An idea formed in my head, something I haven’t been able to shake since Chief O’Connell said he suspected arson. I just hope Natalie will be able to forgive me for what I’m about to put into motion.
“I have a huge favor to ask.”
Chapter 53
One Week Later
Stepping inside the windowless concrete building is like Dorothy waking up and seeing the land of Oz for the first time. And just like in the fairytale story, my reality also has an evil wicked witch.
The floor inside Golden Peaks Gentlemen’s Club vibrates and pulses up through the soles of my shoes, the vibrations in sync with the beat of the heavy bass music pumping out from strategically placed wall-mounted speakers. Bright, flashing, multicolored lights dance around the center stage where a topless woman in a glittery G-string and wearing gold nipple tassels spins seductively around a pole.
When I found out Amelia worked here, I wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t that long ago I sat in my broken-down rental across the street at the gas station, desperate for a job, and had contemplated the large sign for the gentlemen’s club for longer than I cared to admit.
Nervously, I glance around the club like a deer caught in headlights, feeling completely out of my element. A group of men are clustered around the stage, outstretched hands offering one-dollar bills to the dancer crawling on all fours. Barely dressed women prance around the main area in heels that should be deemed too hazardous to work in, flirting with patrons and delivering drinks. I dartingly look away from the topless woman grinding on a man’s crotch, giving him one hell of a lap dance.
I touch the center of my chest between my breasts feeling the outline of Jordan’s sobriety coin. He slipped it over my head this morning after we showered together.
“So you know you’re never alone because I’ll always be there with you.”
Jordan also gifted me a dozen new journals to replace the ones I’d lost in the fire. They were in a rainbow of colors and reminded me of the garden of flowers I drew on the cast of my broken arm when I was younger. He told me he hoped every page would be filled with our life together. Yeah, I cried like a baby when he said that.
Keeping my eyes trained on the dancer on stage, I slowly walk over to the bar, sidestepping a couple of businessmen. The gold bands on their ring fingers glint under the lights, and it makes me wonder what their wives would think if they knew that, instead of coming home after work, their husbands came here.
“Hey, babe. You lost?” a woman asks me as she holds a tap handle and waits for the frothy beer to fill the glass underneath.
“Pardon?”
She passes the beer to one of the businessmen and walks over to me. Unlike the rest of the female wait staff, she’s wearing a top—a black, sequined tube top displaying her copious cleavage, but at least her girls are covered.
She props her elbows on the bar and leans in. Her glossy, long blonde hair stays in place and doesn’t cascade forward or move. At all. How much hairspray does she use to achieve that feat? There was this girl in eleventh grade at school, Melissa, who would literally go through a canister of hairspray a day. Parker and Benji, two guys in our class who sat directly behind her in English, made a game of bouncing pen tops and erasers off the back of her hair. She never noticed.
“You look scared as hell. First time here?” the woman asks. Her smile is friendly and welcoming and helps put me at ease.
“That obvious?”
Her overly bright white teeth flash when she smiles. There has to be a black light somewhere above the bar.
“Pretty much. What can I get you, baby doll?”
I lick my suddenly dry lips and want to ask her for a bottle of water, but that’s not why I came here.
Taking out a roll of cash from my pocket, I push it over to her. My hands are shaking so badly, I almost drop it onto the floor.
“I’d like a private room with the redhead on stage.”
She looks at the money, then at me, penciled eyebrows raised to her hairline. My heartbeat hammers faster as she gives me a slow once-over that makes me feel self-conscious. I surreptitiously peek down at what I’m wearing. It’s the same outfit I wore on my first “date” with Jordan, and the only nice thing I own at the moment that isn’t stretchy yoga pants and casual T-shirts.
“Never would’ve pegged you to swing that way.” She signals to a man at the end of the bar.
I panic a little when I recognize him. He used to play football with Jordan, Mike, and Chase at school. Glenn was a major douchebag. The five years since high school have not been good to him, and he no longer carries the chiseled build of a linebacker.
“She wants a private dance from Cherry.”
Cherry? I hold back my snort of laughter. Surely Amelia could have come up with something more original.
Glenn doesn’t give me a second glance, and I’m so incredibly thankful he doesn’t recognize me either. His eyes are all on the thousand dollars sitting prettily on the bar top.
“Room three.” Glenn snatches the money, pockets it, and says something into his wrist. Very high tech and spy-like.
