Chapter 9
nine
. . .
Rachel
The bus ride with Ronan had been cold and wet, but it was the highlight of my bus riding week.
Today, I'd come home with a wad of gum stuck to the back of my uniform.
I wasn't sure I could save it. I'd shelled out five grand from my precious savings account, and the mechanic was getting to work on Mom's car.
He mentioned it would take at least a week because the car was so old that parts were hard to find.
The body shop had given me an estimate that was three times the value of my car, and I had such a high deductible on my crummy insurance plan that I had the car towed off for scrap metal.
But the big financial bomb of the week had been the cold, abrupt letter from the new owners of the apartment building.
Clearly, we wouldn't be able to stay in the same apartment next year because the apartment would be sold as a condo.
It wasn't a five-star resort, and there were hundreds of things to complain about, but Jack considered it his home.
I did, too. We'd spent many evenings in the tiny living room huddled under one of his dinosaur blankets, nibbling popcorn and laughing at funny movies.
It wasn't our little dream house with the backyard and picket fence, but for us it had been a safe, comfortable place to live.
Some of the neighbors had started a petition to get the new owner to change his mind, but I knew a list of scribbled signatures wasn't going to warm its way into an investor's cold, dead heart.
A few of the more affluent neighbors were looking into bank loans to see if it was possible for them to buy their places.
I knew that wasn't in the cards for us, and if I did finally have enough for a loan, I certainly wasn't going to buy my apartment.
It was my first night back at work since the day of Mom's accident and my fall on the stairs. The swelling on my shin had gone down, and only a yellowish bruise was left behind. It was easy enough to cover with foundation.
Mom knocked on my door and popped her head in.
"He's already asleep." Jack rarely made it past seven o'clock on Friday nights.
A whole week of day care and a few afternoons at the park with Mom always left him exhausted by Friday.
He'd be back to his energetic self in the morning, probably very early in the morning.
Since I worked until two, I usually let him crawl into bed with me, so he could watch cartoons while I got another hour of sleep.
Mom stepped inside the room. "You look tired, Ray. I wish you didn't have to go to this job. You know I support you on everything but still, this job."
"Mom, I'll make three times the amount of money I made today at the diner but in only half the hours.
And wow, the diner tips are nice right now with that big construction site across the street.
Those workers are big eaters and most are big tippers.
Almost as good as the tips at Tommy's," I said with a pointed look.
"Besides, where else am I going to use all those dance lessons you paid for?
" My phone beeped. "That's Francine. She's giving me a ride to work. "
I pulled on my sweatshirt, kissed her on the cheek and headed toward the door.
"Oh wait, Ray, I made you some of that trail mix you like." Mom caught me at the door and handed me a baggie full of her homemade trail mix. "You need your energy."
"Thanks, Mom, and don't worry. We'll figure out something with the apartment.
" I said it with confidence, but the truth was, I wasn't even sure how to pay the new rent once it came due.
It was going to seriously cut into my everyday budget.
Jack's day care had a fee increase last month, too.
No matter how hard I worked, I just couldn't get ahead.
Francine always wore a bucket of perfume, and it wasn't exactly the good stuff either. It took me a few sneezes and some dabbing of watery eyes to finally settle into the thick atmosphere in her car. "I just got a text from Jaz that you're on first tonight, so we better hurry."
"What? Why did she change the dance order?" I asked.
"I think Olive came in a little tipsy." Francine mimicked turning up a bottle to her lips in case I didn't understand tipsy.
"Jasmine made her a pot of coffee and moved her to the last dance.
How is everything going?" she asked and then quickly continued.
"That's right, I haven't seen you. You know that guy David I'm dating?
He's a real doll, and he makes really good money as a car salesman.
He wants me to quit working at Tommy's. Says he doesn't like other men staring at my—well, you know.
I reminded him that we only strip down to thongs and pasties and that there's never full nudity, but he says he still wants me to quit. "
"Yeah? Is he going to start paying your bills?" I asked wryly. "Men are really good at handing out orders but not figuring out how to back them up."
