by Ina Zajac
The orange-vested ferry workers unhooked the thick cable netting and gave the passengers the go ahead to disembark. The distinct double thud sounds began as the cars in front of her rolled out of the ferry, over the metal apron, and onto the dock. She glanced down to her bible and began memorizing Ephesians 6:10-18. “Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground against the schemes of the devil.”
***
VIA
IT SUCKED that she didn’t know the Burton Community Church floor plan better because she could barely see past her sunglasses, wide-brimmed straw hat, and the stack of donut boxes in her arms. Finally, she made her way in through the back doors near the kitchen.
The kids were sitting cross-legged on the floor in clusters of six or seven. All of the groups had an adult group leader except for the one in the front right corner next to the American flag—hers.
Greg, the youth pastor, was on stage running through announcements. “And so thoughts and prayers go out to Jessie Dalton,” he said. “The cast should be off in time for skiing season.”
She put the boxes of donuts on the table, just to have the pastor’s wife, Sarah, pick them back up again. “I’m taking these back to the kitchen,” she said, her tone significantly snotty. “So the children don’t see them.”
Via kept her straw hat on, but took her sunglasses off. “I called Beth,” she said, just above a whisper. “I told her I was still bringing them.”
The pastor’s wife pulled in her thin lips, looked over the top of her glasses, and tweaked up her face. Her return whisper had an edge. “That’s all fine and good, but we needed them an hour ago. What are you wearing?”
Beth joined them, sporting a t-shirt that read, “J is for Jesus—Just be nice.” She had her curly caramel-colored hair pulled back with a thin headband. Beth was Dan’s mother, a supermom who volunteered like seventy hours a week. Her smile could melt ice. She eyed Via’s bag-lady ensemble.
“I get it, full armor of God. Cute, Via. You can go ahead and join your circle.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. Please don’t ask me where I was last night, she thought. She had followed Dan back home to Vashon after they graduated in June. His parents were letting them use one of their three rentals, above KVI Beach in Tramp Harbor. The house was nothing special, but the view was stunning: the beach, the water, and on a clear day, Mount Rainer. And, of course, the KVI radio tower. Her car had been gone all night, which could be a problem. Dan must have told the entire church to check on her often because not a week had gone by without somebody popping in with a pie.
“No worries, love,” Beth assured. “Just go sit down. We’ll put them in the kitchen. The kids can take one on the way out.”
The pastor’s wife pursed her lips. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sticky fingers on car upholstery.”
Helpless, Via let them decide the fate of the five-dozen glazed donuts and made her way toward her group. Each time she flipped or flopped, her sandals emitted a soft squeak, but she just went with it. If she could dance practically naked in front of strangers, she could certainly look like an idiot in front of fifty or so fourth, fifth, and sixth graders. She was making herself sick thinking about those damned donuts. Those kids had depended on her. She would try to override her guilt by teaching the word of God to these innocent little ones. But just as she thought she was home free, the announcements took an unfortunate turn.
“And Miss Via looks lovely this morning, doesn’t she?”
The kids turned and started clapping for her. She did a little spin and was beyond woozy. “Miss Via, won’t you come up on stage?”
She just could not catch a break. The kids in her group looked especially excited. She had intended to use her unfortunate look as a teaching tool just for them, not all fifty kids. She joined Greg on stage, giving him a tense smile.
“Before breaking up into our small groups and reciting Ephesians 6:10-18, I think Miss Via wants to go first.”
This is so not good, she thought, now shaking and sweating. It wasn’t uncommon for the group leaders to dress up and do skits for the kids, but she wasn’t sure if she had the verse down.
“Maybe the kids can just come up and cover me with toilet paper?”
The kids clapped and cheered. Several of them raised their hands to volunteer, but nobody seemed to have any toilet paper. Damn. Greg put the microphone back in its silver stand and left her there in front of dozens of kids who sat staring back at her. It wouldn’t be right to imagine them all naked. Some of them were already laughing, which was just what she was going for. She understood why comedians have water on stage because she was parched. Her tongue felt huge, and it was hard to breathe.
“Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground against the schemes of the devil,” she said. The room was so quiet she feared they could all hear her stomach gurgling. “Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist.” She grasped the end of the orange bungee cord she’d found in the trunk of her car. It was so long she had wrapped it around her waist five times and hooked it onto itself. More kids laughed. “With the breastplate of righteousness in place.” She couldn’t show them the booby shield Matt had created. Instead, she pointed to the scarf around her neck. More laughs, and some clapping.
She tasted chunky Gatorade at the back of her throat, but powered through. “And with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.” She pointed a foot out to the side and—wham—felt herself back on stage at Hotties. But she had to keep going. There would be no gyrating. She had no pole, only a microphone stand. “In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith.” She was going to be sick. “With which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.” She looked out at her kids and saw Beth and the pastor’s bitchy wife. Oh no, she was going to hurl. Dizzy, she tried to brace her wobbling knees.
What was the next line? “I pray the Lord my soul to—”
The kids morphed into whispering fuzz balls. A vortex of voices came at her. She reached for the microphone stand as she fell.
