Lady Sings the Blues

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  “Yes Ms.—”

  “Manning,” Elise says.

  Right at the same time I shoot out, “Hollister.”

  “Manning,” she says again. Now looking at me. “We aren’t married yet. My license still says Manning.”

  “Your license still says Illinois,” I correct her. “Why have ‘em gettin’ use to Manning when in a couple weeks they’ll be changin’ it over to Hollister, anyway?” I wink.

  “Couple weeks?” she yells. “Did you hit your head? I figure at least a year.”

  “A year? Oh no, no, no. Already wasted five of ‘em.”

  “So then what’s another year?”

  “Time we’ll never get back. Bet Hadley wishes she had another year. Sure as shit know Duke wishes he had ‘em.”

  “That’s unbelievably sweet, Beau.”

  “I’m a sweet guy.”

  “You’re an arrogant guy, yet your point has merit. I said yes, which means I’m sure about you. About us. So really, what the hell would we be waiting for?”

  “You tell me, darlin’.”

  “It takes time to plan a wedding?” It’s cute when she answers me in questions. Nervous habit I hope she never loses.

  “You want big?” I ask.

  “No, actually. Well strike that—yes.”

  I wince.

  She chuckles. “Not what you think. I want a pig roast, with a whole pig. And I want you to invite everyone who’s important to you. Brothers and old ladies, as long as you don’t invite your parents or Candy.”

  “Elise.”

  “No, Elise. Your parents hate me, and Candy was your long-term fuck toy.”

  “What I was gonna say is you got nothin’ to worry about because George and Margo will not be gettin’ an invite. And please give me some credit here. I might be redneck, but invitin’ former fuck buddies to my weddin’ seems too redneck even for me.” That brings out the sweetest smile in the world.

  18.

  Elise

  Never did I see myself watching a pole dance, especially up close and personal. No judgment. I mean, I’d been a phone sex operator. Though, I never saw myself as a biker’s old lady, either. Life certainly has thrown me some curve balls.

  The way she swings upside-down using one leg, no arms. These women aren’t sleazy. They’re acrobatic with sick core muscles. Two dance to pay for Masters programs, and one for medical school. And they’ve impressed me.

  Seriously. Slick, the MC’s newest acquisition, has some pretty fantastic dancers, with some pretty fantastic abs.

  Before Beau sat me down in my very own office, at my very own desk cluttered with blueprints and contracts this morning, talking me through the brothers’ vision for the club, I’d never been inside a titty bar. No reason to. I have them so why pay money to see others? Their vision though, now that the renovations have started, is off the charts cool. Like I’d do girls nights out here just for the décor kind of cool.

  First off, the walls have been painted black. Tables and chairs in a black lacquered finish as well. To the right when you walk in is the bar. The bar has a serpentine ripple to hold the maximum amount of bodies, classy black high back bar stools with a grate pattern along the high backs sit intermittently along the ripple. Opposite the bar is the VIP section with high backed leather, half-circle pleated seating. Each individual seat has a small square table set in equal spaces apart from each other to set beers or shots down on.

  The VIP section is semi-private for lap dances. Then there’s the stage. Three stages actually. The main one is the largest, an oval with a prominent pole and plenty of room for exotic dancing. Then there are two smaller satellite stages for private bachelor parties and the like. Blue light cascades down over everywhere. All glassware is frosted to look like ice so they appear to glow under the blue lights.

  Even the new waitress uniforms look like class. Our version of the little black dress, shimmery satin, sleeveless with a bustier bodice, fitted and only dropping an inch below their bottoms. A slit up each thigh, almost reaches the crotch and there’s a shimmery black satin pocket sewn on the front between the two slits to hold the float and tips. The pocket blends in with the rest to reveal a seamless look.

