Ice

by Chelsea Camaron

  “Do I want to know?” I ask, shaking my head at the two teens.

  “Deep fried Oreos,” Brooke pipes up cheerfully.

  “What?” I laugh.

  “We finished our homework early. I, like, don’t ever cook. Grams taught me to bake, but we don’t have the stuff. Mady said you love deep fried Oreos, so we thought we would make some for you and my dad.”

  “I take it this was not a successful endeavor, since I do not see batter covered goodies anywhere.” Holding in my laughter is hard as I watch the seriousness of the girls’ expressions.

  “Neither of us knew what you are supposed to coat the cookies in,” Madyson explains.

  “Pancake batter,” I say, smiling at their thoughtfulness.

  “Oh, hell, why didn’t we think of that?” Brooke rubs her hands on her very pink and extremely old lady apron.

  “Come on, let’s clean this up. I’ll help you make dinner, and then we’ll make a batch for dessert. For future reference, the internet is your friend.”

  Turning behind her, Brooke pulls out a yellow with lace trim apron and tosses it to me. I put the garment on and raise my eyebrow in question.

  “Grams said, in order to be successful at something, you must first dress the part. If you walk in looking confident, you will become confident and therefore succeed, including cooking. So, we all have to look the part. Aprons on, hair pulled back, wash your hands, and make it happen,” Brooke informs me confidently.

  When she talks about her grandmother, her eyes dance in happy memories. I love the few times she has been around and shared with Madyson and me. Not having had these experiences, it is amazing to listen to.

  Two hours later, the girls have helped me prepare a pasta bake for dinner and three packages of deep fried deliciousness. Just as I am emptying the last dish from the dishwasher, in walks the man of my nightmares. Okay, he is not really a nightmare, though he is far from a dream.

  “What the fuck? You tryin’ to move in because you can’t afford the rent?” Ice greets coldly.

  My stomach tightens, my palms sweat, and I want nothing more than to crawl in the oven and roast to avoid him. In the two days we stayed here, while Madyson recovered, he had not one nice thing to say to me. No, he spent the few times I did have to deal with him grilling me about my sister and giving advice on getting her under control. I thought for sure after that he wouldn’t let Brooke hang out with her. However, he has made sure the girls have transportation after school to come to his house and do homework until I get off work to pick Mady up.

  Since the day after Madyson recovered from being drugged, I have actually been able to go to work without worrying about what my sister would get into afterschool. In the month since, I have let the girls spend every afternoon here at Ice’s house and every weekend with me. Granted, on those weekends, one of those bikers follows Brooke and hangs out in the parking lot of my complex. It is very unnerving to me, but at least Brooke is still allowed to be around Madyson.

  Having Brooke around my sister is one of the best things I can give her. She is still reeling from my parents’ abandonment. She might not admit it or talk to me about it, but I can tell being kicked out of their house has really shaken her up in ways that is staying with her. Seeing her haunted in such a way breaks my heart. I am determined to do everything I can to fill the parental role our crappy parents never tried to maintain.

  Now I am worried this prick in front of me is going to compromise one of the few good things Madyson has going on in her life. I don’t know what exactly I did to make him think I crapped in his Wheaties, but I have basically hit my breaking point with him. He is so sour he makes the Grinch pale in comparison.

  “Daddy, Morgan cooked dinner. Don’t be a dick,” Brooke chastises with her hand on her hip.

  “We were just leaving,” I stammer.

  “You should be gone. I’ll play babysitter for your kid sister, but coming home to you in my kitchen is a no go. Don’t let it happen again.” He starts to turn away while my blood boils.

  “Excuse me! No one asked you to play babysitter, protector, provider, or a damn thing.” My sister gasps at my outburst as I take off the apron I am still wearing. “We are leaving, don’t you fret about that. You won’t find me in your kitchen again, either, so no worries there.”

  Tossing the apron on the counter, I hug Brooke quickly while Madyson is gathering her stuff. After pulling away, I watch as the man known as Ice stands completely still, taking me in. His gaze is so strong I feel like he is devouring me, and I am not completely sure he is doing it in a bad way.

  I stomp past him, making sure to bump into him, and once I make it just beyond his reach, I turn back around. “Dinner is on the stove. Choke on the cookie when you eat it later, asshole,” I add, feeling slightly crazed.

  Chapter

  7

  Ice

  One month later…

  Three strippers were fired for popping positive on their drug tests. Crissy is on top of it. During our routine screens of the girls, we found one of the other girls is knocked up. I wish I could say the hiring process is the fun part of my job, but sadly it isn’t; it is a constant fucking headache.

  Hammer, Coal, and Skid sit in front of the main stage with me as we get ready to start auditions. The flooring around us is either black stained wood or a steel gray carpet, depending on where you are in the club. The walls are painted a soft dove gray, but to the casual observer, it would be hard to tell with the blue and purple neon lights everywhere. The comfortable black leather chair with silver studs allows me sit back so I am in a somewhat sprawled position and give off the façade that this audition is a waste of my time. It is our standard reception.

  We give every woman who walks through our doors, looking for a job, the impression there is always something better to do than be in the same room with them. It is better to teach them from the get go that we don’t have time for their bullshit.

