Beyond Heat

by Ashley Logan

  “No thanks,” I say, hoping she’ll stay with me longer if she doesn’t get side-tracked. Even if I have to pretend to be my dead uncle, it’s worth it to have these moments with her. “I brought us something to nibble on,” I say, maintaining eye contact as I reach for my bag. Taking out the caramel crunchies, I give her one, taking a small bite of the other.

  Mom takes a bite of hers and her face lights up. “Butterscotch bikkies? Mama said she won’t give us the recipe till we have kids of our own!”

  “Well since that’s not happening for me, I’ve been testing some recipes and I think this batch is just right. It’s hard to be away at training so long and never get a taste of home. Don’t tell her I’m cheating, Viv.”

  “You bring me cookies and I’ll keep your secrets, Boog,” she says with a grin as she swallows the last bite. “I can’t believe you only brought two. What’s wrong with you? You get hungry on the way over? Not surprising to look at the size of you,” she continues, talking to herself as she begins to look around. “What is this place? I hope they have a place to make a cup of tea ‘round here,” she says, getting up and wandering out the door. I start to follow, but stop myself.

  That was my window. I won’t get another one today without causing trouble.

  Packing away my music, I take out one of my library books and make myself comfortable. Opening a sweet country romance, I begin to read out loud. Soon, Anna comes to sit on the couch next to me, relaxing back with her eyes closed and a gentle smile gracing her withered lips.

  My mother returns to the dayroom with a cup of tea. Directed by a carer, she resumes the comfortable seat next to the window. She looks back out at the world as she sips her tea and every so often, as I pause to take a breath or turn a page, I catch her smiling ever so slightly, and it’s enough.

  FEELING ON THE BACK foot, I rush into the Rec Center locker room. Serge is only just tying his laces, so I catch my breath as I get my gear out. My gym bag is a bizarre collection of my day’s activities and I push aside books and music to get to a clean set of shorts and gym socks.

  “Sorry I’m late. Been running behind most of the day.”

  “And why might that be?” Serge asks with a grin as he begins stretching.

  Wiping my forehead, I look at him sideways and puff air out my nose. He already knows. “Chicks. What have you heard from Vi?” I ask, shaking my head.

  “I heard you took Scarlett’s breath away in a lingerie store fitting room,” Serge says, chuckling. “And I know it wasn’t because of what you were, or were not wearing.” He watches me a moment, maybe to check that I’m still breathing. I don’t think I’ve moved at all since he said her name. “You kissed her?”

  Shaking myself out of the daze, I shove my bag in a locker and hang my clean clothes on the hook inside. “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “And it was amazing. And I shouldn’t have done it. And now she hates me again.”

  Laughing, Serge grabs his racket. “I knew when I heard the news, that today’s games would be mine,” he says, bouncing the little rubber ball on his strings.

  “Don’t get cocky, detective. I haven’t lost all hope. I’ll be putting up a good fight, you’ll see.”

  “Glad to hear it, soldier. Grab your drink and I’ll see you on the court.”

  Downing the last of my water, I refill and follow Serge out to warm up.

  We play a slow game first to limber up. I let him win, because I know I can beat him in the next game.

  Surprisingly, he wins three in a row.

  “Told you,” he says, as we break for a drink. “You’re trapped in Scarlett-land and I’m kicking your ass.”

  I don’t argue.

  “You said a while back you couldn’t get what you wanted. Is Scarlett what you want?” he asks, wiping sweat out of his eyes with a towel.

  “Yup.”

  “And you can’t have her?”

  “Nope.”

  He squints at me. “Why not?”

  Sighing, I wipe my face on my shirt, because I forgot to pack another towel for the game. “Because she’s young and independent and doesn’t need to be weighed down by any of my bullshit.” Shrugging, I bounce the ball and smack it at the wall as we start again. “She wants casual. I want commitment. I want to love her and she doesn’t want to be loved.”

  Serge stops mid-court and ducks as the ball comes screaming at him. “What do you mean she doesn’t want to be loved?”

  “What I said. She runs from the thought of it. It scares her witless.”

