Fighting Chance

by Lynn Rider

  I take a lungful of air, trying to get my breathing back to normal as I watch his taillights disappear down the empty street. I creep toward my door, shedding my coat off and climbing behind the wheel.

  Taking a deep breath and willing myself to not cry, I fumble with my phone.

  “This is Aud, you know what to do.” Her voicemail slices through the quiet within the car. “Audrey, I need to talk to you. I just saw your friend from the other night.” My voice cripples with fear at just the mention of him and I hang up, hoping she’ll call me. I start my car and head in her direction, knowing she won’t.

  The neon pink willowy woman-shaped sign glows, illuminating the dark parking lot of my sister’s club. Audrey’s been bartending at The Big Shebang for close to a year, being an all-female strip club and me, not really the bar kind, I’ve only been here a handful of times.

  I find a parking place and race toward the building, glancing over my shoulder a few times, searching for Paul in the dark edges of the lot. My nerves go down a level when I dart from the parked cars and the two large bouncers that stand under the pink canopied entrance look my way. I slow my pace, despite the bitterly cold temperature.

  The big blonde guy on the left holds the door handle. “You got ID sugar?” he asks with a flirty smile. I show my ID and he inspects it with a grin. “You Audrey’s sister?” he asks, his eyes skirting up my body.

  “Yeah.”

  He opens the door with a wink. “Have a good time,” he says just before the music overcomes us.

  My eyes scan the club, forcing myself to ignore the two strippers on the stage, front and center of the room. I push through the crowd when I see Audrey at the bar, talking over a tray of drinks with a scantily dressed waitress. When the waitress walks away, her eyes lift, immediately finding mine. A moment of sorrow passes over her eyes before she schools her features, replacing it with her usual cold mask of indifference. By that look, I know she’s heard my message and anger fuels me. I’ve been worried, maybe to the point of nagging, but fuck her if she’s going to drag me through this and act as if she’s the victim.

  “We need to talk!” I yell, standing on the bar’s foot rail. She turns, ignoring me as she waits on another customer. I step down, waiting not so patiently. The guy is flirting with her. Her reaction is forced, but he’s too drunk to notice. She hands him a beer, he says something else, and then walks away. She looks back my direction, indecision in her eyes. “Now!” I step away, waiting for her to follow. She says something to the other bartender and he nods, looking at me.

  “Where’s your coat, Mia?” Audrey asks as we step out the back door of the club. Her eyes drop down my body taking in my black leggings and tunic I wore to ballet class tonight.

  “It’s in the car.” I don’t tell her it’s covered in vomit. “I saw Paul after I closed the studio tonight. Just like the other night, he was waiting in the shadows, but this time he was waiting for me, Audrey!” Her eyes drop to the ground. “He said some pretty fucked up things about you owing him money and that you’re not paying him back. How deep are you this time?”

  I’m transported right back to when she was a teenager. Our parents took a second mortgage on their house to pay off her debt that time. Only with two mortgages on that house and one on the dance studio, we had to sell everything after their death. We’re out of options this time.

  “I owe him a little over twenty thousand,” she mumbles.

  “Twenty fucking thousand dollars, Audrey! How in the fuck did you get that deep with someone like him?” I turn walking in circles. “And you call me fucking naïve. You’re a goddamn idiot!”

  “Fuck you Mia. You don’t understand—”

  “I don’t understand? I don’t understand?” A manic laugh bubbles up. “Oh, I understand perfectly Audrey. You’ve gotten mixed up with the wrong people…again! All those times you were bitching about my nagging, it was because the truth hurt, didn’t it?”

  “My life sucks!” she shouts. I stop pacing and look back to her.

  “And now my life sucks. Other than addiction, you haven’t been through anything I haven’t. We both lost our parents, Audrey! I’ve been nothing but supportive of you.” I glance back to the building. “I knew working here was going to cause you problems. An addict can’t work in a fucking bar! I told you that and you didn’t believe me. You said, ‘let me do things my way.’ A lot of fucking good that did you…and now me! He’s after me! That gross mother fucker pinned me to my car, breathing all over me, threatening that he’ll go through me to get to you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mia. Really I am!” she sobs and it’s the first semblance of humanity I’ve seen her show since before my parents died.