  As the petite bottle-blonde shifts her feet nervously on our main stage that runs across the back wall of our club, I feel my left eye twitch in irritation. The bright lights we use during cleaning are on instead of the dim, more sensual lighting used while the club is open. We need to be able to see the women and every flaw they may have if they are going to work here in any capacity.

  One would be surprised how much dim overhead lights and bright neon colored lights along the stages can hide imperfections on a girl. No man wants to get hard for a woman dancing on the stage only to find out she is butt ugly when he waves her over for a private lap dance. At least, no sober man, that is. The drunk men probably don’t care if a wrinkled up shrew is wiggling on their lap as long as they have beer googles on.

  Sighing in boredom, I cross my foot over one leg as I look over to Hammer, who is tapping one of his boots on the black stained floors while he analyzes the woman in front of us. I am always thankful I have my brothers with me for this crap. It is good to have their opinions on the girls who can barely hold my attention. Not to mention, I have better shit to do than sit here for a woman who I am ninety percent sure won’t be able to get a randy teenager hard with her dance. Still, our little After Midnight aunt seems adamant that we give the too tiny looking woman a chance. Fuck me, sometimes Crissy and her bleeding heart drive me nuts. We don’t hire anyone that she doesn’t find for us. Women try to get jobs by coming directly to us, but we want to know the story behind the body. Crissy does this and brings us the girls who need more than a job in the bigger picture of things.

  Glancing back to the opposite end of the club, I think about getting myself a glass of whiskey. It might help me get through this nonsense. However, I know the boys and I have other shit to do today, the sort of work that requires a clear head and possibly my Glock if we end up in a bad spot.

  Looking back at the woman who now looks like she is about to piss her little panties, due to all of the men staring at her, I decide to get this over with. I nod my head at Hammer, indicating for him to start.
>
  “Name,” Hammer barks out.

  “Adalynn,” the chick in front of us whispers.

  “You want a job, step one is to actually speak. Time is money, don’t waste ours.”

  She twists her hands nervously. It is evident this isn’t her normal gig.

  “Where did you come from?” Crissy recruits our auditions from other clubs or the streets. She finds the ones she thinks we can help the most.

  “I’ve been working over at Titties and Tail.”

  “How’s Mud treatin’ you? What brings you here?” I ask. This is a make or break question before we take someone on when they have worked at another local club.

  “He treats me fine. I was told I could make more money here, that’s all,” she once again whispers, making sure to avoid eye contact with all of us.

  “That answer just saved your ass. Dance,” Coal commands.

  It is surprising how many times when asked how they are treated at their current or past employers they will spill all the secrets of the club. I happen to know, for a fact, Adalynn struggles at Titties. I also happen to know Mud has beaten her up pretty badly, twice, in the three months she has worked there. Doesn’t matter what the girls look like at his club; no, all that matters is how good they suck and fuck.

  Opening the file in front of me, I am surprised to find it empty. This further piques my interest in the fragile looking female. The music starts, and I can see her move in my peripheral vision, although I don’t watch her dance. I don’t need to. Crissy already told us the girl can’t dance. We know she doesn’t have a drug habit, as well. Beyond that, however, she is a ghost. No one gets that deep underground yet works for a man like Mud. This is someone we need to keep our eyes on.

  Hammer taps away on his phone beside me, while Coal sits with his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands as he watches her perform with a blank stare. Knowing my brother, he is seeing straight through her. She is vapor, smoke, nothing more than a movement in time. Skid is leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, watching her with a cocky smirk.

  “Come give me a lap dance. You bring it to life”—he points at his jean covered cock—“you get a job.”

  She sighs, hesitating.

  She is obviously not meant to shake her ass on a stage. Since I don’t have any information in her file, I have no idea why she is trying to force herself to do it. What I do know is that I can’t put crap-ass talent in front of my paying customers.

  “Done,” I bark out at her.

  As humiliation washes over her face, I can see the tears well up in her eyes. Not letting one tear fall, she bends over to gather her discarded clothes while the four of us slide our chairs back and stand.

  “Be here Friday at six. You don’t dance, you waitress. We will handle giving your notice to Mud,” I state, watching the words sink in and the relief take over her.

  “Get some clothes. Short shorts, no skirts, tank tops, and heels,” Coal orders, tossing down money on the table.

  Morgan

  It has been two months without any issues from my sister. She will graduate high school in a little less than two months. My parents still won’t let her come home. I can’t believe it, but I am okay with having her here. Actually, I like having her around. It is nice to come home and know it won’t be to an empty house.

  Walking in, I am expecting quiet since Madyson stayed home from school today due to not feeling well. However, I don’t expect to find her bedroom empty. Something doesn’t feel right. She left no note, but there is also no sign of anyone else being here. Calming my overactive imagination, I go about my evening.

  When it is well past a decent time for a respectable young lady to be home, I call her phone. No answer. Her voicemail sounds with her cheery teen voice, pulling at my heart.

  Where are you, Madyson?

  After the beep, I quickly reply, “I know it’s only ten, but Mom’s training has kicked into my brain. Where are you? I just want to know you are safe.”

