Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds)

by Hilarey Johnson

  “Like a waitress?”

  “Just tonight, Baby. Bella said you two were still working on your act.” He smiles at my confusion and whispers, “Cori.”

  “Oh.” Of course, a stage name. “Yeah, she did say…”

  Brody shakes hands with a man that passes by.

  He smiles at Brody. “It all came together, like you said.” They pat each other’s shoulders and grin like they’re on TV, not a crowded room. Several girls wear outfits like mine and pass out free drinks for this invitation-only opening night.

  “Did you bring the gown back?” Brody asks, while he watches the man walk away.

  “Oh, um…” I left it in the hose-storage box. “I’ll bring it back tomorrow.” He doesn’t answer or look at me. He just crosses his arms and surveys his dominion. He has a large diamond ring tonight and a watch, both look new. There are about a dozen girls in short sexy gowns or lingerie, mingling and laughing with the men. I can see partially obscured twosomes behind the bamboo screens and three girls on the left corner stage dance in sync, topless. It’s just one big party.

  One of the girls steps from behind a bamboo screen and waves at me, signaling me to come.

  “All right then…” Brody turns away, he’s all business tonight.

  I walk toward her. I just look at the lingerie like it’s a lacy swim suit. She meets me half way and grabs my arm. Her ribs show a little under her skin.

  “Let’s do shots.” Her voice squeaks with excitement.

  I want to tell her she looks like she’s had enough.

  “I haven’t had a single drink yet.”

  Well, if it’s not alcohol, it’s something else. I don’t bother to ask her name, and we walk up to the bar. Talia joins us. “Three peppermint schnapps.” Talia leans forward and crinkles her nose at the bartender. She seems friendlier without her two shadows.

  “How’s my favorite girl?” The bartender calls above the music.

  “Sober.” She laughs. Talia wears a sea-foam green set that makes her eyes glow emerald. She is possibly the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Her wavy brown hair cascades past her shoulders.

  “Uh-oh.” The bartender flashes a brilliant smile offset by his dark skin. “We’ll have to fix that.” He puts three glasses on the counter and has them filled in the time it takes him to say his name. “I’m Trey.”

  “Baby.”

  “Nice to meet you. Want me to take those?”

  I look down at my tray. “Sure.” When I reach over, he takes the platter with one hand, and with his other, he strokes my fingers. I gasp a little, surprised both that he did it and how good it feels. I look up into his flirting, black eyes. He has super curly hair that shines under the lights. I can’t stop smiling, so I look down.

  Only one shot glass is left on the counter. It looks like it’s filled with water. Talia and the crazy-eyed, skinny girl hold their glasses, waiting for me. I lift mine to my lips. It smells like toothpaste and tastes like gum on fire. They both drink it in one gulp. It takes me two. Talia turns and waltzes away.

  “I have a private dance now. Bring me another in 10 minutes.” She holds all her fingers up like a drunk school teacher, turns, and weaves her way through the crowd.

  “You gotta watch Jewels.” Trey points at the stoned girl with his chin. So that was her name. Trey hands me back the empty platter. “Wait at least a half hour before you take her another.”

  Trey chats while he pours drinks and wipes the counter. He talks about sports and the weather, impersonal stuff. I lean against the bar, listening to his deep voice. My typical inability for conversation again overwhelms. I can’t catch all the words, but I like the soothing cadence. I’m warm all over. I guess I should go ask the dancers what they want to drink, but Trey’s my pied piper.

  The music fades then starts with a building, anticipating rumble. The lights dim and the stage in the center illuminates. Brody’s voice taunts over an intercom. He introduces Bella. Lights swirl, adding to my disorientation. When they stop, Cori stands feet apart, arms at her sides and her head raised to the ceiling. She wears a skintight, black bodysuit. Her mesmerizing dance, choreographed to exotic drums, alternates bursts of flame and removing parts of her outfit. There couldn’t be anything more exciting than this, even in Las Vegas. Blasts of heat spew from the flames.

