by Zoey Castile
“Come,” I tell him, tugging on his hand.
But he stops at the sound of a ringtone. He reaches into his back pocket for his phone.
“You go up, I have to take this call.”
For a moment, my mind goes to a dark place. There’s a woman’s name on the caller ID. Who is she? How does he know her? Will he tell me about her? Then again, I have to keep reminding myself that this is temporary, and that I have no right to be jealous. It’s part of his lifestyle, and I’ve agreed to be part of that life. I have to be more guarded. At the end of the day, Fallon is not my boyfriend. He’s Mr. Right Now.
I climb the spiral steps up to the top of the castle by myself. Each step echoes in my thoughts. Mr. Right. Now. Mr. Right. Now. Mr. Right Now.
When I get to the top, a June wind carries the scent of new flowers and burnt sugar from nearby peanut stands. I turn my face up to the sun and wish that every day could be as good as this one.
“Robyn!” My name is called out, but it sounds far away. I look around and notice some of the other people on the deck are pointing over the ledge at the ground.
I walk over and see what they’re looking at.
Fallon.
“Sweet Princess Cyborg,” he shouts. “Let down your hair.”
And I sit on the ledge, unable to stop my heart from fluttering like petals in the wind. I press a kiss to my fingertips and blow it down to him. Then, I curl my finger and bring it toward me. He disappears into the castle, and I know he’s running up here.
“Ugh, you guys are so adorable,” a woman tells me, half grimacing and half smiling.
“He’s a keeper, darling,” an elderly woman adds.
Before I can acknowledge them, Fallon comes onto the deck, slightly panting. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but I like it. I want it. I don’t want it to stop. He picks me up in his arms and lifts me in the air, slowly, so our bodies slide against each other and our lips are so close there is no other choice but to kiss.
FALLON
By the time I get to the club, I’m walking on air. It’s been two days since our kiss at the castle. Then, I remember every opportunity I had to tell Robyn that I’m leaving sooner than we’d discussed. Every single time I made an excuse. I didn’t want to interrupt her while she was eating. I didn’t want to stop her from telling the story of her parents. Then we were going home, and she got busy with work.
As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s a romantic. She acts like she isn’t, like it’s her fault that all of her relationships have failed. But what she hasn’t met is the right person. She wants that fairy-tale romance. As much as I want to be the guy who gives it to her, I know I can’t be. I know that soon, I’m going to have to come clean, and then I’ll be gone and long distance doesn’t last. Not in this day and age.
I open the door to the office and hear someone whispering. When I get closer, I recognize Vinny’s voice. Something stops me from making myself heard. I stand in the hallway, right by the door of the back office. The buzz of the fluorescent light is the only thing I can hear aside from Vinny’s voice.
“Yeah, I got them,” he says. I can hear him pacing back and forth. “I told you I would. Nah, the party’s going to be lit. I can promise you that. Let’s go with forty a pop.”
Forty a pop? I have a terrible feeling that I know what he’s talking about. I think about the crushed white pill on my floor after the bachelorette party.
Footsteps sound from down the hall, and Ricky appears.
“Fallon!” he shouts.
“I gotta go,” Vinny whispers, and I’m forced to make myself known. Vinny sticks his head out the door and sees me standing there with my gear bag on my shoulder. His brown eyes look at me suspiciously, and he’s got some fucking nerve smiling. “’Sup, Fallon?”
I shrug and then lie. “Looking for you. We should go over the boxing routine.”
“Yeah, about that,” Vinny says. “I don’t think that’s going to fly. See, my brother and I thought it’d be better if we do the set together. Play up the twin thing, you know what I’m saying.”
I wish I could act disappointed, but I just let it go.
“Great idea,” Ricky says, and gives Vinny a high five. “But rehearsal is cancelled today.”
“Why?” I ask.
“The Royal scheduled a last-minute promo shoot. The photographer’s coming here. I just called the other boys to have them meet us here.”
