I studied the pictures on the wall of our booth. John, Paul, and George looked the same as the last time I’d seen them there. Ringo was being overtaken, little by little, by the mold creeping up from the corner of his picture frame.
Our buzzer went off, and we went to pick up our burgers. I led Alex and Lucia through the topping and condiment lines, helping them apply the perfect amounts of pickles, lettuce, ketchup, mayonnaise. Mike stood at the nacho cheese dispenser and leaned on the button until orange goo completely coated his fries.
Back at the table, I arranged the kids’ plates, milk shakes, water glasses, and napkins around them before going to slap a little mustard on my turkey burger and fill my plastic glass with diet soda. “Hey, get me a cup of jalapeños, would you?” Mike called behind me.
Lucia didn’t expect her milk shake to contain actual strawberries and spit a mouthful onto the table, thinking she’d sucked up a bug. That put Mike off his hot wings, so he took Alex to play the hoop-shoot game while I cleaned Lucia’s mess. Mike and Alex came back disappointed in Alex’s hoop-shooting prowess. Mike caught me reaching for one of Lucia’s abandoned fries and said, “I thought you were on a diet.”
The blond assistant manager made her rounds, stopping at every table to say the exact same thing, “How is everything? That’s great. Let me know if I can get you anything.”
When she got to our table, Mike smiled at her and made a cheesy joke. She laughed at his joke, probably in accordance with her Assistant Manager Training Manual, and wished him a good evening. When she walked away, Mike looked at me and said, “Wow. It’s nice to be appreciated by somebody.”
Because that’s what he wanted, apparently—the same regard from me that a minimum-wage employee was forced to show him. That’s what was missing from his life—me fawning on him because he’d deigned to have a burger with his family instead of staying late at work or locking himself in the garage for the evening.
The cheeseburgers at McDonald’s aren’t as good as the ones at Goodburgers, but you can’t beat the price of three Happy Meals. Sometimes we get the fruit on the side, and sometimes we break down and get the fries. Or we’ll split an apple pie three ways. They taste really good, the fries and the pie that I eat without criticism.
Alex and Lucia usually ask for the boys’ toy and I ask for the girls’. We put our favorites into the collection on the dashboard of the Blazer and toss the rejects into the Goodwill bag at home.
The kids tell me stories over their Happy Meals. Or sometimes they tell each other stories, using the toys to act out various scenarios, and I listen. In the playroom’s playscape, Lucia hurtles herself fearlessly through space. Alex is more cautious, measuring twice and jumping once.
On the way home, we sing along to my Best of the ’80s CDs, the ones I found after we moved to the apartment, that I hadn’t heard since Mike declared his preference for country-western.
I don’t like being broke. I don’t like having to work full-time or having to worry about the Blazer’s maintenance in addition to everything else.
But I don’t regret the decisions I’ve made. I have faith that in the future we’ll look back on these McDonald’s-and-two-bedroom-apartment days and say, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Because it isn’t so bad, everything considered.
Unless he takes the kids away from me. If that happens, none of this will matter, and I’ll have nothing worth working for.
Sara
So you know what I’m going to tell you, right? After what I told you last week?
You don’t? After all that about me going to see Lisa and Caitlyn at the Dollhouse, with that goofy guy Marcus sitting there in the front room waiting? And Lisa dancing for that crazy old man? No?
Well, that was when I did my first dance. That same day, right after I watched Lisa do hers.
No, with Marcus. I told Lisa I wanted to do it, and I took a few extra swigs of vodka so I wouldn’t lose my nerve. She put some more makeup on me and sent me out in her robe and her red shoes.
Yeah, I still had my own underwear on underneath. But I didn’t have to take the robe off, so it wasn’t a big deal.
Right. All I had to do was stand in the room with him and talk.
Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just stupid stuff. I said what Lisa told me he liked—that I was big and he was little and that I was going to stomp on him if he didn’t act right. I said some other stuff, too. I just kind of made it up as I went along, you know? I stood there talking smack to him for half an hour, and then I walked away with two hundred and fifty dollars.