  The women are allowed to wear the shoe of their choice as long as the heel is three inches or higher and black. As I said, class. The men already had the concept down. Had started gathering materials and stores such as tables, chairs, glasses and uniforms all kept in a warehouse while searching for the right location. Smart. Really smart. Because as soon as they signed on the dotted line, renovations started. Which is why, after only owning the place for a couple days, they’re so far ahead. For a real high end titty bar, which this place is, we require high end atmosphere, dancers and wait staff. Only the best for our customers.

  Once Pepper, the girl we’d been watching, our med student, finishes her dance, I rush the stage because in this moment I couldn’t be more excited if I were in Disneyland instead of a titty bar and she was Cinderella instead of our headlining dancer.

  “Would you consider teaching classes?” I ask, although the asking sounds more like down on my knees with hands clasped against my chest begging. “Because I seriously want to put a pole in our bedroom like, yesterday.” My eyes cut to Beau’s wide ones as he listens with an air of rapt excitement. “I think it would be good for the club, teaching classes not the putting a pole in my bedroom, pulling in a female clientele. That’s a whole lot of untapped revenue. Plus, if women know what it’s about and how good a shape they’d be in, I see less dramas showing up on our doorstep from women who might not like their men hanging out here. I read in the paper, just last week a man and a bouncer were sliced by a broken bottle because the guy’s wife showed up at another club. Drama and expense we don’t need.”

  “That’s fuckin’ brilliant,” he whispers into my hair, arms wrapping around my waist from behind. “Why didn’t I want you workin’ here?”

  “Because you’re a caveman who wanted me barefoot and pregnant, and afraid titties would offend me.”

  “Recoverin’ caveman,” he counters. “And yes, I still want you pregnant. But I’m so glad to know titties don’t bother you.”

  “I have them. Even been known to whip them out when my man’s being a good boy.”

  “Don’t I know it…but I’m never a good boy, darlin’. I’m all man.” He shoots a grin. It’s big and it’s wicked.

  “Compromise, then. We’ll put a daycare in the back. Show our kids that boobs aren’t a big deal.”

  “Fuck no!” He protests.

  “Why?” I do not like the direction this conversation is heading one bit.

  “Why? And rob my boy this father-son bondin’ moment? They’re tits not udders. It’s a big moment in a boy’s life when he discovers the true beauty of a pair of double Ds.”

  But, “That’s just contributing to rape culture.”

  “Not my boy. He will know how to respect women and that no sure as fuck means no.”

  “What if we have girls?”

  He shrugs. “Boobs are just boobs. Seein’ as she won’t be datin’ until she’s twenty-five and I reserve the right to handpick the bastard, it’ll be up to her old man to show her the beauty.”

  “I’m sorry, you’re going to handpick her boyfriend at twenty-five?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s older than I am now, you realize. Older than we could possibly be having said daughter. And my father never chose who I dated.”

  “Elise, darlin’, look how that turned out.”

  Okay, now I’m pissed. “Horrible.” I reply. I can see the smugness creep onto his beautiful face. “Because I ended up with a caveman biker who can’t seem to remember women won the right to vote, own property, fight in wars, run countries.” This last part I say in my best Scarlet O’Hara, as I clasp my hands over my heart, batting my lashes at him, “Whatever would we do without a big, strong man to help us decide how many breaths to take in a day?”

  Pepper, who�
�d been listening, snickers.

  “That’ll be enough.” He warns.

  “Will it? Will it be enough because my man decides for me it’s enough? What happened to you? This is not the Beau I knew in high school.”

  “You’re right. I grew up.”

  “More like fell down—in IQ points.”

  “Might as well face it, that Beau’s gone. Probably forever. Best remember that’s not the Beau who won the girl, this one is.”

  “What? That Beau did win the girl,” I threw at him. “He just didn’t want her enough in the end.”

  “Elise, laundry.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Along with one long, frustrated breath—which when I feel him tense behind me I know he understands—I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. Yet again, how the hell are we supposed to make it for the long haul when all we seem to do is fight? “Pepper, think about classes. I’m heading to my office. Paperwork to go over. Contractors, new girls, inspections.”