I don’t want to be the one to rain on his parade, so I smile, and head to the lockers to change. I can’t shake the feeling that Vinny is shady. But I’ve never accused one of my crew members of doing anything illegal. I can’t now, not without concrete proof.
“You okay, man?” Vinny asks, walking into the lockers behind me. “You seem on edge. Even more than usual.”
I look him up and down but don’t say anything. “I’m good. Did Ricky say if we were supposed to wear anything specific?”
Vinny shakes his head. I forget how young he is. I wonder if he gets under my skin because he reminds me of what I used to be like. Messy. Loud. Stupid.
“Nah, I think he has everything set up on the main.”
“Cool, thanks.” I pull off my T-shirt and look at him. “You going to stand there all day, kid?”
“Look, Fallon. I just wanted to say that I know you and I got off on the wrong foot. My brother says you’re cool, and I dunno, I guess I just act out. I figure we can start over for Vegas and all.”
Be the bigger man. That’s what I should be. That’s what I will be. But I have to admit this is an opportunity in itself. With Vinny trying to be my friend, I can find the proof that I need.
I hold out my hand. “Sure. Clean slate.”
* * *
The lights on the main stage are kicked up a notch. Mark, our sound master and DJ, is trying to find the right angle with the photographer The Royal Hotel and Casino sent over.
Ricky selected the guys who are going to go on the promo shots. It’s Ricky, the twins, Gary, Aiden, Sebastian, and myself.
I pull Ricky to the side. “Can I talk to you later on?”
Ricky’s eyes can’t focus on me long enough. “Sure, mate. Let’s get this shoot down and then I’m all yours.”
Ricky has three outfit changes. The first is navy-blue jeans and big silver belt buckles that look like we’re on our way to the rodeo. We look ridiculous, but I tell myself that I need to be a team player. If no one else is complaining, then neither am I.
Silvia, the photographer, is an older woman with long frizzy hair piled up on the top of her head. She holds her camera like it allows her to see into another world. She’s focused and shouts out directions like a pro.
“You,” she says, pointing at me. “Relax your jaw muscles. We want inviting for sexy times, not inviting for murder.”
The other guys laugh at my expense and I stretch out my jaw.
“You,” she says, pointing at Sebastian. “This is not the WWE. Lower your arms.”
“I didn’t realize we were going to get roasted,” I mutter. Aiden elbows me to get me to shut up, but instead it incites a round of jabs.
“Okay, change,” Silvia shouts.
Darla tick-tocks over from the backstage and fusses with Ricky’s hair. “Let me get hair and makeup over here. We need you boys to look your best. Lots of competition in Vegas.”
“Thanks for the tenth reminder today,” I say, sitting on one of the vanity chairs they’ve lined up. A couple of makeup people appear from backstage with sponges and trays full of powders.
“Aw, honey, I’m sorry,” Darla says, leaving Ricky’s side and walking over to me. She grabs my chin, getting in the way of Clint, the makeup artist. “Don’t do anything to those cheekbones, Clint.”
“He’s in good hands,” he says. When Darla walks away, Clint sucks his teeth and rolls his eyes. “You think I haven’t been doing this for half my life.”
“She means well,” I say.
“You’re just defendin
g her because she’s in love with you.”
“What?” I shake my head.
“That she-lion wants to eat you alive. And if you’re not looking, honey, she’s going to do it.”
With that warning, I sit in my chair and let myself be used as a human Ken doll.
We change our outfits again. This time into white silk shorts that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. Clint and the makeup artists line us up to reapply body oil.
“Ricky,” I say warningly. I hold out my arms so one of the makeup artists, I think I heard someone call him Will, can use a cloth to spread oil down my sides. “Really? Please tell me you didn’t choose these outfits.”
“Sure,” Ricky says unconvincingly. “I didn’t choose them. But come on. It’s going up smack in the middle of summer.”
“Imagine how huge our junk is going to be on the side of the hotel,” Vinny says, a cheesy grin on his eager face.
“Yeah,” his brother jokes. “It’ll be a change of pace for you.”
