I grumble, trying like hell to get out of the hole I’ve made in the couch as gracefully as possible. “I wish y’all would just leave me alone. Here,” I go to the other end of the couch, sitting down and throwing my feet into Regg’s lap. “Why don’t you rub my feet?” I’m only joking and half expect him to push them away, but he takes my foot in his hands and begins massaging. Shit, that feels good.

  “Look at those little
pigsters,” He smiles, pulling on my toes.

  “What in the hell are pigsters?” My cereal is forgotten as I stare curiously at Regg who looks completely absorbed in my feet.

  “Toes. Pigsters.” So help me God, if he starts… “This little piggy went to the market.” You have got to be kidding me. What is he? Seven? He throws his head back on a laugh, before resuming my foot rub and talking to Luke. “I’m staying home this weekend. Little brother’s got a game Friday night. It’s his freshmen year and I don’t wanna miss it.” Luke nods and talk of football starts between them and for some reason, I want to know more about Regg’s family. He has a brother. Does he have any other siblings? Does he come from a good home? Does he have a girlfriend? No. He couldn’t have a girlfriend. A flirt like him would never settle down.

  I shovel cereal into my mouth, appraising him from across the couch. Regg is a good looking guy. Boyish, yes, but no less good looking. My eyes travel to his leather cut, and I can’t help but wonder if he would still be attractive if he wasn’t wearing it. There is something about leather vests on a man that can change his appearance from average to mouthwatering. Not that Regg is mouthwatering, I mean he is, but I don’t see him that way. He is just cute. Well, more than cute, but I ain’t attracted to him or anything. Am I?

  Shit, I need to watch the movie. Seagal is fixing to kill someone with a condom and a spatula. I should really give him my undivided attention. But, damn that laugh. And that smile. And the boy can give a mean foot massage. I shift at my thoughts and he tightens his hold on my feet. No, baby. I wasn’t going to move them. I snort at my stupid conversation with myself and it earns me silence and a look from both Regg and Luke.