by Maggie Cole
She puts her card in front of me.
I hesitate but finally take it.
She gently pats me on the back and leaves.
I go into the bathroom, clean up my eye makeup as best as I can, and sigh. The reflection in the mirror isn't anyone I recognize anymore. I don't know what Star sees in me. All I feel is old and exhausted.
I take her card out of my pocket. It feels like velvet. There isn't a business name on it, only Star Vintage, an address in Upper Manhattan, and a phone number. The writing is all in raised gold.
I'm not sure what she does or who she is. I'm sure whatever she's involved in isn't anything I've ever done before.
I return to my work area, focus on customers, and avoid answering anything Karla asks me. She wants to know what Star wanted, but I'm not sure what to tell her.
Can I make enough money to pay for Abby's treatment?
I'm never going to do it here.
Abby might die while I'm slinging makeup.
I walk right out from behind the counter and go into the bathroom stall when that thought hits me. It's one I try to push out of my mind whenever I think about how much time I'm not spending with Abby. But everything Star said, I relate to. Maybe too much. I have a complete breakdown and try to quiet my sobs.
Whatever Star's involved in can't be good. I need to stay away. For the rest of my shift and on the multiple bus rides home, I tell myself I won't go.
Then I walk in and see Abby, curled up in blankets, having a bad day compared to yesterday. And the resolve to do whatever it takes to help her heal comes back.
3
Jasmine
Cee Cee's twenty questions only get more intense the vaguer I am. She puts her hand on her hip. "Maribel, go watch TV with Abby."
"I don't want you to go out tonight, Mommy," Abby says, breaking my heart further.
I hug Abby, squeezing her shoulder, and force a smile. "I wish I didn't have to. But tomorrow night, after I get home from work, we'll play all night, okay?"
Abby nods in disappointment and follows Maribel to the family room.
Cee Cee clears their plates and sits next to me. She leans toward me with her elbow on the table. "Where are you going? And don't lie to me. Do you have a date or something?"
"No! When do I ever date?"
"What else can it be?"
"I told you. I have a job interview."
"At night?"
I glance out at the girls. The TV is on, and Abby's head is on Maribel's lap. I turn back to Cee Cee. "I met this woman today. She said I could make more than five-thousand dollars a night."
"Doing what?" Cee Cee cries out.
"Shh." I glance back, but the girls aren't paying attention to us. "I'm not sure. But it's not prostitution—"
"Is it drug dealing?"
"No!"
Cee Cee raises her eyebrows.
"I don't think it is," I whisper.
"I don't like the sounds of this," Cee Cee warns in a disapproving voice.
"I think it's a strip club or something of the sort," I admit.
"What gave you that impression?"
"She took me over to the lingerie section but told me she wasn't a prostitute."
"I don't like this," she repeats.
"What do you want me to do? Hmm? I'm never going to have five grand by the hospital's deadline. Do you want..." I close my eyes and can't continue.
Cee Cee puts her hand on mine. Her voice softens. "I'm not judging you. I'm sorry, you're right. Let's check this out, whatever it is. But I'm coming with you."
"No. You can't. Stay here with the girls."
"No way. Maribel can watch Abby. And Opal is home for the night. I'll have her come stay with the girls." Opal is our retired neighbor. She loves both girls and helps out from time to time.
"Cee Cee—"
"It's decided." She rises. "What do we wear to this place?"
"Ummm…" I swallow hard. "I don't know."
"Text your friend."
"She's not my friend. I just met her."
Cee Cee smirks. "Your pimp then. Text your pimp."
I slap her arm. "Stop it."
"Text her."
I groan and remove the card from my pocket. I send her a text.
Me: It's Jasmine...the girl from Claudio's. What should we wear tonight?
Star: We?
Me: My cousin Cee Cee won't let me come by myself.
Star: Cee Cee is female?
Me: Yes.
There's a pause, and I get nervous she might tell me to no longer come.