  In the end, she stands nearly uncovered, just a string thing on the bottom, and the dragon tattoo on her back. The snake-like body curves up her spine in black and teal. She turns and rests her chin against the dragon claw on her shoulder. Her blonde spikes fall over her eyes the same time as the last beat. She’s so good she choreographed her hair. There is a hush before everyone claps and the lights increase.

  I want to be near Cori but there is too much crowd. I tap on a bare shoulder; it remains unyielding. I push. The woman finally moves and I weave through the throng, like a termite in a stump. My efforts leave a path behind me, but I have to force it. When I get to the stage, only that familiar combination of perspiration and alcohol await me, not Cori.

  A tickle slinks across my shoulder blade and up my neck. I hold myself rigid, and start to turn. Just slightly above my line of sight are the hazel eyes from the other night. His head looks freshly shaved, no sign of the dark stubble I saw before.

  “Don’t run away again.”

  He seizes my elbow more firmly than necessary. I try to pull my arm away, but that causes his fingers gripping my elbow to rest against my ribs. By pulling back, I have just brought him closer. His crooked nose flares a little when he smiles.

  “Can I get a Jack Daniels?” He holds a new twenty in his free hand. It’s folded length-wise and floats in front of me like bait, like I’m a fish to be hooked. I hate that twenty.

  “All drinks are on the house tonight.”

  “Run and get me one.” He drops the twenty on my tray and pats my bottom like I’m a child. Maybe not exactly like a child. “I’ll wait for you behind the shoji.” He points to one of the three-paneled bamboo screens.

  My heart pumps more blood than I need as I return to the bar. Trey’s face goes from surprise to pleasure and I feel like I’m coming home.

  “How’s my favorite girl?”

  “Oh.” The infernal smile takes over again; I need to restrain my errant lips.

  “Oh, what?”

  “I thought Talia was your favorite.”

  He asks me to repeat before he understands. It forces me to look at him and speak loudly.

  “Well, you know…” He winks and puts both hands on the counter like, he is about to do a push-up. “What do you need?”

  I order the Jack Daniels and place it on the platter.

  “Do you want something, too?”

  The schnapps earlier made me feel warm and loose, party mood. I would rather party than feel like I’m at work all night. I turn and look at the bamboo panel. “Sure, one more won’t hurt.” I’m not going to drink like Thom. I’ll stay in control.

  On my way back to the bald guy, Brody intercedes.

  “Jack Daniels?”

  “Yeah.” I lift the platter to him. He looks at me as though I offered a mud pie, and not the ice cream kind.

  “I don’t drink, Baby.”

  Jewels stumbles by us. Brody hails her with a nod. “Take this back to the bar,” he says and gives her my tray.

  Jewels’ lips work out a petulant, “Sure thing, Brody.” He doesn’t watch her walk away.

  “Hang out with Cori tonight.”

  “Okay?” I hear the inflection in my own voice, but I didn’t mean to ask it as a question.

  “She asked for you.”

  This makes me feel like I just took another shot. I don’t know why, but I love Cori like I would a sister. It’s as though I have always wanted to know her, always wanted someone beautiful to know me.

  Cori wipes the makeup counter in the dressing room with a gray hooded sweatshirt.

  “Hi…Bella.”

  Cori turns and smiles. “Yeah. Did you see the show? Ho
w did it look? Are you ready to put something together?”

  I love that she fills the room with conversation. I don’t have to feel inept. I take a deep breath through my nose, searching for the right word. “Fab-u-lous.” It comes out before I remember. Even though it makes me think of the Wild Lily, it was just the only thing to say.

  “Hmm.” Cori studies me like a new insect discovery. Using Brody’s word eroded the intended compliment.

  All the different hair spray and lotions combine to make a cloying, throat-burning scent. I wish there was a window on either side of the intensely lit mirrors. “Brody said you wanted some company.”

  “Oh, I just wanted to hang out with you.” Cori pulls out a five-dollar bill rolled like a straw, unfolds it and flattens it by dragging it across the corner of the counter. She pulls up the sweatshirt again and wipes the counter. Her hands shake, and she keeps looking at the door like she expects someone. I can barely see the blue of her eyes with all the black eyeliner.

  My throat continues to burn from the aerosol. That, combined with the two shots, makes for a merry-go-round in my head. I go to the back counter and grab a couple bottles of water from the mini fridge. I bring one to Cori. “Would you like this or do you want something else?”