  This club could be my dream job, if Beau would only let up. As of right now, he’s made it a nightmare. Done dealing with his caveman antics, I yank out from his hold. In my mind I’m storming off to my office. The way I pull away, he knows he’s upset me. In reality, to the rest of the club, nothing should appear off.

  But apparently the caveman doesn’t take the hint that I’m done with him for now, as I only just sit down in my chair behind my desk when I hear, “I wanted you, and you damn well know it.”

  “Get over yourself, Beau. I’m done arguing.”

  For once, he says nothing. Stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips. On any normal day, I’d internally cheer. Today, though, today his silence and the look of confusion he throws my way, infuriates me.

  “I’m not stupid, this caveman you’ve got going. It’s about Logan.” I seethe. “Logan happened. What’s more, I don’t regret it. I regret how things ended up, but we—the three of us—had some really great times together. And you can’t keep punishing me because your damn cousin beat you to the punch. You, you lunk-head, you became my rock, the person I turned to while Logan derailed. At least until everything fell apart. Yes, I will concede that I kept us apart, too. But that’s done. I’m here now. You’re here now. We don’t have to live under the shadow of Logan because there isn’t one. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

  After my lengthy, and in my opinion, well executed speech, the only reaction I get? Beau blinks. “We done?” he asks. “I like screwin’ my woman so much more than fightin’ with her.”

  And I like the idea of being screwed. Though with all the pounding it’s taken today, my vagina will be sore tomorrow. Still, our conversation is far from over. “I just—I just need to feel like you respect me. That I’m your partner, not some burden.”

  “Hey.” He moves finally, coming behind the desk to turn my chair to face him, and tilts my chin up with the tip of his finger to look me in the eyes. “You are always my partner, baby girl. Always. Never in your life could you be a burden. Even if I had to carry you on my back or wipe your ass for you, you’d never be a burden.”

  Well how about that? Old Beau’s sweetness showing through.

  “You say that now.” I tease, “Until the time comes you honestly find yourself wiping my ass.”

  “We’re lifers, Elise. Not gettin’ rid of me that easy. Now, I believe one of the concessions in hirin’ you was that you’re willin’ to sleep with the boss.”

  “Okay.” I smile up at him. “Get Chaos in here.”

  “Not funny. Not even close to funny.”

  My eye roll lets him know how funny I think it is.

  “This bein’ your first day,” he continues. “You wanna look over contracts or break in this desk?”

  Hmm…contracts or penis? Contracts or penis? I don’t bother to answer, unbuttoning my blouse instead of words. He smiles that crooked smile I love so much and turns to lock the door, pulling his tee up over his head as he returns to me. My vagina will definitely be sore tomorrow.

  But I decide I very much like office, on my desk, in the middle of the day sex. Maybe as much as bent over a bike with my skirt hiked up, on the side of the road sex.

  ***

  My man left me to it, satisfied I’ll be able to handle the rest of my first day on the job, probably because I satisfied him in more personal ways before he left to go open up the bar. Per his instructions, either he or one of the prospects will be along this afternoon to pick me up and bring me home. Well, home-clubhouse not home-home, which I’m more than ready to get back to even if home-home happens to be only two houses down from David and Lenore and three houses down from George and Margo. Too many rules at the clubhouse, too many chances for me to mess up again. And truthfully with how Chaos reacted to our engagement this morning, I don’t know when I’ll be ready to deal with him again.

  Four hours neck-deep in paperwork since he took off earlier, there’s a single rap on my office door before Clint, one of the bouncers who with his overly bulging mass really only has two career choices, those being bouncer or professional football linebacker, sticks his head inside the room.

  Since first walking in this morning, I knew looking at Clint would be one of the fun parts of my job. Of course, I’d never let that secret out with Beau around, or either Clint or I or both might find ourselves no longer employed. And I want this job, but Clint needs it. He and his lovely girlfriend Sirena—and I know she’s lovely because he showed me a picture—are expecting their first baby.

