Birthday Girl

by Penelope Douglas

  Her jaw flexes like she’s as angry as I am. I expect her sharp tongue to come flying back at me, and I think it will for a moment, but then it doesn’t. Instead her eyes start to water, and her chin trembles as she breathes small, shallow breaths. She looks away, blinking.

  “Yeah, got it,” she says quietly. And then she puts the towel down and lifts up the partition, leaving the bar. “Excuse me, please.”

  She walks away down the hallway and out of sight. I stare after her.

  I might be wrong. I could be wrong.

  But I’ve ignored my gut so many times, and I know better now. I thought she was one of the good ones, but I’m not going to be made a fool of again. If she wasn’t doing anything, she would’ve answered the question.

  Turning around, I head back down the bar toward the door. But a voice stops me.

  “Screwing around on your son…” a female voice mocks my words. “Your precious son.”

  I stop and look at Shel Foley, the owner, who stands behind the bar, a cigarette in her hand and smoke billowing in front of her face.

  “You got something to say?”

  She pushes off the back counter and sucks in another drag before snuffing the cigarette out in the ashtray and planting her hands on the bar. She glares at me. “Your dumbass kid was supposed to pick her up from work last night after she worked a ten-hour shift,” she tells me. “He got drunk at a party, and guess who came to get her in his stead? Jay McCabe—her ex—who thought it was fun back in high school to smack her around after he lost a game.”

  What?

  “She refused to be in a car with him,” Shel snarls at me. “Instead, I found her curled up, sleeping on the filthy pool table this morning, because she didn’t have anyone else to call last night.” And then she narrows her eyes. “She didn’t want you to find out what a loser your son is.”

  I remain still, unable to move.

  I don’t breathe, and I can’t blink, rage threatening to overflow.

  He hit her. He fucking hit her? My fists curl, and my lungs ache. Every muscle burns.

  Motherfucker.

  And Cole was at the same party? Did he send him to pick her up? What the fuck? How can he stand to be anywhere near a shitbag like that?

  A vision of some cowardly little punk grabbing Jordan, hurting her, making her cry… I…

  I close my eyes.

  I just made her cry.

  “She’s a good kid with a really good heart,” Shel continues. “And she deserves a hell of a lot more than the assholes in this town, including your son. I hope she leaves you all to it and never looks back.”

  Jesus Christ. What was I thinking?

  I spin around and follow to where Jordan disappeared down the hallway. I have to talk to her now. Everything in my gut that made sense minutes ago now seems ridiculous. Why would I jump to conclusions I have no proof of?

  Dammit, Cole! I can’t believe him.

  I trail down the hallway, seeing the restrooms, an office, and another room with the door slightly ajar. She’s probably in the bathroom, but before I decide to wait, I inch open the other door to check there first.

  She stands in the center of the small room with her back to me, but I can tell she’s wiping her eyes. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line the walls, stocking bottles of liquor, mixers, and juices, and other supplies like napkins, straws, and candles.

  I stand in the doorway and hear her sniffle.

  “Jordan?” I say hesitantly.

  She instantly straightens, turning just enough for me to see the side of her face. “Seriously?” she says, trying hard to harden her voice. “Just leave. You want me gone? You got it, okay? I’m gone.”

  I take a quiet step forward. “Jordan, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Just go.”

  “You should’ve called me,” I tell her, taking another step forward. “I would’ve been here in a heartbeat. I’m sorry. I just—”

  But she suddenly whips around, glaring at me. “You know the thing about men?” she asks, wiping her eyes with a hardness to her jaw. “They think they can treat you badly, because you’ll take it. But you win when you never let them do it again.” She steps up to me, adding, “You can kiss my ass.”

  And then she swings around me and leaves the room.

  I deflate. I want to follow her. I want to set the record straight and let her know that I was wrong. I want to have it out and make it right, but…

  I don’t know.

  This is the second time we’ve argued, and both times it was my fault. We shouldn’t be fighting. It’s what a woman does with her boyfriend, not his father.

