by Lynn Rider
I nod, before turning back to scrubbing my face, not knowing what to say. “You’re Audrey’s sister, right?” she adds.
“Yeah, she’s my little sister.”
“I’m Brittany.” She reaches over, extending her hand.
“Mia.” I take her hand and smile.
“Nice to meet you Mia. Audrey’s a sweet girl. I hate she got caught up with Paul. He’s ruthless and preys on young girls like her. I knew she was in trouble when he started hanging out here more.”
“He comes in here?” I try to soothe the panic, before the words come out, but the lift of her brows tells me she heard it.
“Yeah, once in a while. Jimmy doesn’t want him here, but Jimmy doesn’t really have a say on who walks through the doors. The only one I’ve ever seen put him in place is one of the guys in Chance’s crew.” She smiles in a very relaxed way as I’m almost having a panic attack at the idea of seeing Paul in here.
“Maybe he won’t come in here now that Audrey moved away,” I say, focusing on removing the eyeliner and fake lashes.
“Rehab?” Our eyes lock in the mirror’s reflection.
“No.” My eyes drop. “Not yet anyway. She promises me she can kick it,” I answer weakly, still not convinced.
“I hope it works out for her. She told me about dragging you through her shit. I’m guessing that’s why you’re up there on that stage.”
“Yeah, I’m trying to pay off Paul.” I glance down to the few crumpled up bills on the counter. “At this rate, I’m going to be here for a long time.”
“Don’t let it discourage you. My first month was horrible. I was scared shitless and couldn’t dance for shit. I hardly made enough to cover the hour and half drive it takes to get here.”
My eyes widen. “You drive an hour and half to get here?”
“I go to MidWest University. You don’t think I’d strip in my own college town, do you?” she teases. Her eyes drop to my bag. “That explains a lot.” She juts her chin toward my ballet slippers in the mesh side pocket of my bag. “I thought you had amazing legs and you’re way too graceful to be up there grinding a pole.” She smiles brightly and winks.
“Thanks. Ballet is my passion…or at least it was. What about you? You said this was all Gigi had going for her. What’s your story?”
She shrugs. “I floundered around for a while, beauty school drop-out, but I got it together. I’m on my last semester and I’m outta here,” she smiles brighter than any of her others and I decide I like Brittany. “Accounting major. I just have to take my CPA exam and hopefully I can move to another city and leave all this behind.” She holds up a fake eyelash and smiles.
“No family here?”
“No, I bounced around foster homes most of my life. When I turned eighteen and the checks stopped coming in, my foster parents kicked me out and got a younger version that came with a check.” She shrugs as if she’s comfortable with it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, you didn’t. I’m okay. I mean…it is what it is. I’m twenty-three and have done a pretty decent job on my own.” Her hand comes up, swirling in the air, and then laughs.
9
Chance
I watch with anticipation as my attorney sits back from his computer screen, his chair squeaking in protest. The heavy sigh is the only warning that I’m not going to like what he has to say. I got up this morning on a mission to get Matthew and Brandon out of that house and away from that woman.
“This doesn’t prove anything,” he says glancing back at the picture Matthew sent me last night. I thought having evidence would help to seal her fate for custody.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t prove anything? This is what they’re living with. There must be a dozen empty beer bottles sitting there, a half empty bottle of liquor and a paper plate full of cigarette butts. She’s smoking in the house despite Matthew’s asthma!” His eyes watch me carefully, his expression not showing any indication of what he’s thinking as I rant.
“All this could’ve been yours,” he says, indicating the photo.
I jump to my feet, my chest expanding in anger. “I don’t smoke and sure as fuck don’t drink like that!” His hands raise, palms up, resigning to my looming presence as I hover over the desk in his direction.
“Calm down. I wasn’t saying it is yours. My point was, they could have been…this could be anyone’s coffee table in anyone’s living room. It could even have been staged. You didn’t see her smoke those cigarettes or drink that alcohol and there’s no law preventing her from doing either. It can only hurt her guardianship if she’s doing it in excessive amounts, which you’d have to witness, repeatedly. And even if you did, it would be her word against yours…and you better believe she’d deny it, Chance.”
I slide back into my seat, knowing his words are spot on. Instead of wanting something better for those kids, she’s the type to drag them down with her. Memories surface of being left alone for hours on end, sometimes days, as my mother left me hungry and scared. The neglect and loneliness of my own childhood is something I’d just as soon forget, and something I’m not willing to let them experience. I don’t know if she’s any better or worse than my mother. I hardly saw her and based on Matthew’s assertion, they hadn’t either.
“Do you think Matthew and Brandon have witnessed her drinking, smoking or…?” I meet his eyes and I know exactly where he’s going with this and I want no part of it. I hated my mother for all the things she did and didn’t do for me growing up, and I never asked them to turn on her. I want to protect them from the harshness of having to grow up too fast. Matthew sending that picture to me was only by circumstance. Without any visitation rights, I’d asked him to take pictures of the house. I wasn’t asking him to tattle or recognize behaviors he has no business knowing about at his age.
“All I want is them out of that environment,” I say resignedly.
