by Daya Daniels
Malcolm finished his steak, placing his silverware down in the center of his plate and removed the bib from his neck.
“Your mother and I, we love each other, Ty,” he said firmly. “And we love you.”
I nodded, checking my watch under the table, wondering when it would come.
“Platinum Pete will be ready for the derby,” Malcom said with a hint of excitement in his voice.
There it was—just like clockwork. I took a deep breath, tempering my irritation. I was in no mood to talk about Malcolm’s racehorses that sometimes seemed to be more important than the rest of his family. All my life, all he talked about were these fucking horses.
“That’s good, Dad,” I mumbled.
My father’s prized horses were kept on the estate we owned in Chestnut Hill. He owned several racehorses but Platinum Pete and Manchester Monty were worth at least twenty million each. The two horses were sure to go on to have successful siring careers, which would only make them worth a hell of a lot more.
I finished the vodka tonic in my hand, appreciating the feeling of the water that slicked the outside of the glass. Malcolm was still talking, only I couldn’t hear him. I nodded a few times, shaking the cubes around in the glass, wishing it automatically refilled.
“Dad, I have a two o’clock meeting I need to be ready for.”
“Yeah, yes, of course,” he said standing, shaking my hand as though we’d just met.
I gave Malcolm a hug, setting a few bills down on the table.
“Ty, please don’t do that.”
I shrugged, stepping around the table.
“It’s my way of paying you back, Dad.”
Malcolm threw his hands up and then made small talk with the hostess that I was sure he would be fucking later tonight.
Madison
“Mommy, this is pretty!” Kacey said holding up the gold outfit on top of the other itty-bitty clothing that I was supposed to wear tonight.
“No, don’t touch that,” I said scooping Kacey up in my arms and sitting on the edge of the bed in our two-by-four bedroom.
She giggled and I kissed her on the cheek, noticing SpongeBob SquarePants on the television.
Kacey’s eyes zoomed in on the bright yellow sponge that bounced around on the screen and laughed. Then she hopped out of my arms. I grabbed my four-inch heels and shoved them into a duffel bag.
I packed everything I needed for tonight. It was almost nine and way past Kacey’s bedtime. Kacey was only five. She was my youngest and reminded me so much of myself when I was a little girl.
“It’s past your bedtime,” I whispered in her ear.
Kacey crawled up to the pillow, slipping under the thick comforter.
“Aren’t you getting in?” she asked.
“No, not yet, baby,” I said moving to rake my fingers through her brown curls.
“Is Zita coming here tonight with the girls?” Kacey asked.
“Yes.”
Kacey was smart. She knew if Zita was coming here that meant I was going somewhere but she never whined or cried when I left. I gave her a kiss on the forehead, looking her over.
“You smell yummy,” she singsonged giving me a sweet smile.
“Thank you.”
“When is Daddy coming back?”
I sucked in a breath of air, not wanting to say the wrong thing. I always debated how to answer the question. I didn’t want to say something that would either break her heart, or give her the false hope that Dominic would ever come back. There was no correct response.
“He loves you, baby, but I honestly don’t know when he’ll be back.”
It always surprised me that Kacey remembered Dominic. She was four when he left and he’d already been gone a year. I’d heard during the first few weeks when he left that he was spotted somewhere in the Gulf, living with a woman. I never bothered to look much into it.
I ran my fingertips over Kacey’s soft cheek, wondering how I could make such a beautiful little girl with a piece of shit like Dominic. Kacey was so perfect. She was kind-hearted and she always wanted to see the best in everyone, including those that didn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.
“Do you miss my daddy?”
I laughed softly. “No, baby, I don’t miss him.”
“I’m here.” Zita leaned into the bedroom, interrupting the conversation Kacey and I were having.
I gave Kacey another kiss on the cheek and stood, heading for the door.
“Mason, Sam, please don’t give Zita any problems,” I said sternly.
The twins nodded, looking up at me with their PlayStation controls firmly in hand.
“Dylan,” I said loudly.
“Yes, Mom. You don’t have to shout,” Dylan said plopping down on the pullout couch, in the living room that was his bed. Dylan was eleven. He was the oldest out of my five. Carter was seven. He was the youngest boy. Carter leaned against Dylan and yawned.
“Bye, Mom,” he said plopping against the back of the couch.
Our apartment was tight but we managed. Kacey the youngest out of all five, slept with me. Mason and Sam were my nine-year-old twins. They shared a bedroom and Dylan took the couch. Carter rotated where he slept each night, which no one seemed to mind. Tonight, he was clearly bunking with Dylan.
I gathered up the rest of my things and a change of clothes for when my shift ended. Zita watched me with her arms folded across her chest.
“You will be fine,” she said quietly, making an effort to keep her voice down. “Ralph promised me he would take care of you. That’s why you have a good shift.”
I was grateful that I had the early shift. I would dance and finish up just around one after one show, which would allow me a peaceful hour to myself before I had to return home.
“Green dollar bills.” I chuckled, throwing the duffel bag over my shoulder.
Zita laughed and gave me a pat on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek. Her two daughters, Ella and India, sat on the floor in the living room next to Sam and Mason watching them play video games.