  And that’s what I am. Her boyfriend’s father.

  Nothing more.

  But deep in my heart, the small ember growing bigger and bigger every day knows that’s a lie.

  It is more. I didn’t lose my temper for Cole’s sake. It was for mine.

  She’s become important, and for the first time in a long time, I found myself actually enjoying talking to someone. I started to let my guard down.

  She feels good to have around.

  And I just sent her packing.

  Jordan

  Shel tries to send me home early into my double-shift, but after the episode with Pike, the last place I can be right now is in his house. I have nowhere else to go, not to mention I need the money.

  How could he do that this morning? Barge into my work like he knows anything? I don’t belong to him.

  And if he has a concern, why can’t he convey it nicely? Not every lie is meant to hurt someone. I was covering Cole’s ass.

  Yes, I understand suspicions. I get it. He doesn’t know me well, and he’s concerned for his son, but how can both Lawson men suck so badly at mature, adult conversation?

  I rub my eyes, my mind drifting back to the moment he told me he wouldn’t support someone like that and to get out of his goddamn house. In that moment, I felt unwelcome. Again. Unwelcome somewhere else. By someone else. I felt like a burden. Like I did with my parents, and even with Cole and Cam sometimes.

  Why do I always let myself feel like I don’t deserve better? I thought he was nice. I thought we were friendly, and I started to relax.

  I groan, trying to keep the tears at bay. I hate that I cried in front of him.

  I work until the night shift arrives at six and stay long enough to eat the other half of my sandwich from lunch as my dinner, pocket my tips, and count out my drawer before slipping on my sweatshirt and grabbing my bag. I haven’t showered in over twenty-four hours, and a headache presses between my eyes from lack of sleep. I just want to sit under a hot shower and drown out everything else.

  My stomach sinks a little, remembering I have nowhere to go to take that shower. I’m not taking a damn thing from Pike Lawson ever again. Not to mention I’m still pissed at Cole. He texted to make sure I was okay and to apologize again, but I didn’t text back.

  I wave bye to Shel and the other girls and leave the bar, stepping out into the welcome evening air. The sun has set, but there’s still some light as I strap on my backpack and head left, down the street.

  I need my own place. My own and no one else’s. I need my own home that’s all me where I can feel like me and never be pushed out or crowded or unwelcome. Where I feel safe.

  And that means I need money.

  Without thinking, my legs carry me forward down Cornell Street and over to Lambert, the sky growing darker and the lightning bugs glowing in the trees above. The traffic has lessened, but it gets heavier over the next hour as I trail farther and farther toward the outside of town. Houses line the streets, as well as a few corner shops and gas stations, but there’s less light out here, so I stick to the sidewalk and the welcome porch lights to the left and right.

  After less than an hour, I see the lights from The Hook up ahead and the steadily growing parking lot full of cars. I’ve been here before, but I hate walking into a busy place in day-old clothes with hair that smells lik
e smoke.

  I scan the parking lot and spot my sister’s Mustang off to the side of the building. Every night, one of the bouncers walks all the girls out to their cars, just in case a crazy fan decides to try to catch one of them when they’re alone.

  Walking into the club, I’m all of a sudden shrouded in darkness, the heavy beats of the music vibrating the floor under my feet. It’s warm and smells like fog and perfume. Unlike Grounders, there’s no smoking allowed in here, and instead of ancient wooden floors with dirt lodged in all the cracks, a gleaming black floor squeaks under my sneakers.

  “Hey, Peaches!” a woman calls. “What are you doing?”

  I turn and see Malena through the window of the little box office. She never charges me a cover, of course. I don’t come here for that.

  “Cam around?” I ask.

  “She just finished on stage,” she replies. “She’s probably on the floor somewhere now. Go on in.”