CHAPTER 8
CARLOS
CARLOS THREW the spent condom in the trash behind the bar and went back to his desk. Back to business as usual. Kaytlyn bent over to re-hook her black garters. He took the opportunity to admire the way her tan thighs peeked out between the tops of her stockings and the bottom of her panties. Ah, he thought, the joys of old-school lingerie. She found her red sequined can-can skirt on the floor, stepped into it, and pulled it up.
“What do you think you’re doing, Miss Kandy?” he asked, his tone purposely ambiguous.
She just looked at him, topless and perplexed. All she could manage was a ditzy-blonde, “Huh?”
“Don’t put your clothes back on yet,” he said. “I’m gonna fuck you again before you leave.”
While he had a good time with her body, he found screwing with her head much more satisfying.
She offered up an insecure smile, but held it as she let the skirt fall to the floor.
Amazing, he thought. She actually found that acceptable. She had somehow found some humor, some warmth, where none had been intended. “Keep the stockings on though,” he told her. “Go ahead, do another line.”
Blow got him super horny and he was usually able to get the job done. He felt sorry for guys who couldn’t get it up after too much coke. Such a tragic waste of a stripper.
Kaytlyn was gorgeous, unless she was talking. Could have been a playboy bunny. Could have snagged herself a multimillionaire. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to know that, so she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. She still thought she could change him. He knew he should probably be a bit nicer. He had snaked her from Mattais a few months back. He was uncomfortably high, so he finished off his scotch and soda. “Baby, make me another drink while I make a quick call.”
She was a champ,
willing to do whatever. It’s why she couldn’t pull off the black dominatrix gear that the other girls worked so well. Any girl could be a sex toy, but not every girl was sexy. Confident girls could always play dumb or submissive, but it didn’t work the other way around.
He found the phone number Ben had given him. No last name, just Via. There was something exciting about calling a woman for the first time. Like a new adventure.
He started dialing, but stopped when he caught sight of Kaytlyn in the mirror above the bar.
“I said a line—not two. Watch it.”
She began to apologize, but he issued a glare that silenced her. “And you need to get your roots done.”
While he dialed the number, his mind took a rake to the possibilities. He felt an expansive rush overtake the bitter taste of coke making its way down the back of his throat. This new chick was especially intriguing. It had been almost a week and she still hadn’t called about her prize money. He hadn’t seen her dance, but she’d brought in three hundred dollars in beverage sales, and as far as he knew, nobody had even told her to hustle. This girl could sell pallets of soda and bottled water. She looked clean. He would keep her top shelf for now, just in case he decided to keep her for himself. If he was wrong about her, she could always work the floor…or if she turned out to be more of a Kandy, behind the velvet curtains.
“Here, babe,” Kandy said as she handed him his drink.
Babe? He couldn’t help but smile. “That’s fine for private time,” he told her. “But if you ever call me that in front of someone, I’ll throttle you.”
She smiled.
“That’s good shit, huh?” he asked her. The girl was so high he could say anything and she would just smile. He reminded himself to be nice. Why was it so hard to be nice to her? There would always be other opportunities to make her cry. She was so cute when she cried. “Shush now,” he said. “It’s ringing. Go sit.”
He loved that this new girl looked so much like Sonia. It occurred to him that if he knocked her up, the kid would probably look like Sam or Maya. How furious would Sonia be then? If she wanted to take his kids, he’d just make new ones. Easy. Of course, new babies could never replace his babies. He wasn’t getting anyone pregnant any time soon. Not again. Girls could always say they were on birth control, but girls were evil liars. He wasn’t taking any chances.
He tried not to stare too long at the school pictures on the corner of his desk. Last year’s school pictures. The whore still hadn’t sent new ones. He doubted she’d even signed Sam up for football. Was her new man even into football? He had to think about something else.
This new girl.
And then she answered.
“Hello?” Her voice was delicate and sexy. Damn, he thought.
He busted out his flirty voice. “Hello, Via,” he said. “Carlos Menes, owner of Hotties Gentlemen’s Club. Did I catch you at a good time?”
He took in the moment. Taking this one down was going to be fun. He could feel it.
CHAPTER 9
MATT
MATT WAITED while Whitney’s daughter Bella fished around in her pink backpack just like a woman digging through her purse. She passed over a granola bar, a box of crayons, and a yellow plastic pony.
He picked the pony up. “Oh hey, Fluttershy,” he said, holding it up so Nick could see it.
Nick shot him a shut-your-face look.
“What?” he laughed. “You don’t want Bella to know we’re secretly Bronies?”
They were cartoon connoisseurs. My Little Ponies: Friendship is Magic was one of their favorites, especially when they were blazed, which was often.
Bella lit up when she found the book she had been searching for. “Read, Matt, please?”
Hotties didn’t open for another hour so the lobby was empty, except for Nick. How convenient, he had papers to shuffle at the welcome podium. Whitney said she just needed a few minutes to talk to Ben before taking Bella to a doctor’s appointment. Something about vaccinations. Bella didn’t seem nervous, so he didn’t mention it.
She scooted across the couch making a squeaky noise. “That’s a funny sound.” She bounced up and down a few times, giggled, then settled in against his side.