  “Being loved?” Serge clarifies.

  Nodding, I serve again. “She keeps herself detached. Intentionally. As far as I can tell, she even gets angry at her folks for loving her.”

  Serge returns the ball and stops again. “What does that mean for you guys then?”

  I hit the ball with power. It bounces past Serge and continues to lose momentum around us. “It means I want her, but I have to wait; for more reasons than that one. But today, I fucked up.”

  “Because you kissed her?”

  “Exactly,” I reply, checking the clock and eying the pair waiting outside for their time slot. “I started something I couldn’t finish. Gave her a glimpse and then took it away when she wanted more.”

  “But you want her to want more,” Serge says, confusion knitting his eyebrows together.

  “More to her is... me taking her against the wall a few times and being done with it. More to me is... a life together where she believes she’s worth the love I lay at her feet.”

  Serge checks the clock when those waiting outside begin clearing their throats. “We’ll settle the score next time,” he says, picking up the ball and motioning me to the door. “What if you did it her way?” Serge continues once we’re off the court. “Start quick, then convince her how good it will be so she has no choice but to consider long term.”

  If only.

  “I can’t.”

  Serge pauses a moment, a quizzical look on his face as he studies me. “Religion?”

  Laughing quietly, I shake my head. “Injury.”

  “Mental or physical?”

  “Both. In this case, they can’t be separated.”

  He considers that a moment. “Does she know?”

  I shake my head. “I’d have no hope then, would I? Rehab is giving small improvements. I just have to be patient and stay positive.”

  “Patient,” Serge repeats, as he takes his shower gear from his locker. The way he says it makes the word sound anything but favorable. He’s probably thinking about how hard it was to wait for Vi to tell him what she wanted.

  “It’s fine,” I say, thinking how to explain. “She isn’t ready for what I’m offering anyway, I just don’t want to drive her away before I even get a chance. It’s complicated, I know. It’s taken over a year of observation and background development, to understand how she ticks, and I haven’t got her all figured out yet, but I know the end goal and I’ll play the long game, so long as I get a chance to play.”

  Nodding, Serge swings his towel over his shoulder. “Good luck then. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I owe ya,” he says with a broad grin.

  “You owe me squat. I just pointed out the obvious. Maybe you can return the favor one day if you discover a new angle on the situation.”

  “Will do. And if I hear anything helpful, I’ll pass it along. Which reminds me,” he says with a smile as he heads for the showers. “I think you might be in for a good show tonight.”

  Sinking to the bench, I sigh. “This is not going to end well.”

  Stopping, Serge turns. “Why not?”

  “Because if I know Scarlett, she’s going to be a total pain in my ass and I’m going to wish myself dead by the end of the night.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SCARLETT

  “You’re sure about this?” Vi asks as she does my makeup.

  “Very.” I run my hands over the three very tight, thin braids Kat has made on one si
de of my head. “I’m going warrior. I’ll show him.”

  “Show who?” Alexa asks, plonking down at the dressing table next to me and releasing her own blond hair from its pile on top of her head by pulling out a chopstick.

  “No-one. Is that an actual chopstick?” I ask as she puts it in her mouth and runs her hands through her long, wavy locks.

  “I didn’t want my hair to fall in my noodles,” she says with a shrug. “I like this look on you Scar; very ‘I’ll eat you alive’,” she says and leans in to the mirror to examine her skin. With a sigh, she gets out the concealer and covers what must be the only blemish on her skin. I can’t even see what she’s trying to hide.

  “Very creative,” Vi says of Lex’s chopstick as she dusts powder over my cheeks. “Done. You want me to do yours Lex?”

  “Would you?” she asks, already pushing her make-up toward Vi. “I always feel pampered when you do it.”

  “Me too,” I agree, watching Vi. “Do you do something special while you’re doing it? Like spiritually, or subliminally or something?”

  Vi laughs as she adjusts her stool in front of Lex. “You guys are just deprived of intimate touch and I’m gentle and loving. I know all about it, trust me.”

  Before she met Serge, Violet hadn’t been with a guy for years, and never with one so loving. I do trust her, but I don’t quite like what she’s suggesting.

