Illya
Counting my tips carefully, I set my bills in order from most crumpled to least, ascending, and a tiny smirk quirked my lips. The notes had obviously seen too much of the inside of a wallet, but I wasn’t complaining because they’d go right into my savings jar at home. Pleasantness spread across my chest, but I knew this feeling would only last until Saturday night when my patrons realized they had to go to church on Sunday. They’d start feeling guilty for going to a strip club, buy their wives nice flowers, get their kids a football, and act like they hadn’t seen their pastor here the night before.
Which was ironic and kinda sad and pathetic, but, hey, it was money in my pocket.
Immorality at its finest.
“Illya,mija, I thought you would be gone by now.” Roge’s thick Mexican accent slithered up my spine, and I turned away from my money to smile at him. Short and squat, his beady eyes watched me intently from deep in his face. It wasn’t surprising to me a man like him surrounded himself with hot, half-naked chicks half his age. He treated all the girls like a creepy step-dad that wanted to bang us but also innocently take us out for ice cream if we were upset. “Don’t you ride a bike? It’s late.”
His roughened and textured skin from years of the sun and age wrinkled when he smiled, and Roge’s narrowed eyes scanned me under furrowed, bushy brows. I knew what Roge would see— some plank of a body topped in dyed pink hair that brought out the green in my eyes.I have curves, but you’re just never gunna see them. No one will.
Natural, brown hair wasn’t going to make me stand out here, so I had to get creative. I wore a full-torso leotard and didn’t have the option to take it off to arouse interest. Of course, being fully clothed in a strip club in itself was unusual, but it often wasn’t enough on its own.
“I’ll be fine, Roge.” I faked a Spanish accent at work just because it got me better tips, this being a border town and all. His smile morphed into a frown. “It’s not like it makes a difference— three a.m. or four a.m. Actually, I think it’s better because people are up and starting to get ready for their commutes and stuff.”
“If you say so. I’ll give you a ride if you need it.”Like I’d ever get into a car with you or show you where I live.Even so, I just smiled and nodded gratefully, and Roge wandered off down the lane, I guess, toward his office in the back. Stripping wasn’t a very difficult job, and I was happy just to be making money at this point. Turning back to my neat stacks, I pulled up a stool and sat down to focus.
“I’ll count it again just to make sure. I’m really bad at math.” Grumbling to myself, I picked up the smallest stack of twenties and carefully plucked off the top bill.Twenty— forty— sixty.Setting it down, I snatched my substantially larger stack of tens and took a stabilizing breath.Seventy— eighty— ninety— one hundred— one hundred ten— one hundred twenty.
This was the hard part, and my brows furrowed in concentration as I grabbed the fives. My brain just didn’t do math— I got languages much easier. Sure, I had to count using Schoolhouse Rock songs, but I also learned six languages easy-peasy. Frankly, I’d gladly give up the ability to multiply high numbers to be able to go anywhere and talk the talk.
Wait, I messed up.Groaning softly, I shook my head viciously and set down my fives to start over. Maybe, I’d be better at math if I hadn’t dropped out of school.Then again, I know enough math to get my GED, so . . .Scowling slightly, the crease between my brows deepened, and I clenched my jaw hard behind thinned lips.
“Illya.” My mind blanked at the call, and I smacked my palm against the table as a frustrated, low shriek burst from my lips.
“What! I can’t count for shit! Come on!” I was louder than I intended, but I’d worked here for months, andeveryoneknew I sucked at math. Glancing up as my face flamed in embarrassment, I chuffed harshly as Marcella shuffled toward me to pull up a stool. “I’ve been trying to count this for five minutes, okay? Just—”
“Relax. I’ll help you out.” I must’ve had, like, severe dyslexia but for math, not words, and I rubbed my palms up my face and into my hair to groan in dismay. “Ready?”
“Don’t ask me that. I feel like an idiot.” Propping my elbow on the table to hold my cheek in my palm as Marcella started slowly counting my bills while I watched. This ugly sensation clung to my ribs, and I scratched my crown absently as silence rang in my ears. My face twisted in a grimace, and my eyes narrowed on her hands as she started to count while snapping bills from her hand on the table.