  In my defense, it’s not my fault. Clint keeps his head shaved bald, and there is just something about a bald head. With his super dark skin and eyes so brown they appear black, he’s the kind of man you stand back and admire with a low, slow, “daammnn, son.”

  Which is exactly what I realize I’ve done when he clears his throat and cocks an eyebrow at me with a, “Really?” and laughs at me, shaking his head.

  Yes, I’m embarrassed but never let them see you sweat, right?

  So I clear my throat right back and ask, “What can I do for you?”

  “Jeff and Stella and I are heading out to lunch and wanted to know if we could bring you back anything?” Jeff and Stella are the bartenders. They’re here setting up the bar in the most ergonomic placement. Seeing as I know nothing about bartending, I figured letting the professionals set up that area was the smartest decision I could make in regards to keeping the booze flowing freely for our customers.

  “That’ll be great. What are you guys eating?”

  “Mexican.”

  “Carnitas. Bring me back carnitas.”

  “Got it, boss lady. Shep will be on in fifteen. If there’s any trouble until he gets here, just call.”

  “I can’t assume we’ll have any trouble in the fifteen minutes you’re gone. Boss is just overly protective.” Even though the club’s not open for business yet, Beau had the bouncers come in to keep an eye on us womenfolk because apparently we can’t keep an eye out for ourselves.

  “Sirena works in an office with security guards. Don’t take chances with her, either. Let me tell you somethin’ about men, when we have somethin’ worth protectin’, we protect it. Any and every way we can.”

  One more thing to like about the man. “That’s really sweet. I can’t wait to meet Sirena.”

  His face actually darkens with a blush. “I don’t know sweet, but it’s true. Anyway, carnitas it is. Right.” Then he pats the door a couple times signaling the end of our conversation and withdraws from my office leaving me alone again.

  My guess, Beau probably thought getting me sorted out this morning would take longer than it had, so he didn’t schedule another bouncer to come in until after lunch because he probably figured he’d be here. But with our earlier—erm, activities—I think he probably forgot because there’s no way Mr. Overprotective would ever leave me without a big, strong man to keep me company.

  My cell phone rings, startling me. I don’t recognize the number so let it go to voicemail. It r
ings a second, and then again. Same number. Before letting it go to voicemail the third time, I press the green button to answer.

  “Tisk, tisk, tisk. I told you not to go out,” The deep, distorted voice on the other end says to me before I even say hello. “There are consequences, Elise.”

  Freaked, I hang up right away. The phone rings one more time, but I don’t answer. Resting my forehead to the edge of the desk, I breathe in and out slowly to calm myself down. This pranking business is getting out of hand. Tommy, which means Beau, should probably hear about it. And he’s going to be pissed I didn’t tell him sooner.

  The club is supposed to be empty except for me since I sent the waitresses and dancers home a couple of hours ago, and now my bouncer and bartenders have gone to lunch. When I hear a noise, like someone walking around, I glance down at my clock anxious to meet Shep, and thankful for him to have gotten here early. So I smooth my hair down to make sure I look presentable, and shove up from my desk moving out to the main room of the club to go introduce myself.

  The space is empty.

  I go through checking all the rooms off of the main, starting with where employees clock in. Empty.

  This is so strange, I know I heard walking. When I cross back through the main to get to my office, that’s when I see a box, a wrapped gift about the size of a shoebox. I hadn’t noticed it during my first sweep which gives me an immediate unsettled feeling. And I have the feeling I’m playing right into someone’s hands, but I have to see what’s in that box. I have to. Damn my insatiable curiosity.

  Slowly as I lift the lid, at first it doesn’t register because really, who expects to see this kind of thing in a gift box? But once my brain makes the connection, I scream, drop the lid and stumble backward.

  Do not hyperventilate. Do not hyperventilate.