Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series)

by Leigh James

  My heart dropped to my knees, in sort of a good way. “He’s hardly little,” I said, unable to remove a trace of pride from my voice. He was here! He came back!

  “Oh honey,” Alex said, looking at me with a worried expression. The tone of his voice was scolding, motherly almost, and it wiped the smile off my face. “Don’t take it to heart. You’re a beautiful girl, but remember where you are. Remember, he’s a customer. And he’s here with Cruz, so I need you to be your best, most professional self.”

  Cruz was here. I’d never seen him before. Maybe that’s what John had been busy doing, catching up with his old friend. That made me feel a little bit better and I nodded at Alex. I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath, preparing myself to see John again, come what may. “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “Go give ‘em a show,” said Alex, as he very kindly patted me on the shoulder instead of the behind. “We got, like, five bachelor parties, too. Go make some money!” He shooed me towards the stage.

  I was as ready as I’d ever be. I went to my locker, took my glasses out of their case and slid them onto my nose. I smacked my bubble-gum scented lips together, pushed up my boobs and fluffed my hair. And I grabbed the ruler, just in case.

  The nerves I normally experienced before I went out on stage had gotten better over the last couple of days. I guess I had other things to worry about. But now they were back, big time, and I felt a knot in my chest and butterflies in my stomach, wanting to come out. I made myself strut to the stage. This DJ liked me because I always thanked him and tipped him well. When he saw me coming he put on a very popular song about a girl who was nice on the outside but trouble on the inside ... the crowd got rowdy, clapping and whooping. I felt the wild girl inside me practically push me aside as she claimed the stage, strutting around in those ridiculous pink heels, a small smile playing on her lips.

  I let myself get into it tonight. It was hard not to with the music. I felt in character — a good boarding school girl gone bad. Wouldn’t you know, the bachelor party guys ate that up. I took off my clothes more quickly than I usually did, and there was a lot of bills coming my way. When I took off my skirt, I turned around and showed the crowd the wooden ruler I had shoved through the back of my thong underwear, like my underwear was a tool belt. The crowd went ballistic as I took it out and tapped it against my palm, winking at them. The next guy who tried to put a single dollar bill into the side of my thong got swatted lightly with it, but I blew a kiss to the guy who gave me a ten. The crowd actually laughed. This was it. Stripping mecca. I was putting on a performance and the guys were loving it.

  My song was ending as I collected my things and started to sashay towards the back. I felt eyes on me and I turned and saw John standing quietly by the stage, watching me. His hand was covering his mouth and his eyes were hooded. I smiled at him, unsure, and he raised his hand up to give me a small wave. But he wasn’t smiling. Instead, he looked pissed.

  I hurried to get dressed and cleaned up. Why would he be upset? I used his ruler, it helped me make more money than I normally did….and that’s what I thought he wanted. I got a lot of attention from the crowd tonight, but so what? John was well aware that I was a stripper. It’s not like he hadn’t seen the show before.

  Troubled, I put my outfit back on and buttoned up my shirt. I headed out to the floor. He was out there waiting for me by the entrance with the same disgruntled look on his face. His eyes looked hollowed out.

  Forgetting all about my reservations from last night, I went up and grabbed his arm and rubbed it. “What’s the matter?” I asked, and I could see his entourage over his shoulder, standing against the bar, talking amongst themselves and drinking beer. John put his free hand over mine and sighed and smiled, relaxing a little.

  “Hi,” he said, and his grip on me became a little firmer.

  “Hi!” I said. That was more like it. That was the John I recognized.

  “So, what has you looking so glum?” I asked, and my heart sped up as he laced his fingers through mine.

  “You,” he said, and shaking his head and smiling down at me. I pulled my hand away a bit and he tightened his grip.

  “Me?” I asked, and I widened my eyes at him in mock surprise. “But I used the ruler! I did what you suggested! AND I’m speaking to you, because I wish to, or whatever weird thing you said in your note!” This time I succeeded in shaking my hand free of his, and I promptly placed it on my hip. Now we were both laughing.

  “True, true,” John said, and he reached out to slide my hands to the side and put his hands on my hips. It was like we had broken some barrier, touching each other, and now he didn’t want to break the connection. I didn’t want him to, either. It was like last night, when I wanted him to catch me. It was like some sort of force field was pushing me to him— like I was compelled to be connected to him. His hands on my hips felt totally right and totally foreign at the same time. I didn’t know what to do with them, but I didn’t want them off me, either.

  “So?” I asked.

  His face, which was looking pretty pleased to have a hold of me, went totally blank. “So?” he asked.

  “How am I your problem, exactly?”

  “Oh,” he said, remembering, and he flexed his fingers on my waist, exerting just a little bit of pressure. That place down there started throbbing again. I desperately hoped he couldn’t tell somehow, couldn’t feel it through my hip bones.

  “It wasn’t so much you,” John said. “It was those other men touching you. They shouldn’t do that.”

  “Earth to John,” I said, exasperated. “I’m a stripper. People put money in my underwear. That’s how I make a living. You know this.”

