by Ina Zajac
“Well, if it isn’t Princess Short Skirt, Long Jacket,” Nick said as he returned to the podium.
Matt turned around to see Via there. Gorgeous. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked, not meaning to come off so interested.
Bella stood up and held out her hand in a way that would have made Whitney proud. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Bella. I’m in the first grade now.”
Via knelt down. More than leaned down—actually knelt down—into Bella’s line of sight, shins against the floor, like she was praying. He didn’t know what to think. His first instinct was to grimace, but somehow, she seemed safe and secure. Above it all.
“I’m Via,” she said. “It’s so nice to meet you, Bella. Are you having fun in the first grade?”
As the two exchanged pleasantries, he was overcome with the realization that the sight of her on the floor didn’t make him uncomfortable after all. In fact, he felt amazing. This Via girl was like the ultimate reset button. It was fine. It was all fine.
“You here to see Carlos?” Nick asked. “He didn’t mention—”
He was interrupted by the buzzer and the boss man’s gruff voice. “Nick, I have someone coming in. Bring her back.”
Not Carlos, Matt thought. The floor was one thing, but The Skeeze was another. He held out his hand and helped her up. “I’ll take you in.”
She stood up and waved goodbye to Bella.
“But first,” he told her. “I have to tell you something.”
She looked surprised, but intrigued. “Tell me something?” She leaned into him, so he could whisper in her ear.
Her hair smelled so good his words stalled. “Um.” Talk idiot, he thought. Use your words. “Um.”
***
VIA
THEY STEPPED INTO a dim, wood-paneled office. Carlos smiled and directed her to sit down on the couch next to him.
“So nice to finally meet you,” he said.
She shook his hand. It felt just like meeting new people at Dan’s church except for what looked like cocaine lined up on the coffee table. And, the blonde hanging from the stripper pole in the corner. Craziness, she thought, but tried to act casual. As long as she didn’t puke and fall on her ass again, like the other day at youth group, she should be fine. Brittney was there too, kicked back smoking a cigarette. She had a sort of slutty punk-rock look going on—fierce black eyeliner and light brown hair with magenta streaks.
Matt sat on the other end of the couch and acted as though he hadn’t just issued her an impassioned request on the way in: “When I leave, come with me. And also, you’re pretty.” It wasn’t really a question, so she hadn’t answered. He was much taller than she had realized before. And, she loved the way he smelled, like fabric softener. He was downright handsome. Why hadn’t she noticed that the other night? He had been only three inches away, stroking gold paint onto her nipples. Maybe she’d been too drunk. Or too busy contemplating her sanity and worrying about the slick stage. And the morning after, she had been in too much pain to notice anything other than her nuclear burrito burn.
“Brit, get Via a drink,” Carlos said as he leaned in and tapped her knee with his index finger. “Rum and coke?” He was Latino and looked to be in his late thirties. Maybe early thirties, she thought. The hint of white hair framing his face made him look distinguished. “Or, you more of a vodka girl?”
Jeez, it wasn’t even lunchtime, she thought, but didn’t say so. She wanted to come off mature, cool. “Vodka is fine.” Her own voice sounded strange to her.
“Here, before I forget—your winnings—seven hundred fifty.” Carlos handed her a thin white envelope. She would put it in the offering basket at church.
“Thanks so much,” she managed, unsure of proper stripper-winnings etiquette.
“And that’s just the beginning,” he added. He smiled in a relaxed, familiar manner that seemed almost proud. He wasn’t bad looking either. He wore jeans and a plain button-up shirt, but looked at her like he ran the whole damned world. Like the old guy in the beer commercials, always flanked by a couple of hot girls.
“Hey, Mattais,” the stripper on the pole yelled over. “Do a line. It’s really good shit.” Her platinum hair hung down and touched the floor of a mini stage. Mattais? They obviously knew each other well. He probably had a thing for sassy blondes. She sat up straight, not that her average body could ever measure up to a girl so close to perfect.
