by C. Penticoff
The waiter walked away and we experienced that awkward moment of silence that two strangers were bound to have--two strangers who clearly were attracted to each other, but who just met and didn't really know what to say.
He stared at his phone for a moment after it dinged, and said, "Sorry, one second." He bit his bottom lip as he tapped away at his phone.
"You're good." It gave me a second to figure out what the fuck to say. He set his phone down and his attention was now on me. "What's your name?" I asked. There we go. That's a good start.
"Kent. And you're...?"
"Isabelle. But everyone just calls me Izzy."
"I knew a girl named Izzy once."
I could tell by the look on his face it was a girl he dated, or fucked, or something. "I'm the better Izzy." I winked and he chuckled.
"I believe you."
The waiter gave us our drink and we continued talking.
"So, what do you do for a living, Miss Izzy?"
This was an interesting question. It made me wonder how old he was. I mean, most of the men I flirt with wouldn't think to ask a twenty year old what they do for a living. He was definitely older than me, but he didn't look what-do-you-do-for-a-living old. "I'd like to go back to school, but working a lot gets in the way of that."
"Where do you work?"
"Nowhere now. I lost my job last week."
"Fired, huh?"
"Ha, actually no. I wish. I was supposed to be paid on a Friday, but my check wasn't at work. The shift leader told us the owner said we'd be getting it Monday. Came to work that Monday and the place was closed." He shifted his head to the side as if he was asking for clarification. "As in, closed down for good."
"You're kidding."
"I wish I was. Mother fucker owes me hundreds of dollars. Thank God we were paid weekly or I'd be even more screwed."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty one," I lied, just in case the waiters were listening. I'd tell him I was really twenty later, if there would be a later for us. "You?"
"Twenty five." He took a big gulp of his drink and tried to hold back his sour face. "Well, at least you don't have to worry about bills, do you?"
I raised my eyebrows and laughed. "Wrong, buddy. I have nine hundred dollars in rent I have to pay every month, plus utilities."
"You've got your own place?" He perked up a little, raising one eyebrow. I can't even describe how sexy he was when he did that.
"Sort of. I live with three of my siblings."
"They're older?"
"They're all younger. Sixteen, twelve, and three." He cocked one eyebrow inward and I knew he was confused. "I take care of them."
"All of them?"
"Well, Tyson takes care of himself for the most part. But he's a huge dumbass, so I gotta make sure he stays in line well enough to pass school. I don't want to be taking care of him longer than I need to, so if I can get him to graduate, maybe get some certificate that will get him a decent job, then we're golden." I gave the okay symbol with my thumb and pointer finger.
"Is it okay to ask the obvious question?"
"What's that?" I knew. The obvious question was definitely about my parents, but I hoped he was talking of a different obvious question.
"Why don't your parents take care of them?"
"Ha. Well, my dad's dead."
"Sorry."
"My mom's…. alive."
He laughed. "I won't press further."
He sounded so sophisticated. He couldn't have been too much older than me, but he was so...debonair.
God, I'd love to fuck him right on this table. See, this is what I meant when I said I had too much to drink. Not that I was above a good one night stand, but I did try to avoid them. It always felt good at the time, but it never really felt great afterwards. Somehow I always ended up feeling used, rather than the user no matter how much I tried to convince myself that all I needed was a night of fun. But a “friends with benefits” wouldn't be so bad.
"What about you? What do you do?"
"I own car lots."
"You're not one of those sleazy kinds of salesmen, are you?" I grabbed my loose tongue with my teeth.
"I don't sell them. At least not in the last couple years."
"How did a twenty five year old acquire car lots?" I mixed my beer, forgetting it wasn't a cocktail.
"They were my dad's. He left them to me."
"Is he dead?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"That had to have been hard."
"No, seriously. He was a dickhead."
I liked his attitude, and he had to have made some decent money. Judging by his expensive suit and the fact that he owned several car lots, he probably wasn't doing so bad.
"What're your plans for the night?"
"I was just gonna eat and head to Alabamas to dance, but I'm down for whatever." Suddenly I felt my face flush red. Oh my God, way to sound desperate.
"What about a fight?"
"Huh?"
"A fight. Every weekend there's an underground fighting competition that takes place in some rich dude’s back yard.”
That’s not what I’d usually be interested in, but he could take me to a pig pen and I’d be happy. As long as I wasn’t by myself looking this hot. Not to mention, I was feeling him.
“Sure, I’m down.”
He insisted on paying for my meal, regardless of the fight I put up about it. I tried telling him I had a gift card we could use to pay for all of it, but he refused to let me. I really wasn’t one of those girls who expected a man to pay for me every time we went out. I mean, I appreciated the chivalry and all, but sometimes the pressure society put on men to pay for and manage everything is kind of ridiculous. I didn’t give him too much grief because I knew it was coming from a good place.
After paying for the meal, he escorted me out to the parking lot. Yes, I used the word escorted because he locked arms with me as we walked to his car, so using any other word wouldn’t feel right. I spotted a newer model of a sleek, flashy Chevy Camaro and an image flashed through my head of driving in my dad’s Camaro with him to his baseball practice. I remember how big the T-Mobile Park stadium looked when I was only five years old--although back then it was called Safeco field. Suddenly, I realized we were getting into that Camaro.