  “Thanks.” I give her a smile and walk into the club, the little knot in my stomach tightening more. I’ve never bugged Cam here unless I had to. Some of the ladies’ sisters or friends will sit in the back with the other dancers and hang out and socialize, but it’s hard for me. I can handle seeing my sister naked, but I have a problem seeing others see her naked. Fathers of friends from school, an old boyfriend…even women from around town who come in packs for a girls’ night out to ‘do something different’, but I know they’ll leave and just talk shit about the dancers the next day to anyone who will listen. Looking out from behind the curtain and seeing my elementary school bus driver or something would throw me for a loop. I don’t know how she does it.

  The room is cast in strobe lights, rotating up, down, and around, while bulbs line the edges of the stage that protrudes out into the crowd and is surrounded by tables on both sides. It’s not a big place, but there are two separate pedestals with poles and their own lights where dancers can dig deeper into the audience away from the main act.

  Stopping at the bar right inside the entrance, I look around for Cam’s brown hair, probably styled big enough to make any Texas woman jealous. There’s a good amount of patrons tonight. Loners, a few couples, booths filled with men scarfing down steak and burgers, who look like they just left the office, and a larger party of young guys I don’t recognize.

  Gwen, one of Cam’s friends, places her hands on the arms of a chair and lowers herself back into the seat.

  And into the lap of the man already sitting there.

  Supporting herself with her arms, she moves and grinds, rolling her hips and laying her head back on his shoulder. My skin warms, and my breathing turns shallow. I’ve seen her or any one of the other girls do this a dozen times. It’s him that has me mesmerized, though.

  Her customer looks in his late twenties, a young man in jeans and a T-shirt, but he’s handsome and fit. His eyes are downcast, looking over her shoulder and down the front of her body as she moves on him. His hands, unable to touch her, clench the arms of the chair, and I look up, seeing his jaw flex.

  Taunting, teasing, captivating his attention and dangling something he wants right in front of him and then yanking it away, because he can’t have it…

  In this brief moment, I wonder if I’d be that good.

  “I see a few eyes on you already.”

  I turn my head, seeing Mick Chan, The Hook’s owner, standing around the corner of the bar. Mick is a middle-aged, ex-wrestler who married a stripper and decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life in a bar, so he and his wife opened this place and have lived happily ever after since.

  He smiles at me, his black T-shirt stretching across his still-muscled chest. “The money we could make together,” he says with a wink.

  I turn my eyes back to the room, holding back my snicker. Dude should seriously start a booth at the high school career fair, so he can snatch up women as soon as they ripen to the legal age of eighteen rather than keep harassing me.

  “Your sister says you don’t have the head for this, and I’m supposed to leave you alone, but Jordan—”

  “I didn’t come here for that,” I snip. “I came to talk to her.”

  I finish scanning the room and am about to head to the back, but he suddenly moves toward me, his tone calm but stern.

  “You see these customers at Grounders, too, right?” He glances to the crowd and back to me. “It’s the same guys you serve there, isn’t it?”

  I lift my gaze back to the tables and booths, recognizing some. It’s a small town. So, what?

  “Why do you think they go there at all?” he asks, narrowing his eyes on me. “I have a chef and a better menu here. Trained bartenders. Cleaner bathrooms. Why not spend all their bar time here?”

  “Because Grounders is cheaper.”

  “Because Grounders sells sex, too,” he fires back. “These boys go to Grounders for you, Shel, Ashley, Ellie…not the cheap beer and peanut shells all over the floor. Why do you think there are no men working there, after all? Shel hired you, because of the way you look.”

  I don’t say anything but just focus back on the stage where I see my sister walking out from behind the curtain. Mick watches me, and I can almost feel his breath on my neck even though he’s three feet away.

  “Don’t kid yourself,” he tells me. “They’re still looking at you like a piece of ass, even with all your clothes on.” And then he glances up to the stage and my sister swinging around the pole. “She just makes a hell of a lot more money.”

