What About Us

by Sidney Halston

  “So, what’s new?” he asks.

  “Nothing much.” I back out of the parking space and start heading to the pawn shop. I did a bunch of research and found one that specializes in antique collectibles. “Oh, you’ll never guess who I saw.”

  “Who?”

  “Alex Archer.”

  There’s a long silence before he starts to talk again. “Archer? W-what? W-where?”

  “At work. He was there doing—I don’t know why he was there, actually.” I don’t think he was there for the music, and he could’ve gotten a drink anywhere.

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing.” Again, I lie. Why make him relive his friends’ betrayal? “Arrogant as always.”

  “Stay away from him, honey.”

  That catches me by surprise. I know he’s upset about the way the Archers turned their backs on us, but warning me to stay away…that seems harsh.

  “You there, Helen? Stay away from the Archers. They’re bad news. You hear me? Damn it,” he sounds frantic.

  “What do you mean, ‘bad news’?”

  “Just…it’s a long story. Trust me, he’s no good.”

  I never really question anything when it comes to my dad, but I’m also tired of being treated like a little girl who can’t handle the realities of life. Reality punches me in the face on a daily basis. We’re well beyond sheltering me from it. “I’m going to try to go visit you next month.”

  “I can’t wait, sweetie.”

  I quickly add, “And the whole story…the one you never tell me because you think it’s too complicated or whatever…I want to hear it.”

  “Honey, it’s nothing to burden yourself with. I’m not going to spend the little time I have with you talking about the Archers.”

  “We’re going to talk about it, Daddy. I’m not going to let this one go. It’s time.”

  “I only see you a few times a year; I don’t want to spend it rehashing something we can’t fix. The past is the past. Let’s move on.”

  “No,” I say firmly. “I’m not giving in this time. You’re going to tell me, Dad.”

  He exhales loudly into the phone. “Fine. But only if you promise me that you’ll stay away from Archer until we’ve had a chance to talk.”

  It’s not like I’ll see him again or anything. “Fine.”

  It’s been over a decade since I’ve seen Alex. It’s not as if he frequents Duality, or Miami, for that matter. I can stay away, even if he happens to come by the club again. Right?

  All these years later, seeing him still turned me to complete mush. He is, by far, the most unbelievably attractive man I’ve ever known. There was always something about Alex…even all those years ago I found his quiet, reserved demeanor intriguing. I wanted to ruffle his feathers, make him laugh, see him let go. But never, not even on family vacations, did he look anything but completely in control. Except the times we were alone. When it was just the two of us, he’d smile and even talk a little.

  Age had not changed any of that. Except his quiet reserve had morphed into mysterious intimidation. And he wasn’t tall and skinny anymore. He was lean and imposing.

  “Helen? You there?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Um…what did you say?”

  “I said, okay. We’ll talk when you’re here.”

  “Good. Anything new with you?”

  “Nothing on my side, honey. I miss you. How’s work?”

  “Same ol’ same ol’. Time’s almost up.” I hear the operator counting down our remaining seconds.

  “Okay. Damn, it always goes so fast. We’ll talk when you’re here next month, but meanwhile, stay away from the Archers.”

  “Daddy…”

  “I mean it. I love you, sweetie.” The line goes dead just as I arrive at the pawn shop.

  I look at the phone, bewildered. That was an odd conversation. I shrug, tossing my phone aside, and reach for my purse.

  “Mama, I’m so sorry,” I whisper to myself as I take out the two small boxes and undo the bubble wrap. My mother loved collecting these little pillboxes and I continued the tradition after she died. They were the only things of real value that weren’t seized. I take a deep, calming breath and head into the store to get this over with.

  After haggling back and forth for half an hour, I walk out with more money than I came in with and a big hole in my chest.

  I go to another bank and open a new account with the money. Then I go apartment hunting for something that is not as seedy as the motel I’ve been staying at and that will allow me to stay on a month-to-month basis, until I can resolve my legal issues with Luke.

  Turns out I can’t afford much, and the places I can afford aren’t available at the moment. Once I get paid on Friday I’ll have more options, which means that for now, I’m stuck in Roachville, USA. I do, however, decide to leave a small down payment with an attorney to get the ball rolling on my legal issues.

  I want to call Luke and beg him leave, but I also don’t want to rile him up too much. He knows where I work, and I don’t want him causing a scene. Instead, I decide I need blueberry pie, ASAP.

  Gina is a baking queen, and she turned her life around one baked good at a time. I park my car outside her small bakeshop and walk in through the back entrance, the delicious sugary smell filling up the air around the store.

  “Hi, Philip. Hi, Carly,” I call out to the two young employees working in the kitchen. They’re probably seventeen years old, and I would bet all my Limoges that they’re homeless. Gina’s always trying to help someone. I’m more than aware of that fact—I owe her so much.

  “Hey!” Carly says cheerfully, as Philip, who shyly looks up from the bowl in front of him, smiles at me.

  “Gina around?” I ask, but before they can answer, the lady herself comes to the back, flour caking her apron and a bit of chocolate on her cheek.

  “Hiya, babe! What brings you here?” She eyes me warily. “Shit! Carly, bring in the blueberry pie I just put in the display.”