“That’s because it’s pleather and not real leather or fabric,” he said. “It’s much easier to clean.” She looked up and gave him a baffled look. He felt super creepy for mentioning the merits of easy-clean strip club furniture to a six-year-old girl. Move on, he told himself. Just move on.
“Okay then,” he said and opened her book. He saw the tag inside was labeled Gatewood Elementary School. He swallowed hard. The thought of all of the snotty little hands and unchecked sneezes that had touched the pages made him want to hurl. He reminded himself that his go-to hand sanitizer was in his front jeans pocket; he tried to mellow into acceptance of the situation, but couldn’t. He focused. I’m good. I’m good. I’m good, he reminded himself.
He put the book next to her and pulled out his sanitizer boasting 70 percent ethanol, none of that weak organic crap. He put a dab of clear gel into her hand, and then gave himself a big-boy dollop. She watched him rub his hands together and did the same.
He sang the alphabet song as he rubbed his hands together. He had hoped she would join in, but she just giggled at him.
He heard Nick laugh, too. “That sounds tight, bro. Let’s get that on the set list.”
Matt didn’t find it funny, but Bella was too cute to ever frown at. “I sing the alphabet song in my head when I wash my hands. You know why?”
She shook her head and sat back on the couch as though she expected a riddle.
“Because that song is twenty to twenty-five seconds long, and that’s how long it takes to kill germs.”
“Read now?” she asked. Her expression was soft yet convincing. She looked like her mother. Everyone liked Whitney, who wrapped her model-perfect legs around the pole better than anyone. Nick was especially fond of her, but said he liked her way too much to ever hook up with her. To Matt, she seemed that kind of mellow girl who’d be a total catch for a guy in his thirties. A gym hound who rarely partied, she wasn’t a typical stripper. It was clear to everyone she was all about the money. Her regulars were funding her education. She said every lap dance brought her a little closer to her nursing degree, and a good life for Bella.
“Wouldn’t you rather play a game on my phone?” he asked her. “Look, Pesky Parrots.” He held out his phone for her inspection. He could feel panic pooling in his gut. One, two, three, he thought. I have sanitizer. I’m good. I’m good.
She shook her head so decisively that her piggy tails swung back and forth in a clear, “no way” pattern. “Read,” she said and pointed to the picture of the princess staring out of the tall castle window.
His heart fell like a brick when he saw her captivated by the perfect pastel picture. He wanted to warn her not to wait for a handsome prince because they usually turned out to be posers or losers. He wanted to tell her that in the real world, princes were rarely in the position to rescue anybody. Most couldn’t even afford a decent horse much less a castle or a kingdom. But who was he to ruin a little girl’s fairytale. Still, he could put some new-school spin on it.
“Why would a princess want to wait inside her castle when it looks like such a pretty day outside?” He pointed to the bright yellow sun smiling in the corner of the page.
She rolled her baby-doll eyes and yelled over to Nick. “Will you read? Matt’s not being a good listener.”
Nick looked over from his paperwork and gave his friend a you-are-ultra-lame look. “One minute, okay?” he said with a smile. “Just need the boss to sign this and I’ll take over.”
Matt felt a mix of relief and embarrassment. “Geez, princess, you are making me look so bad,” he said.
She laughed, “You’re silly.”
“No doubt,” he said. “Hey, how about if I make up a story for you?”
“Yes, yes,” she said and clapped her hands.
&
nbsp; He put the book down, leaned over, and craned his head around the lobby wall to see Whitney and Ben next to the deejay booth. She looked annoyed. The dancers often complained about the deejay and house fees they were required to pay, but he tried not to get involved. Ben was the manager and Carlos had his back.
“Okay, here we go. Once there was this little girl,” he began.
“You mean ‘Once upon a time, there was a princess,’” she said, looking up at him with anticipation.
“Fine, she’s a princess, and she’s beautiful. Okay, so the princess decided to go outside and enjoy the day with her friends.” He looked down at her to check her level of engagement. She eased into his side, attentive. “And so the princess got on her horse and—”
“Can it be a unicorn?”
“It can be anything you want it to be.”
“It’s a white unicorn with a pink mane,” she said. “And its horn is sparkly.”
“Got it. Sparkly,” he said. “So she galloped down to the village on her beautiful unicorn. Its name was Sparkles,” he said. He looked down and was relieved to see her contentment, so he continued. “She and Sparkles found a big green meadow where there were lots of other happy little princesses playing soccer. And so she gave Sparkles an apple to eat, and then went to play soccer too.”
“No, ballet.”
“Ballet?”
“They were ballet dancing. In sparkly tutus.”
“Okay, Bella, it’s your story, you finish.” Her cuteness was undeniable. He had to admit that some kids, with the proper adult supervision and unlimited hand sanitizer, had the potential to be pretty cool.
“The princesses danced and twirled,” she said. “And she was the prettiest one, and then a prince came to see her dance.” His smile faded fast as he realized where her story was going. “And then he took her back to his castle and they got married. And then they all lived happily ever after. The end.” She offered up a smile so wide he could see she had lost another tooth.