Chapter Nineteen
Serenity
Kaycee – aka Heaven Scent – is the only one in the communal dressing room when I burst in from outside, my hair damp from the rain.
I drop my bag, double over and grasp my knees. I let go with one hand and cover my mouth. The noise that emerges is a muffled, strangled sob.
‘Hey, Ren,’ Kaycee says until she hears my cry, before she adds, ‘Oh, honey, what’s wrong?’ and gets to her feet.
I straighten and bury my face in my palms. I’m late and I know I should be getting ready, but the entire journey here I was being followed by Jake. I saw him pull up in the parking lot.
I pace back and forth. I want to know if he’s coming into the club, or if seeing me run inside was enough.
‘Sweetie, you need to calm down,’ Kaycee says. ‘You want some water? Shot o’ bourbon? What the hell happened?’
I wipe my eyes. I steady my breathing, tuck my hair behind my ears. ‘This guy I’ve been seeing… he’s just found out why I’m not free most nights.’
She winces. ‘Oh, lord, honey, I’m so sorry. He didn’t suspect a thing?’
‘He thought I was seeing another guy.’
‘That’s sweet. Did you tell him you’re seeing lots of other guys?’
There’s a wry smile on her face like it’s meant as a joke, only I don’t find it funny. ‘He followed me here. In his pickup.’
‘He comin’ inside to watch the show?’
I feel like crying again. ‘I have no idea.’
She grips both my shoulders in her hands. ‘For your sake, I hope he doesn’t. They’re clamorin’ out there tonight, sugar. Takes a guy mighty sure o’ hisself to handle seeing his girl up on stage like that.’
My voice tremors. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’
I hear Jax’s voice over the mic. ‘Give it up for our own… Baby Bullets!’
I’ve been lingering backstage, trying to take in the faces of the majority-male Friday night crowd. My heart is racing. I lean back, a gap in the curtain allowing me to glimpse the main door and those still coming in from the rain to pay the entry fee. Yet, I can’t see Jake anywhere.
I wonder if he pulled up in the parking lot, took one look at this joint then decided to leave.
He’s not like the average Surly’s patron, that’s for sure.
Would I want him to see me dressed like this?
I look down. I’m wearing a pair of frayed Daisy Dukes, bleached and cut extra low, a chunky belt, a blue denim studded bra with a matching denim jacket over the top, white cowgirl boots and a white, vintage cattle rancher cowboy hat.
My wig is long and straight, a shade of light, chestnut brown.
The answer to ‘do I want Jake Walsh to see me dressed like this?’ is ‘no’. Yet a small part of me wants to say ‘yes’.
Talia’s coming off stage. She plays to the minority emo crowd, her outfit all gothic black and intricate lace. She comes down the stairs and starts pulling dollar bills from the tops of her boots and hemline of her panties, her surgically enhanced breasts still on show.
‘Hey, Ren, you alright?’
I look beyond her shoulder, my eyes still searching for him. ‘Hey,’ I mumble.
She grins and flashes a hundred-dollar bill in front of my eyes, pleased with herself. ‘Got some high rollers in town tonight. Go get ’em out there.’
‘You fellas ready for more?’ Jax’s voice goes out over the mic, and there is whooping and cheering in response.
The stage-lights alter to blues and greens.
‘Back by popular demand,’ Jax says. ‘You folks can’t get enough. Our favorite red dirt country gal… Texas’ finest, give it up for Braaaaandy Velvet!’
There’s more cheering. I’m thankful for the low light tonight.
Cowgirls by Morgan Wallen comes over the sound system.
It’s a slower tempo than my usual routines.
I know the moves by heart because I’ve danced them a hundred times before.
Within the first minute, I’m writhing on my hands and knees on stage.
Soon, I toss my jacket and hat. So far, so normal.
Except my heart is beating so fast I can’t think straight, and for every guy who whistles at me, I have to search his face to check if he’s Jake.
As I make my way to the pole at the end of the stage, my eyes flit out to the crowd, my hips gyrating, sliding my palms down my thighs to more whistles.
I go down to a squat position, hands on my knees spread wide, and once more, and my eyes sweep further back in the shadows, checking the tables, trying to glimpse the faces.
I perform on the pole, sliding it between my legs, hooking the back of my leg around it and leaning back until I’m as far back as I can go.
Already there’re guys waving dollar bills in my direction.
I grab the buckle and remove my belt, but I take every opportunity I can to scour the spectators, even upside down.
The moment I slither out of my denim bra and let it drop to the stage floor is when I see him. Holed up and alone in a corner beside a table, cap pulled low on his forehead. I recognize the logo, and he’s wearing the same pair of beige-colored pants he was wearing at the cabin.
I feel like I wanna puke. Yet the dancer inside me has this weird notion that I want to impress him, and that, hell, if Jake Walsh knows I’m a stripper, he might as well know I’m not half bad at it.
I continue to dance. The volume of the catcalls raises a notch. With my arms behind my head, I grab the pole, pressing my butt into it as I slide all the way down, my breasts thrust forward and fully on display. It’s a move that the regulars all love, and how I make the best tips.
It’s also a move that has Jake Walsh getting to his feet and heading for the door.
As I watch him go, my body instinctively grinds to a halt. The music keeps playing. After a beat, when I let go of the pole, watching the door, the catcalls are replaced by jeers. The protests grow in volume as I lean down and grab my top, then turn and run from the stage.
Without looking back, I burst out the back door into the parking lot. I glance left and right and see the back of him heading for his pickup. I’m holding my bra top to my breasts but the back ain’t yet fastened.