  “You should retire,” he said, “tonight. No one needs to touch you again. Except me.” We just looked at each other for a moment. Me, laughing; John, dead serious. This was probably when he was going to ask me to be his mistress.

  “I’m not going to ask you to be my mistress, or anything crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, and laughed a little. I think my face fell a little bit. Not that I wanted him to do that, but he was narrowing the list of things he might be asking me for, and that made me nervous.

  “Cruz might not like me being so proprietary with his star this evening,” he said, wistfully dropping his hands from my waist. I felt cold with his hands off of me, and it made me shiver a little. “I have to leave to go back to work. Do you want a ride home? I could take you, or get you a cab?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head. “I have my car.” And there was no way he was going to see my sad apartment complex. Not only because it was disgusting, but also because he could still turn out to be a freak, like the guy Keisha brought home who offered her a thousand dollars if he could pee on her face. (She let him, by the way.) I didn’t believe that he was crazy, in my heart, but my head wasn’t going to forget years of experience.

  “Will I see you again?” I asked. I held my breath. Everybody goes home from Vegas eventually. It was not the real world, and the real world always called all the real people back. While we, the props, the set pieces, stayed here waiting for the next act.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. He reached out, grabbed my hand and held it to his lips. “I can’t wait.”

  * * *

  I woke up to sun streaming through my windows and again, a ridiculous smile on my face. I was going to pay for this later. I would pay for letting myself think happy thoughts, for enjoying someone touching me, for letting myself hope for God knows what. When John left, or when he turned out to be recruiting me for some sex ring or whatever horrible alternate ending awaited — this was going to hurt me too much. I would have to learn again not to let my guard down. I would have to learn it again, the hard way. Then I was going to have to close my heart down for the final time so I never ended up like this again, with a silly smile on my face, hoping for something that was never going to happen.

  I was berating myself in this fashion while I was p
ouring my coffee. Then the doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole and it was the same courier, wearing what appeared to be the same clothes as yesterday. Ew.

  “You know the drill,” he said through the door. He rang the buzzer and left.

  Again, I quickly opened the door, grabbed the package and relocked. This one was much bigger and heavier. I got out my scissors to cut the heavy packaging tape. Inside was a silver backpack, large and heavy. I laughed. So now John wanted me to wear a backpack to work, to complete the schoolgirl look. He really was crazy.

  I unzipped the backpack and gasped. What?

  Okay. He really was crazy.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Bug Out

  The silly smile was long gone from my face as I trudged back into work. So I could confront him with it, I’d brought the back pack. I had shoved my glasses, ruler, stilettos and clean work underwear into it. There wasn’t much room left because of all the other items John had packed.

  “Hey girl,” said Tracey, as I started listlessly pulling my outfit out of my locker.

  “Hey,” I mumbled.

  “Aw, Liberty! What’s the matter?” she asked, and plopped down in the chair beside me. Tonight Tracey was wearing her “Charlie’s Angels” look. Feathered bangs, hair parted down the middle, frosted lipstick, pink satin shorts with glitter hearts on the back pockets and a tube top so tiny that it looked like she would pop out of it. Which of course was the point.

  “You look cute,” I said, and sniffled as I started to put some foundation on.

  “Is this about that hot guy in the suit who’s been here hounding you every night?” Tracey asked sympathetically. She took out a pot of my disco-pink cream eyeshadow and started absentmindedly rubbing it over her already done-up eyes. I nodded and she frowned at me in commiseration.

  “Honey,” she said, “you can’t let them get to you. You can’t get attached. The suit’s going home to his wife or his girlfriend at some point, and you just have to take what you have with him at face value. He wants to get his whore on — his boarding school whore on,” she said, looking at my outfit. “You know how this works, honey. You’re gonna get his freaky shit that’s too good for his wife. At some point, he’s gonna get tired of you, find someone prettier than you and younger than you. There’s always a new crop coming up. You gotta just take it at face value, like I said. And wallet value. Don’t forget the wallet value!”

  I smiled weakly at her and nodded. “You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right.”

  “You’re a good girl. Too good to be sitting back here with the rest of us,” she said, returning the pot of eyeshadow to my makeup bag. “If you get out of here, maybe you could land somebody like that. Somebody who’d take care of you. But you gotta get out of here, first.” She rubbed my arm as she got up to fluff her hair. “I gotta go pee....but think about it. Get out of here before you get too old and jiggly!” She raised her hands above her head and shook her arms for emphasis, so the tops of them quivered.

  I was still half laughing about Tracey and half crying about John when Alex showed up at my chair.

  “Don’t you ever take a night off?” he asked, slouching into the chair that Tracey had left not that long ago.

  “Don’t you?” I asked, looking up at him from under my eyelash curler.

  He was picking at his cuticles, distracted. “Prince Charming’s here again,” he said, not looking at me. “He wants to see you.”

  “Lucky me,” I said, and tossed my eyelash curler towards the mirror.

  “Cruz expects you to be nice to him,” Alex said, looking up from his nails.

