The Wrong Side of Twenty-Five

by Dionne Abouelela

  “Did you fall in and get that little butt stuck in the toilet?” Norma chided as I walked out to take a seat. “I thought I told you not to wash up in there. If there’s a mess on the floor, I’m giving you a mop and a bucket. And, I’m not paying you as a cleaner, either.”

  “Oh, please, Norma. You act like you have ever cleaned that shit hole of a bathroom anyway. My feet practically stuck to the floor,” I snarled.

  She paused, eyeing me up and down. “What happened to you last night? Something inside of you woke up. You arrived to town like a lost puppy. Now you have a fight coming out.”

  I didn’t have to answer. The bald man looking like the leader of a deadly biker game just three stools down chimed in. “She got drunk as a skunk — could barely move from the get go. She got hosed to give the guys their beer money’s worth. And then, get this,” he laughed, “she forgot everything was wet. She tried to jump on the pole, fell off the stage, threw up on Bud and then passed out.” He was laughing so hard the veins bulged from the side of his neck.

  “I wasn’t that bad,” I said, defending my non-existent pride.

  “Oh, honey,” he continued laughing, “I was probably being too nice. It may have been the worst thing I’ve ever seen. Men took out dollar bills from pity in case you broke an arm.”

  “But that’s not true! I swirled my hair and I shimmied. I even shook my ass for you!”

  “If you consider looking like you’re Frankenstein having convulsions as any type of dancing, then okay. You did. But trust me, sweet cheeks, you didn’t.”

  A wheezing noise resembling a dog toy with a broken squeaker interrupted us. I realized this horrendous noise was Norma laughing. “You know? I can actually picture that. Poor Bud. He’s already the town’s lost mutt. Of all the laps you could have landed on. How much did you make?”

  “A little over $70.”

  Norma whistled before informing me this was most likely the largest night of tips any girl has seen in that club since the doors first opened in 1965. I didn’t let this get me down. I made money last night and I would continue making money every night, regardless of what this biker/trucker man thought of my dancing. I was getting out of this town and Merle was coming with me.

  I ordered a pancake stack, a side of French fries, and black coffee with a side of Aspirin. This sounded like the perfect hangover cure, a recipe I know I’d read in Young and Sassy before, somewhere in between how to give mind-blowing oral sex and how to be taken seriously as a woman in the workplace by flirting with your boss and male coworkers. I never understood the mentality behind woman’s magazines or how they actually constructed an issue. The layout always felt like they sneezed in the planning room and rearranged the projectile dots to create an idea.

  “What are you doing out here anyway?” the man asked.

  “Well, hello, strange man asking too many questions after mocking my dancing. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Wooooo, you are a lively one. My name’s Chrome. I drive that purple rig out there. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  I looked out the window to see an enormous semi with purple paint sparkling like someone dropped a dump truck worth of glitter over the top. Every metal edge was shining to the point of blinding you if you looked directly towards the truck. This was obviously why he was named Chrome. “I’m Blossom.”

  “Not your stage name, you can be real with me. I won’t bite.”

  “This is my real name. Blossom Springtime Weatherby Franklin,” I growled, shrinking my eyes to small slits of judgement. Where were my secret laser beam powers when I needed them? I would have burned him alive.

  Norma gasped. “Oh, honey. No wonder you ran away. What was your mom smoking when she named you that?”

  “Sadly, nothing. She thought a fancy name would give me a head start in society. Something about four names being classy. She missed the mark.”

  “You’re a runner, huh?” Chrome cut in. “Why are you stopped here? Out of money?”

  “You are so nosy for someone I just met.”

  Before I could continue, Norma interrupted me with a finger wag just inches away from my nose. “I don’t know how y’all do it out there in the Indiana cornfields. Here in these Kansas cornfields, we get to know each other and that means we ask questions. And when a question is asked, you answer because you’re thankful someone wants to know about whatever is coming out of that mouth.”

  I gulped. “Sorry. I have a hangover and last night was, well, humiliating. Those bitches just threw me back in my car like I’m a pile of trash.”

  “Where did you expect them to put you?” Norma asked. “The slushpot gets busy and there isn’t a hotel. They could have just left you outside, but if they did, you might not be sitting here with us. You’d probably be in a ditch somewhere back down the road. Be thankful, little girl.”

  I swallowed a mouthful of air again, so hard this time my breath stuck in my throat. I woke up pissed off the girls threw me in my car; I never thought about what their other options were, or, what could have happened. This may feel like a small town, but it sure isn’t the small town I grew up in. I took that safety, that community, that built in moral code everyone seemed to just understand and follow, well, I took it all for granted.

  Chrome repeated his question, pulling me out of my daze. I was embarrassed. I felt like a spoiled brat, and I had never been spoiled once in my lifetime. I never had a hand up, a hand out, or a free ride. But, because I never had any of these, I assumed I had never been given anything else. What was the price one could place on peace of mind, or routine? What about having enough, even when your enough wasn’t what someone else considers enough?

