by Kasia Fox
The car pulled up alongside a building of pale stone. Before Tessa could reach for the handle, a valet opened her door. She stepped out. Golden spotlights lit rows of palm trees that flanked either side of the building’s door. It looked like an upscale convention center, out of place next to the food truck company one property over. Above the door, in glowing orange script, was the word PEACHES.
✽✽✽
In his own quiet way, my father begged me not to leave. “You’re making a mistake. He’s not the person he pretends to be,” he said. I told my father that I could handle myself. “And that means living in sin?” he said.
I told my dark parishioner that if he wanted me to go with him, then there would be a wedding in the Little Flower Church. My idea of a compromise. I wanted lilies in my bouquet, but we were married in the wrong season.
On the long drive south and west, I admired my new gold ring while my husband speechified. He said to me: “Life is about discipline. I choose you for your discipline. The man I’m about to become will need a disciplined wife.” Never choose a husband for the person you plan to be. Most of us don’t make it all the way there.
As it happens, his discipline was a brief flirtation. Attending mass every day was not sustainable for a man like him. Before we’d left for Las Vegas he’d already started skipping morning services. Looking back I see that, for him, religion was no more than his probation officer. A mental exercise regimen. A test to pass. The results didn’t come fast enough and he quit. I could forgive him this. I could forgive so much then because he infatuated me.
Trouble begins as sparks and then all at once you are engulfed in flames. When we made love he hypnotized me with his whispers. “You are mine. You are mine.” Our bed was on fire.
17.
The boss wasn’t going to be happy seeing his daughter at Peaches. Skinner left the engine running for the valet. He hurried ahead of Berkley and Tessa to warn Ronnie what was incoming. Took three solid pounds on his office door before Ronnie snapped, “What?”
“It’s Skinner,” he said. “The girls are here. Berk and Tessa.”
“Hang on,” came the reply.
A minute later, the door unlocked. Cassandra, a short blond with bangs and cat-eye makeup, emerged from the office, adjusting a slinky silver top.
“’Sup, skinny,” she said on the way by. Cassandra was Ronnie’s latest favorite at the club, first in line to be the new Berkley. In theory, Berkley didn’t know about Cassandra. Ronnie was fairly lazy when it came to covering up his infidelities and even if Berkley hadn’t gotten the information out of Skinner, she would’ve figured it out eventually.
“What the fuck.” Ronnie stood behind his desk, doing up his belt.
“Ream me out later. They’re right behind me.”
When Ronnie left the office he smacked Skinner on the side of the head just as Berkley and Tessa came through the employees only entrance. At the sight of them, Ronnie was a new man – all smiles and friendly waves.
“I gave you two fucking things to do. Two fucking things,” Ronnie said through gritted teeth. To Tessa and Berkley he reached out his arms and, sounding nothing less than joyful, said, “My two best girls.”
Skinner left. Went to the bar and ordered a plate of mozzarella sticks. Technically, because he was playing limo driver he wasn’t supposed to drink. Seeing as the side of his head still stung from Ronnie hitting him, he no longer gave a shit. He told DeeDee to give him a double Cuba libré in a regular soda glass.
“The fuck is a Cuba libré?” DeeDee asked. She was a bartender in her late forties who’d aged out of stripping.
“Rum and coke with a lime.”
“Why’dnt you just say that?”
The drink DeeDee made didn’t taste enough like lime. He asked her if she’d she accidentally crossed the Coke and Diet Coke lines on the soda machine?
“Fuck you, Skinner,” Deedee said as she walked away. Whatever. She didn’t like him because he was better at her job than she was. Skinner nursed his drink and seethed. He was supposed to be Ronnie’s mentee, learning the ropes of running a successful club; instead all he’d done lately is get stuck doing shit involving his boss’s prissy kid. Shit Ronnie didn’t want anyone to know about, Skinner included. You’d think the guy would be nicer. On one of the side stages, a dancer prowled like a big cat on all fours. Skinner watched without interest. Deedee banged his plate of mozzarella sticks down on the counter at the same time Ronnie sidled up to the bar.
