Beyond Hunger_A Romantic Strip Club Encounter

by Ashley Logan

  “Like family,” I agree, before correcting myself, “Like a family should be, anyway.”

  Serge nods, as if he knows exactly what I mean. “I’m glad you have that.” Not sitting down, he wanders around the room looking uncomfortable. “What I said, I didn’t want you to think I was trying anything. I was hoping I hadn’t scared you off.”

  Shrugging, I flop onto the couch. “Serge, dude, stop beating yourself up. I happen to know I’m easy on the eye - it’s how I make money. It’s not like you were coming on to me or anything,” I say, a little disappointed that he wasn’t, but wanting to praise him for being a good, old-fashioned sweetheart. “You’re hooked on Gina, I know that. And I know you weren’t debasing me in some sleazy way, so chill out and sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

  Sitting slowly at the other end of the couch, Serge takes a long drink of his Gluconade. He looks on the verge of being convinced.

  “It’s not like you were offended when I said I liked your abs and stuff,” I add, hoping to put him at ease.

  Laughing quietly, he looks at me sideways. “You never said stuff. You like my stuff too?”

  Smiling, I give him a shrug and try not to undress him with my eyes. “Yeah. Your stuff is pretty good; you’re kinda the total package. But I’m not looking,” I add, getting myself back in line. “And you’re not looking, so we’re good.”

  “Good,” Serge agrees, relaxing into the couch and leaning back on the head rest. Rolling his head sideways he gives me a curious look. “You’re not looking?”

  Wrinkling my nose, I shake my head. “Nah. Too messed up to make a relationship work. Not very good at picking guys to fill the gap on a casual basis either - as evidenced by the night I met you. Destined to be a spinster, I suppose.”

  Smiling sadly, Serge looks at his beverage. “You want to talk about it?”

  “About what? How I haven’t been laid in two years and it’s depressing as fuck? No thanks,” I say taking a swig of my milk, wondering if I should have gone with something stronger.

  When I lower my glass, the shock on his face is priceless and I almost squirt milk out my nose. Swallowing with difficulty, I choke out a laugh and throw a cushion at his head to interrupt his expression. “It’s a long time, I know, but I’m not sure you realize how many shitheads are out there. It’s a battlefield Serge. I’m failing miserably - and it’s not from lack of trying either,” I add, thinking of how many times I’ve tried lately.

  Serge nods, an odd smile on his face. “Sure,” he says, his face serious. “Most guys I know would definitely turn down no-strings sex with a beautiful woman. You’re right.” Unable to keep his face straight any longer, his head falls back on the headrest as he bursts out laughing. “It must be fucking tough!” he says, wiping a tear from his eye.

  Grabbing a cushion from behind me, I smack him in his stupid handsome face with it. “What the fuck would you know! You probably get chicks lining up to be pounded by the hot detective. Chicks love that shit, not to mention you’re a professional good guy, so they don’t need to worry about being left for dead in a dumpster.”

  Laughter silenced, Serge’s smile has vanished. I give him a shrug, but no apology.

  “It’s different for a girl. We want it just as bad, but the pickings are slim. Most guys are looking for one thing and even the ‘good’ ones compromise their behavior to get it. And look out if you’re a pretty girl, because every guy is looking for a conquest to prove himself to his buddies, or himself, or his ex, or some other bullshit that leaves the girl on the receiving end as nothing but a collection of holes. I should subject myself to that? No thanks. All I want, is a guy that I can safely build up my confidence with, and heaven forbid, grasp a little enjoyment. A girl can only rely on battery power for so long before she needs human warmth. Shit.” Breathing hard, I back away from Serge, suddenly noticing how close I’ve gotten. “Sorry. Two years is a long time, Serge. I think the withdrawal is affecting my brain.” Laughing at myself, I bury my face in my hands. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said all that. Any chance you went temporarily deaf?” I ask, peeking through my fingers.

  “Nope. Heard it all loud and clear,” Serge says, avoiding me and adjusting his position to sit a little further away. Great. I’ve scared him off for good now; just when he’s made such an effort to retain the damn friendship.

