“When the housekeeper said you’d been by the house, I thought you were just there to ask for money again. I’m so sorry.”
When I explain that I lost my memory, her face softens and she says, “I’m sorry. Can I give you a hug?”
“Of course.” What kind of fucked-up relationship do we have that she has to ask for a hug?
When she wraps her arms around me she holds on tight for a very long time, tighter than necessary. My shoulder gets damp from tears, which is surreal. She’s reconnecting with her estranged daughter, a lifetime of love, failed expectations, and hurt between them. For my part, I’m a mannequin standing in for the daughter.
“Why don’t you two ladies sit down and I’ll grab you both a glass of wine?” Crystal says.
I mouth, “Thank you” at Crystal and she disappears behind the bar, her butt wiggling in a G-string. She returns, in a satin robe this time, with two glasses and a bottle. She says, “Just so you two know, we’re coming up to happy hour. I mean, it’s not gonna get real busy but it’s a strip club, so…”
I steer my mom toward a high-top table and give her the highlight reel of my life since Tuesday.
“I feel so bad. You came to that party to see me.”
I can feel my eyes go silver-dollar-pancake big. I must be thinking about pancakes because I’m with my mom, though I suspect she doesn’t make them. She and Frederick definitely have a chef.
“You apologized. You wanted to introduce me to your boyfriend.”
JP. She would have loved him.
“But I didn’t want to hear it. I thought it was just you upstaging my show, and my therapist wants me to focus more on me.”
“How long has it been since things were…like this?”
She takes a heavy breath. “Years. I married Frederick when you were in high school, maybe ten years ago. I thought things would get better, but…they didn’t.”
I give her space to finish her story. She’s emotional. For my part, I’m just filling in details.65
The DJ makes a loud announcement: “Our next dancer might be named Crystal, but she’s a real gem, a genuine jewel. This gem’s gots bills to pay so pull out your wallets and give it up for CRYSTAL!” He turns up the bump-and-grind music and Crystal struts out. She looks my way and mouths “Sorry” before she starts shimmying and running her hands up and down her body.
My mom’s back is to the stage and she doesn’t turn around. “You started ditching school more after Frederick moved in.”
High school flunky, adult con artist—everything is adding up. There is probably a reason my mom isn’t surprised to find me in a strip club—she probably saw this coming.
“You only graduated from high school because Frederickdonated some money. College was a no-go. Pretty soon you stopped coming around and when you did you were…not yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. Crystal, on the other hand, has nothing to apologize for. Right behind my mom, Crystal crawls on all fours across the stage and starts stroking the pole suggestively and makes a move like she’s going to lick it. Someone yells, “Lick it before you climb it, baby!”
“What?” my mom yells. “I can’t hear over the music.”
From what I can hear, it seems like communication between us has been bad for years. Crystal is pulling herself up the pole. Her upper body strength is off the charts.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. I’m guessing I have a side to the story, too, but at the moment, it doesn’t matter to me. “I don’t know what happened before, but I could really use a mom now.”
The waterworks really break loose for both of us. Through her tears, she says, “Of course. Frederick is pretty much not there anymore—dementia. You don’t have to worry about him.”
Crystal must have caught on that our conversation is going well and she smiles big at me from the pole.
“What?”
“Dementia!” she yells.
I’m starting to get the impression that Frederick was a perv—and that my mom didn’t always side with me.
“I’m sorry that I wouldn’t talk to you at the art gala. My therapist has been telling me that I need to establish healthy boundaries.” Crystal slides down the pole upside down andmy jaw drops.
Mostly, holy shit, Crystal! But also, my mom’s therapist comment makes me wonder. Are her “healthy boundaries” impermeable?
