by Ashley Logan
I shrug. “To be honest, I forgot all about you being there,” I admit, frowning at myself. “Which is sort of unusual for me.” The more I think about that, the more I start freaking out.
Anything could’ve happened. How well do I know this man? He’s strong enough to easily overpower me if he wants. And sure he’s a cop, but there are some bad fucking cops out there. And he is in my bed.
“Vi?” he says softly, pulling my attention back to his face. “There’s something wrong. Is it me? Should I leave?”
Nodding quickly, I take another step away. “Yes please.”
“Okay. I’m going,” he says, easing off the bed and backing away to the door. “I didn’t mean to cause you any distress, Vi. I’m sorry.”
All I can do is nod. I’m trying to keep calm, but my heart is pounding and my breath is coming too quickly.
As soon as he steps into the hall, I close and lock the door, strip off my robe and stare at myself in the mirror, whispering to myself so he won’t hear me.
“You’re fine. No bruises. Nothing happened.” Stripping off completely, I watch my reflection do a full turn in order to convince myself of reality.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, counting as I let it out and telling myself that I wasn’t in danger. Since I’ve met him, Serge has been kind and hasn’t done a thing to break my trust. Even now, he’s seen a change in me and backed off to keep my trust. Taking another deep breath, I open my eyes, see my body and relax.
Pulling on clothes, I grab Serge’s phone from the bedside.
Opening my door slowly, I find Serge standing outside, accompanied by Bruno and Scar. Bruno looks me up and down, catches my eyes a moment, nods once to me, once to Serge and disappears back into his room.
Scar looks sideways at Serge and gives me a lengthy appraisal with intense eyes, before nodding as well. Her eyes tell me we’re going to talk about this after Serge is gone.
“I brought one of each,” Serge says, his eyes filled with worry. “I didn’t know what you’d need.”
One of each?
He’s brought me a safe male to protect me from him and a female to relate in a non-threatening manner. He knows I’m damaged goods then. Great. This is where he reminds himself I’m a stripper and makes an excuse why we can’t hang out anymore, because I’m clearly fucked up and that’s too hard to be friends with.
“Leaving when you did was all I needed. Thank you. It’s probably best you go home now,” I say, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice, but making sure I beat him to the chase so I can avoid the rejection. Handing him his phone, I pluck up my courage. “I added my number to your contacts, but you don’t need to keep it if you don’t want.”
I can feel the heat building up inside me and I resist the desperate urge to cry as it needles my insides. I have to leave, but he’s in the hall. Retreating back into my bedroom, I force myself to smile, but it’s so strained it probably looks more like I’m in pain. I am. The look of sympathy on his face as I close the door hurts more than any bruise.
“YOU SURE YOU WANT TO dance tonight?” Scar asks as we apply our makeup in the dressing room.
Looking at my reflection, I see what she sees. Makeup isn’t enough to mask the vulnerability written all over my face. Tears begin to well, cracking my already fragile disguise.
Scar and I have talked all afternoon about how I’d reacted to Serge and why, and I kept coming to the same conclusion.
It wasn’t that I was actually scared of Serge, more scared of his reaction to my behavior. I’d felt pitied and dirty and small. It’s just further evidence that I have a long way to go.
Usually, I use dancing to empower myself when I feel like that. Losing myself in the music, I dance out my emotions, my fantasies and my strength, making my fears shrivel away.
When people pay to watch, I see myself as desirable, despite my past, which is another boost. A lot of us girls use dancing in this way to get that feeling. Scarlett, for example, is scarred from burns to over 40% of her body. She dances to feel desirable, so she can learn to be comfortable in her own skin.
The club is essential to the process. It’s a socially acceptable platform, where exposing yourself is expected. Having interested strangers wanting to watch me dancing, releases some sort of binds inside, leaving me free to express myself without fear of judgment. I must make quite a show too, because people pay. A lot.