  “I’m sorry I hit you in the face with a pillow.”

  “It’s softer than your left hook, so I can overlook it,” he says, his voice a little shaky. “I’m sorry I poked fun. I know better. It’s obviously a difficult issue,” he says, as his jaw clenches. I watch as his fists unfurl. Spreading his fingers wide, he shakes them before adjusting his collar. “Have you talked about it?”

  “A lot. Well, as much as I can,” I amend quickly. “I still attend a group down at the Rec.”

  “Did it happen two years ago?” he asks gently.

  “Four.” Sighing, I take my shoes off and shove my socks inside them before bringing my knees up in front of me. “I got off pretty lightly compared to other girls in the support group, so don’t pity me.” Stopping to cover a yawn, I study Serge’s serious face. “Are we going to talk about this more? Because I’ll need a coffee. Or beer.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his expression conveying that he’s open to either option.

  “Sometimes I wish I could talk more about it Serge, but the truth is I don’t much remember it. I was drugged. The last I knew I was partying at the lake with a bunch of friends for graduation. Next thing, I wake up in the cold, lake house shower covered in bruises. Inside and out. Not much left to say. In some ways, I’m sure it’s a blessing to have no recollection of something like that,” I say in the detached way I’ve learned to use in order to distance myself when I talk about it.

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you Vi,” he says, his big brown eyes filled with horror. “Did they catch the guy?”

  “Guys.” I shake my head. “There wasn’t enough evidence to make it stick. They cleaned up after themselves too well.”

  Serge narrows his eyes. “You know who it was?”

  “Ninety-nine percent sure, but like I said, it was thrown out.”

  “Holy shit, Vi.”

  “Yeah. Hence the occasional freak out and general ineptness at trusting my choices. It’s not great luggage to carry into the dating game, but I don’t want to live my life being scared, or not getting any,” I add, hoping to lighten the mood. “So I’m learning how to juggle it.” Serge is silent, his jaw working as if he’s grinding his teeth into pulp.

  “Anyway, enough about my shit. I’d rather learn more about Power Serge. How’s work going?”

  Regarding me carefully, Serge gives the slightest nod, acknowledging the change in subject means I’m done talking about it. Running a hand through his drying hair, he lets out a long breath and sits up more.

  “Good, I guess,” he says, looking thoughtful. “As good as investigating domestic violence cases can be. Surprisingly, work is the least of my worries. Oh, I checked, and G hasn’t put in for a transfer yet, so that’s cool. I’m hopeful your starring role as the voice of my imaginary girlfriend has been enough to keep Rick off her back.” He looks at me with such hope, that I have to smile, even though I’m thinking this Gina chick is playing him like a trombone - pushing him away and pulling him back in; and he’s so wrapped up he wouldn’t see it if it were true.

  “You know I could seal the deal in person if you wanted to keep that dinner date open,” I suggest, gaging his interest. “I could maybe test the waters and try to grasp Gina’s angle on you. That’s if you’re still not sure if she’s worth waiting for.”

  Serge’s hands run over his head, grasping handfuls of hair as he considers it. “I’ve waited this long already, a bit more won’t hurt.” Turning his face to me, a line forms between his eyebrows. “I don’t want to lie to her.”

  “News flash. You already lied,” I remind him. “But you don’t nee
d to lie. You’re just inviting your new friend, but if you want Rick to believe it’s more, you might have to act like you’re into me - which should be easy, considering you think I’m the hottest chick in Buffalo,” I tease, poking him in the side.

  Pulling away, he laughs nervously and fends me off. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, watching me from the corner of his eye. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t think it’ll work. I implied we were deeply engaged in the bedroom. If we go in there as buddies it’ll stick out a mile. The whole idea makes my skin crawl with the dishonesty of it. I can’t do it.”

  “Chicken,” I say, grinning as his head whips up irritably. “Kidding, Sergio Moretti. That’s a hot name by the way. How’d you get it if your Pops was polish?”

