by Strong, Mimi
“Cherry,” I said.
“Cheryl,” she said, winking at me. “Short for Cheryl-Lynn.”
“Of course,” I said, nodding at the petite redhead.
Seeing her face brought back memories. Cheryl had been a co-worker, but she was not a friend.
Why was she there?
She was standing at the desk of an administrator who’d gone off for paternity leave, to take care of his wife and their new twins. Like me, Cheryl must have made the decision to change her life, and now here she was.
She wasn’t working at the community center’s administration office to sell more shooters, or rub her breasts in anyone’s face. The petite redhead standing on the other side of the cubicle wall wouldn’t be giving lap dances at her desk. That explained whey she wasn’t going by the name Cherry Pie.
Gloria stood up, smiling and curious. “You two know each other? What a small world.”
I reached over and shook Cheryl’s hand. “I’m Skye. Short for Skyler. I think there was another girl we worked with named Summer. It was a long time ago.” I grinned at her, my eyes wide and encouraging her to take a hint.
She shook my hand timidly. “Yes, I remember Summer. She was a wild girl. Actually, I didn’t like her very much. She thought she was better than everyone else.”
“I guess you didn’t know her like I did.”
Cheryl kept shaking my hand. “Or maybe I knew her better than everyone. Wasn’t she the one who cracked a bottle over the owner’s head? She could have killed him.”
“But she didn’t.”
She laughed and pulled her hand away from mine. “Good for her. At least that old bastard got what he had coming.”
I turned to Gloria, standing beside me with her jaw dropped. She could tell there were all sorts of things being left unsaid, between the words Cheryl and I were saying. She wasn’t the only one. As I glanced around the administration office, I saw a number of faces and ears tilted our way, hands paused over their keyboards.
“Excuse me,” I said, smiling sweetly. “I need to go prepare for my class.”
“What are you teaching?” Cheryl asked.
“Dance,” I said coolly, maintaining steady eye contact. “Children’s dance classes. Most of them under twelve.”
Cheryl tipped her head up knowingly. She couldn’t have known that I’d lied on my application, but she probably suspected I’d omitted certain key details from my employment history.
My mouth soured as a smile spread across her face. Out of all the strippers I’d known during my years in the business—and I’d met a number of women during that time—why did it have to be the most petty, jealous, and vindictive one of all who turned up multiple states away, right in the middle of my new life?
Contrary to what I’d told my students, my knee injury hadn’t been from a failure to stretch before dancing. It had come from a fall. I couldn’t have proven anything, even if I’d tried, but my injury had been the result of a fall caused by a certain nasty little redhead named Cherry Pie.
I had a terrible feeling in my gut that she was going to trip me again.
~
When I got home from work that night, I could tell from the sidewalk that something was wrong. As I walked along the dark sidewalk toward the old house, I could see that the light was on in the living room. The interior wall seemed large and bright—brighter than usual.
I let myself in the exterior door and climbed up the steps two at a time, the same as usual.
The apartment door at the top of the stairs was wide open.
“Hello?” I called out as I walked into the brightly-lit apartment. “Hello?”
My voice echoed in the empty space.
I dropped my purse to the floor.
The interior living room wall had looked strange from the street, because usually the space was broken up by my television. But now it was gone.
My couch was gone, too.
And the kitchen table and chairs.
Everything was gone.
I ran to my bedroom, where I found my mattress on the floor, the wrought iron bed frame gone. My dressers were gone, along with my jewelry. I hadn’t owned much of value, but now it was all gone, along with the laptop computer from the community center, that wasn’t even mine to lose.
Slowly, I crossed the apartment to my roommate’s room. The door was closed, but unlocked.
I opened the door.
Everything was gone, the room spotless except for a note on the floor.
I picked up the note.
It read: Sorry.
Chapter 15
Charlie
MAY
In May, the gardens came to spectacular life. Spring and early summer were always my mother’s favorite time of year. We would be driving somewhere together and she’d pull over the car because she’d see some plant blossoming along a traffic meridian, or see a residential garden she needed to stop to admire.
My father would tease her, saying that stopping to smell the roses was just an expression, a metaphor for taking the time to enjoy life, and not literal instructions.
She’d laugh and pluck a flower to tuck behind his ear, or to hold between her teeth as she pulled him in for a kiss.
They got along well in the last months before she died. She was on so many pain medications, and sleeping most of the day, so when she was awake and having one of her better days, we made the most of it.
I was still a boy when she died, but she looked up at me from her bed and told me I was going to be a man very soon, and she could see my strength already.
“You have a place in this world,” she’d said. “Some people have to search for years to find out who they are, but you were born with a very old soul. You’re older than me, Charlie. Did you know that?”
Her skin was like paper by then, the creases from smiling and frowning never quite smoothing out. The oil of her skin, along with her life force, was draining by the day. Even as her beautiful gardens sprang to life, abundant with flowers, my mother was wilting.
