3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Katie
"No, no, no!" I curse under my breath and turn the key in the ignition again. "Don't you dare die on me now! Don’t you fucking dare!" But all my car does is sputter before it suddenly turns mockingly silent.
"Fuck." I lean my forehead against the top of the steering wheel, blinking back tears. Of course, it had to happen. Obviously, karma would hit me when I’m down. I should have known it was coming.
The dashboard had been lighting up like a Christmas tree for a while now, but as long as the car, and the brakes, still worked, there wasn’t a way I would dive into my nonexistent savings to have it fixed. It’s not like I have the kind of emergency money I’d need to have it looked at just lying around, although now it seems like I am left with no other choice but to come up with it somehow.
I sigh. At least it drew its last breath after I drove Luke to school.
Now the only question remaining is, how the hell do I get to work?
There’s no bus route to Temptation. The closest bus station is a twenty-minute walk away from it. Which I find surprising, considering it’s the best and only strip club in a 200-mile radius, where, of course, people tend to drink alcohol. Then again, I have the feeling that most of them don’t take ‘don’t drink and drive’ as seriously as they should. And every damn time that thought crosses my mind, it makes my stomach turn .
It’s the reason I never leave at the same time as any patrons and am on my toes the whole ride home.
Then there are those customers who stay behind to have some fun in their car. I’ve seen too much over the years, way too much, if I’m being honest. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I’m not into voyeurism. Now, I won’t walk by a car with foggy windows closer than ten feet away. There are just some things I want to neither see nor hear.
So, no bus. I also can’t afford a taxi. The drive there and back would cost me about half as much as I make during one shift, including tips, so no way am I going to pay that much.
Walking would take me at least an hour in each direction.
There’s one last thing I could try. I take out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find who I’m looking for and press the call button. Biting my thumb nervously, I’m waiting for him to pick up.
"Hello there, loveliest coworker I've ever been allowed to work with," Micah says from the other end of the line in the cheesiest voice he can muster, and I sigh in relief. He answered. Thank god.
I wouldn't ever tell him, because for one, I’m sure he already knows it, and secondly, his ego is big enough as it is, but Micah is also my favorite co-worker at Temptation.
I started a few weeks before him and I still remember how he walked into the club one random afternoon, a few hours before we opened. His shoulders were as tense as a coiled spring, his eyes darting around nervously as he checked the place out. I almost didn’t hear him when he asked about auditioning to become one of Temptation’s dancers. Bruce, the owner, wasn’t keen on the idea in the beginning. After all, his main target group was straight men, but he let him dance anyway.
I remember exchanging glances with Jen, the other bartender, curious how it might go. But as soon as the music started and Micah’s hands touched the pole, he turned into a whole different person, confident and graceful as he danced, leaving all of our jaws on the floor. Today, he’s called Jack the Ripped, a ridiculous spin on Jack the Ripper, and he’s the highlight of the night for all the, by now pretty big number, of our female customers.
No wonder. He’s got the looks; he’s got the charm, and he’s got the moves. Hiring him was the best decision Bruce ever made. It almost doubled the number of guests, I’d guess.
Oh, how devastated all of the women would be if they knew that Micah has a boyfriend waiting for him at home.
"Hey there, Micah," I answer him, an involuntary smile tugging at my lips. "Are you at work already?"
"No, I haven't left home yet," he admits sheepishly, and I can just imagine the cheeky grin on his face. “You’ve caught me on my way out.”
In all the years we’ve worked at Temptation together I only remember him being on time a handful of times. Since he brings so many clients in, however, Bruce usually turns a blind eye to it. Sadly, I don’t have that luxury.
"Any chance you could swing by and pick me up on your way?" I lift my hand to my face, picking at the dry skin on my lips. I loathe having to ask for help. It makes my skin crawl and my stomach drop with anxiety and guilt, but what other choice do I have right now?
"Of course,” he answers without hesitation. “I’ll come over now. Is everything okay?"
A deep sigh escapes me, and I let my forehead thud against the steering wheel again. No. Nothing is okay. Luke’s first tuition payment is coming up and now my car has broken down, which means that in the best-case scenario, I'll need to fork out the money to have it towed, looked at, and fixed. Worst-case means I have to get a new one, which would be even more expensive.