Yep. Swear to God.
How did I feel? I don’t know. It’s hard to remember. Crazy. Kind of sick. But mostly like I got away with something—like I’d found twenty bucks on the street or stolen candy from a baby. You know? It was too easy. Too good to be true. I guess you could say I was in shock, kind of. Like when you hear some good news and you think, No way this could be happening to me.
No, I didn’t stick around. I didn’t want to leave Geronima watching Baby Junior for too long, and it was almost time for the girls to get home from school. But I did stop at the drugstore to get Geronima something—some little soaps and lotions in a basket, like a present for watching the kids all the time and not charging me an arm and a leg for it. And I got some little toys for the kids, too. Nothing too big, because I needed the money to last. But there were these little teddy bears that Angelica had liked the last time we were there, so I got three of them. Then I filled up the tank of the Impala for the first time in months—that thing had been running on quarters and fumes forever, and the fuel line was all full of sediment and shit. Then I went back to the apartments and picked up Baby Junior.
No, I didn’t say anything to Geronima about the job. Not then. I just gave her the present—the soaps—and she was all happy. Then I took Junior back to our apartment and set up the teddy bears on the girls’ bed, so they’d be surprised when they got home.
Yeah, they were. They liked them a lot. But I felt shitty, because Angelica was acting weird, like she knew I didn’t have the money for toys and she had to pretend like she didn’t really want hers. So I told her I got an extra-big tip at work that day and that I got her the teddy bear for being a good kid and helping me out with her brother and sister.
No, she still didn’t act happy. She didn’t smile or anything. She just said thanks.
It made me feel like shit. Like a bad mom. Because it’s pretty messed up when you can’t be nice to your kid without her wondering why. Poor Angelica was probably scared I was drunk or something.
But at the same time I thought to myself, You know what? Everything’s gonna change around here. I’m going to start making more money, and I’m going to buy my kids all the stuff they need, and I’m going to be home with them more, playing with them and listening to their stories. You know? And it kind of sucked that I could only do all this stuff because I was working as a stripper. But at the same time, I didn’t care. I felt like, it’s time for us to have a better life, and I don’t care how I have to do it.
Yeah. I’d made an appointment to see Marcus again in a few days, and I’d told Lisa that I’d meet with Jackie so she could set me up on the job full-time.
Yeah, I did.
How was it? Embarrassing. Like going to the clinic, when they make you take off your clothes and somebody you don’t even know is staring at you and poking on you and telling you what to do. She told me I’d have to cover up my tattoo with makeup and redo my eyebrows and get myself waxed, and that I needed to go next door—to the lingerie boutique, Erotix—and get a bunch of nice outfits to wear on the job. But after we got out of her office, Lisa and Caitlyn told me not to worry, because they bought all their stuff at the Goodwill or from this real cheap costume store on the Internet, and no one cared. And they hooked me up with everything I needed for the first week or two, until I could make a little money and get my own stuff.
Yeah, I started doing it, just like that. I saw Marcus again, and Lisa sent her old m
an to me for one dance, and then some of the other regulars saw me there and started asking for me, and after a couple of weeks I had plenty of appointments.
Yeah, I did start having to take off my clothes. You’re right.
I don’t know. It’s not really a big deal when you think about it. It’s just a job, you know? It’s not like I know these people in real life or care about what they think. If I start to get nervous, I just tell myself, “One more dance and you covered the electric bill. Two more dances and you made next month’s rent. One more dance after that and you can get the girls a bunk bed.” Stuff like that. Then, if I still feel nervous, I take a few shots of tequila. But I hardly ever have to do that anymore, now that I’m used to it. Most of my customers are pretty cool. They’re not all freaks like Marcus. Most of them just want to chill out and shoot the shit with a naked chick for a while, like the guys at Neno’s Cabaret did. Except these dudes make a lot more money, so they can watch girls dance in a private room instead of sitting in a filthy bar with a bunch of losers right next to them.