“You know we’re twins,” Vinny says.
Wonderboy winks at the young makeup artist spreading oil across his thighs. “We’re not identical where it counts.”
“Okay, enough,” I say. I walk to the front of the stage and thank Will before I get ready to line up.
Silvia’s waiting with two of her assistants, both of whom haven’t been able to look us in the eye.
“You,” Silvia says, and walks up to me. She holds out a stick of gum. “Chew this. It’ll relax whatever’s got you more wound up than a jack-in-the-box.”
I take it, unwrap it, and shove the stick of gum in my mouth. The chewing does nothing to calm my nerves. I wasn’t even aware I had nerves to calm until she kept pointing out how stiff I am. I jump around onstage and do some stretches while I wait for the others. One of the assistants has long dark hair. When she tucks it behind her ear, something in my chest tightens because the gesture reminds me so much of Robyn.
Is this what it’s like to miss someone?
An oily hand smacks against my back, and when I turn around, it’s Vinny. I remember the conversation I overhead while he was on the phone. I can’t return the smile he gives me. I shrug him off and keep stretching.
“Fallon, your phone keeps ringing,” Ricky says. “It’s Robyn.”
I spin around, nearly slipping on the smooth floor. “Give me that.”
Ricky has my phone against his ear. I walk behind him across the stage, but he evades me. “Good day, pretty lady. This is Rick Rocket, how may I assist you today? Oh, so you do remember me. Well, you’ve got a lovely voice, you know. Sure, sure, Zac’s right here. We’re a little busy at the moment. Prepping for—”
“Give me the fucking phone, Ricky,” I shout.
Aiden gets in my way, and all of a sudden, all the boys are in on keeping me away from Ricky.
“We’ve got a show tonight. Yes, I realize it’s a school night. First show’s in two hours. I’ll put your name at the door. See you then!”
I break through the wall of arms that hold me back. Ricky hands my phone back to me.
“It’s about time we met her, Zac.” Ricky winks at me. Then he steps closer. “You know, maybe you’d feel better if you came clean. She doesn’t seem to know you’re leaving.”
“That’s my business,” I say, sounding more petulant than I want. I turn my phone off and go to the lockers. I lock my phone in there. But I know Ricky’s right. I hate it when he’s right.
But now I’ve got another thing to worry about. Robyn is coming here, and she’s going to watch me strip.
12
Tempted to Touch
ROBYN
I check and recheck my lipstick in the back of the cab. Yes, it’s still on. Yes, it’s still red. Yes, I’m still nervous. I’m nervous about going to watch Fallon. I’m nervous I’m going to like it more than I want to admit. The one time I did see him, I didn’t stick around for the whole spectacle.
The cabbie drops me off in front of the club and gives me a surprised look when he sees where we are. I pay, and get out at the curb. The club is unmarked except for a door with the building numbers in red lights and a long black awning that wraps around the building. Dozens and dozens of women are lined up against the wall. They’re in groups easily distinguishable by what they’re celebrating. Most of the groups are made up of bachelorettes, the brides wearing tiny crowns with white veils and sashes. Then there are the birthday girls, also in glittering crowns. The younger they are, the prouder they are to display the age they’re turning. It’s mostly the twenty-one-year-olds who let you know that they’re finally legal enough to drink. Then there are a few sorority girls. Some women just out about town. Two groups of divorce parties.
I do as Ricky said and go to the door. I hate being that girl. I hate cutting in line.
I look at the tall man guarding the entrance. He looks uninterested, typing with one fat thumb on the screen of his phone.
I clear my throat. “Uhm, excuse me.”
It takes him a moment to look up. He moves as if in slow motion, taking in my black three-inch heels, my bare legs, and the black velvet dress I chose for tonight. Compared to all the red, pink, and white dresses down the line, I feel like I chose the wrong outfit.
