by Anne Conley
“I’ve got to go, get ready for work.” She looked at him, uncertainly. “Um, do you have a phone number? We could swap numbers, and get together later, maybe.” He could see she was trying to be casual, and he hid the disappointment he suddenly felt at her imminent departure.
Smiling to hide his embarrassment, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone, handing it to her. She input her number and handed it back. She then retrieved her own phone from the bag over her shoulder, and handed it to him.
“Um…technology’s not really my thing. Can you do it?” He was familiar with her iPhone but utterly useless with it. He had one himself, although it was mostly for appearance’s sake. A friend had given it to him, as a thank you gift, sort of a joke. But he carried it around, because everyone had one.
Heather laughed at him. “Not really your thing…” She typed his number, as he recited it to her, and then slipped her phone back into her bag. “I’ll text you later, okay?”
“Sure. Have a good evening, Heather.” Saying her name aloud gave him a little thrill and a sense of relief. At least she trusted him enough to tell him her real name. And she agreed to see him again. He had made a good start. Finally.
Soon, he could tell her.
Chapter 9
In the common dressing room that the dancers used, Heather listened as the girls discussed their latest woes. Men mostly, but the topics ran to superficial things like the best hair stylists, body oil, and solutions for razor burn. Usually, Heather participated in the conversation, if for no other reason than to make the new girls feel better, but today she wasn’t in the mood.
Her thoughts kept drifting towards Uri.
He didn’t want a romantic thing with her, and she had to admit, that hurt a little.
She didn’t want a romantic thing, either. That was against the rules. And the rules were good ones. Romantic endeavors with clients, even former ones, were never a good idea. Although, for the life of her, Heather couldn’t think why right now.
She sighed unconsciously, remembering the way he looked when she had initially walked up to him. His face was uplifted, as if soaking up the sun’s rays. His eyes were closed, lashes falling against the tops of his cheeks. The lock of hair on his forehead shifted in the breeze, and Heather had had to consciously restrain the desire to bend down and kiss his wide mouth. His body was flexible, bending itself into a position that Heather had only seen men use who had years of yoga training.
Watching him there, she had not only felt the familiar white-hot burning sensation, but her gut had twisted impossibly. She wondered if he was the one to take her away from her life, from her grief, from her duties. Was he the one who would make her life her own again? Heather was tired of living her life in order to fulfill self-imposed duties to her family.
Dusty’s voice at her shoulder interrupted her thoughts. "Can you talk to the new girl? She's having a hard time…" Heather looked away from her reflection in the mirror and saw that Mama's latest hire, a great dancer, was sitting in the corner, brushing her hair with a sadness in her eyes that Heather was all too familiar with.
"Okay. I'll see what I can do to cheer her up."
Walking through the maze of nude arms and legs in the dressing room, Heather tried to remember the new girl's name. As she neared the girl and saw the rhinestones on the tips of her fake eyelashes, she remembered.
"Hey, Glizy. What's up?"
The girl started out of her sad reverie, and pasted a cheerful smile on her face. "Nothing much, Heaven. How's things with you?"
Heather sank herself into the chair next to Glitzy and patted her arm. "It's tough, when you're starting out, I know."
"You can tell?"
"Sugar, your face is longer than the Rio Grande over here." Heather laughed. "You get used to it, though."
"How have you done it so long? Somebody told me you'd been here nearly ten years. I don't want to dance here the rest of my life."
"I'm not the norm, but I like it."
"Why?"
It was the same question Uri had asked her, and Heather struggled to answer the girl.
"When I started, I did it for the money. Hell, I still do it for the money. I did try to quit once and get a job in an office, but it didn't pay enough." She cringed at the memory. Her boss had taken one look at her resume` and somehow word had gotten out. After all the innuendos, lingering handshakes, and random brushes with near strangers, she'd felt like the office whore. "So, I came back to it."
"I just feel like I'm disrespecting myself by doing this."
Heather squeezed her arm, "The clients can tell which of the dancers respect themselves, and they treat us accordingly. It's a vibe. You are performing a service, Glitzy. These men are just letting off steam, most of them are harmless. They admire us, and pay us well to dance for them, to tease them, to get them all worked up for their wives and girlfriends. You just show them what you can do, keep them in their place, and have fun."
"Do you ever wish you'd done something different?"
Heather thought about it, before answering her honestly. "Yeah, sometimes. But as much as I try, I can't really imagine my life any different. I love this job. Dancing is my life." On a lighter note, she added, "And I enjoy feeling pretty. The clients think we're beautiful, and I love that. Vain, I know." She started to stand. "You okay? This job isn't really for everybody, but you could be really good at it, Glitz."
The young girl nodded, then lifted her chin and stared at herself in the mirror. "Yeah. I got this. Thanks."
"No problem. Let me know if you have any problems, okay?"
“He’s back. And he wants you. Again.” Dusty's voice behind her sounded dejected.
“Who?” Heather turned to look at her.
“Tall, Dark, and Dangerous.”
Heather sighed, “You can have him. I don’t particularly enjoy his company. He gives me the creeps.”