Studying my reflection, I know something else is happening inside me. I want to dance; I need to dance, I just don’t want to do it publicly today. My confidence has taken a big hit. Bigger than it should, which only means one thing to me. I like Serge too much.
If strangers judge me, my defenses barely even register. If people I know, but don’t care about, look at me like Serge did, I couldn’t give a shit. Only the opinions of people I care about have any effect on me.
Pulling a cleansing wipe from the industrial sized tub, I commence with makeup removal.
“I want to, but I can’t Scar. Not yet,” I say, not needing to explain any further. “Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I’ll work the bar instead.” Nothing like a solid barrier to hide behind.
Scar smiles gently as she nods. “Whatever you need, Vi.”
The sound of whistling and applause accompanies Lex and Kat as they return from their opening set. The sound disappears again as the door seals shut. Both notice my lack of makeup and nod.
“Benji looks like he’ll definitely need help behind the bar tonight. It’s packed for a Monday,” Kat says as she shrugs into her silky kimono and heads to the costume rack. “Come back when you’re ready, Vi. We’ve got it covered. Nat’ll be down with Reeni any minute, Teeny’s class finishes in an hour and Prez has her name on the line up too, so just do what you gotta do, eh?”
Nodding, I drop my robe and climb back into my jeans. “Thanks, guys. I’ll see you out there,” I say with a light tone and a smile as big as I can manage. I don’t want to bring anyone down.
Tying an apron around my waist, I join Benji behind the bar, run a tray of glasses through the dishwasher and help serve. Music fills the club between the sets; low enough for customers to talk, but upbeat enough that it keeps them entertained, and I bob along to the beat as I keep up with demand. It is oddly crowded for a Monday, and I’m kept busy at one end of the bar as Benji fields the other.
Finally Smith makes the introductions as the music changes to a more gritty tone and Scar steps out on stage. Sighing with relief, I meet Benji’s eyes and smile. Holding his hands as if praying, Benji mouths ‘thank you’ and flashes his mega-watt smile. There will be a lull in orders while Scarlett dances. Her moves are hypnotic and her body is amazing, scars and all. It’s hard to tear your eyes from her, but I do, so I can get another load of glasses through.
The kitchen bell dings quietly and Benji grabs two platters of wings as they’re lifted to the serving window. I wave at Prez as she sets up another two platters under the heat lamps for Benji to take when he gets back. House rules forbid girls to be out on the open floor to be subjected to repeated molestation - though we switch roles on Ladies’ Night, to keep the boys safe. So far as I know, we’re the only strip club in town with a strict look, but don’t touch policy. Our style is more burlesque in that way, but there’s a slightly more raunchy, jaw-dropping, crowd-pleasing show every night.
Nina smiles back and pretends to wipe sweat off her forehead. “I was just about to call one of you out to help Benji,” she says quietly, as she gets distracted watching Scarlett. “Who’d have thought a Monday could bring these kinds of numbers.”
“Yeah,” I agree, caught up in Scarlett’s performance too. With her awesome strength, Scar is by far the best at working the pole. She makes it look easy and all her awkward, self-conscious worries disappear as soon as she steps on stage. Transported to some other place, she moves so sensually, I find myself turned on in no time. “Jeez she’s amazing when she lets go.”
“You all are,” Prez says, adjusting the hairnet
covering her dark pixie-cut hair. “That’s why we’re busy! Soon she’ll see it for herself,” she added, filling sauce bottles. “I can definitely see an improvement in her daylight confidence since she arrived. Yours too,” she says in a direct, no-nonsense tone. “Don’t let yourself backslide because you’re over-thinking, Vi. Honestly, you’re too smart for your own good. Keep it simple.”
“Thanks, Prez. I’ll work on it,” I say, retying my hair and checking the supply of lemon wedges.
“Were you going to ask me about Serge?” she asks through the window as Benji delivers the last of the wings and a huge basket of fries.
I study her well-meaning smile.
“Because if you were, I’d tell you that he’s not an asshole.”