  “How much of his money do you have?” I sigh, her silence telling me everything I need to know. I shiver as the wind picks up, whipping between the buildings.

  “Let’s go inside, Mia. You’re shaking. We’ll figure something out. Come in and have a drink.” I don’t buy into her shit, but I allow her to lead me inside because I am shaking. Only I don’t know if it’s the cold.

  5

  Chance

  “You gonna be okay, kid?” I glance over my shoulder to where Vic stands just outside the patio door. The sun set hours ago. Like my mood, all that is left is darkness. Today was harder than I expected. For years, I wished my parents would disappear, but the reality of it isn’t anywhere near as sweet as I had imagined.

  Nobody came to the funeral. We kept it from the press. I only did it for the boys’ sake, wanting them to have something normal for once in their lives. People die and you have a funeral…that’s what regular people do. The irony of that thought almost makes me laugh. They’ve never known normal. If they had, they wouldn’t have stood in a cold graveyard this afternoon, watching as their junkie parents were lowered in the ground.

  Hopefully one day, they’d only be left with the closure that comes with the memory of putting their parents to rest and forget about all the shitty things they’d heard and seen in their short lives.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I finally answer.

  “You sure about that?” He slides into the seat next to me.

  “I’d come to terms years ago that they’d never be part of my life.” Although, after seeing their coffins lowered into the ground today…it was clear I held out hope for Matt and Brandon.

  “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect you. I know how that is. I’ve lost a lot of people in my sixty-four years. Even when you can rationalize it, hell even when you ask for it, it can still get to you.”

  I take a deep breath. I know Vic has seen his fair share of loss: his wife Judy, his parents, and countless kids he’s pulled from the streets, only for them to find their way back into trouble. I did more than ask for this, I wished for it—over and over. I’m not ready to admit to that.

  “Thanks, old man.” Needing to change the subject, I sit back wrapping my hand around his neck and squeezing, playfully.

  “Don’t old man me…I can still take you down, kid. And don’t you forget it.” He laughs, punching me in the side as I feign pain from his blows. “You got a nice place here,” he says, his eyes raking the length of the long patio that covers the entire backside of my house. I bought the place last year, but never have anyone over.

  “Thanks.”

  “You and those boys got a shit hand dealt to you, but now you have the chance at making their lives a lot better.” He nods over his shoulder where I left Matt and Brandon inside watching a movie on the large screen television.

  I think about his comment and laugh to myself. “I don’t know the first thing about raising kids.”

  “You don’t have to. You just have to love them. If you do that, and I know you do, then the rest is easy. You protect them from all the dangers in the world.” His face tilts my direction. “Sometimes that’ll mean protecting them from you.”

  I nod, understanding that I’m not the most stable. I glance over my shoulder when the door opens and Smith walks o
ut, holding three beers in his hand. He hands one to Vic and I before lowering in a chair. “The boys are knocked out in there, looking comfortable as hell on that big ass couch.”

  “They should. They’re home now.” I smile, liking the sound of that. We sit in silence for a few minutes, just three men enjoying a beer together. I try to push aside the memory of Matthew and Brandon’s stoic faces as those coffins lowered.

  “Anything out of Brandon about what he saw that night?” Smith asks, being the first to address the elephant in room.

  “No. Shirley said there’s a chance he won’t ever talk about it. She said he might not even remember it. I don’t really understand it. It’s like memory suppression or something…” My mind shifts to images of what it must have looked like when the poor kid came downstairs.

  “If he blocks it out enough, pushing it to the back of his mind, he won’t remember it all, even if he tries,” Smith says, finishing my statement.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” I say. “She said that could happen or it could fuck him up, too. It’s a wait-and-see kind of thing. As much as I wish he didn’t see anything, I’m worried he did and just won’t talk about it. He’s been quiet.”