“I’m not that old,” I said, holding up the water cup and pressing the straw to her chapped lips. “Drink some water, Mom.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
She wasn’t thirsty, and she wasn’t hungry, either. I hoped that meant she was doing better. She seemed calm, her thin body disappearing into the hospital bed. I hardly dared to blink, thinking she might slip out of sight if I took my eyes off her.
Klaudia, our housekeeper, came into the room to take me home.
I rushed to my mother’s side and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.
“I love you.”
I gritted my teeth. I wouldn’t say I loved her back, because that was always what people said to each other right before they died, and I wasn’t ready yet for her to die.
I picked up my backpack and ran from the room, Klaudia right behind me.
We passed my father on the way to the car.
“Son,” he said with a nod.
I kept walking without acknowledging him. We’d not been speaking to each other for days, though I couldn’t have told you, even back then, what we were fighting about.
Not that it mattered.
My mother passed away that night. The nurses and Klaudia said it was peaceful, but I didn’t believe them.
For a long time, I was angry at my mother. Why hadn’t she given me some sign? Why had she let me leave without telling her I loved her?
When people leave us too soon, we latch on to some thing—some small thing, smaller than all our grief. We hold that thing in our hand and examine it from time to time. She knew it was our last goodbye, and she let me leave without saying those words. Perhaps it was her gift to me, to leave me with some small thing to feel bitter about, to distract me from the larger picture. I was ten, and my mother was dead. My father worked all the time. I felt like an orphan, in a huge house filled with every game or toy a boy my age could dream of, and I didn’t want any of it.
I stayed in my room, pretending to have homework, even when I didn’t.
I thought I’d never feel happy again, until the day Klaudia knocked on my door and asked me to help her with a problem.
Her problem wasn’t even a big deal. She’d locked her purse and all her keys inside the washroom she used, near the kitchen on the main floor. We could have called a locksmith, but my father was due home for dinner, and it wasn’t the first time she’d accidentally locked that door.
So, we’d circled around the house and tried to get in through the room’s window, with me climbing up on her shoulders. Unfortunately, the square window was too narrow for me to fit through.
Back inside the house, we tried credit cards, slipping them in the crack of the door to push in the lock. The credit cards were too soft, and didn’t work.
Klaudia was about to cave in and call the locksmith, again, when I decided to try a metal spatula, from the kitchen. It worked, and we were both laughing when my father walked in a few minutes later.
Klaudia explained to my father how I’d saved the day with my problem solving, and he’d given me one of his rare hugs.
That night, I slept through until morning without any nightmares, secure in the knowledge that whatever happened in life, I’d figure something out. I might even be happy again, some day.
~
Duncan leaned across the car interior and used both hands to push on my knee, driving my foot down on the accelerator.
“Faster, man. You’re making my whole car feel sad.”
“Fuck off,” I replied.
He pushed down on my knee again. Using my right arm, I drove the point of my elbow into his chest and pushed him back over to his side of the car.
“It’s almost midnight,” he grumbled.
“I’m sure this warehouse party will still be going when we get there. Isn’t that the point of a private party? To go all night?”
“Yeah, but it’ll be past my bedtime soon.”
I laughed. “Past your bedtime? Good one. Don’t worry. We’ll be there soon enough and you can get at least five phone numbers for your collection.”
“Hey, did you ever get that girl’s number? That one you’ve been sulking about forever?”
“No. I put my phone in a bag of rice, like you said, but it didn’t come back from the dead.”
“But didn’t you have that guy looking for her? That crazy detective guy your dad has follow people around?”
“Cooper couldn’t track her down. We figure she must have been driving someone else’s car. You know, it’s hard to find someone in a big city. Cooper’s not exactly the FBI.”
Duncan adjusted the rear view mirror so he could watch as he artfully tousled his shaggy hair. “I should learn how to be a computer hacker. I’d hack into all sorts of databases, and I’d find your girl for you.”
“Thanks, man.”
“And then I’d fix my driver’s license situation.”
“Don’t do that. If you didn’t constantly hound me to drive you places, I’d lose out on so much quality time with my best bud.”
Duncan fanned his face with his hand, pretending to be choked up with emotion. “I love you too, man,” he squeaked.
I checked the navigation and made a left turn, into a very deserted, industrial area of the city.
“You might want to double-check that warehouse party address,” I said.
“Boop boop,” he said, already checking the screen of his phone. Duncan likes to say boop boop when he’s using his phone. He says it makes him feel like he’s living in the future.
I kept driving, slowly, looking for addresses.
“Boop boop, we’re almost there. Keep going this way.”
“You know, speaking of databases, there is one place I haven’t checked for Skye. Your phone. Your database of pictures and numbers.”
“You already looked through all the girls named Skye or Skylar.”
“But not at the ones you named Hot Legs, or Wants to Kiss Me.”
I stopped the car and put it in reverse. The street was no longer deserted at this point, but full of cars parked along the side. We’d found the warehouse party. I backed up into a parking spot.