Carlos’s smooth smile dropped into a deep scowl. “Kandy, you’re getting mouthy,” he said, stressing the word mouthy. “You’ll want to check yourself.”
The stripper started to apologize, but he raised his arm in a dismissive backhanded motion.
“Via, this is Kaytlyn, aka Kandy,” Carlos said as he leaned toward the coke. He looked uncomfortable, his long legs pressed against the glass coffee table. All the guys here seemed big. She had never felt so short before.
Her eyes fell upon the rows of white powder; they seemed the focal point of the room. She had tried cocaine a couple of times during her party days, before she’d started dating Dan. She remembered she had liked it, a lot.
“Mattais, do a line,” he said. “It is, indeed, really good shit,” he said.
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
“Consider it quality assurance.”
“Okay, but just a small one or I won’t be able to sleep.”
On the coffee table sat a white marbled box trimmed in gold, like an exquisite shoebox. Carlos opened it and pulled out what looked like a regular drinking straw. She wondered what else he had in there.
“Kandy, get my scissors from that cup on my desk.” While he waited for her to untangle herself from the pole, Carlos asked, “Via-Vixen, would you like one?”
Would she? Her fingertips tingled.
Matt leaned over the glass coffee table and swept half of the end line over to the side, then reshaped it back into a shorter, thinner line. He added the other half to the others, making them all equal. She watched, mesmerized by the precise, fluid motion—skim, skim. It reminded her of one of those white sand Zen gardens. Though, instead of a rake, he used a gold Visa card.
Carlos leaned in closer. “It’s okay, you’re among friends.”
Maybe she should have been scared to death, but she was too excited. Brittney set down a drink in front of her, then sat down and lit a cigarette. No, Via realized, it was a joint.
Brit smiled. “Don’t stress, girl. I’ll share.”
“Oh, no thanks,” she told her trying not to stare at the blue butterfly tattoo on the side of this freaky looking girl’s neck. “Weed makes me sleepy.”
Carlos’s laugh was as sweet as the smoke permeating the air. He pointed to the table where those bright lines of blow stood high against the mirrored table. “That will not make you sleepy. Go ahead.” He handed her a freshly cut straw.
Her brain sorted through the thousands of excuses she had for saying yes. She was lonely and needed a distraction from her death day countdown, for starters. Her heartbeat ramped up in anticipation. “Why not?” she asked while she tucked her hair behind her ears. She leaned over and brought the straw down and snorted it up, hard and fast. It was terrible, torturous magic. She brought her head up, pressed her thumb against the side of her nose and sniffed hard. Whoa, she realized—awesome. And she was off and running. It was on. “So, is it Matt or Mattais?” She sniffed hard again, attempting to suck the lovely bitterness deeper into her head.
“Matt, please,” he said without hesitation.
Carlos jumped in. “Only two people call him Mattais,” he said. “Me, because I’ve been his boss since before he had his driver’s license, and Kaytlyn because she’s obnoxious. She doesn’t seem to understand that he has no interest in her.”
“And my mother, when she’s annoyed with me,” Matt said. “And Nick’s grandmother.”
Carlos smiled. “How are your folks? Still down in Arizona?”
“Yeah, my dad’s parents are there,” Matt said. “The weather i
s finally cooling down, so they’re golfing again.”
“Good for them.”
Why were they talking? She wanted to talk.
“Nick’s grandmother, she still crazy as shit?” Carlos asked.
“Nah, she’s just a hippie.”
“Just doesn’t give a fuck, huh?” Carlos shook his head, but kept smiling. “Fucking old people are hilarious.”
His swearing excited her Christian ears.
Kaytlyn hovered over the table. “Cute jacket,” she said to Via, who wasn’t sure how to react. It wasn’t even hers, but the one Nick had given her the morning after Amateur Night.
“Should I call you Kaytlyn or Kandy?” she asked with her friendliest smile.
“Doesn’t matter,” she answered and then sighed dramatically. She looked down at the coke on the table, but didn’t say anything more. She had a desperate vibe about her, like the snarky prostitute character on every episode of CSI—the one who gave up too much information. The one who always ended up zipped into a body bag.