“I know you do, but there are a lot of factors involved here. It helps that we’re not fighting their mother this go around. However, I think getting Matthew and Brandon to have a look around could speak volumes.”
“I’m not dragging them through that! We talked about this the last time I considered fighting for custody from my mother. I don’t want them looking for shit they shouldn’t know about. I want it as peaceful as possible. I’ll settle with her, give her money every month to stay out of our lives. I’ll do whatever it takes to give them a better life.” My eyes lock on his hoping he sees the sincerity in it. Nothing means more to me than those two boys.
“I understand, but I think it would more than likely speed this process up.”
“No,” I say firmly.
He nods as if he expected that reply. He picks up a legal pad and pen. “Let’s talk about if you get custody…and Chance, that’s a big ‘if’. How will you provide—”
“I can provide better for them!”
“It’s not based solely on what you can purchase. People don’t get to knock on other people’s doors and take children from their custody because they can buy better.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “God, I really wish we would’ve acted on this soon after your parent’s death. It’s always harder to undo something.” His chubby fingers knead at his forehead.
It’d only been a week since their deaths and I thought it was a given they’d live with me. I expected some sort of paperwork to make it official, but I never dreamt I’d have to race my mother’s sister to the courthouse to file my petition.
“This fight will in part be what she isn’t providing for them.” His attention turns back to the image on his computer screen. The subtle shake of his head has me believing for the first time since walking in, he’s on my side. “The other part being that if she isn’t deemed fit, that you are.”
“I’ll do anything. Those two boys are all I have in life, Edward.”
“How will you juggle career and home life? These boys are going to need around the clock care. You already provide private education
. You’re still paying for that, right?”
“Yes, Vic went over the arrangement with her. The car picked them up this morning and took them to Brinnwood Academy.”
He nods, approvingly. “Good, don’t stop that. What about your career? It’s not the most family friendly. Do you have a steady girlfriend, potential wife?” I shake my head, fighting back the pinch of disgust from covering my face with the idea. “Boxing takes you away from home for long hours training and then there are the fights. You hold multiple belts, surely you’re going to defend those.”
“I’ll figure it out. I only have two more fights this year. The next one isn’t for another three months. I’ll cut back. I can work with the association and my endorsers. I’ll hire a nanny. I’ll hire a teacher full-time to home school them. They won’t be left at home, they can travel with me.”
He watches as another bout of desperation pours from my mouth and it kills the high I had walking in here today. I thought the picture would seal the deal, or at least require some sort of home inspection. Now my schedule is going to be the issue.
“Chance, I’ll start working on this, but you better start working on that. That isn’t going to hold up. You need to think about whether it’s more important to have them away from that environment even if it means custody isn’t given to you.”
“What does that mean? Who would they go to?”
“Foster parents,” he deadpans.
“Over my dead body!” I jump from my seat and pace the length of his floor to ceiling windows. I pause, looking out over the St. Louis skyline. The Gateway Arch dominates the view.
“Parenthood isn’t a part time gig, Chance. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
I take another minute looking out the window. I haven’t felt this helpless since I was little. Fighting off the Johns that came and went, treating my mother and me however they wanted. When I shift on my feet, my own reflection shows in the glass.
I’m not that little boy anymore. I’m a grown man.
A fighter.
No one fought for me, but I damn sure will for them.
“Absolutely.”
10
Mia
“So, you haven’t seen Paul?” Audrey asks, her voice coming through the line, low and timid. I’m not sure if that’s because she fears me yelling at her because of her concern, or that she’s sensing my lingering anger about being thrust into this shit.
“No, he said he wasn’t going to bother me as long as I keep up my end of the deal.” I have until the end of the month to get him the next five thousand dollars. Mentally calculating the money I’ve earned swinging my tits on that stage over the last week and half, he’ll be in the club on the first for non-payment.
“He doesn’t always do what he says he’s going to do. That’s the only reason I ask.”
“I hear through Brittany that Jimmy doesn’t want him in there.”
“Paul is his own man, Mia. He goes where and does what he wants.” She laughs proudly— that pisses me off.
“How are things going in Texas?” I ask, changing the subject. The thought of Paul walking into that club on any given night isn’t something I want to ponder on.
“It fucking smells like shit.”
“You’re on a farm, Audrey. With animals. They shit.” I smile, holding in my laughter.
“I know you’re happy you sent me here, but really Mia, I want to come back. I’ll even dance. Maybe between the two of us, we can pay it back sooner,” she whines.
“Nope! I have this under control.” I lie, knowing I don’t have shit under control.
I’ve taken that stage ten nights in a row and haven’t gotten any better. When I’m not at the ballet studio, I’m online studying pole dancing videos. The only lesson I’ve learned so far is that I’m a ballerina, through and through.
“Aunt Donna is always up in my shit. She wakes me up before dawn. Before dawn, Mia!” she repeats as if the idea is most absurd thing she’s ever heard. Although to Audrey, the only sunrises she’s seen are those on her way home from the bar or partying from God knows where.
“She’s doing us a favor, Audrey. I don’t want to be an asshole, but you are safe and as long as you’re not hanging out with bad people, you seem to be doing okay.” I cross my fingers, hoping she will be okay while being locked away on that farm with no transportation or phone to contact any of those shitty people.