  “I’m looking for something better,” I started. “It’s a long story. I’ll try to sum it up. I grew up without a dad, just an uncle.” I made sure to place those annoying air quotes around the world uncle. They both gave a grunt and shook their heads in understanding. “Turns out, he wasn’t actually an uncle. He was my real dad but they both thought building a relationship would be easier if my sister and I didn’t know he was our real dad. I suppose this worked, until I found my birth certificate. They’re both alcoholics. I couldn’t deal with them anymore. I took everything I owned, threw it in bags. I found every dollar I had and then picked around the house for spare change. I’m going as far as I can.”

  This didn’t phase either of them. I waited for them to tell me what they just heard was the most heartbreaking story their poor ears had ever been told. Their silence told me otherwise. There are some real stories out there I’ve never heard. People with real challenges; challenges that make my daddy story seem like another sob fest for a mildly unfortunate child. What had these two really been through? I’m not sure I wanted to know.

  “So, I drove. And I got here for a quick meal, planned to spend the night in the parking lot, and then head out. Unfortunately, my car had other plans and I haven’t been able to leave yet. I’m starting to feel like I never will.”

  “What happened to your hands?” Norma questioned, avoiding eye contact.

  “I burnt them at my first stop. There’s this big metal cross in Illinois. For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to touch it. But, well, it was the middle of the afternoon and the metal was a bit too hot. Second degree burns. They were healing but apparently I also ripped them open last night.”

  Silence.

  Norma turned around with a deep sigh, rushing to the coffee pot and fiddling with the controls. She turned to say something but held her breath and turned back around.

  “Where do you want to get to?” Chrome asked.

  “I don’t know. I was thinking Vegas originally. But I don’t think I’m meant for the stage. Maybe California. It’s different. Looks magical.” I paused, casting my eyes towards the floor. “I’m starting to think magic might not actually exist
.”

  “I’ll make you a deal, kid,” Chrome started, looking at Norma who was eyeing him suspiciously. “I’m heading to St. Louis. I’ll be back through in three days to return a load to Salt Lake City. I’ll take you that far. From there, you can take a bus or find another ride.”

  “Wow, that’s really nice. It’s just that I have everything in my car…”

  “What in there do you really need, kid?” Norma interrupted while looking out the window towards Merle. “Oh, shit!” she screamed.

  We turned towards the parking lot in unison just in time to see Jersey pouring gas on everything I owned, pulled haphazardly from my car, piled nice and high in the parking lot, and lighting a match.

  The dressing room was chilly, not the temperature, but the attitude. Jersey sauntered around like she was unstoppable. Candy and Fudge diverted their eyes whenever she came near, obviously afraid to speak out, to support me, or to even acknowledge my existence. I, however, did not avert my eyes when she walked by, when she looked me in the face, or when she smirked. I stared her down with every ounce of hatred I could project through the airwaves.

  Since everything I owned had gone up in smoke before the three of us were able to push ourselves through the diner door not meant for three people at once and stop Jersey from dropping the match, I was forced to walk through the front of the bar and search for last night’s bra. I needed something to wear tonight, and I unfortunately found it, stuck to the floor in a dried puddle of vomit. I pried what was once my nicest udergarment from the gooey carpet with a butter knife in between dry heaves. It took an hour to wash the dirty fabric in the sink. And since the club didn’t have any bleach — because why would they — I managed to get the thin cotton cleaned of vomit, but I could never get the stains out. I would have to make the best out of this bad situation. I prayed in the dim lighting the stains would look like camouflage, not the leftovers of the previous night’s disaster.

  I felt a heavy hand lay itself on my thigh, pulling me back to the frigid room. The gentle but weighted hand belonged to Fudge. She stared at my face with true sympathy but her quiet outpouring did little to warm my mood.

  “I’m going to go to the next town over, stop by WorldMart, tomorrow morning. Do you want me to come pick you up? We can get you some new clothes. They have good clearance racks and they’re usually cheaper than the thrift store down the road.”

  “Oh, fuck you,” I snarled.

  “Excuse me, little girl. I’m just trying to help. I’m not the one who has one outfit and a vomit stained bra.”

  “Help would have been stopping her before she lit all of my clothes on fire in the damn parking lot, Fudge.”

  “Look, we were all sitting in here shooting the shit. We had no idea you made so much money last night until Jeremy threw it in our faces. He made us feel like we were bad for business. She just took off. Headed straight outta here. We thought she was going to yell at you, be a little nasty, maybe smack you across the face, but we didn’t know she was going to burn all your stuff,” Fudge said with a bit of snark, her mouth half turned up to indicate that she felt this was a rhetorical conversation.

  “Oh. Are you kidding me? You didn’t know she would burn my stuff, but it was totally okay to smack me around a little? How about this one, Fudge, where the hell did she get a can of gasoline from if you didn’t know she was going to burn everything I owned? I needed you, one of you, and you only needed yourself,” I snapped.

  Fudge pursed her lips and nodded in agreement. “Well, sweetheart, when you’ve lived here as long as we have, when you’ve danced on that stage as long as we have for dollars — sometimes pennies — each night, you only need yourself. It’s sweet of you to think one of us should have helped you, but this is your bed. You made it, and you can go sleep however you please.” She pushed down on my leg and propelled her plump body upwards. I watched her gracefully roll past Jersey, her eyes in a tight squint. Jersey’s beady eyes paired with her barely there smile solidified she was the Wicked Witch of the West.