Carlos leaned over for another line and motioned for her and Matt to do the same. He seemed to get off on giving orders and everyone seemed vested in following them.
“Word is the Molly you picked up in Portland is exceptional,” Carlos said. “We should take these ladies out dancing.”
Kaytlyn squealed. “Finally,” she said, grinning like a kid with an ice cream cone. “I’ve been wanting to roll with you guys forever.”
Via had no idea what they were talking about, but was afraid to ask. Matt held out his hand toward Kaytlyn and shook his head. “Calm down—no can do. Practice later today.” Then he redirected his attention to Carlos. “Yeah, they say it’s the best they’ve ever seen. I can bring some in for you tomorrow. I might save some for after the Halloween show, if that’s cool.” Carlos just nodded, already refocused on the blow on the table.
“So, Kaytlyn,” Carlos said, and then with a dramatic motion, pushed one line toward her side of the table. “You interested in earning a nice, fat rail?”
She nodded, grabbed Matt’s straw out of his hand and snorted it up.
“Well, I’m out,” Matt said. “I’ve got to get home. We’ve got that gig coming up. We’re doing some new stuff. Need some more practice.”
That was cool, she thought as she imagined him on stage, wild and sweaty. While at Bethany Christian she had spent countless hours listening to the college radio station out of Bellingham. A diverse mix of music and raunchy romance novels had distracted her from the reality of her empty life.
“Wait. Kaytlyn, grab that chair,” Carlos said. “We want Via to learn how to give a proper lap dance. Mattais, we just need you as a prop, really. I know you won’t mind.”
Matt looked in Via’s direction and gave an awkward smile.
“Carlos, I can’t.” she said. “I just can’t.” She was mortified by the idea of lap dancing at all, much less this very minute with no private practice first. What if they wanted her to strip? She needed a new coat of deodorant. Her legs were stubbly. Her panties didn’t even match her bra.
Carlos looked at her and shook his head. “No, not you. I wouldn’t put you on the spot. Just want you to see how it’s done.” He looked over to Kaytlyn. “You’re up.”
The picture of blonde perfection smiled and brought a chair over to where Matt was standing.
“Fine, just for a minute though. I’ve got to go,” Matt said. He walked over to the chair and sat down.
Via started to snicker, maybe to mask her nervousness. Maybe it was the reefer madness Brittney had been blowing in her face. Matt looked like he was waiting in the principal’s office. He whispered something to Kaytlyn, Kandy, whatever her name was. There must be some history between them.
“Via, watch this,” Kaytlyn said. “I’ll show you how to get a guy crazy-hot.”
Carlos found a thin silver remote on the table. “Mattais, I have something you’ll like. It’s old school.” The room filled with electro-hip-hop.
Matt laughed out loud. “You think she can dance to the Beasties? Really?”
“The girl can dance to anything,” Carlos assured him. “She’s got the ‘Skills to Pay the Bills’ and then some.”
Via sipped her vodka and sat back. Kandy’s confidence mixed with the kill-me-now look on Matt’s face was hysterical. Kaytlyn leaned in and pulled off her bra with such zest that her double Ds came close to slapping him in the face.
Carlos leaned in and started providing commentary. “See how he’s keeping his hands to himself. No touching, no grabbing. The bouncers would be all over him if he touched her. We take very good care of our girls. We have some Velcro bras in the back, but some girls don’t like to share,” he said. “Now, in the main room you can only be nude in certain zones.”
Via wanted to listen, but couldn’t stop looking at Kaytlyn’s gigantic boobs. She tried to suppress her laughter. Don’t laugh, Via, she told herself. Don’t laugh. But these people weren’t making it easy.
Brittney started rhythmically chanting, “Bring—it—girl. Bring—it—girl.”
“That’s enough, Brit,” Carlos said. His tone was commanding, but not cruel, as it had been with Kaytlyn. Brittney seemed to be much higher in the pecking order.