“Looks like you’re pissing everyone off tonight,” he said.
“Where are the girls?” Skinner picked up a mozzarella stick and blew on it.
“Berkley’s showing her around. Thanks for nothing.”
“Who am I to tell them they can’t come here? I’m the driver.”
“What’d they get up to?”
Skinner shrugged. “Shopping. Drinking. The strip. Nothing interesting.”
Ronnie nodded.
Skinner lowered his voice. “But I heard from our friend in North Dakota.” He paused to dip a mozzarella stick in a little dish of marinara sauce. Before it reached his lips, Ronnie smacked it out of his hand. Skinner watched sadly as the mozzarella stick landed on the tile and rolled under his bar stool. The five-second rule did not apply at strip clubs.
“Do not fucking talk about that here, you moron.”
“Alright. Got it.” Skinner dunked a stick and ate it.
“What about our little protester out on the sidewalk?”
“Berk distracted her.”
“Good.”
“Listen, good news or bad news, I dunno,” Skinner said with his mouth full, “but our friend said he didn’t turn up anything.” No need to mention the possibility that the roommate had seen them.
“What did I just say?” This time Ronnie backhanded Skinner on the head. He came in close, gritting his teeth.
Appetite gone, Skinner wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed the plate away. The DJ announced a new dancer coming to the stage. Berkley and Tessa made their way toward them from across the floor. Tessa looked flushed. She smiled and waved. Ronnie’s expression shifted from the look of extreme annoyance always fixed on his face when talking to Skinner to a look of genuine happiness that was at odds with his thug appearance. Skinner sucked back what was left of his drink and said, “Berkley’s taken a shine to her, Tessa. Must make you happy.”
“Yeah,” Ronnie sighed. “Just what I needed. Another girl.”
18.
Outwardly, Ron was all smiles and laughter, shaking his finger at her and telling her she was a bad girl for not doing what she was told. Even drunk, though, Tessa sensed that her presence in the club put him on edge. At first she figured that he didn’t want her there because he was worried that she’d judge him. In fact, Ron seemed pretty proud of the place. Peaches was actually nice, not that Tessa had anything to compare it with expect what she’d seen in movies. Attractive women strolled everywhere. Girls in matching black bra tops and miniskirts served drinks. Dancers’ performances consisted of anything from wiggling on the stage to acrobatic feats on the stripper poles. Girls grinded men in chairs. On smaller table stages, women got down on their knees and talked to customers sitting in the chairs circling them. Hard to believe her father was responsible for all of it. In a way, she couldn’t help but be proud of him. And now she could say she’d been in a strip club.
As Ron explained a renovation he’d undertaken a year earlier, a bouncer approached and told Ron about a problem at the front door. Ron excused himself, telling Berkley to entertain Tessa while he was occupied. Berkley passed through the throngs of men and sexy women with ease. Many of the girls she knew by name. Others she ignored because she said they were new and probably wouldn’t stick around.
“Girls disappear quick as they arrive in this business,” she said. “I can’t be bothered.”
The thought occurred to Tessa that probably Berkley had been one of the girls. The one who had played her cards right. Or wrong, depending how you
looked at it. At that moment, Berkley plucked two cocktail glasses from a tray carried by a pink-haired server. “Hey!” the server cried, angry until she saw who’d lifted the drinks. Berkley slipped her a twenty and smacked the woman’s ass as she departed. Berkley handed one of the drinks to Tessa.
“Did you work here?” Tessa asked.
“What did you just say?” Berkley’s face went slack with anger.
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said quickly. “Before you said –”
“I was joking.” Berkley laughed, her face normal again. “Of course I worked here. Where else would I meet an old perv like Ronnie?”
Vegas, from what Tessa had seen of it, was full of opportunities for a beautiful young woman to meet old perverts. The strobing lights in Peaches made her feel drunker than she was. Or maybe she was exactly as drunk as she felt. Berkley, meanwhile, looked as sober as when they’d had their first glass of wine at lunch at the Forum Shops a million hours ago.