Beep Beep. The car unlocked.
“This is your car?”
“No, I’m stealing it.”
My eyes grew wide. “Oh no, buddy. I’m not riding in a stolen car.” I held my pointer finger up.
“I’m joking. Relax, Izzy.”
“Oh,” I chuckled. It’s not like I didn’t have a sense of humor. It’s just I wouldn’t put it past the dudes I normally hung around to steal a nice car like that.
Of course he held the door open for me and I slid into the black leather front seat. I noticed a button that had red squiggly lines under a seat icon and I knew what that meant: Seat warmers. I always wanted to know what it felt like to have my ass warmed up while I sat in a car. I pushed the button three times to the highest setting and waited for it. Once I began to feel the warmth against my back, I melted into the seat.
“Ready?” Kent asked as he climbed into his seat.
“Ready.”
I was starting to realize this guy was very boujee. From his arm locking to his fancy car and suit, I wasn’t sure why he was interested in me. I figured he’d probably change his mind about me once he realized I was poor as shit.
The car ride was long and we mainly talked about surface level stuff. The sort of stuff you talk about when you’re just getting to know someone, like work and friends mainly. I let him do most of the talking because his life was way more impressive and interesting than mine was.
Finally, after an hour of driving, we pulled up to a gated driveway in the outskirts of Camas, Washington.
Kent opened his door, flipped up the lid on the keypad, punched some numbers in, and the gate opened up. We drove a g
ood quarter mile up a windy asphalt path. I couldn't help but wonder how much that must've cost to lay that asphalt down. My uncle laid asphalt for a living and I know it wasn't cheap.
We finally pulled up to a huge house, with lights flashing inside and music bumping beyond the walls.
There was a man standing at the front door with a black shirt that had bold, white letters which read valet. Instead of pulling up to the valet attendant, we stopped in front of the garage door, Kent pressed the button above his head, and the door opened.
I looked over at Kent, clearly confused, and he laughed. "Are you the rich dude that holds fights in his backyard?"
"Yup." He laughed even harder.
"This is your house?"
"You're surprised?"
"Um. Well, yeah. This house is...gigantic."
The second we walked into his house, the booming sound of the bass hit us like a ton of bricks. Some people stopped to greet us, whereas some women stared at me like I was the Antichrist. I'm assuming they wanted his nuts and wanted me gone. Too bad, bitches. He's mine. At least he was for the night. No doubt this dude had a different woman each night. That thought instantly dried me up. I didn't want to be a notch in his belt. I'm not going to sleep with him. No matter how charming he is. Or sexy. Or mouthwatering.
People were dancing in the living room, which was the size of my entire apartment--no seriously, it was literally the size of my whole house, if not bigger. I saw one chick without a shirt fall from the couch and onto the ground. Another girl who was clearly as drunk as her went to help her up and fell down herself. When she landed, one of the girls stared at the other with drunken, seductive eyes and they started making out. That was entertaining. Then they stopped, laid there, and stared at the ceiling, laughing hysterically. God I hope I'm not that stupid when I'm drunk. Speaking of drunk…
"You got any liquor here?"
"Let me make you a drink," he responded. Kent made me a drink and we made our way to the backyard where the fight would be taking place.
Outside was a fighting area that resembled a boxing ring, except the walls were made of mesh. Surrounding the ring were five rows of chairs, which were already about half filled.
People waved at Kent, and some people even stopped us to talk to them. All of his friends seemed just as boujee as he did, so I was feeling a bit out of place. I looked down at my thrift store dress and wondered if people could tell I wasn't rich.
The lights in the backyard dimmed and a single spotlight shone down on the fighting ring, illuminating into the crowd a little. I wasn’t much of a sports type of girl, but I was feeling excited. Maybe the mixture of alcohol and Kent hyping it up on the way over helped with that.
A male in his mid twenties walked out to the middle of the ring and introduced the two fighters who would be brawling. When the first fighter came out bouncing really high, I realized the ring floor was basically a trampoline.
"What the fuck?" I muttered.
Kent smiled. "Just wait til you see what they do."
After a couple minutes of what felt like the beginning of a professional wrestling match, the fight began.
I hadn't ever seen anything like it. They were fighting while soaring through the air. It was like watching flying ninjas. One guy bounced the trampoline at just the right time, causing his opponent to fly high into the air. Before he could hit the floor of the ring again, his opponent stuck his arm out and totally clotheslined him from a falling position.
"Is that something or what?" Kent nudged me.
"Yeah, it's pretty cool. Have you always been into wrestling?" I had to shout so he could hear me over the noise.
"This isn't wrestling."
I lifted one eyebrow. "Please. It's wrestling with a trampoline."
"Hey, now. This is going to get big. Just wait and see."
"Do you own this?"
"Sure do. Right now it just sucks up money, but pretty soon it will be making me millions."
"We'll see about that," I joked.