“I wish. He won’t look at me. I’ve tried, sugar. He only has eyes for you.” She sang that last bit, as she got up and sauntered away.
Heather let out a heavy breath, ran a brush through her hair, and got up to go give the man the attention he apparently so desperately wanted.
Mama flashed her four fingers from behind the bar, where she was stocking supplies, and Heather made her way to room four, where Damien was waiting, with five crisp, one-hundred dollar bills.
“Heaven.” He breathed when she walked through the curtain.
“Hello Damien.” She purred at him, taking off her bra to expose her breasts, before sauntering over to begin her dance.
Her hands roamed over his chest and shoulders, as she pulsated her hips in rhythm to the music. He reached up and rubbed her back, then her stomach. As his hands crept up to her breasts, filling his hands with her, he asked, “Have you thought about my proposition?”
“Yes…” She made an effort to keep her voice sultry. “I can’t do it, Damien. I’m sorry.” She turned her back to him, and rubbed her backside on his lap, feeling his erection through his pants, rubbing up and down on it. She felt something on her back, something that wasn’t his fingers.
It was cool, and smooth, like his fingers, but the scent came to her through the smell of burnt matches that this man carried everywhere. She stilled, panic sending ice water coursing through her veins.
She tried to keep her voice even through her rising unease. “You sent the roses.” He knew where she lived.
“Yes, Heaven.” The way he said her name gave her chills, and not in a good way.
She was silent for a while, digesting the information. She wasn’t sure how to deal with this. Damien seemed like a cold man. His smile was cold. His manner was cold. His skin was cold. He had made an inappropriate proposition to her, a job which he had absolutely no idea if she was qualified for. And now she knew that he knew where she lived.
She needed to get away from him, her panicky brain told her to run, get out of this room as fast as she could. As if reading her mind, his hands came around her, one reachi
ng around her waist, the other around her neck, effectively blocking any escape on her part.
"Heaven…" Damien inhaled her name, his breath next to her ear.
"Damien, I'm not comfortable with this. You need to let go now."
"You would be so good for me, Heaven." Heather had a sudden desire to change her name. The way he said it, made it sound dirty. "I've always wanted something good in this world, but I've never been able to have it."
Her voice came out a squeak. "Damien, let go."
"You're really too good for me, what with all you do for your family." His voice was a hushed whisper, that could have been seductive, except the words they spoke sent chills coursing through Heather's body.
"What do you know about my family?" The panic in her gut rose to her throat. This man was more dangerous than she'd realized.
"I could help with your mother, you know. I have enough money to put her in Piney Meadows. We could put her there, where she could get the latest treatments, and we could visit her as often as you'd like, my sweet, sweet Heaven."
"Stop it." She gritted out her teeth, still in his clutches. She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew they would be cold, glinting orbs.
"And your sister…Think of all the fun the three of us could have together." The lecherous lilt of his voice made Heather shudder.
"How do you know all of this?" She was near tears at the helplessness of her situation. She danced to help her family, and now her dancing had introduced them to a man that was…evil. She didn't know how he knew what he did, but she knew in her core that the reason he cared about any of them was because he was evil.
"I make it my business to know. He has plans for you, and they don't include me, and that makes me sad…"
"What do you mean? Who has plans for me?" At her question, Damien's grip released, and Heather jumped up, turning to face him. The look on his face stopped her cold.
His eyes were cold, as she'd expected, but the wry smile on his mouth gave the man an air of childishness, as if he was the boy who was fixing to be punished for something he'd done wrong. And he knew it.
Without thinking on his expression, just feeling relief at being out of his clutches, Heather strode out of the room, and walked straight to Robbie.
The enormous black man listened intently as Heather explained that a client knew where she lived. His eyebrows joined in the middle of his increasingly wrinkled forehead as he listened to her. When Heather told him about the roses, he immediately walked to the back of the club where the private rooms were. She didn't need to tell him about her mother or Tiffany. Nobody here really knew them, and she liked keeping that part of her life separate from this one.
Heather liked Robbie. He was an imposing man, but he had a quiet manner about him, one that begged no arguments. She had seen him resort to violence only a handful of times in the years she had worked there. And it had been impressive.
He returned shortly with a puzzled expression on his face. “He’s not back there, Heaven.” He knew her real name but didn’t use it on the floor. “I don’t see him in here, either. Maybe he left.” Crossing his arms, he asked her, “Do you want me to call the police?”
“What for? He hasn’t done anything illegal. They won’t do anything.” She could feel her self control rapidly evaporate. How had he left without them seeing? He would have to walk right past them to get to the exit.
“I’ll give you a ride home tonight and check out your place, if you want.” Robbie offered.
“I would like that. Thank you, Robbie.” Feeling little relief at his kind gesture, she tried to smile at him, but the danger of the situation still simmered under her skin.
He shrugged and went back to his post. Heather managed to get through the rest of the night with an uneasy smile on her face. For the first time in eight years, she felt like her job was putting her in danger.
Robbie gave her a ride home after ensuring the other girls had left and walked through her house with her to confirm that Damien hadn’t broken in. Then he patiently waited while she let Taco out for his midnight outing, and made sure she was in for the night before leaving. His presence made Heather feel better, but she couldn’t shake the unease seated in her gut.