Across the room, Skinner waited at the bar. When they’d stopped there earlier, he’d had a plate of food in front of him. Food was exactly what Tessa needed and somehow whenever she tried to acquire it, her dad’s girlfriend got in the way. While Berkley was distracted talking to one of the dancers, Tessa slipped away. She hopped on the stool next to Skinner and asked, “How do I get a burger and fries?”
Skinner pointed at a woman dropping two maraschino cherries into a whiskey glass. Tessa waved to get the woman’s attention – she seemed to be ignoring them – and asked for a hamburger.
“This is Ronnie’s daughter,” Skinner added. The woman raised her eyebrows and went to punch the order into a computer screen. “That’ll light a fire under her ass,” he muttered.
“Are people here scared of him?” Tessa asked.
“He’s the boss.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
When Deedee finished punching in the order, Tessa requested a glass of water.
“Better tell Berkley that’s pure vodka,” Skinner said.
“I’m going to guzzle it all down before she gets here,” Tessa replied. “I’m drunk. Did you know I’m never drunk? Can I eat those?” She pointed to the plate of mozzarella sticks.
“All yours. I lost my appetite.”
The mozzarella sticks were cool and firm and they still tasted delicious. Tessa was three sticks deep when her phone rang. She wiped her greasy fingers on her legs and got the phone from her purse.
“Who’s that?” Skinner nodded to her phone with interest. “Boyfriend?”
Dev’s name and a picture of his face were on her screen.
“A friend,” Tessa said.She got up and moved further down the bar. “You’re not going to believe where I am,” she answered. “I’m at a strip club!” Dev made some reply she couldn’t hear. A speaker nearby pumped bass. Skinner was watching. Plugging one ear, she stood and walked away. “Can you hear me? I said I’m at a strip club!”
“What has happened to you there?”
“What happened is I went out with my dad’s girlfriend all day and she has like an eating disorder or something and didn’t want to let me eat, but she kept giving me all these drinks. Do you know how gross a classic martini is? I’m drunk.”
“How many martinis did you have?”
“I’m drinking water!” She shouted.
“Be safe. Don’t follow my directive until you’re sober,” Dev said.
“Directive?”
“Hooking up.”
“I’m at a strip club. There men here but–” Tessa scanned the room. Frat boys. Old chinese businessmen. Fat guys with beer bellies. “No one here is hot.” Then she thought of Cal. “I lied! Yesterday, I met someone. He’s like, hmm... Well, basically he’s extremely sexy but also I hate him? It’s so bad.”
“Wow, you sound so drunk, Tess.”
“Have you basically ever wanted to punch someone in the face or maybe like lick his sweaty muscly arm?”
Dev paused. “Maybe you should think about heading home –”
Callum Quinn. Cal, his brother had called him. Tessa remembered the women in the bathroom. Cal was at a nightclub. Billions. What would she do if she saw him? Pretend she just happened upon the one place he was going to be tonight? “I’m not going home because I’m forming a plan,” she said.
“Drink plenty of water, okay?” Dev said.
Skinner distracted her by waving his hand in the air and pointing at a plate with a hamburger and French fries on the bar. He grabbed a handful of the fries and stuffed them in his mouth.
“Hey!” she shouted and ran over to him to save her dinner while Dev talked.
“A what?” Dev said. “It’s loud again.”
“Half my fries are gone, dude!”
“What?” Dev said.
Skinner shrugged. “You snooze, you lose.”
“I’ve got to go, Dev. Someone is stealing food from me.”
“Wait! Before you go, the whole reason I called was that I ran into the super and—”
“I hope you washed your hands,” she said to Skinner.
Dev kept talking, his voice drowned out by the Def Leppard song the DJ put on.
“What?” she said. “I’ll call you back. I can’t even hear right now.”
The burger had crisp bacon, cold lettuce and a buttery bun. It was salty and delicious. Gulping down water between bites, she ate the whole thing and the rest of the fries. For the first time since she came to Las Vegas, she no longer felt hungry.
“Berkley said food would bloat me. Worth it.”