Snorting, I hand Benji a coke upon his return and take a sip of my own. “Thanks, Prez. I had worked out that much myself. I’m the problem. I don’t trust myself. I need more practice at relating to good guys without confusing them with other things in my mind.” Looking to Benji as he pulls a sad face, I laugh. “I mean practice relating to available, unbrother-like, non-roommate guys,” I clarify, before heading back to my end of the bar as applause fills the room, signaling the end of Scarlett’s set. Feeling a lot better for admitting certain truths to myself, I recognize the injection of confidence as it arrives. Standing taller, I feel my inner seductress awaken.
“Not dancing tonight, Vixen?” a regular asks as he orders a bourbon.
“Not tonight, Harry. Soon though, don’t you worry,” I say with a wink and a genuine smile, because I know I’m not lying.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SERGE
Serge scrolled through his contacts until Vi’s name came into view. Tempted to hit the call button, he stopped himself. Did she even want him to call? She’d basically told him to leave and then hidden until he had, as if even the sight of him was enough to bother her. He couldn’t stand the thought of Vi being scared of him.
Staring at her name on his phone, he thought about never calling. That definitely didn’t sit well.
Violet had been on his mind since he’d left her, and there would be no escape from that until he talked through what had happened between them. How long should he wait before talking to her? While the wound was fresh, or healed with time? Should he see her in person, or would that scare her more? Maybe she’d call him, when she was ready.
Just then his phone rang. Glancing ever-so-hopefully at his screen, he sank back into his couch with disappointment. It was Gina.
Wait. It was Gina!
Heart beating rapidly in anticipation, he answered. “G! Hi! How are you feeling? Everything going okay at home? You need me to come over and fluff your pillows or anything?”
She gave a musical laugh and he melted. “Remember to breathe between words, Serge. I’m fine. I was ringing to see how you were, actually.”
She does care, he thought, uplifted by the idea. “I’m better than I was this morning, that’s for sure,” he replied, remembering the multiple Gatorade and aspirin doses he’d had throughout the day. “Classic case of over-indulgence, I’m ashamed to admit.”
Gina chuckled again. “Over-indulgence huh? Is that what you’re calling it?”
Serge straightened. “Yeah. It is. I’m getting too old to still be drinking at four in the morning. On a school night. I should have known better.”
“School night?” Gina laughed again, but this time it didn’t sound as authentic. “Is that how young your new friend, Vi is?”
Cringing, Serge calmed himself. Just because Gina thought she knew about Vi, it didn’t mean she would forget how he felt about her. After talking things through with Vi, Serge wasn’t sure he should remind Gina of his feelings either. He’d wait until he was sure she intended to succumb to his efforts to woo her.
He felt like an asshole, figuring himself to be not much better than the piece of shit that took his fiancée from him. Gina was a married woman for fuck’s sake. He should leave her well alone.
And yet, he couldn’t. He wanted her, and justified it by convincing himself she was unhappy in her marriage.
Rolling his eyes at himself, he knew he had thinking to do. Going in circles was driving him mad.
“She told me you’d called,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he waited for her to lead the conversation.
“Shit, Serge. Avoidance? How young is she? You’re not breaking any laws are you?”
It was his turn to laugh. “No, G. She’s old enough.” Did he just say that? Old enough for what?
“Oh. Right. Good,” Gina replied hesitantly. “Well, I just wanted to check you were feeling okay.”
Serge closed his eyes, wondering if he was imagining the disappointment he heard in her voice. He couldn’t trust what was real and what was wishful thinking anymore. Long term fantasizing had clouded his judgment. It was like being senseless while he tried to figure out what was actually happening.
“Um, yeah, I guess I’m fine. My headache won’t quit, but I’m starting to think that’s from thinking too much, so, yeah, I’m doin’ okay.”
“Thinking too much? The Mendez case still bugging you?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure we’ll be able to convict when I lean on him.”
“What are you thinking about then? The Athletic League? You worried about the kids?”