‘Jake, wait!’ I call out, running toward him. The rain’s coming down now. ‘Jake, please, wait up!’
He turns and I almost crash into his chest.
I look up at him, eyes pleading but I realize he won’t return my gaze. Under the streetlights, I can see that his jaw is set in a fixed line. The cap is pulled down so low that I can’t properly see his face.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, and my voice breaks. ‘You wanted to know. Now you know.’
I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down just once. His hands go into his pockets.
Behind me, I hear the shriek of the door hinges. Talia comes racing outside. The rain drips down my face as I wait for Jake to respond. When Talia reaches me, she throws a coat around my shoulders.
‘Ren! Are you crazy? What the hell you doin’ out here? You can’t race from the stage like that in the middle of your routine!’
She wraps me in the coat, and I pull it round me, still pressing my top to my chest. My eyes don’t leave Jake’s face.
‘I need a minute,’ I tell her.
‘Sweetie, you don’t got a minute. Jax is gonna be out here any second. You need to get back inside.’
‘Please, say something,’ I say to him.
The door sounds again. Jax comes out, flanked by Hurley.
‘Serenity, what the fuck?!’ he hollers angrily at me at the top of his voice.
Jake looks up at him, takes a step back. I’m crying now, my tears mixing with the rainwater. I want him to say something. Anything. But his expression remains impassive.
‘Serenity Harper, get the fuck back inside, now,’ Jax says when he reaches me.
‘Please, just one minute!’ I beg.
‘Move. Now,’ he warns me. ‘Hurley, get this motherfucker out of here.’
Hurley steps forward. Jake reacts fast. He throws up his hands and backs away. I feel Jax’s hands grip my shoulders, turning me back round to walk back toward the club.
When I glance over my shoulder, Jake is walking toward his pickup.
‘Boss’ll see you now,’ Jax says soberly to me on his way out at the end of the night. ‘Night, Ren.’
‘Goodnight, Jax.’
It’s past three a.m. The club is closed. I feel numb. Everybody else changed clothes and went home already. Somebody told Kale what happened earlier, and he’s decided to keep me behind. I feel like a naughty schoolkid sent to the principal’s office.
I yawn. Wearily, I get to my feet. I’ve been back on stage for three separate routines and completed four private lap dances. I haven’t seen a dime of my earnings, other than to pull the dollar bills from the pockets of my Daisy Dukes.
I keep my head down. I don’t need to look up to feel Kale McCoy’s presence. He’s imposing enough to make himself known.
The office is dark. He sits with his feet on the desk, the light from his laptop screen illuminating his whole face, his shirt collar wide open.
‘You wanted to see me?’ I say quietly.
He fixes me with his stare. ‘Come where I can see you, sweetheart.’
I grip my left thumb inside the fingers of my right hand and approach with caution. Kale is prone to outbursts and, on occasion, throwing things.
‘Heard there was an incident tonight,’ he says.
I’m guessing Jax was the one to tell him. Kale raises one hand and with one finger beckons me over to his side of the desk. Nervously, I walk round.
On the laptop screen is the grainy image from the club’s CCTV that faces the parking lot. He hits the play button and I watch myself race out after Jake, the picture obscured a little by the rain. But you can tell that it’s me, and Talia when she follows with the coat. There’s no sound.
Kale hits the pause button and presses the tip of his finger to the screen.
‘Who is this, and what’s he to you?’ he asks.
I look to the floor. ‘He’s nobody. He’s just a guy.’
‘He your boyfriend?’
‘No. I mean—’
‘’Cause you better have a damn good reason why you’d abandon that stage mid-performance, Serenity.’
My shoulders slump.
‘I ain’t hearin’ my reason, baby girl.’
I let out a shaky breath. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’
He leans back in his chair and his eyes wander down the length of my body.
‘I won’t hold it against you. Kaycee saved your bacon out there.
You know you’re still my prettiest girl, Serenity, but I swear, you pull a stunt like that again and I will hang you out to dry.
Tonight’s earnings won’t be going in the ledger.
Call it payback for you messin’ up the show. ’
I open my mouth to object. It means everything I’ve done tonight has earned me a big fat zero. ‘That don’t seem fair to me,’ I whisper.
‘Fair? Fair is you not running off that stage mid-performance and making this establishment look bad! I want every man who comes in here to believe he could get with you. But if you’re running off after some fight with your Ivy League boyfriend… kind of ruins the illusion, don’t it?’
No matter what I think, I nod my head in agreement.
‘May I go home now?’ I ask.
He flicks his wrist dismissively. ‘Go. Get outta here.’
I turn and walk to the door.
‘Oh, and Serenity?’ he says from behind me. ‘Tomorrow night. Brody Conway wants to spend a little more time with you.’
I swallow hard. I know I’m pushing it when I say, ‘You can’t send somebody else?’
I can see his expression darken, even in this light. ‘Seems he’s quite taken with just you.’
‘He makes me feel uncomfortable.’
‘That’s too bad. He pays me a lotta clams. So, mind you do as he asks.’
Tears prick my eyes. The last thing I want is to spend my Saturday night with Brody Conway. But I don’t have anything left in me to argue.
‘Goodnight, Serenity,’ Kale says as I walk out the door.
Crawling into bed, it’s nearly four a.m. Thankfully, other than squad practice, I don’t gotta work tomorrow.
My body aches. Memories of the look on Jake’s face when he left the club linger in my mind. I reach for the phone he gave me.
There are no messages. Nothing.
I type out what I want to say, then wonder if I should send it.
If you’ll let me, I can explain.
I hit send, and I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.
In the morning, there’s no reply.