"That's just it. He says yes. Just as soon as he breaks it off with his fiancée."
I looked over at Francine. She had a big smile, but it faded as she felt my gaze on the side of her face. "I know. I know. He's been saying that for months, but this time I think he's really going to do it."
Francine was always in the same financial bind as me.
During the day she worked as a clerk at a city records office, and she spent three nights a week at Tommy's to help keep her head above water.
She had no child to care for, which gave her more freedom, like the semi-new car she drove.
Working at Tommy's wasn't all that bad, especially since the owner, Tommy, died of a heart attack three years earlier.
We all adored Tommy. He was a big, sweet, gentle giant of a man with a great laugh, but he liked to keep his club traditional.
Back when Tommy was in charge, the customers could tuck tips into our underwear or other places, but once his widow, Jasmine, took over, she set down some hard and fast rules.
No lap dances, no matter how much the customer paid and no direct contact with any of her dancers.
She hired a great bouncer, Oscar, a retired policeman, who was expert at spotting and diffusing trouble before it started.
A line was already forming at the entrance.
"I hope it's a good tip night," Francine said.
"I've had my eye on this adorable new winter coat.
" Adorable new winter coats were another treat Francine could afford since she didn't pay for day care or new shoes that tiny feet grew out of every other month.
Jasmine spotted us as we stepped inside. "You're up first, Ray. Hurry and get dressed."
Thirty minutes later, the barroom was filled with mostly men and a few women.
The harsh stage lights were a nice way to avoid seeing the audience.
I had three dance routines, and I knew them so well I could let my mind wander as I performed.
My body moved instinctively to the music.
I knew exactly which garment to drop at exactly which lyric, and I could move from pole to chair to stool, my props, without internally counting my steps anymore.
It was all automatic which helped me forget that I was stripping down to almost nothing in front of a room full of strangers and semi-strangers.
Most of our regulars were businessmen, married and settled into regular lives.
They came to Tommy's to step away from those mundane existences for an hour or two.
Occasionally, someone would try to touch a girl or get up on stage, but Oscar and Jasmine always had our backs.
The customers knew the rules and breaking one would get them thrown out for good.
Jasmine had a zero-tolerance policy, and we all appreciated it.
I was the first dancer on stage, and the stripper pole was still cold and dry, slowing my spin some.
The air hadn't thickened yet with the warm heat generated by a room full of excited men.
I hated dancing first, but it meant my last dance would be at ten.
After our final dance, we could get dressed and put on an apron for serving drinks.
It meant more tips than just the money in the dance jar, and I was happy to earn more.
My life had been on track, but the car and the apartment fiascos had just put a big curve in that track.
My mostly naked body spun through the air, and I dropped my head back.
Dancing in the nude was freeing, especially if I blocked out the roomful of dark silhouettes whose faces were blurred by the bright stage lights.
One minute, I was washing ketchup from a plastic dinosaur and reading a bedtime story and the next, I was swinging myself around a pole in front of a group of men who were trying to find some meaning in life that wasn't attached to a dull job and stressful family.
The music ended. The lights kept me mostly oblivious to what was happening in the barroom, but I heard plenty of money being shoved into the dance tip jar. I scooped up my clothes and hurried back to the dressing room. Jasmine knocked as I pulled on my shorts and sweatshirt.
"Ray?" she asked.
"C'mon in Jaz." I sat at the shared vanity table and double checked my makeup. I wore little or no makeup at the diner, but I'd found that heavy stage makeup resulted in more tips at the club.
Jasmine hurried in and pulled over a chair to sit down. We both had a conversation through our reflections in the mirror. "You were great tonight." She placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table amongst the clutter of makeup and hair embellishments.
I looked at her. "For me?"
Jasmine shook her head. "For me."
I leaned my head in annoyance. "Nice way to get a girl's hopes up."