Duncan said, “Fine, you can borrow my phone after the party.”
We got out of the car, locked up, and started walking toward the only building with lights on, a dilapidated printing press.
“Assuming we don’t get jumped and murdered first,” I said.
“Live fast, die young.”
“Really, Duncan? Live fast, die young? This from the guy who made us kale smoothies before we came out tonight?”
“Shut it.” He elbowed me to be quiet.
Duncan didn’t want to admit it, but since the DUI conviction, he’d changed. Luckily, nobody but him had gotten hurt, but the accident had changed him. He used to hook up with girls all the time, but now all he did was collect numbers he’d never use.
He’d busted up his hip and leg in the accident when he was thrown from the car. I wondered if he’d hurt himself in a way that made him unable to have sex, either physically or psychologically, but that just wasn’t something I could ask my best friend about.
Instead, I drove him wherever he wanted to go, with a minimum amount of complaining.
This party, where some DJ acquaintance of Duncan’s would be spinning, was the last place I wanted to be that night. But I was there, so I decided to make the best of it.
We walked up some steps, paid the bouncer in cash, and walked in through a heavy wood door. Within seconds, I got a good feeling about the party.
The interior of the building was stripped bare, with an open loft space lit like a nightclub, and two mezzanines, where people were dancing. Everywhere I looked, I saw legs. Gorgeous, bare, long legs.
I leaned over to say something to Duncan, but he was already saying, “I know, man. I know. This is why I brought you here. Every dancer in the city comes to these parties.”
“Every dancer?” I asked.
He nodded. “Forget about my phone and my database. Let’s grab a drink from the bar and go look for your Cinderella.”
“Cinderella?”
“Because she left a shoe behind when she ran off. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I guess I’m surprised you were paying attention.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m a good listener, man.”
We walked toward the area that seemed most likely to be the bar, and got in line for a drink.
Some people on the upper mezzanine caught my attention. I looked up, my eyes going to the girl in red. She had short, white-blond hair, and seemed to be slapping another girl across the face.
For an instant, her friend’s face turned toward me. She had to be forty yards away, and with all the flashing lights, I couldn’t be certain, but my guts recognized her before my eyes did. My stomach tightened. Skye. She was there.
I elbowed Duncan to get his attention, but before I could get him to look up, the two girls walked away from the railing.
Chapter 16
Skye
What do you do when everything changes?
What do you do after some dirtbag moves in with you, gives fake information about himself, from his job to his name, then robs you of everything in your apartment? What do you do?
And what if one day you’re worrying about losing some students from your program, or getting your hours cut, then suddenly you find yourself having no job at all?
Technically, I wasn’t fired from the community center. Not yet. I was under review. That’s similar to being fired, because you don’t get paid.
Blaming that little redheaded hellbeast, Cheryl, was easy.
But at the end of the day, the only person I could truly blame was myself.
I was the one who lied.
I lied about my dancing experience on my resume, and again, in the interviews. I didn’t lie about my schooling, but that was of little value to the director of programs.
>
The community center gets most of its funding from the city, from taxpayers. Once my manager found out about my lies, he had no choice but to report it to his superiors. And up it went. My lies. My sordid past, waitressing at a topless bar and then stripping at two other clubs, became everyone’s business.
Exactly one week after I shook Cheryl’s hand in the administration office, I was walking out the door with my personal items in a cardboard filing box.
I went home, via the store, where I picked up my favorite cider, plus pineapple juice, and vodka. That had been four days before the party at the warehouse. Or maybe six days. Did it matter? I called some friends I’d lost contact with recently. Amy brought over some coke. Technically, she brought over a guy, and we took turns blowing him, and then we got the coke.
It was not one of my finer moments, but when you have nothing to lose, life starts to get fun again. I’d forgotten how much fun it could be to let go. The guy wanted to pay the two of us to finger each other, but Amy was on her period and promised we’d get together next week. I can’t say I wasn’t looking forward to it.
There’s no point in having a bad reputation for things you didn’t do, so you may as well get something for your pain.
Amy grabbed my hand and hauled me through the crowd, then up the stairs to the second mezzanine. This was the VIP floor, and two guys stood at the velvet ropes, asking about a guest list. The pill Amy gave me on the way over kicked in, and everything was funny to me. I laughed, and then I laughed again, at the looks on the guys’ faces.
“Are you on the list?” the tall guy asked Amy.
She slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and whipped down the top, showing off her natural D-cups, no bra.
The guy unfastened the velvet rope and stepped to the side, letting us up.
“Wanna see mine, too?” I asked, still laughing.
“Stay out of trouble,” he said, which made me laugh so hard, I stumbled into Amy and brought us both down to the ground.
An enormous man in a suit helped us to our feet. “Welcome,” he said, his voice deep and booming.
My jaw dropped open. Was he a famous football player? Or security? His neck was twice the size of a normal guy’s neck.