But those are my problems. I won’t bore Micah with the details of my broke existence.
"Everything's fine,” I assure him quickly. “It's just my car. It won't start and I’m not sure how to get to work without it."
"All righty,” he says absentmindedly, and I hear a car door close on his end of the line. “Starting now, I'll be there in, like, ten minutes."
"Thank you," I say, but he already hung up.
I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts. Think, Katie. Think. I need a game plan. A dull thud begins pounding against my temples, shooting taps of pain throughout my whole body.
I'm going to have to pick up even more hours at the club. Maybe there are some odd jobs I can do, like, I don’t know, sweeping the floors, tidying up the offices. As long as I get paid and the job is not sex related, I don’t give a fuck.
It doesn’t change the fact that I need to think of a way to get to work, until my car is fixed, though.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It is a checkmate situation. I need to work more to fix my car, and my car needs to be fixed so I can get to work to earn more money.
Either way, I’m doomed. My eyes start to sting, and I feel my throat closing up. Before any tears fall, I force myself to get out of the car, and lean my back against the driver's door with my eyes closed, taking a few more deep breaths. The sting of my impeding headache distracts me enough that I gradually calm down until Micah’s sleek Mercedes comes to a stop in front of my house .
"Worry not, your savior is here!" he proclaims loudly and jumps out of his car. Despite my shitty mood, I find myself smiling when he greets me with a hug. "Now, show me what's wrong."
I shake my head and open the car door to pop the hood. He lifts it up and secures it before taking a step back, eyeing my engine with a stern expression, hand stroking his chin.
"Yes, yes," he says contemplatively, looking at it more closely. "That is, indeed, an engine. Sorry, Love, I don’t know shit about cars, I have no idea what's wrong."
I shake my head at his antics and step back as he lets the hood fall shut.
"I could ask a friend to have a look at it, if you’d like. She’s a pro with this kind of stuff."
"Thank you," I say softly. I got my hopes up for a second, but, of course, he’s no mechanic. He links his arm with mine and we start to walk over to his car. "But I can't really afford to have it looked at right now. Maybe in a week or two when I've had the chance to get the funds." I grimace and his worried eyes find mine as he opens the passenger door for me. “No idea how to get to work in the meantime, though.”
"That's fine, I'll just come to collect you. I'll even try to be on time," he says before pushing the door shut and rounding the car.
"You don’t need to do that,” I quickly assure him as he gets settled in the driver’s seat.
“I know.”
“No, really, I’ll think of something.”
"Shut up, Katie. I’ll be here." He rolls his eyes and starts the engine.
“I could walk,” I propose. It would take me an hour each way, but it would be doable. But Micah glares at me.
“In what world do you think I’ d let you walk home alone at six in the morning?” He sounds genuinely pissed so I swallow my objections quickly. “You’re fine. I offered. I’ll be at your house to get you and drop you off after your shift. Bruce is probably going to promote you when he hears that I’m on time thanks to you. Just say ‘thank you’ and accept it.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, my fingers finding my dry lip again, picking at it until a piece of dry skin comes loose and I peel it off my lip.
“You’re so welcome.”
"I'd love to give you more hours, Katie, but I can't," Bruce says, looking up from the stack of papers in front of him. The cold light of his office lamp reflects on his bald head, which he shakes as he gives me the bad news, his usually kind eyes shining with pity.
"Why not?" My heart drops as the words slowly sink in. Fuck. That’s so far from what I’d hoped would happen.
"Because even though we're a strip club, we have to make sure we adhere to not only our company policy, but a funny thing called laws," he explains with a regretful sigh and shrugs. “I’m sorry, Katie. I know it’s not what you want to hear, and I would really like to help you out, but I can’t endanger my business to do you a favor.”
A lump forms in my throat but the sad thing is, I get it. The whole thing is my problem to deal with, not his. And at the end of the day, he’s my boss, not a friend.
“I promise, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open if someone needs bartenders for private events, all right?” he proposes, his voice sympathetic. It’s not ideal but working two of those could at least pay for having the car towed to a mechanic.