  Smith nods, then takes a long pull on his beer. We fall into an uncomfortable silence, none of us knowing what to say.

  “So how about that birthday you have coming up?” Vic smiles, changing the subject.

  “Yeah, the big twenty-eight. What do you want to do to celebrate it?” Smith sits up, putting his empty bottle on the table.

  I look over my shoulder to where the boys are passed out on the couch. “I’d like to have dinner…here.”

  “Like grill or something?” Smith asks. It’s nothing like anything I’ve ever done or even suggested. On the rare occasion when I’ve celebrated my birthday, it usually involved alcohol and a pussy or two—never family.

  “Yeah, I’ll have to buy a grill, but…yeah, that’s what I’d like to do.” I smile.

  “I love that idea. You better watch out kid, Judy used to call me the grill master in my younger years,” Vic says, standing up. “I have to hit the road. It’s late and some of us older folks have to work for a living.” He winks before walking toward the door. He turns back around. “How about I buy you a grill for your birthday? You’re one of the hardest son of a bitches to buy for.” He chuckles, disappearing into the house before I can respond.

  6

  Mia

  Audrey stares blankly across her kitchen and I rethink the entire pitch I just launched. “Say something,” I insist, my plan unraveling by the minute within my head. Her mouth opens and I wait, impatiently, for any confirmation that this is the best shot we’ve got. She turns her back, looking through the kitchen window and my mind swarms for a plan B. But there is no plan B.

  Twenty-thousand is no small debt.

  When I left the club last night, I brainstormed the entire drive home on how much cash I could get my hands on. As soon as I locked myself into my small two-room cottage, I called the numbers on the back of every credit card in my wallet. The grand total of my available cash tallying to a not-so-staggering $4,867.34 — every cent of which, I had transferred into my checking account. Add that to my mere savings of $1,100 and we’ve got a quarter of what is owed to Paul.

  I tossed and turned the rest of the night desperately clinging to any idea to get my sister clean and pay off the debt she owes to Paul without getting either of us killed.

  “It’s the only way Audrey.”

  She turns, facing me with tears in her eyes. “I can’t let you strip, Mia. At least, I’m not going to be the one to help you get on that stage. Even I have boundaries.” Her voice is calm, but my blood boils with her proclamation. All I asked of her was to talk to Jimmy, the owner of the club where she works. Last night, I saw firsthand the outrageous amount of money those women make, but does she seriously think I’m begging to strip? The thought of getting on that stage—naked—isn’t my ideal solution, but it’s all I have and I’m all she has.

  “You have boundaries? Really, because that nasty mother fucker that was rubbing up against me last night, didn’t look like you’ve been shooting for the stars in your standards, Audrey.” She takes my jab, showing no reaction other than the straightening of her spine.

  “Paul isn’t really a bad guy. I think I can work something out with him.”

  “No! You can’t trust him, Audrey!” I get up, pacing the length of her living room, my eyes scanning the fancy townhouse. Hardwood floors, built in entertainment center, cherry wood cabinets and granite countertops in the kitchen. I’ve always wondered how she could afford to live here. It’s easily four times the size of my run-down cottage and has every top of the line upgrade. I naïvely chalked it up to her bartending job. After last night, I know. Paul was helping her, as she put it. What he was doing was putting her in a place where he owned her.

  “Let me talk to him,” she whispers, her voice quivering when she does. I turn, studying her. Her hands and fingers shake and she won’t look me in the eyes and I realize this may be harder than I thought. Last night she told me her addiction was more recreational, that it didn’t own her like it once did. The brunt of the money she owed Paul was for the $1,600 a month rent she was typically unable to make because the club took on more bartenders in recent months, cutting her hours and splitting her tips as a result. But as I stand here, studying her obvious aversion to eye contact, fidgeting hands, I realize I am once again the naïve one. An addict is an addict. There are no lesser forms of it.