“We will be fine here. Just relax. Pretend you’re the only one in the room and dance.”
I forced a smile, grabbed my car keys and headed out the door.
Ty
I checked my watch for nearly the eighth time since I’d been here. The Red Room was packed tonight, with men mostly and some women that liked the same goods that we did. I was trying to enjoy myself but I still found it difficult. Pretty little cocktail waitresses sauntered about the place in short skirts, with their breasts spilling over the top of the red bustiers they wore.
I took another long sip of my vodka tonic, at least grateful that it was Friday.
“How many times are you going to look at that Rolex, my man?” Patrick asked patting me hard on the shoulder.
I smiled and tucked my left hand back in my pocket.
“We’re here to have fun, not to watch the clock.”
“I know, I know,” I said rolling up my sleeves to the elbows.
Patrick was my best friend and distant cousin. We’d known each other all our lives growing up in Chestnut Hill as kids. His parents were close friends with my parents—that sort of thing. Patrick was probably one of the coolest guys going. Where I was, Patrick was, and vice versa.
I relaxed against the back of the plush semi-circular sofa we sat on in the VIP lounge. The music began to pump again and the lights dimmed and a few girls came out, walking the length of the stage seductively.
“You should relax and enjoy this, my brother,” Patrick said.
Rafe was already to my left, getting a lap dance and the other three friends of ours had disappeared somewhere else. The woman gyrated her body and swayed her hips in front of Rafe. Then she bent over and did a shimmy, jiggling her ass in front of him. Rafe smacked the air a few times, giving us all a big smile when he did it and then a face telling us that he loved the woman’s goods.
I chuckled and shook my head, wondering what Mandy would think about Rafe being
here tonight with a strange woman’s ass in his face. I reminded myself it wasn’t my problem. If I was going to be bored here tonight, then at least I would be bored and drunk.
“Lap dance, honey?” a blond-haired woman offered, leaning her propped-up breasts in my face.
“No, thanks,” I said giving her a faint smile.
She then moved on to Patrick who gratefully accepted. He shoved a few crinkly bills in her hot pants and the woman got to work. After a while the music became louder. The strippers who were already on, finished up their performance. I checked my watch again. It was almost twelve. I ordered another vodka tonic from the overly cheerful cocktail waitress.
“Coming to the stage tonight is a young lady, and boy oh boy is she something! This is her first night tonight, so please give her a warm round of applause. We couldn’t think of a name tonight, so I’ve decided to call her Midnight, for the time on your wrists, gentlemen,” the announcer said as the place went darker.
The stage turned pink and smoke billowed up from the floors. The place filled with applause. The men who crowded the room were hooting and hollering. A few high-pitched whistles nearly deafened me. The music became louder again. I didn’t recognize the song but it had a catchy slow beat that became almost hypnotizing to the ear. It was sensual but not overtly so. I was sure whoever selected it, knew it would have this effect on the listener.
A woman appeared in the center of the stage, right when more smoke flooded the stage. This had to be Midnight. She was wearing a lacy outfit, showing most of the smooth skin on her toned body. She was slim but curvy and medium height with dark hair down to the middle of her back. She didn’t have the usual tattoos that I expected. Her skin was clear from markings, her breasts were full and so were her lips. She wore light makeup—some lipstick and mascara. Midnight didn’t seem like the type of woman that needed much to look beautiful, except for the skin she was already in.
She wore a black hat and had moves that came right out of Michael Jackson’s Smooth Criminal video. It was incredible. She spun a chair around in the middle of the stage, dropped it down with a bang and then sat on it reverse-style. I froze mid-sip with my vodka tonic to my lips, almost forgetting why I was even holding the fucking thing in my hand. I looked around and the entire room of people, including the waitresses, went silent. I watched the performance.
The way the woman moved. The way she dipped and swayed, holding on to the fireman’s pole. Midnight threw her legs around it, letting her body descend to the floor slowly while only one of her legs held her entire weight. She danced but still it was different. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before and I’d been to many strip clubs in my day. The woman danced seductively along the stage and then stood straight to drop down and into the splits...slowly. Her eyes were closed as she moved in rhythm to the low beat, grinding herself against the hard floor. She was enjoying the music, the dancing. She seemed as though she was in another world. In a place, inside of her head, where only she existed. I knew this woman loved to perform.
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, feeling the beat of the music in my chest. The woman swayed and walked to the edge of the stage, bending over, giving the audience full view of her round ass. Then she jiggled it and I almost broke in my suit pants. People roared and clapped. Men tossed bills onto the stage. Rafe let out a shrill whistle, startling me out of my daze. I gave a huge round of applause, making certain to remain in my seat, until my raging hard-on went down.
“That was fucking incredible!” Rafe clapped. “Makes me want to go home and—” He stood and humped the air a few times.
I rolled my eyes, looking at him. Then checked my watch again, realizing that it was getting late. The show was over and I was tired. I gave all the guys a customary handshake and a pat on the back, finished the last swig of my drink and headed for the door.