No, not really. I don’t have to worry about it too much, because there’s a lot of security. There’s a metal detector on the front door. Then nobody gets through the door to our rooms unless one of the girls knows him or unless he comes with a regular and shows his license and all that. If a guy went into the room with one of us and then tried something weird, one of the other girls would see it on the monitor and call Jackie, or whoever was working at Erotix. That’s usually Jackie’s brother or one of her friends. Or if shit ever gets out of hand for real, there’s a gun we can use. Not to shoot anybody, but to scare them away. Or we could just call the cops if we had to. But I’m not really worried about it. I’ve taken care of myself in way worse places, you know?
Yeah, we can call the cops. Jackie doesn’t like to, but we can. What we’re doing isn’t illegal, as long as we’re not having sex with the customers. And if Jackie finds out a girl’s doing that, she kicks her out, fast. Same thing if they’re doing drugs, or starting shit with the other girls, or trying to skim money off Jackie’s cut. She’s real strict about that stuff. She’s not like Neno.
No, I still hadn’t told Natasha and Haley. Or Geronima either. Well…I did tell them I’d changed jobs. They noticed I wasn’t working night shifts anymore and that I was buying new stuff. Like, once I asked Natasha to take me to IKEA so I could get the kids a dresser, because it wouldn’t fit in my car. And I asked them if they knew any dentists, so I could take the kids to get their teeth cleaned. So Haley finally asked me if I was getting a lot of tips lately, and I ended up telling them that I got a different job. I said I was working at Erotix and that the pay was way better there. I said they had to pay their cashiers real good salaries, because skeevy perverts went in there all the time and most people couldn’t handle that. And that was why they didn’t need me to have a diploma or anything either.
And they believed me. Haley asked if they could go visit me at work—she was crazy like that sometimes—but I said not until I was working there a little bit longer and the boss liked me better. That was all I could think of. I didn’t want to lie even worse and pretend I worked somewhere better than that. But I didn’t want to tell them I was dancing either.
Why? Come on. You know what people think about that stuff. Shit, the only reason I’m telling you about it now is because you’re a stranger—and you get paid to listen to people’s bullshit.
I don’t know. Yeah, maybe, if I’d told them why and how much we needed the money. I guess they might have been okay with it. But I didn’t want to find out. You know? It was like here I was, finally making enough money to hang out with them after work, to buy my kids some of the stuff that their kids had—to be kind of normal, like they were—but the only way I could do it was by stripping. I mean, if the whole idea was to be more like them so they’d want to hang out with me, how could I tell about the dancing? People like me can’t have normal jobs that make decent money. We have to cheat. You know? Like, some guys deal drugs just so they can live in a house in the suburbs and send their kids to nice schools and give them piano lessons or whatever. Yeah, a lot of people deal drugs so they can buy a bunch of cars and gold teeth and shit. And some chicks strip so they can do drugs. But most of them just want to be normal, like everybody else. They just never learned how to do it the right way. You know?
I had this plan back then. I was thinking that I’d work for Jackie for a few months, save up some money, and take the classes to get my GED. Then, once I had that, I would get a regular job that I could tell Natasha and Haley about. Then I’d quit the stripping and forget it ever happened.
No, not anymore. Not after everything that’s gone down. Why should I quit now? I’m making good money—better than I’d make working at some office. I’d be stupid to throw it away for nothing.
Well, I haven’t really thought about it like that.
Right. No, I get what you’re saying. Yeah.
Yeah, but if I did that, I wouldn’t be able to afford to come here anymore. That’d be cutting into your money, right?
Oh, that’s a good one. You’re funny. You know, you’re not so bad, now that I’m getting to know you better. You’re pretty cool for a rich old white lady.
You’re welcome.
