“Have you ever calculated what they actually pay you per hour?” she said. “You don’t have to tell me what you make, but I know most journalists and reporters aren’t exactly making bank. And for the hours you work? You’re probably making minimum wage or close to it.”
“At least I’m not spending much of it,” I said, but it was the weakest defense I could muster. Which did I want: more money in the bank that I never spent, or more free time that required just a touch of financial discipline? “It’ll get better.”
Leigh sighed. I was too much of an optimist for my own good; I could easily admit that. But when I didn’t have much else, I had to rely on something, right?
“I support you, girl, because I know you’re not trying to make things worse for yourself, but this lifestyle isn’t going to make things easier for you in a lot of ways,” she said, pausing to take a sip. “Like with boys.”
And there it was.
I deflected Leigh’s comment with a playful laugh, but she was right. I hadn’t gone on a second date since…I didn’t know. I didn’t really want to admit it out loud, whatever the number was. I could occasionally squeeze first dates in, but when guys realized it would take two or three weeks to schedule a second date, with many of those canceled at the last second, I understood why I gave the impression of being flighty and unresponsive.
Granted, I didn’t want Leigh’s lifestyle. She was a party girl who, well, I had to say it for what it was, put out on the first date sometimes, but comparing the two of us side by side made it apparent who enjoyed themselves more.
“Look around,” Leigh said. “There’s a lot of handsome guys here.”
“At a bar,” I said, but to Leigh, that didn’t seem to make a difference.
And really, if I was thinking about Satan likethat,any dude in a bar would look like a priest at a retreat.
“I’ll just go fuck one of the bikers and get it over with,” I said with a self-deriding laugh, half telling the truth, half hoping to get Leigh off my back.
Instead, it did the exact opposite.
“If sex involved zero consequences and zero social stigma, and even then, no one would have to find out, sure, I’ll bet some of those guys could make you come multiple times. But that world doesn’t exist. There’s a price to be paid just for being seen arm and arm with them! You really want your work crew saying you’re dating one ofthem?”
She might as well have said I was dating a prisoner. Which, with that club, was probably accurate.
“It was a joke,” I said rather unconvincingly.
“OK, just try and keep it that way,” Leigh said, genuinely sounding concerned. “I think you really do need a good night out.”
I did. And for one more round, I let myself have that “good night out.” I laughed and made small talk with Leigh. She told me about one of the guys she’d gone on a date with last week, a guy from Philadelphia who was funny but too cocky for her to give a second chance to. I told her about getting to interview one of the Arizona Cardinals football players, a comment that immediately grabbed her full attention. For about forty minutes, things seemed great.
Then the exhaustion of the week set in. The disappointment that tomorrow would be more of the same crept in. And the reality that my life would require a lot more change than what was happening right now hit me hard. I closed out my tab, hugged Leigh tight, tried to sound casual when she said she’d help me however much I needed it, and headed home.
How my dream job of being a journalist had wound up being so…so stressful and seemingly insignificant was beyond me.
I could only hope that it was leading to greater and more interesting things.
Satan
For a Saturday morning at the club, things seemed awfully fucking slow.
The three of us officers hadn’t said anything about the arrival of the Black Reapers to the rest of the club beyond saying some assholes had pestered us. We needed more time to think through our strategy. Sending the members and prospects into a fucking tizzy when there was nothing to worry about would make us look like the goddamn boy who cried wolf.
We had, however, canceled the party that night, saying that we needed to clean up the place and keep things chill for a bit. It was as bullshit an excuse as bullshit came, but no one fucking dared to question us. I could have said we needed to cancel the party so a priest could spread holy water, and no one would have said a goddamn word about it.
I looked at the clock. It was half-past eleven. The shop would open shortly for a few hours, and at that point, the only three people working would be me, Sonny, and Spawn. We had a small get-togethe lined up for this evening, but we’d strangely be by ourselves for a bit.
“Smells like piss over here,” Spawn said in a corner.
“Probably cuz someone actually did piss over there,” Sonny said.
“Fucking lovely,” Spawn said.
“Price you pay for having freedom,” I said, “is some shitheads don’t understand you waste that freedom pissing when you could be balls deep in some pussy.”
But Spawn said nothing, just grabbing some cleaning materials and wiping the spot down. We should have fucking gotten the prospects to do it. But I wanted the three of us alone so we could talk.
