by Isabel Morin
Cutter sat in a plastic chair across from him, leaning forward on his elbows. “Trust me, I get it. Any guy who’d be cool with seeing his woman do that would have a screw loose, in my opinion.”
“How do you do it then?”
Cutter sighed and rubbed his face. “It’s different with Emily. I was already working here and used to this scene when I met her. Also, she never gives lap dances.”
“Perfect. So Cheryl could chose not to do them, she just prefers to?”
“I said I feel for you. That doesn’t mean I think you have the right to judge her,” Cutter said, sounding a tad less friendly. “Nearly all of the girls do lap dances. They make a lot of money doing it, and it’s not like they think of it as some intimate act. They could care less about these guys. Whatever you have with her, you’d be a fool to compare it to what goes on here.”
“Fine, I get it. Enough with the lecture,” Jason said, standing up. He was drained and exhausted, and all he wanted was to go home and put all this out of his mind.
Cutter stood up as well. “I guess my job here is done.”
Jason looked at him, about to make some smartass comment. “Thanks,” he said instead, realizing all at once that Cutter had done him a huge favor. “I guess I’ll get out of here.”
“Good man,” Cutter said, patting him on the back.
“Any chance there’s a back entrance I can use?” Jason asked.
Cutter led him to an emergency exit and he made his way down an alley and back to his bike. Not even the open road and cool wind did much to clear his head after the night he’d had, though. He pulled up at his house, parked the bike in the garage, and sat down in front of the television with a six-pack of beer.
The phone woke him up the next morning. He was still on the couch, only now he was surrounded by empties, his head throbbing.
Cheryl. He almost let it go to voicemail, but chances were he wouldn’t be feeling any better then.
“Hey there,” he answered, sounding like he’d been smoking a pack a day for decades.
“Did you just wake up?” she asked.
“Kind of,” he said, He could tell his tone was off and tried to think of something normal to say. “You’re up early.”
“Not really. It’s almost eleven. Are you all right? You sound kind of funny.”
“It’s nothing. I had a few beers and overslept.”
Silence on the other end. Shit. He knew he was probably unnerving her, but he didn’t know what to do about it.
“I was wondering if you wanted to come over this afternoon,” she finally said, her voice wary.
Did he? Yes and no. He wanted to see her more than anything, but he wouldn’t be able to act like nothing was wrong.
“Of course,” he said, a moment too late.
“Right. I’ll see you soon then.”
That was it. He sat there looking at the phone, wondering if he should call her back. But their playful banter seemed out of reach now, and he’d probably just make things worse. Or maybe he was being pessimistic. Maybe everything would be fine and she’d understand why he was upset and agree to stop stripping for good.
***
Cheryl paced her apartment, willing herself to calm down and not read too much into how he’d sounded. Except he’d sounded bad. Almost like a different person.
She knew this feeling all too well. It was the feeling before a breakup. The pit in her stomach, the lover on the other end who sounded like he dreaded seeing her. How had she thought what they had was immune to danger? Nothing was safe, especially not when it was this good. If only she hadn’t come to rely on him so much.
She needed to calm down and stop overreacting before anything had even happened. Maybe she was projecting because of all the other relationships that had blown up in her face. Not that this was even a relationship. It was supposed to be casual, and she’d assumed all along it couldn’t last. So why was she hyperventilating?
She was sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to do a crossword puzzle, when he knocked. As soon as she opened the door she knew she’d been right to worry. He looked awful, tired and sad, and instead of grabbing her up in his arms, he smiled nervously and slipped by her, setting his helmet on the coffee table.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” she said, trying to sound steely instead of wrecked.
“Can we sit down?” he asked, his eyes darting around the living room, as if the furniture could save him.
“You’re really freaking me out now, Jason.”
“I went to see you last night.”
“What do you mean? You went to the club?” she asked, sinking down onto a chair as her legs gave out.
“I wanted to be more supportive, so I figured I’d give it a try. I thought it would be fun to watch you, and I’d realize there was nothing to get upset about.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “At first it was pretty sexy. You’re amazing and gorgeous and I thought I could handle it. But then I couldn’t.”
“Jason–”
“Please, let me finish.”
She sat there, helpless, as he struggled for words.
“I knew I needed to calm down so I went into the bathroom to take a break and splash some water on my face. I felt better, but I also figured I ought to leave. Except when I went back out I saw you…I saw you giving some guy a lap dance.”
“Oh, God,” she said, clenching her arms to her stomach, nauseated at the thought of him seeing her like that.
Jason sat down, finally, but not next to her. He sat on the armchair miles away. He didn’t want to be near her. And how could she blame him?
“Cutter caught up to me before I did anything stupid. I wanted to kill that guy, and I wanted to…”
“What? You wanted to what?”
“I don’t know. I just know I don’t want you doing that anymore. It made what you did with me…It was like watching you have sex with someone. I know that’s not what it’s like for you. But I just can’t…”
“I didn’t ask you to go down and spy on me,” she said, suddenly furious. “If you hadn’t been sneaking around you wouldn’t have seen anything and there’d be no problem.”