It’s a stupid thing to be self-conscious about, but I’ve also never dated a stripper, and I’ve never shown up at his place of employment with an invitation from his boss. I realize that I’m about to enter Fallon’s world. It’s as easy as walking through a door. I think of how out of place Fallon looked standing in front of my school with his black sports car and his rumpled-and-out-of-bed attitude. Did he feel as nervous as I do now?
When the bouncer’s eyes reach mine, his face spreads with a smile. “Robyn.”
“How did you know?”
“I know things,” he says, and opens the door for me. “There’s a table with your name on it.”
As he lets me in, people on the line start to complain. Why does she get to go in first? My feet are already killing me! What the hell? Who is she?
Who is she?
Who am I, really?
I’m a woman going to see the man she’s dating.
I’m a terrible teacher and a wannabe writer. I’m early. I’m overexposed. I walk inside the club as if I’m walking into a cave full of treasures I’m not supposed to touch. The lights are dim, but neon strips line the floor between the aisles. They’re like yellow-lit roads that take you anywhere you want to go—the bar, the bathroom, the main stage area.
The stage itself is interesting. I can’t help but think it looks phallic in the way there’s a short catwalk that ends in a round tip. Against either side of the walls, there are two small stages. I was expecting poles, but I suppose those are reserved for female strip clubs.
Waiters and waitresses put little notecards on tabletops. The women are beautiful. They all wear simple black tank tops and shorts with back pockets for notepads and pens. The men are blinding to look at. Each one prettier than the next. They straddle the line between masculine and feminine with expertly done eyebrows and hair. One of them sees me standing at the back of the club.
“You must be Robyn,” he tells me.
“That’s me,” I say, trying to go for “relaxed” when really, I look like I’ve been holding in my pee for six hours.
“I’m Jax,” he says. His dark hair and sandy-brown skin have a certain gleam, like he’s the new spokesman for coconut oil. “I’ve got your table ready.”
Up at the side of the stage there’s a table with a rose on it. “B—by—by myself?”
Some of the waitstaff look up and chuckle at me. “Cute,” I hear someone say.
“First time?”
“How can you tell?” My voice is climbing octaves by the second. “I can just sit at the bar, if that’s okay?”
“Sure thing.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me to a seat.
The bar is long, with dozens of mirrors and a light that changes grad
ually into different colors. There’s a woman behind the bar. Her hair is bright red, and she has a splatter of freckles.
“What’s your poison?” she asks, dry but friendly.
“Jack and ginger,” I say, fishing out my credit card.
She grabs a glass, makes sure it’s clean, and sets it on the counter. She pours without taking her eyes off me, and I think it’s a wonder that she doesn’t spill a drop.
“Put your money away, darling,” she says, and pushes the drink toward me with a smile and a wink.
I leave her a cash tip, and accept the drink. “It’s a little weird seeing the place before the show starts.”
She laughs and leans on the bar. “Yeah, it’s like seeing the wizard behind the curtain. Does it disappoint?”
I think on that. “I actually wasn’t sure of what I was expecting, so no. Do you get tired of the same show?”
She shakes her head. “It’s a good gig. Beats the other clubs I worked at.”
“I’m Robyn,” I say and hold out my hand.
“Rachel. Get comfortable, because we’re about to let in the crowd.”
My stomach flutters. “Any way I can see Fallon before he gets onstage?”
“Believe me, you don’t want to go back there. They do their preshow bro-bonding or whatever. Just sit, relax. Let me know when I can get you a refill.”
I realize I’ve been sucking my drink like it’s a smoothie, but Rachel only laughs and gives me another one.
The lights dim even more. At the far corner, past one of the side stages, is an enclosed area where a DJ puts on his big headphones and taps on the mic.
“Too, two, and to, mic check.” The sound is clean, and a background track comes on.
The front doors open and women come pouring in. Each table is numbered, but the waitstaff is there to usher them to their reserved tables.
Rachel refills my drink, and I sit with my entire body as tight as an overtuned guitar string.
Some women sit behind me at the bar. They whisper. “I’m so glad I could get tickets. I hear the show’s going to Vegas soon.”
Hm. I thought they were going to Reno.