“Thank you, Bruce,” I choke out and quickly turn around, not trusting myself to keep it together. Once out of his office, I lean my back against the hallway wall, sliding it down until my butt hits the ground, and I can bury my head in my drawn-up knees.
Shit.
What the hell am I going to do?
I swallow past the lump in my throat and wipe away the tears I didn’t realize were falling off my cheeks.
There’s no fucking time for self-pity. Pity won’t pay my bills or for a new car, and pity certainly won’t pay for Luke’s education. I need to get shit done. And for today, that means nudging my shirt collar further down to show my not-very-sizeable goods, plaster a smile on my face, and try to get those tips.
The evening starts off normal, like any other evening I’ve worked at Temptation. Customers order their drinks, some more intelligible than others, and I swallow down my hopelessness and do my absolute best to keep a smile on my face and not let the number of orders stress me out.
By now, Jen and I are a well-oiled machine behind the bar, working around each other naturally, without needing to talk or interact. We’ve had years to perfect it, after all. Before I know it, I’m in the zone, disregarding everything but my task, or drink, at hand. I couldn’t even tell you which song is playing, despite the music’s deafening sound .
Well, at least until the music suddenly stops and I jolt back to reality with a start. The lights in the club turn on and there’s a commotion somewhere at the stage.
“What’s going on?” Jen wonders and rises onto her tiptoes, trying to see the stage. I notice our DJ gesturing towards the stage and three of our security guards rushing through the crowd in order to get there, looking angry. Considering Bruce only hires former soldiers as his security here, whoever they’re dealing with is not going to have a fun night.
“No idea,” I answer Jen and shake my head. “Who was on stage? I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Me neither,” she admits, worry clouding her face. “I hope it wasn’t one of the new dancers, we really need some fresh blood in here, and they’re all so… young. And nice.”
I nod in agreement and look around the club. While everyone’s attention is on the commotion, people straining their necks in order to see what’s going on, I let my eyes wander over the crowd. It looks so different with the lights on.
In the dark and with flashing lights, they’re just silhouettes I remember by their order and one prominent characteristic. There’s big-earring-mojito-girl, bicep-tattoo-rum-and-coke, and then there’s a man I haven’t seen at the bar yet staring at me. He’s wearing sunglasses, but he’s the only person facing this direction, and now that I’ve seen him, I can almost feel his eyes drilling into the side of my head.
I quickly avert my gaze and continue to scan the crowd, hoping he hasn’t realized I caught him. I do my best to ignore him, all too aware that this could turn bad.
It wouldn’t be the first time a customer thinks that we bartenders are up for grabs. I’ve had people almost dive over the counter to touch me, gripping my hand until I’d promise to give them my number, or offering me money to go to their car with them. Jen even had a stalker for a while, who convinced himself that the two of them were in a relationship and got jealous of the men she’d talk to during her shift. It was awful and terrifying.
It has gotten to a point where we have our own security guard, who is usually standing to the left side of the bar. I look at the spot where he usually stands, but I assume he’s with the others where the commotion is happening.
I stretch my neck, acting like I want to see what’s going on, but in reality, I keep looking at the creepy man from the corner of my eye.
Something about him seems familiar, but I can’t pinpoint it.
He’s wearing a hoodie, his hood pulled up to hide his hair and his face obscured by its shadow. But it doesn’t hide that he’s weirdly fixated on me. I can feel him follow my every movement, even as I duck and get a glass, pouring myself some water to drink. The feeling is unnerving, causing a cold shiver to run down my spine.
Suddenly, the commotion stops, the music turns back on, and the lights go out. Within seconds, I lose sight of the guy.
I gulp. My temples are starting to pound, and my stomach is doing flips. I have no idea what’s going on, but I feel nauseous and anxious, like I’m standing in line to get onto a rollercoaster. And I’m fucking terrified of rollercoasters.
Micah is already waiting for me in the break room when I finish my shift and get my bag out of my locker.
Something is off with him .
He is standing too still, obviously tense, and his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans, visibly balled to fists. His lips are bleeding from where he’s digging his teeth into it, one of the tell-tale signs he’s angry.
“What’s going on?” I ask him worriedly as I get closer to him slowly, raising my hand to rub his shoulder soothingly.