“I’m always worried about the kids, that’s why I work with them. It’s nothing,” he said, trying to back pedal, wishing he hadn’t said anything. Rising off the couch he paced his apartment. “Just something I need to work out with Vi.”
“Sounds serious,” Gina said, her tone not quite questioning, but not dismissive either. “You really like her, huh?”
Frowning, Serge rolled his eyes at himself. “She seems pretty cool, but I don’t really know her very well,” he replied, not wanting Gina to get the wrong idea. He didn’t know how to act now that she’d asked him to back way off, but still seemed to want to be in his business. It wasn’t helping his confusion at all. “I gotta go, G. Let me know if you need anything. If you get bored, I could drop by to see how you’re doing. If that’s alright with Rick, I mean,” he added, gritting his teeth.
“Oh. Okay, Serge. Take care, then.”
“You too, G.”
Tossing his phone onto the kitchen counter, he stared at it some more. Cracking his knuckles one at a time, he took several deep breaths. Reaching for the phone, he scrolled down to Vi’s name and hit call.
“Hi, you’ve reached Vi. Guys, if this is a medical emergency, hang up and dial 9-1-1, I’m not a free fucking medical advice hotline, alright?”
The tone sounded and Serge stopped laughing. “Vi. Hey, it’s Serge. Um, not after medical advice, just wanted to check you were okay. I feel really bad about how we left things this morning, and I... I just need to know if you’re alright. Please let me know, even if it’s just a text telling me to fuck off. Um, bye.”
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Serge set his phone down again. The power was hers now. He looked at his bare walls, his leg jiggling up and down restlessly. Pushing up from the table, he changed and put his running shoes on. He needed to get out.
AFTER A LONG DAY AT work, Serge knocked on Irwin’s open office door and gave the man a small wave as he spun around in his chair. Smiling, Irwin held up a finger and farewelled the person on the other end of his phone. Setting it back in its cradle, he stood and shook Serge’s hand.
“There he is, the man with a plan. Come by to check out the space?”
Serge nodded. “Worked through lunch so I could catch you before you leave for the day,” he answered, smiling. “It’s been a while since I’ve had time to set foot inside the Rec center. You’ve been busy - it’s looking great,” he said, gesturing around him at the upgraded facility.
“Yeah it is. As you know, we had a bit of funding come in. Still working for the pool upgrade though. We’ve been plugging the cracks so long, it’s more pa
tch than pool these days,” he said, laughing a little. “The kids don’t seem to notice though, so that’s something. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Serge followed him around, checking out the newly refurbished rooms.
“We run regular workshops and activity programs with the help of volunteers, but the rooms can be booked for anything related to community well-being. There’s a bunch of support groups running in the early evenings, including AA. The donations allowed us to upgrade a bunch of our equipment too. You needed floor mats, right?”
“That’s right; for the throws and floor-work. You think you’ve got what I need?”
Irwin grinned. “I sure hope so. A police run self-defense class would be an excellent addition to the roster. Here’s the new gymnasium. There’s a class on, but they’ll be done soon. You can look through the window if you like,” he offered as Serge stepped forward to do just that.
“It’s big enough, you think?” Irwin asked, sounding anxious for approval.
“I’d say so,” Serge replied, checking out the space filled with frantically moving kids. They danced around with huge grins on their faces as a fast beat pulsed from inside. He couldn’t help but smile as they moved around haphazardly and out of sync, obviously given the freedom of creating their own moves. He recognized a few faces from his sports groups.
“Are the mats stored nearby?” he asked, glancing briefly at Irwin before turning back to watch the kids.
“Just through that door at the end there,” Irwin said, pointing to the far right. “The key to the door is on the same ring as the gymnasium, so just come by the office and grab them when you need to set up. Everything alright there, Serge?”
“Yup.” Serge responded without looking at Irwin. He was too busy watching the teacher as she danced around the children. Her body was slender and seemed almost elastic as she twisted and turned to the beat with a huge smile on her face. “I recognize the teacher. She been taking this class long? The kids look like they’re really enjoying it.”