Eating sobered her up some. At least her thoughts were more focused. Focused on one thing – one person – specifically. Cal.
“Let’s go,” she said to Skinner.
“Where are we going?” Berkley had snuck up behind them.
“To a non-stripper club. To dance. Yes day! You have to say yes.”
“But it’s my turn. That’s how it works. My turn, your turn.” Berkley was distracted by Tessa’s glass. “I hope this isn’t water.” She snapped her fingers at DeeDee and ordered two glasses of champagne.
“So pick a thing and so we can go.”
“Okay. Hmm.” Berkley put a finger to her lips and looked up at the ceiling. “I want you to get a private dance.”
“What’s that?”
“A lap dance,” Skinner said.
“No, thanks.”
“It’s yes day. You have to say yes.” Berkley pouted.
“Are there even boy strippers here?”
Berkley and Skinner both laughed. In Las Vegas people here were always laughing at her. Picking up on Tessa’s embarrassment, Berkley switched to a placating tone.
“Looking at other women’s bodies is harmless fun. A lap dance is part of the Vegas experience.” Seeing that Tessa wasn’t convinced, she sighed and said, “Do this one little thing, we’ll get in the car and go wherever it is you want to go.”
DeeDee set the glasses of champagne on the bar and Tessa sighed at the sight of them. “Fine,” Tessa sighed.
Berkley tossed a twenty-dollar tip on the counter. “I have just the girl in mind.”
19.
The most private room at Peaches was at the far end of a dim hallway. This was where ambitious girls (the drug addicts, girls with pimps for boyfriends, newly arrived Eastern European chicks whose yellow blond dye jobs badly needed a good salon toner) led hungry clients and bribed bouncers to look the other way. The room was small, its lighting moody. The sole piece of furniture in there was a bench upholstered in a durable leather that looked expensive but could be easily mopped up. Berkley pushed Tessa down onto it and brushed her hair away from her sleepy-looking face.
“Stay here,” she whispered and left. Halfway down the hallway, Skinner was leaning against a wall. He lifted his chin at her. This was his sexy look. Though she’d half enjoyed remembering what a young man’s cock felt like in her mouth during their recent transaction, Skinner was no real temptation. Most of the time he looked at her like a t
oddler with his fingers pressed against the glass of the bubblegum machine. She walked by him. He grabbed Berkley by the shoulder.
From behind her, Skinner leaned in, pressing his body to hers and whispering in her ear. “Think Ronnie’ll want to know that his daughter is getting a lap dance?” His breath smelled like rum and his hair smelled like fried food. Berkley whirled around and pushed him away.
“Watch it,” she snapped. This got the attention of the bouncer at the end of the hallway. Skinner took a step back, both hands raised in the air.
“I’ll tell you what I want to know,” Berkley said. “I want to know what Ronnie wants with such a sweet little girl from the hinterlands.”
“She’s his daughter.” Skinner crossed his arms over his scrawny chest.
“Try again. Family means nothing to him. Morals mean nothing to him. What does mean something to him is money. But little miss Mary-Therese doesn’t have any, at least as far as I can tell. So my question for you is, why does your boss all of a sudden want this daughter he’d known about for years?”
“I do what the boss says. He don’t tell me why.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
Berkley kept walking.
“You know I have to tell him, Berk. It’s my neck on the line,” he called. “He’s pissed enough at me as it is for bring youse here.” She ignored him and went out onto the floor, hunting. Berkley knew exactly who she was looking for and wandered the floor until she found the petite blond with bangs and thick black eyeliner. A silver handkerchief top barely covered her tiny tits.
“Cassandra, right?” A flicker of fear played across the girl’s eyes until Berkley smiled, holding up four hundred-dollar bills. The money (that and thousands more) had been pilfered from Ronnie’s pants pockets each night after he got home from work over the last few years. Ronnie skimmed from the government; Berkley skimmed from Ronnie. Fair’s fair. Cassandra relaxed. Money had that effect on whores.
“It’s your lucky day,” Berkley said. “I have a VIP client who’s wants a private dance just from you.”