  “Oh. So you’ve moved up from drinking outta the tap?”

  Heat tingles from my core to the top of my head, but she probably can’t tell with my dark skin. I adjust my sequined triangle top and lift the carpet of hair from the back of my neck. “Well, if you don’t need anything…”

  “Baby come back.” She sings a familiar tune. “You can blame it all on me.” Her voice is horrible. Cori moves her hands like she is rubbing lotion into each one. “I had an anxiety attack and Brody couldn’t stay with me. He gave me something to help.” She stands abruptly, walks over and gives me a hug. “I need your company.”

  I remember the side of the road: Hayden’s strong arms holding me, the crazy terror of my anxiety attack. “I had one before…” First, I let my hands rest on her spine and then I respond to her pull by squeezing back. Cori has also met fear. We’ve both shaken that irrational hand. And just like that, the words begin to flow between Cori—my new sister—and me.

  I tell her how amazing her performance was. She invites me to spend the week with her—since even though tonight, Monday, was opening night—The TorchLight isn’t open to the public until Friday.

  “We’ll visit clubs all week, party, and work on your act.”

  I pinch my lips, trying not to give away what this means to me. Instead, I just nod lamely.

  There is a thump at the door where Cherry, one of Talia’s girls, stumbles. She regains her balance just inside.

  “I thought you were leaving,” Cori asks.

  “I’m waiting for Carlos to walk me out.” Cherry whips out a tube of sparkle gloss and puts it on her lips so erotically I have to look away. I ignore the conversation, which turns to how hot, Carlos, the bouncer is.

  “You didn’t hear about the stalker in the parking lot?” Cherry shrieks with enthusiasm. “He can’t be too bright, sitting in a fifties-style Chevy truck with a custom paint job. Purple, no less.”

  I jump to my feet.

  Cori and Cherrie both look at me as though I have burst out in song—in Dutch.

  “Is it a tan, blond guy?” I knock over a chair on my way to the door. Who else could it be but Hayden?

  I don’t know if either girl answers me because I leave the dressing room, my heart drumming in my stomach. I press the metal bar down and use my hip to budge the heavy back door open. The employee parking lot behind the TorchLight awaits me. A whiff of the dumpster makes me gasp a little with my mouth instead of my nose. The door latches behind me.

  “Are you wearing that home too?” Brody’s voice grumbles from the shadows. He stands like a panther, lithe, leaning. Only a trace of his form is visible in the moonlight. “Should I count the spoons tonight, Baby?”

  Carlos’ face illuminates next to Brody as he flicks a lighter and inhales from a cigarette. The cigarette hangs from his lip when he finishes. He steps forward with arms crossed over his chest. This seems a feat with the short length of them versus the massive muscles. He’s probably an inch shorter than me, but I feel like I’m always looking up at him.

  “He won’t come back.” Carlos takes three long drags from his cigarette before he flicks it into the rock landscaping. He presses the key pad next to the door, and a tiny light shines green before the door latch sounds and he disappears inside.

  I crane my neck one last time around the parking lot.

  “Expecting someone?”

  An April chill freezes the sweat droplets on my back. “Did you see who—”

  “Nope, and you shouldn’t be so excited to run out here and find out what kind of person waits in strip club parking lot.”

  Doesn’t he mean “burlesque?”

  Brody walks toward the door, and the force of his presence corrals me toward it. “I don’t need my girls running around like this.” He pulls at the corner of my top and the night air takes a peak. “For free.”

  Brody keeps his left hand on my back and presses 5-9-7… None of us girls has a number. We press the buzzer, look in the security camera, and then someone buzzes us in. I quickly look down as his head turns. When he punches the last number, I angle my chin to see.

  Three. I mentally repeat the whole thing: 5-9-7-3.

  “Remember this, Baby. Someone who hides in a parking lot—has something to hide.”

  I resist the urge to comment on his eloquence.

