CHAPTER 2
CHARLA
“Got any plans for the rest of your weekend?” I ask as the lock clicks into place on the door. The navy pre-dawn sky is streaked with orange across the horizon, bathing the employee parking lot, empty save for Xavier and I’s cars, with a dim glow
Xavier shrugs drowsily. “I’m definitely gonna get some sleep, tell ya what.” He rolls his shoulders, massaging his neck with his left hand. “Gettin’ old fuckin’ sucks, Chuck.”
I laugh. “You? Old? What are you, twenty-five, tops?”
He feigns offense. “I will have you know that I am a vintage twenty-eight, thank-you-very-much. You were literally at my birthday party, woman!” His car rumbles to life as we continue across the parking lot.
“Oh, shit. You’re right. See, now that’s what happens when you get old and try to stay up all night like you’re fifteen years younger than you actually are.”
Rolling his eyes with a chuckle, Xavier pats me on the shoulder. “That’s right. I forgot that you’re forty.”
“Woah! Low blow! I’m thirty-eight, asshole. Don’t age me before my time!” I rub my hand across my eyes and yawn, “On second thought, might as well be forty. After twenty-five, the numbers start to run together anyway. Go get some sleep. Night, Zay!”
“See you in a few days, Chuck.” He waves me off then ducks into his car as I get into mine.
He follows me out of the lot before going our separate ways: him on his way to his house on post that he shares with his family, and me on the way to my trailer.
My headlights are the only ones on the road, and I find my mind wandering back our conversation.
Growing up, I would have told you that thirty-eight was definitely old.
Hell, fifteen years ago, I would have said that!
Now that I’m here though, I don’t feel old.
In fact, most days I don’t feel much older than I was fifteen years ago.
That being said, working the night shift certainly makes me reconsider that.
Compared to the group of kids that I kicked out tonight, I definitely feel every day of my thirty-eight years.
Realistically, I know that they’re men, but I swear I can’t see them as anything other than kids every time I look at some young buck throwing ‘em back like they’ve got nowhere to be the next day.
If I drank half as much as I know even one of them did, I would be out of commission for the next week (at a minimum).
I pull under the carport as the sun creeps up.
Before I get out, I take a moment to myself and rub my hands over my face, then tug on the gray hoodie that I keep behind my seat.
After a quick glance in the mirror and using my spit-slick thumb to clean up the smudging mascara under my eyes, I make my way inside.
The house is quiet, save for the news on the television, when I open the door. Muted shuffling sounds from behind the bathroom door and the shower turns on. As I set my things on the couch, my ex-husband, Dylan, rounds the corner.
“Choo! How’s it going, sugar?” He squeezes my shoulders and plants a wet kiss on my cheek. “Liv is up and in the shower, and I am making my signature waffles!” He pulls the box of Eggos from the freezer. “Want some? I grabbed blueberry!”
His energy is infectious. “You know I can’t say no to that,” I smile.
“Two waffles coming right up!” Dylan pops them into the toaster then turns to face me, his blue eyes appraising. “How was the club? You look like hell.” He licks his thumb and swipes at a spot of mascara that I must have missed.
I sigh and rub my left temple. “Honestly, not too bad. Only had to kick out one group of young military guys, but other than that, everybody was pretty good.”
“Ugh. Young military guys: can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without fucking ‘em.” Dylan has had more than his fair share of encounters with young military men, especially the ones who would never admit that they were having any sort of encounter with him.
He’s tried on more than one occasion to get me to partake, but I can’t do it without feeling like I’m doing something illegal.
“I swear to God, they put some sort of magic or something on those uniforms, and it rubs off on them; that’s why you can pick ‘em out in a crowd! You’d think it’s the haircut or the glasses, but it’s definitely the uniform magic.
It’s like one minute, I’m standing there looking at him, and the next, we’re both naked in the back of my car.
” Dylan shrugs noncommittally as he turns back toward the popping toaster. “A mystery, I swear, Chuckie Choo.”
Dylan and I have known each other since fourth grade when we sat next to each other in Mrs. Meyer’s class.
I told him that my name was Charla, and he told me to call him Dyl, but not like the pickle.
He’s the one who nicknamed me Chuck, even though I told him it was pronounced SHAR-la with an sh-sound, not like Charles with a ch-sound, but that didn’t matter to Dyl once he made up his mind.
Chuck then became Chuckie which then became Chuckie Choo (like a train because one of the mean girls in our sophomore year thought it’d be funny to spread a rumor that I let the football team run a train on me, so Dyl just ran with it) and, eventually, it was just shortened to Choo.
He was my first boyfriend, and I was the first person that he told he was gay.
Dylan had turned eighteen in January of our senior year and that day, he went and enlisted in the Marines.
He knew that there wasn’t a chance of me getting out of our hometown on my own, and certainly not with any help from my family, so he got me out himself with a ring and a sheet of paper in hand the day after we graduated.
Shaking my head, I chuckle at his commentary. “Whatever you say, babes.” He hands me the plate with one hand and syrup with the other. I shove a piece in my mouth before asking, “You’re working tomorrow night, right?