  I was definitely still in Kansas.

  Jersey looked me square in the face, reading the anger pouring out of every inch of my being, and laughed. “These aren’t your bitches, little girl. They’re mine. This is my house. Do you hear me? MY house. You think you can just stroll in here with your innocent, small town act, take our money? Take food off our table? No, you can’t. The world doesn’t work like your small town. This is my town and you work by my rules.”

  I rolled my eyes. Jersey didn’t deserve a word, a breath, a huff, or anything to give her satisfaction. If anything, she did me a favor. She torched every little thing I had still tying me to my old life. She set my past on fire with a smile on her face and hands thrown in the air in deep satisfaction. Little did she know, that sudden breeze tousling her dull over sprayed hair was made of my inhibitions and self-doubt.

  With one match, with one can of gasoline, with one plan she thought would hurt me, she unknowingly set me free.

  Tonight I would get on that stage, dance better than any other girl had ever danced in this dilapidated building in this dilapidated town, and I would show her. I would walk with even more of her money. What could she do to me now? Blow up my car? So be it. I may not have much, but I did have great insurance.

  “Ladies, ladies, let’s talk about tonight,” Jeremy shouted, walking in to the dressing room. “First of all, limit the alcohol on this one please,” he chuckled and pointed my way. “I don’t need to be cleaning up any more piles of vomit off the floor.”

  “You didn’t clean any vomit,” I scoffed. “I scraped my bra off the floor from a huge dry puddle.”

  “No one would have noticed. Anyway. Since you were a hit last night, you’re going to dance twice tonight. Your lack of rhythm and horrible dance moves are shockingly good for business. The boys couldn’t quit talking about you, which means they stayed longer, which means they drank more, which means I made more money. Thanks for that.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Jersey said. “Twice? That’s some bullshit.”

  “Aah, no, no, no, Jersey. We have extended hours tonight. I just wanted to see the look of fear on that one’s face. The radio waves have been full of calls all day long about the new girl and have a full parking lot already. We made the call about 20 minutes ago to say we would be opening three hours early.”

  “That would mean we’re opening in ten minutes,” Candy interrupted.

  “Yup, you are correct. Didn’t know you were also good at math there, Big Red,” Jeremy joked while giving her a light tap on the arm. “Get dressed and get ready. You’re still up first,” he teased, looking me square in the face. “The rest of the order is Candy, Jersey, Fudge, Candy, Jersey, New Girl. Rinse, repeat, and keep the stage busy. No questions, no changes, no problems. Let’s all make some money and stay sober enough to not pass out or vomit. Any mishaps tonight and you pay the cleaning bill.”

  “If I have to pay the cleaning bill, who’s going to pay for my damn clothes?” I snapped, not really caring what he’d say, not really caring about my clothes, but wanting to get a point across.

  “No one here is paying for your clothes,” Jeremy said quickly, looking me straight in the eyes. “Anything that happens outside those doors is not my concern. And, well, most of what happens in here isn’t either,” he said with a laugh tainted by hints of a darkness I didn’t notice before. Registering his true nature made me sick to my stomach. He welcomed me in and made me feel at home when I first got here. He made me feel like he was taking care of me. But, that laugh. There was something sinister about him, something dark and gnarled behind his smile. I wondered if the other girls knew this side, registered what I just noticed, or had possibly seen something worse from him.

  “You’d better get dressed, little girl. You’re the main attraction tonight,” Jersey scoffed. She looked me
up and down, shaking her head while judging my pitiful outfit. There was no mercy in her body, either. She and Jeremy should get married. They could have Satan’s spawn together and bring them up in this one horse hell hole to be the next generation strippers and bar owners that destroy joy by bathing in people’s misfortunes. They would be perfect together.

  My inner rage was interrupted by Candy’s soft voice. She handed me a clear box. I looked inside and saw small pink sequined circles with long purple tassels coming out of the center.

  “What are these?” I asked, holding the box in the air.

  “Nipple tassels. You stick them over your nipples. Let’s be honest, you aren’t going to make any money with that set tonight,” she explained, pointing up and down to my stained and disgusting simple cotton underwear set. “Put them on under your bra. They’ll stick to ya’. The boys will love it, and believe it or not, when you take your bra off, you’ll still feel like you have a little bit of your modesty.”

  “Like you care about your modesty, you traitor,” Jersey snarled. I wanted to come to Candy’s defense but I didn’t have time. The loudspeaker was already calling out for Roxy. The doors were open, the men flowing in, and my second night was about to begin.

  “I’ll have to put these on later,” I said apologetically. “But thank you. I appreciate the gesture.” I turned around and made my way through the curtain, pausing in what I hoped was a seductive pose at the end of the stage. I probably looked like a drunk penguin, but I was not going to let those shreds of doubt cloud my sober courage. I was going to rock this stage and I was going to knock the socks off of every man seated in this bar until they had no money left for that bitch backstage. She thinks I took her money? Well, I was about to take her money again.