  “Whatever, Vi,” Lex says, jumping in before I can investigate the idea further. “I was touched intimately as recently as yesterday.”

  “Did you love him?” Vi asks in a light tone.

  “Hell no!” Lex says with a laugh. “I’m using him for practice, not love. Although, I did love his cock.”

  “Lexi!” I push her leg and giggle, but can’t help myself. “Was it big?”

  “Average-ish length,” she recalls with a shrug, “But fat like those salamis at Presto’s deli,” she says, illustrating with her hand, making me and Vi laugh.

  “You going to call him?” Vi asks, readjusting herself on her stool. Her face becomes serious as she concentrates on Lex’s eyeliner.

  “He already called me, but I told him I was done. I liked his dick, but he used his hands too much.”

  Snorting another laugh, I adjust the brown leather straps over my shoulder that keep my ‘sexy Viking’ breastplate in place. “What do you mean he used his hands too much? When he talked or in bed?”

  “Both!” she replies, beginning to gesture herself. “It was like he was translating into sign language for me when he talked, and he was all grope-y and grabby in the sack, which goes against my rules,” she says, running her hands over herself and shuddering. “At one stage I actually had to tie his hands just so he’d stop!”

  Vi laughs this time. “What did he think of that?”

  “He liked it! Thought I was being kinky or some shit! It’s like dude, I’m already sitting on you, just let me have the fun and we’ll both go home happy.”

  “I stand by what I said,” Vi says, blowing powder from the tip of her brush before sweeping it over Lex’s eyelid. “Humans need caring, and intimate touch. It’s one of our basic necessities. And even though a fat cock might feel deeply intimate - depending on where you put it, without an emotional connection, it’s still just a cock.”

  “Well I prefer an intimate cock to...” Lex gestures with hands over her body again to help her express the words. “The possessive invasion of manhandling,” she says.

  “Each to their own,” I say, raising an eyebrow at Vi. “Not everyone has a hot detective touching them so pleasingly, Miss Steamy Steamerson from Steamsville!”

  “Oh please,” she says, reaching for more powder and shaking her head. “You had intimacy today and now look at you. Dressed to kill and a mind set on the same. You could have your own steam if you wanted it.”

  “Ooh,” Lex says, leaning in. “I knew I heard something juicy when I came in. Who is he?”

  “No-one I want to get intimate with, which is what he’ll know by the end of the night,” I say firmly.

  “Liar,” Vi mutters under her breath. I stare daggers at her until Lex shakes my arm and repeats herself.

  “He’s coming to the show?”

  “I’m sure he’ll show his face around here somewhere,” I say, checking my reflection as Natalia comes in already made up and ready to go. “Hey Nat. You singing tonight?”

  We always ask. She wants us to; says she finds it encouraging, but the torn expression on her face is the same as it is every night, and we know the answer before she says it.

  “Not tonight. Soon, maybe,” she says with tense shoulders. “Have you seen Bettina or Ireeni?”

  I love the way she rolls the r in Ireeni; so foreign and romantic sounding. I think back to this morning, when she sang in her native Estonian tongue and how that made the emotional song she was singing so much more powerful. Even made-of-stone Bruno had tears in his eyes.

  Bruno. The man that once stiffened at the slightest touch is starting to melt, but has an annoyingly unpredictable off-switch. I let him hold me close a few times to see what he’d do and he kissed me. Really kissed me. I didn’t expect to feel anything, I was just curious how far I could push him, but that back-fired. Big-time back-fired. His touch was that caring intimacy Vi spoke of; firm, but gentle and hot as hell, and now he won’t give me more.

  I’ll show him.

  Prez whisks into the dressing room, her robe flying out behind her, exposing her black, strappy ensemble. “Hi everyone! Sorry I’m late.” Looking around, she releases a huge breath. “Phew, I thought I’d be the last one here!”

  “Reeni’s on her way and Teeny’s coming straight from class,” Kat says, walking in whilst looking at her phone.