“I’ll tell you in the car,” he presses out, grabs my wrist, and drags me outside, nodding curtly at all of our co-workers that we pass. Almost needing to jog to keep up, I raise my free hand to give them a small wave, then brandish my arm through the air as I almost lose my balance.
“Careful, Micah,” I scold him and slip my hand out of his grasp.
“Sorry,” he mumbles and shoots me one of his sheepish smiles that show off his dimples. I shake my head at him, and he slows down for the last few meters to his car.
My eyes wander over the empty parking lot. While the staring guy disappeared with the lights turning off again, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched the whole night. There was an eerie feeling in the pit of my stomach and a tingling spot on the back of my head whenever I turned around.
Maybe it’s a good thing I’m driving with Micah for the near future because this whole situation is giving me the ick.
Finally, we reach his car and I slide into the passenger seat. He closes the door for me again, before he gets into the driver's seat and buckles himself in with a deep, angry sigh. I stop his hand as he wants to turn the key to start the engine and look at him worriedly.
“What’s going on? You seem angry. Is waiting for me too annoying after all? It’s okay, I can find another way to get home.”
“What? No,” he assures me and shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not it. Sorry.” Another deep sigh escapes him, and he lowers his hand to his lap, leaning his head against the backrest, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he closes his eyes for a brief moment. “I just had a shitty night.”
He opens his eyes again, watching me from his periphery as I cock my head at him, waiting for him to continue.
“I love doing the lap dances on stage but the women I pick from the crowd know no boundaries. They think they can just touch me however they like and I’m getting sick of it.” He clears his throat. “The one today didn’t even wait until the dance started until she went straight for my crotch. And the crowd fucking cheered for her. It’s so fucking dehumanizing,” his voice breaks and I reach for his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. “I’ve been fuming the whole night. Sorry for acting like a dickhead.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him softly. “Those are the kind of circumstances where you’re absolutely allowed to act like a dickhead to me. But only for a bit.” That makes him chuckle. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” I lean my head against his shoulder and feel him breathe under my temple, the tension in his muscles relaxing ever so slightly. “Did you talk to Bruce?”
“Several times already, but none of us have any idea how to deal with this.” His voice topples in frustration, and I lift my head from his shoulder as he lifts his arms to rub his temples.
“I’ve proposed stopping the lap dances, but Bruce doesn’t want that either because that’s what brings most of the girls in. But I don’t want to keep doing them if it means I’m getting sexually harassed every damn night. I know I could go the nuclear option and find myself a lawyer to deal with the harassment part, but I like my job and I’m pretty sure if I did that, I’d lose it.”
I take a moment to think about the dilemma. Either way, people suck and it’s unfair that he’s the one who needs to find a solution, even though he’s not doing anything wrong .
“So, what if you continue the dances, but not with strangers?” I propose, cocking my head as I think about it for a few more moments. “Yeah. Why don’t you get any of the dancers to act like a happy volunteer?”
He stares at me for several seconds, the silence in the parking lot only disturbed by the occasional car driving by.
“You’re very smart, did I tell you that recently? A downright genius.” His face brightens up, his mood improving within seconds as he leans over the center console to give me an awkward hug before plopping back into his seat with newfound motivation.
“Awe stop, you’re making me blush,” I say jokingly and grin at him.
“Seriously, why did we not think of that? I’ll ask Bruce first thing tomorrow.”
“You do that,” I say and pat his shoulder, stifling a yawn.
“I’ll just ask him if I can borrow you for a song or two each night. I’m sure Jen can manage the bar on her own for ten minutes.”
Suddenly, I’m wide awake again. “Wait a second. Me?”
“Yeah!” he proclaims, his eyes downright sparkling. “Why not? The girls are all busy with their costume changes and whatnot, so asking them wouldn’t be fair, but with you, I could even act like I’m picking you out of the crowd!”
“Wait-”
“Damn, Katie, this is going to be so much fun! Finally, I can do some fun stuff without fearing whoever I’m dancing with fondling my balls. There’s this move I wanted to try out…”
He starts the car and peels out of the parking spot, excitedly telling me about all the dance moves he can now finally experiment with.
Meanwhile, I blank out. Completely. My head is empty, except for one thought.
What have I gotten myself into?