He nods as he chews. “Mm hmm,” Dylan talks around the mouthful of food. “Then I think we’re both in on Saturday because—”
“It’s Liv’s weekend at her dad’s. Also, stop talking with your mouth full. It’s gross.”
“That’s not what you said when you married me.” Dylan wiggles his eyebrows playfully at me, making me laugh.
“That’s a crock of shit, and you know it. That was probably the one thing that I said the most to you.”
He swallows then looks off into the distance and sighs wistfully. “Thus, the demise of our marriage.”
“Well,” I pretend to ponder for a moment. “That, and the fact that you are a raging homosexual. But you’re probably right. Probably just me griping at you to swallow your food first.”
“What?!” Liv’s voice behind me draws both of our attention. She towels her hair dry as she continues, “Uncle Dyl, you’re gay?! I thought that we were just checking out male celebrities together because you’re supportive!”
The mock horror in her voice makes all three of use dissolve into a fit of giggles.
Dylan holds out a plate of waffles in her direction. “Here. Eat these, you little terror. And be nice to me!” With that, Dylan takes Liv’s place in the bathroom to start getting ready for his day job.
She takes the plate then kisses me on the cheek. “Hey, Mom.” Liv takes the seat next to me, and I tousle her hair.
“Hey, toots. You sleep okay?”
“Yeah, decent.” Liv shrugs. “How was the club?”
“Meh, decent. You got practice tonight?”
Liv shakes her head as she chews. “It’s like a dead week or something. I can’t remember what it’s called. Anyway, I can come straight home after school.”
“That sounds like it’ll be a nice little break.” Liv is always flitting to one activity or another, so she rarely gets any time off. Hopefully she’ll be able to use tonight to get some rest. “You got your stuff to go to your dad’s after school?”
Liv gestures with her head toward the front door and the packed Nike duffel bag. “Sure do.” She slips by me to put her paper plate in the trash, picking at something caught in her teeth. “’an I use your ba’room ‘oo ‘rush ‘y teeth?”
I make a face. “I knew that we shouldn’t have let Dylan move in. That man and his gross habits are rubbing off on you.”
“Mom,” Liv cocks her hip and sets her hand on it. “I was a disgusting creature before Uncle Dyl moved. All this—” she gestures toward herself, “—is your doing.”
“Whatever you say.” I roll my eyes, but the corners of my mouth draw up in a smile. “Yes, go brush your teeth in my bathroom.”
“Sweet.” She pounds on the bathroom door. “Dyl! I need my too—” He cuts her off by holding it out the door. “Like you read my mind!” Liv then disappears into my room and I set to work tidying up the kitchen until she’s ready to bounce out the door.
* * *
“I can’t wait until I get my own license and car.”
I turn down the country radio station and glance toward Liv. “Oh? Why’s that?” She’ll be sixteen in a few months, and I remember what I was like at her age.
There’s a sour expression on her face and a brief pause before she answers. “Promise you won’t get mad?”
“Of course not.”
Liv heaves a heavy sigh as we turn down the road that leads to her school. “It’s just… it’s the club, Mom.”
Confused, I ask, “What about the club?”
“Everyone knows about it.”
“Okay…” I pause, unsure of what to say next. “I—isn’t that the hallmark of good business?”
“No, it’s not… I don’t know how to explain it!” Liv exclaims exasperatedly. “It’s just weird because they think you’re hot, and they know you work at a strip club, so they think you’re a stripper even though you’re literally the owner and I’ve told them that, but that’s just—"
“Weird? Gross? Annoying?” I offer understandingly.
“All the above,” she finishes. “I promise that I’m not embarrassed of you or anything, I just… I don’t know. I get tired of hearing about it.” Liv slouches in her seat, fiddling with a hangnail. “I just wish they’d stop.”
The familiar pit of shame in my stomach burns hot.
I’m used to adults giving me shit about the club, but the fact that it’s making its way to Liv is unfair.
I try really hard to just look like a regular mom any time I’m out in public, as evidence by my oversized hoodie.
While I’m certain that she would have grounds to ask any one of those students how they know I work at the club (i.e.
because their parents frequent it) and it would shut them up, I also know that it doesn’t change the way she feels right now.
“I’m sorry, Liv. I’m not trying to do anything to make them think anything.”
She gives me a slight smile as she gathers her things and tucks them into her bag. “I know. But you know teenage boys; they’re disgusting as a rule.”
“I wish I could say that was unique to teenage boys,” I mumble sarcastically, my mind drawing back to the men at the club. We pull up alongside the curb and Liv leans over to peck me on the cheek.
“Love you, Mom. I’ll see you later.”
“Love you, too. Text me this weekend!” Liv slides out of the passenger door and waves, then she turns and makes her way toward the door as I pull off.
One day, I won’t work a job that embarrasses her anymore.
I’ll work a job that she’s proud of and doesn’t have to dance around when she’s describing it (no pun intended).
I just need to finish paying off the loan for the club, then Liv’s dad won’t be tied to it anymore and I won’t be tied to him, and I’ll be free to do whatever I need to do to make Liv proud.
Until then, I’m going to keep working the job that keeps the lights on and food on our table, even if the lights are for a trailer and the table we’re eating on is bordering on antique.