  “OK. Great. Let’s talk line up,” Prez says, getting down to business. Nina Pryzbylewski is the founder/owner/manager of the revolutionary strip club that is Beyond The Horny Buffalo. The club is set up to let its dancers take control of their bodies in a safe, look-but-don’t-touch environment. Beyond is a club that welcomes and supports the recovery of dancers troubled by various issues of sexuality, abusive histories, horrific accidents and more.

  We dancers are offered accommodation, paid work in the club (off-stage if preferred, though most dancers don’t take long to gravitate toward the spotlight), and the support to work towards recovery. All Nina asks in return, is that we pay it forward and help improve our community in any way we are able, be it through charity, or pure and simple good will.

  Most of us use the safety of the stage to explore and express our sexuality that for whatever reason, is causing us grief in the outside world. My issues stem from my hideous scarring and my inability to accept my body as an object of sexual desire. I feel sexual inside; I mean, I love having sex and making guys think they want me. I just don’t want them to see me naked. And if they do see me, I don’t want to see the look that crosses their face. The ‘grin and bear it’ look. It’s usually accompanied by the questioning about how the scars came to be, and the patronizing ‘no, no, I think you’re beautiful, of course I still want you’ followed by inadequate eye contact and a swift exit. That’s why I prefer to keep intimacy to a minimum. As Lex said - ‘Just let me have my fun and we’ll all go home happy’. If I can pretend my scars don’t exist for five minutes in some dark corner, I can let go and be the best shag you’ve ever had. It’s not too much to ask is it?

  “Scar, you seem very distracted, but very... aggressive. Sexually speaking,” Prez says as she circles me. “All in favor of Scarlett going on last tonight?”

  My fellow strippers shout, “Aye!” before I can protest. Frowning, I slump back into my chair, annoyed that I have to wait even longer for the swarming anger inside me to be purged.

  “Almost show-time, girls,” Benji says as he comes in toting a tray of refreshments. “This sizable Monday night crowd is becoming a regular thing. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. I’m getting almost as many tips at the bar as I do dancing on Ladies’ night!�
�

  “Doesn’t say much for your dancing then, fancy pants!” Teeny says as she wraps her arms around his waist from behind and squeezes. “Maybe you should dance after coming back from your dad’s shop all covered in grease and smelling of man instead of dressing up like a Wall Street player.”

  “That might be what floats your boat, short stuff, but I prefer my men clean-cut and my women well-greased,” he says, wiggling his butt against her until laughing, she lets go and spanks him on it.

  “Get back to the bar and let us girls think about getting greasy! Coop will be run off his feet covering the whole bar and Smith’s already warming up the mic.”

  She doesn’t have to say where Bruno is. He’s on the door, keeping out the riff-raff. The man’s got a memory for faces and if any banned assholes turn up at his door, they quickly tuck in their tails and run. Bruno doesn’t mince words, but I’ve seen him mince faces. He always stands guard to keep us all safe. It’s in his nature and probably why he joined the armed forces. Coming to the inside door when he gets cold, he’ll help the others keep the indoor crowd under control too, and maybe catch a few of the acts.

  I’ve seen him watch me before, and he damn well better be watching tonight.

  “You’re doing it again,” Vi says quietly at my shoulder. Relaxing my shoulders, I let the scowl drop from my face. I look at my reflection, turning my face to study my war paint. Two brown stripes highlight my left eye, with a thin turquoise line sitting just above the bottom one. Standing, I remove my breast plate and reach for the paint.

  Repeating the pattern on the scarring around my side, I re-assess the girl in the mirror. Giving her a nod of approval, I pace around the dressing room, waiting for the paint to dry as the beautiful girls around me take their turns on stage, each returning even more beautiful than when she left.

  I will be one of them.

  TAKING A DEEP BREATH, I fill myself with warrior thoughts. I’m a fighter. I am strong. There is beauty in strength. I have been burned and have risen from the ashes.

  “Hotter than hot, please welcome to the stage... Phoenix!” Smith’s deep voice booms the name of my alter ego and it fortifies me against the inferior thoughts that plague me about my appearance. Phoenix cares not for the opinions of mere mortals.