  He stops in the hallway and turns. His soft hands thaw the arctic skin on my shoulders. He looks down at me, those mossy pools glimmering. “I’m not going to let anything happen to one of my girls again.” His right hand leaves my shoulder, but the warmth lingers. He gives me a little push with his left hand and walks behind me until I reach the dressing room. Then he is gone.

  I misjudged Brody the night he took me out. He may have wanted to play around, but I probably gave him the signals that I wanted it too. He is a good boss.

  The night passes slowly without drinking. I have always hated alcohol, but I understand now why my brother would see it as a “means to an end.” It doesn’t change your situation—your pain—but it makes you not care.

  Fortunately, I’m not a bar girl, so I don’t have to stay late to do side-work like the cocktail waitresses. I leave with the dancers. Tonight, Brody hands me a fifty for my cab ride.

  I have the cab drop me at the start of my street, and I walk the rest of the way home. I want a chance to get the perfume and stale liquor scents from my hair and clothes. Thom and Lorna have probably been asleep for three or four hours, so a few more minutes won’t matter. There is just enough light to see where the key fits and let myself in.

  “Sparrow.”

  I jump even though I recognize my brother’s voice.

  “Oh, hi, Thom.” I press the lever down so the latch on the door will not click when it shuts. The room is gloomy. I can barely make out the shape of my brother sitting in the darkness of our living room.

  “S’late.”

  “Been drinking?” I ask, even though I can tell.

  Thom is silent for minutes. I grow tired of standing in the dark. It’s been a long night. I start toward my room.

  “Where…have you been?”

  He speaks so slow I can tell he really concentrated on articulating. I hate that I made him feel like Lorna does. So, I answer, “Work.”

  “Seen Hayden lately?”

  Why ask? Why tonight? “No. Not for awhile.”

  “He’s a good guy.”

  I lean my side against the wall. Suddenly it feels like I’m trying to hold up both Thom and myself.

  “What are you doing?” I ask my brother.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  Thom doesn’t need to get up in the morning, he can cat nap day and night.

  “I was thinking about something Hayden said.” He cont
inues.

  I wait, but Thom doesn’t divulge.

  “Wanted to know if you were going to see him again.”

  There is an emptiness inside as I answer. “I don’t think…” I can’t even finish. It’s like Hayden has awakened this gnawing hole I would have been better off not knowing about.

  Thom stands and walks to me. He takes my hand and gives it a little squeeze. I don’t remember him ever touching me before. His hand is heavy and cool. After what feels like the entire cycle of the moon, I squeeze back. His skin is clammy.

  “Night, Sparrow.”

  “G’night, Thom.”

  I drop my clothes on the bed, slip on some lounge pants and slide under the covers. The extra weight of the clothes on my feet bugs me, so I kick them off. My favorite jeans hit the floor, jeans I bought with dancer money.

  I’m not disappointed with the fifty-one dollars in fives and ones that I left wadded up in my pocket. But when I danced, I averaged two hundred a night, so how can I settle for fifty-one now? I roll onto my back and hold my arms up for an imaginary flute, embracing the air since I have no music to hold me. My fingers move where they should but the only melody that resonates from me is a groan inside my chest. If there’s a God like Hayden believes, he could give me back my music—my flute.

  “Is there…are you?” I cannot finish asking. I don’t know what would be worse, there really isn’t a God in control—or there is.

  I’ve never understood the dreams everyone describes as running but going nowhere—laden legs that don’t respond. I feel my muscles contract, sinew taut against a sturdy frame. I’m not sad. I lift my arms and look to the sky to receive sun on my face. My song, my father’s song rains down on me. It becomes my clothing. It isn’t musical notes falling, but something like feathers or cotton, wisps of white raining and settling on me. I say it’s music, because I hear it more than I see it.

  Another sound, not part of my dream, and suddenly I’m awake. Cool air dries my eyes as I lift my lids, adjusting to the dark. It was the rumble of a truck. Hayden? I jump from bed, afraid my noise will hide what I want to hear. Skipping by the creaky area at my door, I head to the kitchen in my lounge pants and tank top. A step. Someone is outside. Then, the sound of a vehicle rolling over gravel. I run to the front door and watch the red taillights of a truck behind dissipating dust. I walk to the edge of the trailer, wondering what he could have possibly done.