It was kind of amazing to observe the difference between his life and my life. Here you have people like me who were barely scraping by, probably going to the food bank a couple times per month and rationing toilet paper. Then you have old blue khakis over here who threw his money towards a bouncy wrestling knockoff. And I knew if that thing didn't take off, it probably wouldn't even bankrupt him.
If I had all that money, I'd be so careful with it.
At least I think I would.
I always daydreamed about what I'd do with a ton of money. Come on, we all do it. I'd think about the spacious, yet humble house I'd buy, big enough to fit me and my siblings, but just small enough to not have any room for my mom. Sorry, not sorry. I'd put my siblings through college. Hell, maybe I'd even put myself through college. I'd invest some of it. Then save the rest. I certainly wouldn't waste it on wrestling. But, this is a free country and people get to throw their money down whatever drain they'd like.
Sometimes it was frustrating thinking about that--about how much money rich people wasted. They throw down a thousand dollars on a new purse, when a thousand dollars would literally save me from being homeless. It's not like they owed me or anything. I just wondered if humans weren't greedy, self centered creatures, how much better would the world be?
It made me wonder what life would be like had my father never died. No doubt we'd have a ton more money than what we have now, and we'd certainly not be stuffed together in our tiny ass apartment on the brink of losing our home. Rent is due in a week. And with one inner thought, my mood crashed. I tried not thinking of the reality of what was going to probably happen. Rent was due the following week. We'd have a short grace period after that to pay it. It gave me a few days to find a job.
I'm gonna have to call Paul.
That thought really fucked with my mind. I hate stripping. But what choice do I have?
Chapter Four
I woke up the next day feeling a bit guilty for bailing out so quickly on Kent the night before. Once I started thinking about our money issues, and the fact that I was going to have to resort to stripping for money, it completely ruined my night. Not to mention, my buzz was going away and I started getting really tired. Thankfully, he paid an uber to get me home. He also paid two people to get Bailey's car home, so I wouldn't have to worry about driving. Imagine being so rich, you can pay three different people just to get one person home who didn't even fuck you?
I scrolled through my contacts and stopped when I reached Paul. I clicked his name and then selected send message.
Hey Paul. Do you have a spot for me tonight? I erased the message and thought for a moment. Do I really need to do this? There’s gotta be some other way I can get quick cash. I knew there wasn’t though, and that if there was, I wouldn’t be able to figure it out on time. Rent was due the next week. I just had to suck it up.
Me: Hey Paul. Do you have a spot for me tonight? I typed out again. This time, I pressed send.
Paul: Always, doll face. But only if you wear the cowgirl outfit.
Me: What time am I up?
Paul: I’ve only got a spot at 2:30.
Me: I’ll be there at 1:30.
Of course the only spot that was left was the late spot. Oh well. At least I’ll leave with half my rent money. If I did that two times, I’d have rent money and at least that would give me some extra time to find a job. Electricity was going to get shut off, but that was okay. We had gone weeks without electricity before.
I thought about Bailey and wondered if they had any information on the internet about her being locked up. I googled Cowlitz County jail roster and instantly found the correct link. I scrolled through the list and found her name, with the charge of “Failure to appear,” and that her court date would be Monday. I knew that meant that she’d probably be released Monday morning, so I just needed to wait to hear from her. I hoped she wouldn’t mind me sucking up her gas to get to Portland that night. I’ll just throw a twenty in her gas tank after I le
ave.
***
"Tyson, help me make dinner." I set my keys and shopping bag on the counter.
"Dude, I just started playing." It was hard to hear him through the gunshots and bombs going off in his game.
"Pause it."
"Fine," he groaned and rolled his eyes.
"Coyote should be back soon, and I need you to watch her tonight." I unloaded all the ingredients for enchiladas from the paper bag.
"Izzy, I have plans tonight."
"You're gonna have to cancel whatever plans you have because I have to go to Portland." I tossed Ty an onion and he caught it in his right hand. "Dice that up, please."
"Why are your plans more important than mine?" He grabbed a cutting board and knife and began dicing the onion as I tossed the ground beef into a skillet.
"Because my plans consist of getting our rent money that's due next month." I grabbed a knife so I could start chopping up tomatoes.
"You're going to shake your ass for old pervs again, aren't you?"
"You've got a better plan?"
"Whoa," he threw his hands up, jokingly.
I realized I was holding the knife in a threatening manner. I Iaughed and told him sorry as I lowered the knife to the counter. I opened up the can of sliced olives and tossed it into the pan with the ground beef.
"I just don't like you going out and being a piece of meat for freaks."
"Maybe you should think about that next time you take your fake I.D. to the strip club."
"That's different. They're trashy."
"Tyson," I snapped.
"What? It's true."
"No, it's not. They probably don't like it any more than I do."
"Most of them do it every night they can. You only do it when you have no choice. There's a difference."
"Don't be a judgmental prick." That's one thing about my brother that I always struggled to accept--his tendency to be judgmental.
"Just be careful tonight, okay?"
"I know." I put a little pan full of oil onto the stove.
"Don't let them touch you."