“I’m just so damned bored. Aunt Donna tried to get me to ride a damn horse the other day. It’s bad enough I have to shovel their shit!”
“Take a class. Isn’t there a community college nearby?”
She groans. “You and your damn college. I’ll go when you do, okay?” she says sarcastically. I’d love to go back—if the option were mine. Shit, I’d like to have the time to ride a damn horse. The doorbell rings and I hop off the couch.
“I gotta go. I’ll call you again in a few days.” I hang up before she has time to launch back into another spiel about wanting to come home.
I open the door. Brittany stands, smiling excitedly on my small front porch with a garment bag flung over her shoulder and a little boom box speaker in her hand.
“Hey. Come on in.” I wave my hand into the small space with a smile. I’m thankful that despite the fucked up situation Audrey has landed me in, I may have actually found a friend.
“You ready to learn some moves?” She shimmies her tits, stepping into my small cottage. Save for the bathroom, it’s all one room. The only divide in space is done with the grouping of furniture. Bedroom in one corner, living and dining share a spot, and then the section off the far wall, my kitchen. “I love your house! It beats the hell out of my dorm room.” She smiles, dumping the bag over the back of the small couch and taking off her coat.
“Thanks. It’s cheap, and well, you know how important that is.” I laugh, knowing she does. Over the past few nights, in that dingy, dark dressing room, I’d told her more of what Audrey buried herself in and what I’m trying to dig us both out from under. She’s opened up about growing up being jostled around from home to home and trying to find her footing in society.
When I got off stage last night and failed, yet again, to make more than twenty bucks on a dance, she took pity on me and volunteered to drive into the city earlier than our shift so she could give me some pointers.
“You ready to do this?” I nod, nervously. “Don’t look like you’re about to throw up. That’s rule number one.” She thumbs through her phone and syncs it to her little speaker. I take a deep breath until the thumping music comes through the little device.
I vow that after my stint as a stripper is over, I’m never listening to music. Ever. I’ll want nothing but absolute silence. Each girl at work has her own playlist, so every genre has been ruined for me.
“First off, you have a rocking body and you’re extremely flexible. I think your music is part of your problem. You’re letting the DJ pick your shit and that doesn’t work. We have to find what your body naturally moves to.”
“I don’t think my body moves to any of that kind of music.”
“That’s the other part of your problem.” She points at me with a smile. “You have to come to terms with being up there. We’re all up there for different reasons. For people like Gigi, it’s a way of life. But for you and me, it’s a merely a stepping stone. You need to keep that in mind while you’re there. Don’t fight it, because everyone will notice.”
I nod, that making more sense than the “no oils, no glitter, shave your legs against the grain, and your bikini area with the grain” pointers Jimmy gave me when he hired me. The music changes again and it’s slower, erotic. Its beat is more seductive than pulsing. Brittany watches my reaction and I tilt my head from side to side, kind of liking it.
She starts moving and encouraging me to follow in her lead. She prances seductively toward the front door and slides against the wood, grinding toward the floor, opening her legs in a way that would surely leave little the imagination if
she weren’t in leggings.
She steps away and motions toward the door, still moving as she moves to the side. I try to copy her movements, feeling silly, but more confident than I have in any other time.
“See, you’re doing it. Feel the music. Close your eyes if you have to,” she calls just over the volume of the slow rhythmic beat.
She makes me put on a pair of platform, glittery torture devices on my feet and we spend the next hour prancing, dancing, and grinding against things in my little house. She’s perfect in every move, me only mediocrely improving, but with a new playlist created, I feel better about taking the stage tonight.
We both fall on the couch and kick our glittery-heeled feet onto the coffee table. Her head falls to the side, looking at me with a sincere smile. “I think you’re going to beat your twenty-dollar record tonight.”
I burst out with laughter, the idea of how disillusioned I was going into this, thinking it was going to be a lot of easy money, coming back to me in full force. I made fourteen dollars that first night and haven’t made more than twenty bucks a dance since.
“Good thing Jimmy schedules me for five dances a night now. I only need like eighty-three more nights this month to earn Paul’s next installment.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks, looking up to the ceiling.
“I don’t know. Skipping town has come to mind,” I laugh, but it’s humorless. “I talked to Audrey just before you got here. She said it wouldn’t surprise her if Paul came into the club at some point. I’m already scared as hell of him that if I saw him while I was up there, I’d probably piss myself.”
“Don’t worry about him. Jimmy won’t let him stay. I’ve seen him in there a few times, but Jimmy was always quick to run him off once he realized he was there.”
Her confidence isn’t contagious and the worry still roots in my belly. Just seeing him would upend me enough to ruin my night. I’m not going to have the money and so I’ll have to face him sooner or later.
“How’s Audrey? She stayin’ clean?”
“I think so, but she’s getting antsy already. I kind of figured farm life wasn’t going to be for her, but I thought between the hole she’s dug and my anger about being dragged into it, she wouldn’t complain.” I throw my head back, staring at the ceiling with a heavy sigh. “But typical Audrey, she’s bitching about wanting to come home.”