  His eyes sadden a little. “That was my Ma’s Father. Pop Novak. He and my Nan raised me since I was nine,” he says, watching my reactions and smiling sadly. “Moretti was my Dad’s name. He skipped town before my first birthday and the prick Ma found to fill the gap ended up taking her life. Beat her so bad that she never recovered.”

  “Oh hell, Serge. Is that why you became a cop?”

  Tilting his head back to lean on the couch again, he shrugs. “Pretty much. That, and blue is my favorite color,” he adds, his tone lighter than the shadow that darkens his eyes. “They’re all gone now.”

  “All of them? You have no family left?”

  Serge shakes his head. “G is my family.”

  “Well shit, Serge, that’s all your hopes pinned on one twisted pickle. What if Gina gets hit by a bus tomorrow?”

  Looking sideways with a frowning eyebrow quirking at me, he shrugs. “Guess I’d be crying on your doorstep then, my friend.”

  Frowning at him, I give him a shove. “Get out and make more friends. Did this isolation happen gradually? Have you always been a loner, or have you been intentionally burning every bridge you’ve built?”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Serge frowns back at me. “I’ve told you about my family and my ex. I would have thought someone with trust issues might recognize it in someone else.” Staring at my expectant face, he eventually continues. “I’m petrified of rejection and abandonment, Vi. I starve myself of intimacy. The less people I keep close, the less I have to lose. I try to fill the void with food, only to overcompensate and restrict myself out of guilt, or to feel control. I told you I know some of why I do it, and the main reason is that I can control a relationship with food. Food can’t leave me.”

  He looks so hurt and serious, that I feel terrible laughing, but that’s exactly what I do.

  “What the fuck Vi?”

  Holding my guts as my side starts to cramp, I yelp as I fall on the floor, which makes Serge laugh.

  “Serves you right!”

  “Please,” I say, holding out a hand for him to help me up as I gasp for breath.

  Serge folds his arms again. “Not until you tell me why you’re laughing!”

  Remembering sets me off again. Bringing my knees to my chest, I roll to the side, sucking in air. “You said food can’t leave you,” I say between breaths, clutching my aching stomach muscles. “Which means you must be full of shit!” Roaring again, I don’t even notice Serge has moved until I feel him smack me on the butt with a couch cushion.

  Registering the assault, I jump into attack mode and grab a cushion of my own. I’m forced to use it as a shield until a gap opens up and I can leap onto the couch to even out the height disadvantage. With a war cry worthy of any historic battlefield, I lunge at him, wailing on him with my pillow once my legs are locked around him.

  “Hey!” A deep voice shouts from the doorway, causing us both to spin around so fast we lose our balance. Tumbling to the floor, we look up from our tangled mess as Bruno towers over us.

  “If this is foreplay, it’s fucking weird. If it’s not, it’s still fucking weird. Keep it down; Scar’s asleep.” With that, he walks out and closes the door.

  Serge and I look at each other and crack up.

  I pant for breath. “Ow. My stomach hurts from laughing too much.”

  “Yeah, well mine hurts because your bony-ass hip is digging into it,” he says, still laughing as he tries to disengage my legs that are still wrapped around him and somewhat pinned beneath him. “And I think there’s an ankle poking into my spine. How are you doing that?” he says, looking down his body to assess the situation. “Jeez you’re flexible.” Raising his hips to release my foot, he suddenly stiffens. A cute flush creeps up his neck and he turns the color of beetroot. “You might need to just cut that leg off,” he says, lowering himself back down and squeezing his eyes shut as his pants tent.

  Laughing again, I tug myself into a better position.

  “It’s a natural response, Serge. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Swatting at the leg I need him to move, I release my left leg which allows me to roll off him. “I’m going to need some blood to flow into my other leg now Serge,” I hint as he remains flat on his back.

  Groaning he lifts himself enough for me to slide my right leg out. Lowering himself back down, he curls away from me, making hilarious mutterings of self-loathing.

  Smacking him on the butt, I tell him to get up. “Come on. Just get over it. It was good for me too,” I admit, which makes him go quiet. “That’s the most action I’ve seen in two years, Serge. What do you think my pants are like? If I could get a boner, it’d be waving proudly right now.”