  I stood up and started putting my makeup bag away. I took a look at the backpack, stuffed into my locker. “And you?” I asked.

  “I expect you to be you,” he said and stood up. “He seems to like that, so you’ll be fine. And you’re back in the sweet spot in the lineup. Nice job last night.” He wagged his eyebrows at me in typical Alex fashion and I put my backside against the row of lockers in case he wanted to slap it. I liked Alex, but I didn’t have much patience tonight.

  It was good news about the lineup, but it was bad news about John. It was time to face him, to end the craziness. The craziness of my longing, the craziness of our brief connection. All the crazy shit he’d stuffed into that backpack. I was going to have to be a big girl and say goodbye.

  I grabbed the bag, careful to take out my heels and underwear. He could have the ruler and alas, the glasses, though I would miss them both. I took a deep breath and looked at myself in the mirror. Oxford shirt, plaid skirt, tennis shoes. Alex would probably be mad if I went out on the floor in my sneakers, but I needed to be able to move fast, just in case. Just in case I started crying saying goodbye to the crazy guy I thought I was falling for, who I crazily thought had come for me. Or in case I had to run because he really was crazy, and I would have to run away from him and his entourage and his weird backpack.

  I squared my shoulders and shook my hair out, so my ringlets sprung up and cascaded down my shoulders. It was reassuring to see my own eyes in the mirror, but I was not as calmed by them as I normally was. I hoped I would go back to normal after this, relying on myself and not needing anything else. I hoped I didn’t feel like I was missing something.

  I carried the pack out onto the floor and looked for John. It was easier for me being in flats; most of the crowd paid no attention to me because I was now 5’7” compared to my usual towering self in three-inch stilettos. I saw John and his group in the far corner by the bar, and I made my way over towards them through the sea of men and the occasional couple. Sunday night was “Industry Night” in Vegas, which meant that all the locals who’d been working in the bars and clubs all weekend were off and had no cover charges at most places. People came in to see their friends, to catch up, to relax. The atmosphere in the Treasure Chest was always at its best on Sundays, when women were in the crowd and everyone there was supportive, not predatory. There weren’t guys trying to justify that fifteen dollar drink, expensive hotel and pricey plane ticket. It was just mostly people who worked in the business who wanted to have cocktails and relax.

  I usually liked Sundays. This one? Not so much.

  John saw me from across the room. I waved lamely and moved towards him, a pit in my stomach. Then someone grabbed my wrist. “Hello gorgeous,” said an unfriendly voice. It was a youngish guy, with gelled hair, a big nose, olive skin and a strong grip.

  “Hiiiii,” I said, fake smiling at him. I lifted my arm up and tried to pry his fingers off of me. I couldn’t get them to budge.

  “I’m busy. I have to go now,” I said, in my fake-nice voice, trying to yank my arm out of his grasp.

  He pulled me closer and whispered in my ear. “I’m a friend of Cruz’s. You should be nicer,” he said, and released his hold. His breath smelled like mints and not like booze, which surprised me.

  “Lovely to meet you,” I said sarcastically over my shoulder as I headed towards the comparative safety of John. What was it with Cruz’s taste in friends? Really, he needed to screen people a little more closely.

  John pulled me to him when I got there, and because I knew it was the last time, I didn’t resist. “What did he say?” he whispered urgently into my ear. It was more of a command than it was a question.

  “He said he was a friend of Cruz’s and that I should be nicer,” I said. But for a second I wasn’t thinking about the scary guy, the scary backpack, the fact that I had to say goodbye to John tonight. It just felt so good to be in his arms. I let myself close my eyes and rest against his strong chest, careful not to smudge my makeup on him. Then I put my face against his neck and inhaled. He smelled like the outdoors, like sunshine, like clean, white towels. The opposite of stripping, of crazy, of trouble. I let myself stay for a moment there so I would remember it always. They say that smell is the strongest of all the memory senses. I wanted to be sure that I would still have him with me after this was all over, whether he was crazy or not.

>   “Your backpack,” John said. He pushed me back so he could hold me at arm’s length and look into my eyes.

  “About that,” I said, willing myself back to reality. “A taser? Really? And a smartphone? I just met you three days ago. I can’t —”

  “Put it on,” John growled into my ear. “Now! We can argue about the contents later.” He looked back over his shoulder at one of his men who was standing there, waiting. “We need to move. Keep her safe — that’s the most important thing.” I saw him take a gun out from a holster hidden under his jacket. My whole body turned to ice. This was it — he really was crazy.

  “John, don’t!” I screamed, but then all I could hear was loud bangs, like fireworks, as the young guy behind me jumped on me, knocking me to the ground.

  “John!” I screamed again, and I saw him run towards someone or something with his gun out. There was smoke in the club, and people were screaming and running. The guy on me slid off and pulled me by the backpack towards the bar so we wouldn’t be trampled. “Let go of me!” I yelled, and turned around to beat him off me. I had to go warn the girls. I had to go get John. We had to get out of here. But I might as well have been beating a mountain, because that’s what his chest felt like. He didn’t budge.