Madison
I counted the dollar bills with shaky hands before I left the parking lot. It was seven hundred exactly. I was still shaking while I sat here waiting for the waitress to take my order. It was just after one in the morning and cold outside.
I used to come to this diner all the time with my dad when I was little. We always took one of the window booths that looked out to the street. I would watch the traffic go by and count the cars while my father, Ray, read the newspaper. When we were done eating, he would order us two slices of warm apple pie. Sometimes with vanilla ice cream on the side. I missed him so much.
Sitting here felt nostalgic—it was just right. The quaint diner was called After Hours. It only opened at six and closed at some ungodly hour.
“What’ll it be, miss?” the older woman asked. I scanned her pink uniform and the name tag that she wore, noticing that her name was Linda.
I gave her a smile. “Good night, Linda.”
“Night,” she said smiling back and looking me over.
“I’ll just have the special.”
“Coming right up.” She gave me a wink and took the menu with her when she left.
I settled into the cozy booth, keeping my eyes trained on the old television set that rested on a mount a few feet away. The news was on. Random images flick by of the weather, Iraq, a few images of a man skydiving from the top of Mount Everest and highlights of the presidential election. Nothing held my interest, so I went back down to staring at my pale pink fingernails. It was such a pretty color.
Tonight, in The Red Room wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. I’d made seven hundred dollars in an hour. It was more than I made in a week, working more than forty hours most times. I danced, doing what I loved, hopefully appearing confident and cool as I traipsed around the stage wearing nothing but string, eventually revealing my breasts, which the men seemed to love. As much as I hated to admit it, I did get a small kick watching them all salivate over my naked flesh. It all reminded me that I was beautiful, even though I felt anything but. Still, I knew it was all fantasy—none of it was real.
I sighed and looked around, realizing that I was relishing the quiet of this place. An old couple settled into a booth across the room. They had to be in their eighties and appeared to still be in love. I wondered what they could possibly be doing out at this hour. Linda made small talk with them while taking their order and disappeared back behind the counter.
Just being here to me was a treat. The cooked meal and being waited on. The quiet escape from the five children I had at home. Usually, the only privacy I had was when I showered and that only lasted ten or fifteen minutes before someone else had to get into the bathroom. I was on a date with myself. If this was going to be my Fridays going forward, then I would look forward to it.
“Here you go,” Linda said arriving back at my table holding a steaming plate of food. “The special.” She slid the plate in front of me.
I looked up at her and smiled. It was a simple dish of Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
“You’re welcome, hon.”
I took the fork and knife in my hands and cut into the steak, dipping it into the gravy and putting the meat into my mouth. It was absolutely delicious. I took another bite and then raised my head, nearly freezing mid-chew at the man that just walked in. He let out a loud sigh and shrugged out of his suit jacket, slipping into a booth across the room. He sat on the side that faced in my direction. He was tall, handsome and clean-cut with dimples in both cheeks. When the man gave me a small nod and smiled, I nearly melted in my seat.
“Hello,” he said in a deep voice.
I almost said it back but just decided to smile instead. Quickly, I returned to eating my meal. I lifted my gaze again to his big brown eyes. He was staring at me but quickly recovered, running his hands over his forearms, pushing his dress shirt up to his elbows.
Linda sauntered over to his table, without a menu. “Hey, Ty, good to see you. The special?” she asked him.
“Yes, Linda, please, thanks.”
Linda placed a soft hand on Ty’
s shoulder, squeezing it. “You look tired, honey.”
Ty smiled and ran a hand over his short brown hair. The glint of his expensive watch nearly blinded me when he raised his wrist, allowing me to see that he wore no wedding ring. I couldn’t understand how a man as gorgeous as this one was, managed not to be married by now. Clearly, I’d been fishing in the wrong pond when I found Dominic.
I kept my gaze on the television set. A pudgy man leaned against the counter wearing a hair net and scanning the room while he gnawed on a toothpick between his teeth. I figured he was the chef, judging by his apron and all the stains on it. He gave me a huge grin and a wave. I mustered a small smile back and concentrated on finishing my food.
Ty
I2t was her—Midnight. I was sure of it. She was absolutely fucking gorgeous. Now even more so, without a stitch of makeup on her face, wearing a black hoodie with her long, dark hair up in a messy bun. She was cute. This had to be how she looked in the mornings when she rolled out of bed.
Midnight sat alone, eating and checking her phone every few seconds. How could a woman this perfect be alone? It didn’t make any sense. I struggled to stay focused on the food Linda set in front of me.
Gordy, the owner and chef, lingered near the counter. I knew it was only because of the beautiful woman who sat alone tonight.
Midnight met my eyes a few times and then looked away. When I raised my gaze from my plate, her beautiful hazel eyes darted nervously away from mine again. I was certain she was staring at me. The bold seductress from earlier tonight was gone. She seemed to have been replaced by a very shy young girl. If I could have guessed her age, I would have said she was twenty-something, maybe twenty-five.
Linda turned the volume on the television down and the elderly couple in the corner finished their meal and left. Linda slid a small piece of apple pie in front of Midnight. She looked up at Linda and smiled, thanking her quietly for the dessert I was sure she didn’t order. Linda winked at me and headed out of sight.