Alex
I thought Mom was going to be mad that I forgot about my project until today, but she wasn’t. She said she’d help me but that I had to do most of it by myself.
We turned off the TV and turned on Mom’s CD player. We cleared off the table in the living room and laid out all the paints. Mom’s on her computer in her bedroom looking for pictures of kingfishers and their habitats. I’m gluing my index cards to the poster board. Lucia’s sitting next to me doing her workbook.
Mom calls me to her bedroom, and Lucia follows me over there. We go to Mom’s little table in the corner, next to the ironing board, where she has her computer. It’s showing all the pictures of kingfishers that she found. Mom says, “Well, the ringed kingfisher is this gray one with the rusty chest. All those super-colorful ones in your book actually live in Australia. But maybe we can show this guy catching a fish in his beak. That’d be good, right?”
I look at the pictures and find one where the kingfisher’s standing on a stick in the water. “Yeah. I can draw him like that, but with a fish in his mouth. And maybe another kingfisher behind him, watching.”
“That’d be awesome, baby,” she says. “Do you want to sketch it out real quick here?”
I go get my poster board and my good drawing pencil. Lucia keeps following me, doing her gallop like she’s a pony. Back in Mom’s room, I look at her computer and copy the patterns on the kingfisher’s head and chest. Then she finds out what kind of fish live in the Rio Grande so I can draw the right one in the kingfisher’s beak.
Back in the living room, Mom helps me mix the colors on a paper plate, and I paint over my drawing in the middle of the poster board, between the index-card facts. It looks pretty good when I’m done.
“Alex, will you paint me a pony next?” Lucia says. “I want a blue one with orange spots.”
“Maybe. Or I can just draw you one in your notebook and you can color it with markers,” I say. Then I ask Mom, “What if Ms. Hubacek doesn’t like my painting and says I should’ve printed out a picture instead?” Everybody else always prints pictures from the Internet for their projects. But our printer’s out of toner, and we don’t have time for Mom to print stuff at her job.
“Well,” says Mom, “I don’t see why she wouldn’t like it. It looks really good, and everyone knows it’s way more work to paint a picture than to print one. Plus, you can point out to her that you added a fish from the same habitat as the bird. You can tell her you deserve extra points for that.”
I don’t know if Ms. Hubacek will do that. But Mom’s right about the picture coming out good. I like the way it looks. When I get my project back, I’m going to cut out the painting and put it in our room, next to my best drawing of S
pider-Man fighting Green Goblin.
We clean up all the art supplies and put my poster board on the kitchen table so it’ll dry. In the living room, the song on the CD ends and another one starts, the one about the guy who runs so far away. That’s the song we always dance to. “Oh, yeah!” Mom says. “Watch out, y’all!” Lucia screams and runs into the living room. We follow her, and Mom turns up the CD player. Then we start to dance.
I like to do this dance Mom showed me called the Robot. It’s funny. Me and Mom do that together for a little while, and then we do air guitar. Mom picks up Lucia and pretends they’re dancing together like people do on the movies. Then she spins Lucia around, and they’re laughing and screaming.
She can’t pick me up anymore, since I’m big now. But she puts Lucia down and grabs my hands, and we spin around together like we’re on a merry-go-round. We do it until I get dizzy, and then we crash into the couch, and then the song’s over.
The next song is the one about the guy who lives in a big country. We sing the words with Mom, even though Lucia doesn’t know them and says them all wrong. We’re singing really loud, and then Mom says, “Hold on. Is that the phone?” She stops dancing and goes to her bedroom. When she comes back, she’s talking on the phone, saying, “Yes. One moment, please.” She tells me, “Alex, it’s your dad,” and hands me the phone. She turns down the CD player and says, “Why don’t you take it in your room?” like she always says when Dad calls for us, so we can have privacy.
Lucia tries to follow me, but I tell her, “I’ll come out when I’m done,” and I close the door so she can’t come in. She still doesn’t understand what privacy means.
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