  “You know me so well, G,” I say, hugging her tightly.

  After I have a big piece of pie and a large coffee in front of me, Gina sits down across from me with her own coffee. “Spill it.”

  “Alex Archer.” That’s all I say and her eyes go round. Swiftly, she slices another piece of pie and puts it on my plate. She knows all about my unhealthy infatuation with Alex. In fact, every guy I dated before Luke I’d compared to Alex until Gina sat me down one day and read me the riot act. After stuffing my face with deliciousness, I start to talk. I want to tell her about Luke too, but I don’t want to burden her with my problems. She is the most giving person I know. She puts all her time and money into this bakery and is living in a small studio apartment. But if I tell her I’m struggling, she’ll try to give me money. Money she can’t afford to give.

  “I thaw him in the club last night. He was an athhole,” I say, my mouth full of pie. I swallow and take a gulp of coffee. “But he’s so hot, G. I mean, he was hot before, but now…now he’s like really, really hot.”

  “Hot is a problem. Hot gets you in trouble. You need reliable. You need sweet. You need—”

  “I need sex. That’s what I need!” I groan, stuffing my face with another bite of pie. “I need fun. I need to not worry about life for one night. That’s what I need.”

  She slumps down and sighs loudly, then takes a forkful of my pie into her own mouth. “God, that sounds good.”

  “Right?” I sit back and pat my full belly. “I thought the pie would help.”

  “It does,” she says, warily. “But only for a bit. Then you’re left empty and with a bellyache.”

  I laugh. “What if he comes back? He’s a jerk, G. Seriously, he was demanding I tell him where I’ve been all these years, as if I was the one who
’d disappeared on him!”

  “I dunno, babe. The only advice I can give you is to stay away. Men like that only cause pain.”

  “Probably orgasms too,” I whine. “But after that, they’re basically the same as this pie. Instant gratification with a tummy full of regret.”

  After we finish the entire pie and a lot of coffee, I go home and get ready for work.

  As I park the car at Duality, I decide to send Luke a text. I need my stuff from my house. Hell, I need my house! “We need to talk,” I write.

  “Get your ass home and we’ll talk,” Luke texts back hours later.

  Such a charmer, that one.

  I can’t go home alone to a man who backhanded me. “Meet me at the coffee shop on Eighth and Ocean tomorrow morning. Please.”

  “Why, so that you can have me arrested?”

  “I’m not going to have you arrested, I just want to talk. See how we can work this out, peacefully. Tomorrow at ten, okay? Please.”

  Crickets.

  I silence my phone and slide it into my pocket as I walk into work.

  I’m wiping down the counter before my shift starts, my mind on Luke and what I’ll say to him tomorrow. Maybe he’ll agree to take some money and sign the house over to me. I decide to propose that to him when we meet up. Why spend money on lawyers if I don’t have to?

  “You okay?” I look up, and Iggy is leaning on the counter with a smirk on his face. How long has he been watching me?

  “Oh, hey!” I chirp. “Sorry, I’ve been a little out of it lately. Lots on my mind.”

  “Anything I can do to help? I heard you had a problem with a customer the other night.”

  Alex. Yes. I had a problem with Alex.

  “Nah, it was nothing. You know I can handle the rowdy ones better than most.”

  “You sure can,” he agrees with that hot-guy smile. “So, what is it that has you so preoccupied, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  I wipe the counter one last time before tossing the rag aside and leaning down. “Need a new apartment and I’m short on cash. Not a big deal, though.”

  “You sure? I can talk to the guys. I’m sure we can advance you—”

  “No!” I protest, quickly. “It’s fine, really.” I notice he has a stack of papers in his hands. “What’s that?”

  “The reason I came down.” He shows me the job posting. “I was going to give everyone who’s already working here the opportunity to apply before we opened up the posting to the general public.”

  My coworkers walk around the bar and take a flyer. “Upstairs?” I ask.

  “Yep. If anyone is interested, let me know.” He leaves the stack on the bar top. “And don’t forget what I said. If you need anything, just let me know.”

  “I’m good, Iggy. Thank you,” I mumble, as I stare at the ad.

  “Damn,” Marcia, one of the servers, groans. “I hear the tips are double upstairs. And during events, like Halloween an’ shit, they can even triple.”

  Double? Double is good. Double is great. Double means I don’t have to spend my spare time worrying about roaches. Well, not the insect variety. I still have to figure out the Luke situation. But the second floor of Duality is racy and most of the staff is nude.

  “Wait!” I yell to Iggy and then catch up to him. “What do you have openings for?”

  “Upstairs?” He looks at the flyer in my hand. “We’re hiring for most positions. It’s been really busy. We’re looking for servers, bartenders, hostesses, dancers. Wait, for you? I don’t know, Helen. You really interested?”

  My boss eyes me suspiciously. “How naked do I have to be, exactly?” I thrust my hip to the side, my hand on my waist, my brow arched.