  “No! We’ll talk to him. I should have a quarter of his money in my account by tomorrow. We’ll take it to him and get him to agree to a payment plan. Then you will get on a plane to Texas and live with Aunt Donna. She’s willing to give you a safe place to live, food to eat, and pay you a small amount to help out on her ranch—”

  “I’m not going, Mia.”

  “Yes, you are.” I ignore the defiance in her eyes. It’s the same challenge that presented itself over and over to my parents before their death.

  “I don’t want to live with Aunt Donna. She’s never liked me and I don’t want to live in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I don’t care if you don’t want to live there. She’s willing to have you and it’s the only place you can be safe while this gets sorted out. Once I’ve repaid Paul, we’ll figure something out.”

  She stays quiet, but I know she’s sulking. Truth is, I can’t force her to go, but if she wants my help or any relationship with me at all, she’ll go. Her silence tells me she heard the determination in my voice.

  “You need to pack your stuff and stay with me until you leave for Texas. I don’t want him knowing where you are. You can pack what you’re going to keep and we’ll call that second-hand place to come buy the rest.”

  Her head snaps up and her eyes widen. “You’re going to sell all my stuff?”

  “You’re damn right we are and your car, too. You don’t need the payment and we’ll put everything toward what you owe to Paul.” I glance around her townhouse. She has a large TV, nice furniture. “You don’t need anything but your personal stuff. The other things are just material.” I look back to her. Her eyes glisten with tears. “It can all be replaced, Audrey. You can’t.” I say the last softly. She does a hard swallow before giving me a subtle nod.

  7

  Chance

  I step out onto the back patio, the smell of fresh cooked burgers and steaks filling the cold evening air. Vic stands proudly in a swirl of smoke at the grill, spatula in hand and even a fucking apron that says My meat is better than yours.

  “Vic, I can’t take you seriously in that apron.” I smile, handing him a beer and reading the words for the tenth time since he walked through the door wearing it two hours ago.

  “Consider it part of your birthday present. It’s staying with the grill.” He laughs.

  I take a deep breath, the patio heaters staving off the bitter bite of cold, but Mother Nature’s attempt at creepin
g winter into spring still evident in the near freezing temperatures. Otherwise, it’s a perfect evening.

  “Thanks for everything, Vic. This has been the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

  “Shit kid. You deserve a lifetime of good birthdays. Hopefully this is the start of a new tradition.” He taps the tip of his bottle against mine, takes a long pull, and winces. “Damn you and your import shit.” He smiles before turning back to the grill.

  “It’s the best.” I laugh, tilting the bottle against my lips and savoring the taste.

  “You look happy.”

  “Beer makes me happy. I can’t drink this stuff when I’m training.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s more than that Chance. You have a peace within you that I only ever see when you’re in the ring.”

  He’s right. I feel lighter. As if the world isn’t sitting squarely on my shoulders, trying to hold me down. “I’m happy. The boys are safe and I know despite how fucked up I am, I’ll give them more than they could have had.”

  “All I’m saying is that we don’t need a tough looking dog. We need a dog that is practical,” Matthew states, stepping onto the back patio with his tablet in hand. “Look at this dog, Chance.” Matthew extends the tablet, showing a chocolate Labrador.

  I set my beer down. “What am I looking at? Is this the one you want?” I ask, taking the pad from his grasp.

  “This is the one Matthew wants. I want a Doberman or a Rottweiler. Something tough,” Brandon says, sounding more animated than I’ve heard in the week since our parents’ overdose.

  I took the boys to a counselor this week and he recommended giving them something to look forward to. With spring break already over and summer break too far off, a trip is out of the question. I told them we could get a dog. None of us have ever had one, so we’re all looking forward to it, but I left it in their hands to decide which kind.

  “I don’t care, just figure it out and we’ll find a breeder,” I say.

  “Why don’t we go to the pound?” Matthew refutes.

  “You can’t get a good dog at the pound. Those are all the dogs no one wants,” Brandon scoffs.