  “Damn it, stop talking! You’re making it hang around!” he says, laughing at his own predicament. “It’s the most action I’ve seen in a while too. Fuck. I’m a dirty old man,” he groans as he picks himself up off the floor and adjusts his crotch.

  Meeting each other’s eyes, we both laugh a little and I wave him off with a dismissive hand. “You’re not that old, Serge.” Straightening my clothes, I look up. “Hey.”

  “Hey what?”

  “Scar’s asleep. That means it’s after two.” Checking at the clock, I see it’s closer to three. “Don’t you have work in the morning?”

  Closing his eyes in a wince, Serge makes a hissing sound as he sucks air through his teeth. Pulling at the collar of his faded t-shirt, he looks down.

  “I should thank Bruno for the clothes before I go,” he says, almost to himself. “Was he in the military?” he asks as he searches for the 7eleven bag with his running clothes in it. Foraging inside it, he fishes out a key.

  “Yeah, why do you ask?”

  Shaking his head, Serge looks around as if checking he hasn’t left anything. “His room is very orderly; I was just curious. Right. I should go.”

  “You can crash in here again if you’d like,” I suggest, picking up one of the pillows and throwing it back onto the couch. “You’d get more sleep that way.”

  His eyes travel across the floor and up my body to my face. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows and my body instantly reacts to his gaze.

  “I think I should go,” he says, averting his eyes. “My back won’t forgive me for sleeping on that awful couch again,” he adds, raising his hand to point at himself. “Old man, remember.”

  Throwing the cushion in my hands at him, I smile when he doesn’t even try to dodge it and it bounces off his face. “Go on then Power Serge. I’ll see ya later?”

  Smiling, he nods. “I haven’t laughed like that in years, so I’d be silly not to come back for more,” he says earnestly. “Night Vi.”

  “Night Serge.”

  Smiling again, he heads out the door and I bite my lip to keep from grinning ear to ear.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SERGE

  Taking a cab home to save time, Serge found himself smiling in the back seat. When he hung out with Vi, it was always a bundle of emotions and unexpected confessions, but he was learning that their friendship could survive blatant damage and brutal honesty. In fact, it was refreshingly reassuring. He felt a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Once home, he t
ossed his running gear in the hamper and changed out of Bruno’s clothes. He’d felt a bit strange going commando in another man’s pants, but it was better than what he’d had. Pulling on some boxers, he flopped onto his bed, actually feeling sleepy. Reaching for his phone to check if Gina had called, he saw a text from Vi.

  Vi: You make it home Power Serge?

  Serge: Safe and sound. Might even sleep tonight.

  Vi: Good. Maybe we should hang out on purpose from now on. More sleep, less midnight running.

  Serge smiled. “And less midnight wrestling,” he said to himself in a warning tone, before quickly dismissing it, because he’d actually quite enjoyed the whole pillow-fight, fall-on-the-floor situation.

  Serge: Good idea. Night Vi.

  Vi: Night Serge.

  Tossing his phone back on the bedside shelf, Serge fell fast asleep, a smile still on his face.

  THE ALARM CLOCK BLARED and he reached to hit the button several times before finally connecting with it. Forcing his sluggish body into action, Serge got ready for work. Looking out the window, he was pleased to see the sun rising into a clear sky. Leaving his jacket behind, he tucked his police shield under his shirt, grabbed his satchel and headed out the door.

  The morning he spent delivering training to a room of uniformed officers alongside Kelsey, from the Erie County Family Justice Center, making sure their intervention and follow-up techniques were up to a good standard. Working his cases through lunch, Serge spent the afternoon on the phone tracking down witnesses and recording histories.

  Every so often, he’d catch himself staring at the empty chair opposite him, wondering if Gina was recovering alright. He hadn’t even found out last night why she’d called, because he’d been distracted by her interest in Vi and then he’d been thrown way off by her dinner invitation, general tone and her drinking.

  Had she called because a few drinks was enough for her to drop her guard a little? Was she letting him know she was being swayed? Or was he reading too much into everything; his imagination blurring his reality again. It could be that she was happily married.