  The night passes in a blur of anxiety. What is she doing? Is she okay? Why is she acting out now? Things have been absolutely great lately. What has changed? These thoughts run through my head. My emotions are a rollercoaster I want nothing more than to get off of. One moment I am worried, the next I am angry, and then I find myself sad that maybe my sister is rebelling because even this last bit hasn’t been enough to overcome the damage our parents have inflicted. With every change in thought and emotion, I fire off another call or a text to Madyson. Finally, with her voicemail full, I am left with only texting and waiting impatiently for her to reply.

  No matter how hard I try to stay awake, I slowly start to feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier. I get up and walk around my living room, hoping the physical activity will help, although I am so tired my legs feel like they are full of lead. Therefore, I head into my kitchen and make myself a pot of coffee. With each cup I consume, my anxiety increases. I would give anything, right now, simply to get a text message from Madyson, letting me know she is okay. Instead, my phone stays eerily silent. I pass out on the couch with my fourth cup of coffee still in my hand, and my last thought before oblivion is hoping my phone rings so my little sister can tell me she is okay.

  The annoying beep on my cell phone’s alarm clock makes me jump up from the couch. Looking around, momentarily confused as to why I was sleeping on the couch, I see my spilled cup of coffee on the cushions, and it all rushes back to me. Madyson. Waiting for her to come home last night, hoping to get a call or a text from her.

  Looking down at my phone, I see my hopes were for nothing. The screen is blank. The house is still silent, but I won’t let that dash my fleeting optimism that maybe she snuck in after I passed out and is sleeping in her room.

  I race to her room and don’t bother to knock before I throw open the door while holding my breath. It escapes in a ragged exhale of unease when I see her empty bed. Not willing to give up hope just yet, I run throughout my place, calling her name, praying she is somewhere, anywhere in here. I would even be willing not to scream and yell at her for scaring me if she would only be safely inside our home.

  My prayers go unanswered, though.

  Maybe I should call the police? But then it occurs to me that Madyson is eighteen now. They won’t look for her under the guise that she is a runaway. Nor do I have any suspicious evidence that I can point to for foul play. All I have is an empty house and a missing teenager who is known to get into trouble.

  The only place I can think she might be is with Brooke. Giving Madyson the benefit of the doubt that maybe her phone broke or she wasn’t thinking because Mom and Dad would never chase her down, I send a text to Brooke to check in. When the reply comes back that Madyson is not with her, my heart sinks. Asking her to have Madyson call me when she gets to school is my only hope to reach my sister today.

  Having no choice, I get ready for the day and head off to work. The day is full of distraction to the point that I have to stop meeting clients.

  Brooke sends me a text on her lunch break to say Madyson did not come to school. My instincts are screaming at me that something is wrong. After a text from Mallory that she hasn’t heard from Madyson, either, I am really on edge. She may be reckless, but this is far from her typical behavior.

  Breaking down, I call the people I have never asked for help. I have spent my entire life fitting into the box they have created for me. Not once have I questioned anything or asked anything additional from them.

  “Morgan, hello, dear.” My mother’s voice sends a chill down my spine.

  I love my parents in the obligatory way, as in they gave me life; however, I am far from happy with them. Most girls are close with either their mother or their father, but I am not. There is a deeply rooted insecurity within me that I will fail them at every turn. I have no idea why I am so concerned with pleasing them, though. Honestly, I don’t know if therapy could even undo the brainwashing I have endured.

  My life with my family
has always been to stay within the boundaries and do not fail, until Madyson started rebelling that is. Mallory followed suit, and I watched jealously as my sisters found themselves while I continued to plaster on the fake smile and be the Morgan they all expected. If I am real with myself, until Madyson got into trouble and needed to live with me, my entire existence has been about my parents’ desires for a perfect child.

  “Mom, have you heard from Madyson?” I ask, knowing I am possibly digging a hole for my sister, myself, or even both of us.

  “I don’t know who that is or why she would call us.” My mother’s cold reply further infuriates me.

  “Don’t be like this, please.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Mom, I can’t find Madyson.”

  “And this is my problem, why exactly?” she questions coldly. “Your cousin mailed us a thank you for attending her wedding and for our gift. She was wondering if you will ever get married since you didn’t bring a date. A date we requested you find and you didn’t. Now we have questions to answer.”

  The audacity of her quickly and easily changing the subject adds to my anger. No longer able to contain myself, I explode. “It doesn’t matter when or if I get married. That wedding was show and tell for the family. She’s already sleeping with the best man. Seriously, get a clue. I’m so over you and everything you stand for.”

  “What does that mean? We are a family. You are my daughter, my only daughter.”

  “You are sick and twisted. Go get some help. You have three beautiful, amazing, intelligent daughters, but your head is too far up your own butt to see it. I have nothing left to say to you. And, if you are going to feel that way about Mallory, pack her up and send her to me. There is no reason for them to continue to feel less than perfect because you have some warped ideal family when you have awesomely unique children who are perfect in their own rights.”

  Ending the call, I wipe away the tears that are freely falling. Now, more than ever, I need to find Madyson.