Thankfully, Marcella didn’t say anything to distract me while she helped me out, and I clenched and released my jaw absently. She counted all the twenties and tens, and I scooted a little closer when she got to the fives and ones. This, particularly, was my downfall, and I licked my lips heavily as anxiety gnawed at my gut. I was great at a lot of things, but it was simple math that kicked me in the ass.Ugh . . .
“So, your total is two hundred thirty-one dollars. Do you want me to do it again to make sure?” I shook my head hard, and Marcella let out a twinkle of a laugh as she put all my bills in a single stack and handed it to me. Flipping her long, brown curls over her shoulder, she smiled with a bright glimmer in her eye, and flames licked my cheeks as I took the bills. “What are your plans for tomorrow? You’re coming in, right?”
“Tomorrow’s Friday, of course, I’m coming in. I have Monday and Tuesday off, though. Why?” I tucked my bills into my money pouch wrapped around my waist, and Marcella rocked back on her stool to shake her head. Really, it was just a glorified fanny pouch, but I didn’t want to keep so much in something as stealable as a purse or losable as a wallet. “I’m not slated to come in until ten p.m., though, so I’ll probably get some stuff done. I have to go to the store and find something to eat and stuff. My roommate never shops because she buys junk.”
“Okay. I’ll already be here. I get off at one, but I’ll be sticking around anyway.” Nodding in acknowledgment, I stood up and smoothed my shirt over my pouch as Marcella smiled up at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Illya.”
“Yeah. Thanks for your help, Marcella.” Shuffling around her as her smile brightened, I pulled up my jeans over my hip absently. Patting my fanny pouch to make sure it was there, I felt around for my keys beyond the fake leather. Nodding, my anxiety of doing basic counting disappeared as I pushed open the door to the ‘sales floor’ of the building. The DJ was walking around with a broom and picker-upper-thing, and the catwalks had been turned off in favor of the big lights hanging from the ceiling.
For a strip club, this place was fairly clean. We didn’t serve food, and the drinks were outrageously priced, so people didn’t want to spill them and waste fifteen dollars. Making my way toward the heavy double doors that served as an entrance, I was careful not to touch the chairs and barstools that hadn’t been wiped down yet. The crisp, clear air that filtered through the open door replaced the thickness of sweat and alcohol, and I stepped into the darkest part of the night to inhale deeply.
Life was fuckinggoodright now. Striding leisurely toward my bike, I patted my back for my switchblade and smiled at my own, light steps and pulled my bike chain key out of my pouch. Glancing up at the neon signs that blazed at passing cars tantalizingly, I rolled my lips between my teeth as a sigh bubbled up in my chest.
I mean, working at a strip club wasn’t ideal, of course, but it was a job. Riding a bike everywhere wasn’t ideal, but it cost nothing. Living in a studio on the verge of being quarantineddefinitelywasn’t that great, but it was a place to live.
There was always a ‘but,’ a silver lining, and things might not be great,butthey were good enough. Kneeling down to unlock my bike, I wrapped the chain around the handlebars before backing it up and straddling the seat. My mind whirred slowly as I pushed off toward the street, and I bopped my head absently to glance around. At this time of night, the roads were dead, the lights blinked instead of their usual rotations, and if I got too close to downtown, I’d see a lot of crackheads.
Which was why I always took the back route. I had the added bonus of working out, too, so that was nice.
“Sylvie’s probably going to be waking up right when I get there.” Pursing my lips, I took a breath through my nose as I cruised down the street. I wasn’t sure what was happening with her, but I knew Sylvie was being sneaky again. She was clean and doing well. We had a plan to pay off her drug dealer’s debt, and she had a job as a busser.
But something was wrong, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. If Sylvie relapsed, I was dropping her like a hot potato because fuck that. I dealt with it once. I wasn’t dealing with it again.