  “Depends what job you’re going for. Dancers are nude. Completely. Hostesses wear a small dress, but they aren’t making as much as the rest of the staff. May as well stay down here. If you want to really make money, you strip. It sounds awful even saying it, but it’s the truth. Anyway, like I was saying, the dancers are making a lot. But the servers are killing it too and they’re not completely nude. You’ve seen them come up and down the stairs.”

  I glance back at the ad. Can I do this?

  Iggy regards me with a serious expression on his face. “Listen, you’ve been working here for a long time, Helen. You’re a good worker and you have a fantastic attitude, but do you really want to work upstairs?”

  “You just offered,” I say indignantly.

  “I offered everyone the opportunity. But right now, you’re in a tough spot—you said so yourself. You’re feeling desperate. Don’t do anything you’ll end up regretting. Vanilla is your thing and it’s not a terrible thing.”

  Vanilla?

  I’m so tired of men thinking they know what’s best for me.

  He catches my glare and chuckles. “I didn’t mean that as an insult. Guys tend to be handsy even though we don’t allow it. Are you prepared for that? Do you have the nerve to serve customers while they stare at your…?” He looks at my chest for a brief moment.

  I swallow. No, I don’t want to work upstairs. But at this point, it looks like I may need to work upstairs. “The guests are already staring,” I retort. And it’s true. It’s not like we’re in conservative frocks downstairs. The shirts are tight, and both men and women stare at my boobs all the time.

  I think of the roaches. And of Luke.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “You’ll what?”

  “I’ll take it. I want it. I’m applying. What do I need to do?”

  He runs his hand through his hair. “Are you sure about this? Listen, there’s nothing wrong with working upstairs. I don’t judge. But speaking as someone who has known you for a bit now, I don’t know if you can cut it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We’re selling the idea of sex up there.”

  “Are you saying I’m not sexy enough?”

  He chuckles. “You’re definitely sexy enough. But are you going to have that same confidence when you’re in a room full of people, half naked? Think about it. It takes courage.”

  This man, nice as he may be, he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know all the things I’ve been through and all the things I’m going through now. If anyone has courage, it’s me. Now, I feel even more certain I want the job.

  “Iggy, if you don’t think I can handle it, then just say it. Otherwise, I’d like the job.”

  He lets out a breath and shakes his head. “Matt and Nick are not going to like this,” he huffs. The owners have become like family to me and I appreciate their concern, but right now I need money, not concern. “I’ll let the guys know to add you to the schedule. How soon do you want to start?”

  I take a deep breath. If I take too long to think about it, I won’t do it. “As soon as possible.”

  He takes out his phone and begins to type. “I’ll email you more info tomorrow morning. Don’t let me down, Helen.”

  “I won’t!”

  This will bring me so much closer to resolving my issues.

  How bad could it be?

  Chapter 4

  Helen

  I’m shaking. I’m literally trembling from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, and I think I might throw up.

  It’s just my boobs.

  It’s dark.

  No one can touch me.

  I’m thinking all these things as I shuffle out of the changing room in a see-through crop top and booty shorts. I feel like I’m walking toward my executioner; I move slowly, my head mostly down, as the sound of people chattering gets closer and closer and the lights change from the bright fluorescent ones in the hall to the darkened ones in the club.

  I try not to focus on what I am wearing, or rather, not wearing. Wi
th a deep exhale, I find the courage to walk across the room and to the bar. It’s still early in the evening and the club is mostly empty. Luckily, the rest of the employees are busy doing their work and talking with coworkers, and no one is looking at me. Ridiculous as it might be, it feels as if the moment I step into the room, all eyes home in on me. My face warms and my heart starts beating faster and faster. It feels like I’m coming out of my skin. With all the things I’ve gone through in my life, this is what is going to defeat me? A little nudity?

  I can do this. I can do this.

  But even as I’m chanting my internal dialogue, I realize…I can’t do this.

  I can’t do this.

  “Hey, I’m Kevin and this is Linda—we’re working with you tonight. You’re Helen, right? I’ve seen you at meetings.” I look up at the gorgeous black man in front of me. He’s shirtless, with silver handlebars piercing his nipples, his abs are washboard, and he has a tattoo of someone’s name across his heart. Next to him is a beautiful redhead with a sweet smile and a ton of makeup. But the well-done, YouTube kind. She’s dressed exactly like I am. But unlike me, she’s completely unfazed by the fact that I can see her nipples. She’s leaning casually against the bar and extends her hand.

  “Hi!” she says, perkily.

  I clear my throat and smile. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you both. Well, not meet you, exactly. I’ve seen you around, but it’s nice to—”

  “Relax, girl,” Kevin says. I’m babbling. Great.

  “First-night jitters. Completely normal,” Linda says, waving her hand around. “Once this place is crowded, you’ll be too busy to think about your boobs. And after a few days, you’ll want to show a little more. The more you show, the bigger the tips.” Linda winks cheekily.

  I don’t know about that.

  At the Swiss finishing school I attended one summer, I was taught to cross my legs at the ankle, to not show too much skin if wearing a skirt. A skirt that would never have gone more than a few inches above my knees to begin with. I was taught the proper way of exiting and entering a car, God forbid I accidently flashed my “knickers.” I was taught to have proper posture and to keep my head held high. Madame Dupont would have a coronary if she saw me now.