Eventually, she went to sleep.
When she woke up, later that afternoon, Heather didn't want to be home alone. Deciding that she wanted a little light in her life, she texted Uri.
R U busy?
He texted back immediately.
No. What is going on?
I dont work 2nite. Want 2 cum over 4 dinner?
I do not like texting. Can I call you right now?
Sure.
She smiled at the idea of a man in the twenty-first century not texting, as her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Heather.” He seemed to enjoy saying her name. It sounded good on his voice, sending a tiny shiver up her spine.
“You want to come over tonight for dinner?”
“Sure. What time?” She could hear a smile in his voice, and it made her warm, chasing away some of the desperate gloom from the night before.
“I’ve got to go see my sister for a little bit, so let’s say around seven?”
“Okay. I’ll be there at seven then.”
“Um…don’t you need directions?” She asked.
A pause. “Right. Let me get a pen and some paper. Hold on a minute, please.” She smiled again as he actually put his cell phone down, and rummaged around for something to write with.
When he picked up the phone again, she gave him directions to her apartment.
“Uri?”
“Hmm?” He answered, the noise sounding strangely intimate to Heather’s ears.
“What do you have against texting?”
He chuckled. “I’m just old-fashioned, I guess. See you at seven, Heather.”
“See you. Bye, Uri.”
“Bye.”
After hanging up, she grabbed Taco and her bike and made her way to Tiffany’s place. She stopped at a grocery store around the corner from her sister's apartment and bought some frozen dinners and a gallon of orange juice.
Letting herself in, Heather called out. “Hey Tiff? I brought you some groceries.”
A suspiciously ethereal voice came from the living room. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry.”
Before she went into the living room, Heather poured Tiffany a glass of orange juice and responded, “Then have a glass of juice. You don’t want to get scurvy.” She was only half-kidding.
Tiffany was pacing back and forth in her tiny living room, muttering to herself, wearing the same clothes that Heather had seen her in the last two times she had been here.
“When is the last time you took a shower, Tiff?”
She stopped and seemed to think a little before answering, “d’no.” Her pacing continued, but the muttering had stopped.
Handing her the glass, Heather said, “Drink this. I’m going to run you a bath. I’ll help you get cleaned up. You’ll feel better.”
“I feel fine.”
“Of course you do. You’re high.” Heather left the room and went to the bathroom. It was disgusting. The floor of the bathtub was black and covered with wet towels. Groaning, Heather pushed up her sleeves and pulled out the towels, dropping them into a heap on the floor before going in search of some sort of cleaner.
Once she had scrubbed enough of the grime away to feel okay about setting her sister in the tub, she ran a hot bath.
“Tiff? Come take a bath!” Her sister was immediately in the doorway, fidgeting and shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“I got an idea.”
“Come get in the tub and tell me about it.”
“I can start a tattoo parlor.”
“That would be one way to use your artistic talents.” Tiffany used to be a phenomenal artist. Her pen and ink sketches had won state-wide awards, but Heather hadn’t seen any recent work. She honestly hadn’t seen anything her sister had done in years. �
�Have you been drawing any lately?”
Tiffany had stripped, and Heather tried not to stare at her emaciated frame, as she stepped into the tub.
“Not really, but it’s probably like riding a bicycle, you know?” She was fidgeting in the tub, rubbing her legs with her hands, then her arms, then her legs again. “It’s a good idea, though. I can start a tattoo parlor,” she said, hope filling her voice. Heather liked the sound of it but was afraid it was just another great idea to get her through until her next high --- like the idea of the portrait studio and the caricature artist.
“Yeah, Tiff. It’s a great idea.” Heather grabbed some soap and started cleaning her sister.
“I just need to get clean and get some cash.” She was still fidgeting, not moving toward anything to actually wash herself, just letting Heather do it all. “Just enough to get started, you know?” She looked at Heather, beseechingly. “Like $3,000?”
Heather had washed her back and shoulders and was moving on to her arms, trying to hold them still. “I don’t have it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I thought you made good money at your job?”
“I do, Tiff. But I have bills to pay.”
“Not that many bills.”
“You have no idea about money. I pay an outrageous sum for Mom to be in that home, and I pay your bills on top of my own. I don’t have enough money to be giving you more to open up a tattoo parlor.”
“Mom’s got money to pay for that place, doesn’t she?”
“Not enough.” Heather gritted out between her teeth. It seemed like she had the same conversations over and over with the people she loved.
Tiffany’s eyes brightened with inspiration. “Maybe if you saved a little each week, by the time I’m clean, you’ll have enough for me to start my tattoo parlor.”
Heather tamped down her rising anger. “How about you get clean, get a job, and save up your own damn money and stop sponging off of me for a change!” She was washing Tiffany’s hair now, scrubbing it vigorously with her fingernails.
“Ouch! That hurts!” Tiffany was squirming in the tub, holding Heather’s hands.
“If you could take care of yourself, I wouldn’t have to wash your disgusting hair.”