Star: She can come but no one else. And boyfriends, husbands, whatevers, are never allowed.
Me: What about my B.O.B.?
As soon as I send it, I regret it.
Me: Sorry. I shouldn't have written that.
Star: We have those here. It's high-end. Wear your best club dress.
I freak and look at Cee Cee. I avoid telling her about the sex toys comment. "I don't have a club dress. I'm a mom."
"You used to."
"Yeah, like, a decade ago," I sarcastically reply.
Cee Cee takes my hand and pulls me into the bedroom. "Sit." She flicks her wrists, moving my everyday wear until she's able to pull out a few dresses from my closet.
"I was young when I wore those," I point out.
"You're thirty-two and don't look it."
"Yeah, I look older."
"No, you don't." She scans through her stack and pulls a black, sleeveless minidress out. "This is perfect. Go do your hair and makeup. I'm going to get ready."
Within an hour, both of us have on our dresses and makeup. We arrange for Opal to come over, kiss our girls goodnight, and leave.
We're on the subway when I admit, "I'm nervous, are you?"
Cee Cee snorts. "I'm not the one considering whatever this is."
I turn to face her. "What if this is a strip place?"
Cee Cee's face falls. She pauses before answering. "I'm not going to judge you for anything you do. If I had the body, I would do it if it got me enough money for Abby."
"So, I should do it?"
She shakes her head. "I'm not saying that. We don't even know what it is."
"You just confused me."
She squeezes my hand. "I will never judge you. But I don't want you to get hurt in any way or do something you'll regret."
"If Abby dies and I didn't help her, I won't be able to live with myself," I blurt out, and tears well. "Oh God. I can't even talk anymore without crying all the time."
Cee Cee puts her arm around me. "You've always done all you can. We have figured it out up to this point. We will find a way to pay for her treatment."
"We only got the treatment because of my insurance. The denied bills keep coming in. I'm going to have to claim bankruptcy, you know? I'll never be able to repay the million dollars of debt."
She nods. "We can't worry about that. We live in an unfair world where some people have it all, and some people have none. We must be grateful for what we do have."
"I don't feel very grateful for anything anymore," I admit.
"Well, let's check out whatever this is, and maybe we'll have something new to be grateful for."
We get to our stop, make our way off the subway, and walk several blocks until we get to the address.
"This can't be it?" I say. The building is a residential unit.
"Are you sure you have the right address?" Cee Cee asks, looking at the front door.
"Yes."
"We are in New York. Everything goes here. Come on." She climbs the steps, and I follow. When we get to the top, she rings the doorbell.
A man in a very expensive suit opens the door. His sandy blond hair is wavy. His brown eyes are warm, but something tells me he isn't someone I want to meet in a dark alley. His body is full of muscle, and the fabric of his suit stretches over it enough to show off his physique. He checks us out and raises his eyebrows.
"Are you Donovan?"
"Yes." His voice is de
ep and menacing.
I step closer to Cee Cee. "Star said to tell you we're her guests."
He clenches his jaw, exhales deeply, then steps back, motioning for us to come in. As soon as we step through, the door shuts, and I jump.
"First time?" he asks.
I spin. "Y..." Get a grip. I clear my throat and stand straighter. "Yes."
He studies us again and then points. "Through the door, to your left, then first door on your right."
"Thank you," Cee Cee replies and loops her arm through mine. She guides me down the hall, and we go into the room.
The room is small and dark. A soft pink light illuminates the walls. There's one bartender, a man in a suit, and several small tables with candles lit.
I look at Cee Cee for help. This is entirely out of my comfort zone. I don't go out to bars, or dark, sexy places, or anywhere, except work and hospitals.
"Ladies. Have a seat." The bartender nods to two seats in front of him and next to the stranger.
We sit, and a smell so intoxicating it flares in my nostrils, makes my body throb. I slowly inhale and try to ignore the zinging in my blood.