“Fine, it’s my problem,” he spat, standing up. “But what about what you promised? You said you couldn’t wait to be done with stripping so you could move on with your life. And yet here you are, right back at it.”
“I didn’t make anyone any promises, and I don’t have to answer to you, either.”
“Something else always comes up, you know. That’s just life. Are you going to strip every time you get nervous about money? You couldn’t wait to put all that behind you and become a teacher. You hated doing something you had to hide.”
“All this time you’ve been acting like you accept me, but now that we’re having sex, you want me to stop.”
“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m trying to point out how you’re using it as a crutch.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t know what it’s like to not have anyone else to depend on.”
“You’re not in danger of starving anymore, and you’re not alone. I’d never let anything happen to you.”
“Right now, you’re what’s happening to me. I knew I couldn’t trust you. You acted like you could handle who I am, but I knew one day you’d throw this back in my face.”
He stared at her, the color draining from his face, his expression tight with strain. She almost took it back. But she was too angry. He had no right to make demands like this on her.
“After all this time, that’s what you think of me?” he said.
“What else am I supposed to think?”
“I’m crazy about you,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I don’t know why you can’t see that.”
“All I see is you trying to change me,” she said. “I thought it would be different with you, especially if we kept it casual. But it doesn’t seem to matter.”
“We were never casual, Cheryl.”
She ope
ned her mouth to reply, but found she didn’t know what to say.
“I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you,” he said. His eyes burned into hers. “I’m in love with you. But I guess it’s not enough, and I don’t know how else to prove myself to you.”
She choked back a sob. “How can you say you love me when you don’t accept who I am?”
“Christ, Cheryl. Of course I accept you. Stripping isn’t who you are, it’s something you’ve done, and it’s almost beside the point now. Nothing matters if you don’t trust me.”
The pain in her chest echoed what she heard in his voice, but she didn’t contradict him. She couldn’t give up who she was, not even for him.
“I’m sorry, Jason. I guess we just need different things.”
He nodded his head, his throat working. “I’d better go,” he said, picking up his helmet, and the look he gave her was the bleakest she’d ever seen.
She said nothing, just watched him turn and walk out the door. She heard his bike start up and drive away, and still she didn’t quite believe he was gone.
She cried until she fell asleep, waking up hours later with a throbbing headache and puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She didn’t look like a woman who was holding onto her power. She looked like a woman who’d been dumped. Even if she did manage to cover up what a mess she was, she couldn’t fathom getting through a whole night at the club.
A five o’clock she drank nearly a pot of coffee, a playlist of woman power songs playing from the other room. “I Will Survive” couldn’t touch the way she was feeling now, but she did feel a tiny flame of resolve flicker to life in her belly.
She’d been through a lot worse than this. One man wasn’t enough to take her down. She’d obviously let herself become too dependent on him, and it was never smart to rely on one person so much. She ought to know that better than anyone.
Her first dance that night was in dominatrix regalia – a black bustier with clasps she hooked onto her fishnet stockings, and thigh-high black stiletto boots. If that didn’t give her strength to get through the night, nothing would.
She’d put on most of her make-up before leaving the house to cover the evidence of her crying jag, so no one looked twice at her when she got to the dressing room. As soon as she was in costume she felt invincible, and when she walked out onstage to the Nine Inch Nails song “Closer,” she was ready to let loose her anger on the crowd.
Luckily, her edgy dancing seemed to strike the audience as in character, since she didn’t smile so much as snarl at the men crowded around the stage. The music pounded through her blood along with all her frustration and anger, and she took it out on the patrons of the Pink Pussycat.
They ate it up. The more disdain she felt for them, the more money they threw at her. The whole room leaned toward her, enraptured, watching every move. She was in control here, just as she was in her life, and nobody was going to tell her what to do.
Her hair whipped around her head as she twirled, pushing the toe of her boot into one man’s chest, rapping another with her crop. She could have gone on forever, fueled by ten years of disappointment and rejection.
She danced several beats past the end of the last song before she regained control of herself. Her chest heaving, she walked along the edge of the stage, trying to smile and play along as men slipped cash between her black garters and sweaty skin.
By the time she made it back to the dressing room she was utterly depleted and wondering how she’d go on five more times. She’d never danced like that before – like she had something to prove, like demons were not only on her heels, but whispering in her ear.
The girls already in the dressing room hadn’t seen her routine so they didn’t say much, but a minute later Tina walked in.
“Goddamn, that was some serious shit. You trying to make us look bad?” she asked, hands on her hips, fake mad.
Cheryl gave a wan smile and continued counting her money.
“What? What did we miss?” a new girl named Anne asked.