  The next day my sister doesn’t ask why I slept on her couch. She takes her son and me out for breakfast, and then we hit the Farmer’s Market for some produce. We talk about the county fair coming up, what’s new in the movie theaters, and what kind of party Killian wants to have for his birthday in September.

  My sister likes to give me a hard time, but she’s good about seeing when I’m hurting, too. She knows when to back off.

  After her dance last night, I followed her to the back of the club and got her keys from her, so I could have her car and get into her house. I didn’t know what to tell her about why I needed to crash with her, so I didn’t explain anything. Where would I start? Cole flaking on picking me up the night before? Me alone with Jay in a car, on a deserted street in the middle of the night, for the first time in two years? Me spending the night on a pool table? Pike accusing me of screwing around on his son and taking advantage of his generosity?

  Her boss putting the pressure on me again about working for him?

  Cole barely acting like I exist anymore?

  I feel a sob stretch my throat. I can’t go back there. I’d rather sleep in my car. The three year old in me with pride the size of the Pacific will show him, won’t I? I’ll live in my broke-down car with no AC and busted door handles, because I don’t need anyone, right?

  Through my watering eyes, I smile a little as I drive my sister’s car down the lane. It’s not as bad as all that, actually. I have my dad’s house. My stepmom may not want me there, but they won’t turn me away.

  It won’t always be like this.

  I turn into Pike’s neighborhood, downshifting my sister’s Mustang and coming up on his house.

  My sister doesn’t have to work today, so she let me use her car to get my things out of Pike’s house.

  As his place comes into view, though, I spot his truck in the driveway, and my stomach knots.

  I don’t want to see him right now.

  I should come back later.

  But no, I need my clothes and my books for school. I can get the rest another time, but I need a few things now.

  I park and climb out of the car, taking the small suitcase I borrowed from my sister and walk across the lawn and up the stairs. Taking out my key, I go to unlock the door but see that it’s already open. I take a cautious step inside.

  The living room is empty, and I pass the kitchen, seeing that he’s not in there, either. My shoulders relax slightly. Making my way to the stairs, I grab the bannister.

 
; “Jordan.”

  I freeze, awareness and nerves making the hair on my neck stand up. Shit.

  Turning around, I steel my expression and lift my chin as I face Pike. He stands between the kitchen and living room, wiping his hands with a dirty towel, his arms and fingers covered in dirt. He’s wet, sweat-soaked through parts of his gray T-shirt, and his face is more tanned than the last time I saw him. Like he’s been outside a lot the past twenty-four hours.

  “I just need to get my stuff,” I say and turn back for the stairs.

  But he stops me again. “Jordan.”

  “Look, whatever, okay?” I cut him off, turning toward him again. “I shouldn’t be here anyway, and it’s not like Cole is here half the time, either, so let me just cut my losses and get my shit.”

  He steps forward. “Where will you go?”

  I almost want to cry. “My dad’s house. In Meadow Lakes,” I tell him. “I’m not your problem, okay?”

  There. It’s done. No need to pretend that I don’t have other options. I’m leaving. I hate the idea of going back to that trailer park shithole, but it won’t be forever. I’ll live.

  I move to head up the stairs again, but he speaks up, almost in a rush.

  “Please,” he blurts out, stopping me. “Come here for a minute. I have something I want to show you.”

  He must see the suspicion in my eyes, because he asks again, firmer and resolute this time. “Please,” he says. “Just for a minute.”

  He turns and heads back into the kitchen, and I hesitate for a moment before following him. I don’t want to be curious, but I am.

  I enter the kitchen and see him walking through the adjoining laundry room and out the back door. What’s in the backyard that I’d want to see?

  The screen door flaps shut, and I take a deep breath and straighten as I follow him.

  He stands next to a rectangular parcel of land that was simply part of the yard twenty-four hours ago. Now, the grass is gone, there’s a border outlining the perimeter, and rich, black soil turned up in the box. There’s a hose attached to some PVC pipe, which is embedded in the soil with spouts for sprinklers at several intervals.