The bartender opens a bottle of champagne and puts two glasses in front of us.
"We can't afford that," I blurt out.
His lips twitch. "It's on the house. You don't pay here."
"H-how does that work?"
The sexiest voice I've ever heard replies. It sends shivers down my spine. "This is a membership club. Men pay. Women..." He pauses until I turn to him.
My heart stops. He has chiseled cheeks barely covered with a five-o'clock shadow. His dark hair has a few streaks of silver running through it. The blue of his eyes, you could get lost in and happily never come out. And I've seen expensive suits from the department store I work at, but I assume his is custom-made. The black fabric stretches over his broad shoulders in perfection. He doesn't wear a tie, and his white shirt has several buttons undone, showcasing his ripped pecs. A tattoo barely peeks out, so I can't tell what it is.
"Women get whatever they want." His voice and face are cocky. He takes a drink of his scotch, revealing his hand tattoo, never taking his eyes off mine.
I blush and curse myself. Everything about him says bad boy in a suit. I had my round with a bad boy. I don't need another spin on the merry-go-round.
I don't respond to him and sip my champagne, but it only heats my blood further.
"You're here to see Star?" the bartender asks.
"How did you know?"
"You're too beautiful not to be," the man next to me answers.
My cheeks erupt in flames. Against my better judgment, I glance at him.
He cockily raises an eyebrow, as if he expects me to argue with him. His lips curve up.
God, he's hot.
I hate myself for that thought.
But he is.
He's a bad boy, my mother's voice flies into my head.
Stay away.
I quickly focus on Cee Cee. My stomach does somersaults, and I haven't felt anything like this since I met Troy. All he gave me was a broken heart and license to single motherhood.
She smirks, and I want to slap her.
I blurt out, "Maybe we should go."
Cee Cee opens her mouth to speak, but Star enters the room and says, "Jasmine. I see you've met Colton."
"Who?"
She walks up and puts her hand on the bad-boy stud sitting next to me.
Jealousy tears through me that she's touching him and I'm not. I cringe inside, wishing I didn't have any of these thoughts.
"Jasmine," he says, and the way my name rolls off his tongue and his eyes flare create heat in my loins.
I shift in my seat, uncrossing and recrossing my legs, then realize I just drew attention to my thighs when his eyes dart to them. He slowly lifts his gaze and blue heat sizzles from his eyes.
Oh God.
"Ladies, if you'll come with me," Star says.
Relieved to leave Mr. Lickable, I get up too fast and stumble. He rises and grabs me, steadying me by palming my ass and head.
My face rams into his chest, and my lips brush against his skin. I look up. He towers over me but dips his face inches from mine. The intoxicating smell I inhaled earlier only gets more potent, and I quiver inside.
"You okay?"
"Mm-hmm," I meekly reply.
His jaw clenches, and his blue eyes darken. The warmth of his breath mixes with mine.
Star's voice cuts through my trance. "I'm Star. And you are?"
I spin into Mr. Lickable's hard frame, and he drops his arms so they are around my waist. "Sorry to be rude. This is my cousin Cee Cee."
Why isn't he removing his hands?
I need to step away.
He feels so good.
Star shakes Cee Cee's hand, smirking. "You came to give your stamp of approval?"
Mr. Lickable murmurs in my ear, "I wasn't planning on going inside tonight, but now I'm going to have to."
My skin hums from his touch. I squirm, but all it does is make his erection harden against my back.
The quivering in my gut gets faster, and my legs shake.
He strokes his thumb near my belly button.
I freeze.
He releases me, turns to the bar, and finishes the last mouthful of his scotch. His large hand slides along my back, and he guides me toward a door.
"Uh, where are we going?"
His hot breath hits the skin on my neck, accelerating all the tingles already racing through my bones. "To my suite."
"Your...what?" Panic takes over. I spin out of his grasp and bump into Star. "Sorry."
"Is there a problem?" she asks.