“Now, you can make a lot of money couch dancing—that’s the term we use,” Carlos continued. “It’s interchangeable with lap dancing. We feel couches provide for a richer clientele experience, more like home.”
There was something so odd about him. His vocabulary was a hodgepodge of pretension and ghettoism. His breath was hot against the side of her neck and reeked of whiskey and power. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen you dance yet. I’m sure you look amazing under bar light. We’ll talk about it next week. You’ll make good money.” While she had no need for money, his attention was a form of currency she found irresistible. He leaned in even closer, his mouth almost touching her ear, and whispered. “With your cash is my private number. Not just anyone gets that number.” He was not subtle. His bold interest made her feel alive.
Matt shot her a concerned look and she remembered his request that she leave with him. “I thought it would just be that one time,” she whispered back. “And, I have a lot on my plate right now.” In truth, other than volunteering at church, she had nothing. The sick taste of cocaine slid down her throat. She sniffed, swallowed, and reached for her cocktail.
“We’ll talk about it next week,” he said. “You’ll come to see me. We’ll talk.”
She smiled, but pulled away as she took in more vodka. It comforted her tongue and eased the bitterness in her throat. She looked back toward the show, but sensed Carlos’s heavy gaze upon her. An odd sensation settled in around her. It was as though she already knew him.
These people may be crazy, she thought, but they made her feel almost normal. With them she could be brave, bitchy, and strong. They didn’t know her at all, so she could be anybody. She could laugh and dance her way through the holidays. She could just pretend.
A cozy bowl of mellow buzzed in her stomach while her chest grew tight with excitement. She felt so high and free. It occurred to her that the next few months could actually be fun. As long as she got to church youth group on time, who was to say she didn’t deserve occasional field trips over town? She thought of the pastor’s wife Sarah, and the condescending way she kept correcting Via. “Islanders call Seattle over town, not downtown.”
Matt was looking at her, and through her. He smiled. He mouthed something to her, but she wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. She watched his lips again. They seemed to form the words, “Come to me.”
CHAPTER 10
MATT
MATT SAT IN his favorite spot at the end of the brown leather sectional, across from Nick and Via. Sitting there usually made him comfortable. He could look to the right and see the front door, straight ahead and see both the TV and the bottom of the staircase, and to the left to see into the dining room. But today he wished he could sit between them. She was s
itting with her body pivoted toward Nick like she was enamored. His friend needed to go away.
Matt knew Nick to be a dedicated drummer and loyal friend, not to mention one of the biggest man sluts in King County. He was straight up about his quest for variety, which just seemed to encourage wannabe girlfriends. Matt’s advice to them was simple: when a guy tells you he’s a player, it’s not a challenge, but a promise. Once a girl accepts those terms and decides she’ll be the one to change him, it’s too late. She’s already given her power away. She’s already given him a free pass to Dickland, and there’s no expiration date. All he has to do is remind her that he warned her in the first place. In Matt’s opinion, women needed to be better negotiators.
He couldn’t stop looking at her. Taking in her energy. Maybe he should be concerned about being the one to get burned. There was some other guy, after all. Still, he loved her attitude. Not bitchy, just unaffected and cool with herself.
She wore very little makeup and exuded a soft, sultry vibe. He was usually lazy in love, but he wondered if maybe it was time to put in some effort. He wasn’t sure why, but this girl made him want to jump through a few hoops. Her hair was down, but what he could see of her neck was naked. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry except for the engagement ring. It was a bummer, but he didn’t know the guy. She was hot, and she was here, and that made her fair game.
Nick was wrapping up his explanation, “Seattle’s weather sucks for sports, but is perfect for music—kids stay dry in their basements, learn to play guitar, bass, drums, and write songs, or whatever—angst is environmental.”
She reached for the cup of tea Nick had prepared for her. They hadn’t offered her blow, because she hadn’t asked. That was good sign. Though Matt wanted to roll with her.
“We should test out that Molly,” he told her, as though Nick weren’t even in the room.