“Cheryl just seriously threw down out there.” Turning back to Cheryl, Tina looked her up and down, waiting until she’d finished counting. “Are you okay? You look…”
“I’m just tired,” she answered, in no mood for anyone to be nice to her. She could feel the brittle shell holding her together starting to crack, and the one sure way to shatter it to pieces was someone showing concern. “Nothing a swig or two of that gin wouldn’t take care of.”
The gin helped, and somehow she made it through the rest of her sets, and even worked the floor, though she couldn’t bring herself to do any lap dances. She showered and left, another five hundred and sixty dollars in her pocket. Combined with last night’s take, she’d made over a thousand dollars more toward her savings. So why didn’t she feel any better?
“’Night, Cheryl,” Cutter said, smiling as she passed him in the hallway on her way home.
She muttered a goodbye but kept going, afraid to talk to anyone, especially him.
“Hey, wait up.”
She stopped and let him catch up, but didn’t turn around until she’d composed her face into something that felt less like a person who was about to cry.
He frowned down at her. “You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”
His concern nearly undid her, until she remembered how angry she was.
“Actually, yes. Jason and I broke up. Or whatever you call it when you’re doing whatever we were doing.”
“Damn, I’m really sorry. I thought things were going pretty well.”
“Me too. Until he started in on me about working here again.” But then, Cutter knew all about that. “He told me you saw him last night.”
“That’s true,” he said, hesitating, like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “Seeing you give a lap dance hit him pretty hard.”
“Then you know he totally overreacted. I mean, I don’t expect him to love it, but why is it the end of the world? It doesn’t bother you that Emily strips. He has no ri –”
“Well, yeah. Actually it does.”
“What?”
“I pretty much want to kill every guy who looks at her.”
She stared at him. “Seriously?”
“It’s part of the reason I avoided getting involved with her as long as I did. And she doesn’t even do lap dances. I’m pretty sure my skull would split open if I saw her do that.”
“But...but I don’t get it. You know it doesn’t mean anything to us.”
“Maybe not to you, but it means something to me, and it means something to those men you’re crawling all over. Jason and I know what those guys are thinking, and it’s not pretty.”
Her head spun as she absorbed what he said. Of course she knew it wasn’t all fun and games. The men she danced for imagined screwing her every which way till Sunday, she just purposefully didn’t think about any of that. But obviously some people did.
“Look, I’m not taking sides here,” Cutter said, his voice soothing. “If he wasn’t treating you right, then it’s best that it’s over.”
“No, I…it wasn’t like that,” she said, suddenly wanting to defend Jason.
Of course he’d treated her well. Better than any man ever had. He’d been her personal cheerleader since she met him, believing in her more than she’d believed in herself.
“I have to go,” she said, leaving Cutter with a worried look on his face. She made her way to the parking lot and got into the car, trying to make sense of everything.
She had no regrets about stripping to put herself through school, but maybe Jason was right about her using the club as a crutch. She had no debts and a good job. She was better off than most people. If she did need money, she could do other things. Teach summer school, tutor kids on the side.
Maybe she was just hanging onto the past – to the first thing in her life that had made her feel strong and independent, able to take care of herself financially. She knew stripping inside and out, but the teaching thing was brand new. Maybe she was afraid of
her new life. Maybe she was afraid of failing. But she couldn’t go through life acting like she was about to fail. And she couldn’t go through life treating people like they were bound to disappoint her.
Her expectations of Jason had been both too high and too low. She’d been unforgiving about his reaction to seeing her strip back in September, and she’d assumed he could never give her what she needed. She’d assumed no man would ever accept her if he really knew her, but Jason already had. There was nothing to be afraid of now.
Except that she’d lost him for good.
Her hands trembled as she fumbled for her keys, finally getting them into the ignition. Just minutes ago she’d been exhausted, but now she felt wide-awake, the adrenaline coursing through her veins fueled by fear. She had to make this right, had to explain and apologize until he forgave her for throwing his love back in his face.
She drove straight to his house, barely slowing down for traffic lights and stop signs, only to find the Jeep gone from the driveway.
Instantly she imagined him taking solace in some woman’s bed. What if right now he was with that bartender who was still so hot for him? Her stomach heaved and she pressed her forehead to the steering wheel, trying to breathe. She was too late. She’d never get him back. Never be kissed by him again, or hear his laugh. He’d take some other woman camping…
Camping. He was probably camping somewhere. She sat up straight, her hands gripping the wheel. That was exactly the sort of thing he’d do if he were miserable and needed to get away. Galvanized, heart racing, she pulled away from the curb and reversed direction.
A half hour later she was crawling through Red Rock’s campsite, hunting for Jason’s Jeep. A few campsites in she thought she found it, but after creeping closer, she realized it was brown rather than green. Back in the car she started a mantra. “Please let me find him. Please let me find him…”
She was starting to think she’d totally miscalculated when she spotted the second jeep. Killing the engine and lights, she picked her way in for a closer look. Her heart knocked against her chest and her breath came light and uneven as she made out the Hawaiian dancer she’d given Jason sitting on the dashboard. It was his car, his tent, his gorgeous face hidden from her.