I glance at Cee Cee for help, but she only gives me a tiny shrug and has her "I don't know what we're doing" expression on her face.
"Well?" Star asks impatiently.
Mr. Lickable touches my waist, and I sharply inhale. "Star, give the ladies your tour. Drop Jasmine off in my suite when you're through, please."
"Sure."
"Excuse me, but—" I shut my mouth.
Star raises her eyebrows and crosses her arms. "Why don't I show you around, and then we can talk. Hmm?"
Abby's face fills my mind. Don't blow this before you even know what it is. It may be your only chance of getting the money to save her. I stand straighter and nod. "Yes."
Colton removes his hand, and I want to grab it and put it back.
Stop these thoughts. He's trouble.
We all step into another hallway. It's black, just like the bar, with pink near the ceiling. Colton goes one way, and Star leads Cee Cee and me in the opposite direction.
We pass dozens of doors with silver numbers. We finally get to the end. The only number on it is a one. Star opens the door and motions for us to go through.
Cee Cee and I step in, and we both freeze. Like the bar, the atmosphere is dark, with soft neon lights against the walls. A long bar stretches the entire length of the wall. Men fill the stools. Several small stages with poles are positioned in different parts of the room. Women dance, some with lingerie on, some with none. The center has leather couches and chairs. Waitresses wear barely any clothes. Some men have women on their laps. Some are near the stages with money.
Cee Cee and I exchange a nervous glance. Then I turn behind us. Each of the doors we passed were entrances into private suites. Some of the suites have shades pulled. Some of them are half-open. Some are entirely up, revealing lap dancers. They are filled with black leather couches, matching armchairs, and each have similar stages with poles in them.
Star takes both our hands and pulls us over to a table. We sit.
"So, this is a strip club," I blurt out.
"It's not just any old dirty strip club," she says, as if I insulted her.
"I didn't mean—"
"This is a private, members-only, highly vetted gentlemen's club. All the members submit tax returns and net worth statements verified by their accountants. A billion dollars is the requ
irement. Members and dancers get STD tests monthly."
"So, men would pay Jasmine for sex—"
"No, I didn't say that," Star sternly reprimands Cee Cee.
"I'm not following then," Cee Cee replies.
"Every woman here has choices. She always can accept or deny the request."
"The request?" I ask.
"Yes. See that woman over there?" She points to a blonde woman giving a man a striptease in the middle of the room.
"Yes."
"That's Tiffany. And you see that man in the corner? The one with the blue suit coat?"
"The bald one?" I ask.
Star smiles. "Donald has Rockefeller in his blood."
"The real Rockefellers?" Cee Cee gapes.
"Yes. He wanted a lap dance from Tiffany. She doesn't like him very much, but she does like his money. She said no. He offered her two thousand dollars."
"For one dance?" I gasp.
"Yes. If you say no several times, the price always increases."
"How?"
"These are men who are used to getting what they want. No one tells them no. Tiffany could just tell him ten thousand because that's what she will eventually get from him. But instead, she took five from Ted over there and insisted they didn't go into the suite. She knew Donald would be drooling and more desperate than ever to give her what she wants. And he wants it private, in his suite. So she'll insist it's double for the suite, and he will pay, thinking he's getting something the others can't have."
"So it's a sick, twisted, rich person's game?" Cee Cee asks.
Star laughs. A waitress sets a drink down in front of us, and Star picks it up and takes a sip. "A little. These men want beautiful women surrounding them who don't bring them drama. Some are trust fund babies, and some are self-made. Half of them have enormous pressures at work. They don't want to deal with the issues relationships bring. They are here to blow off steam."
"So, she does have to sleep with them?" Cee Cee asks again, and I don't blame her. Star even said they always get what they want, so my thoughts echo Cee Cee's.
"That's up to Jasmine."
"I don't understand," I say.
"You will be approached. You can always say no, or you can sometimes say no. Or, if you really want, you can always say yes. It's always up to you."