1
EMBER
Ican’t believe I’m sitting in a strip club parking lot. Is this what my life has come to?
I can’t stop thinking about my dad and what he would probably think if he could see me right now. Shit, I can almost hear him chastising me in his backhanded way.
“Things happen to the best of us, Slugger, but you can’t let somecretinopull you out of your morals. At the end of the day, that’s all you’ve got.
He’d have found a way to get me a job at the station, probably. Or asked around for any little bullshit job just to keep me from considering this one. The weird thing is that I’d have probably gone for those bullshit jobs because God forbid I let my idiot ex-boyfriend ‘drag me out of my morals’. After everything, I don’t even know what that really means anymore.
Fucking Ricky. This really is all his fault. All the bullshit that he put me through—coming to my job and causing scenes every time he thought I was cheating, only to find out after they fired me that he, himself, had a chick on the side. The irony is almostlaughable, and maybe I would be laughing if he didn’t add insult to injury by running off with every dime I’d been saving up these last five years.
Five years. Money that I was setting aside for my own club one day. Money that I was using to secure my future.Ourfuture. Piece of shit just helped himself to it and left me in the dust. He cost me my job and the money I could have used to fall back on until I could get myself together.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The car’s still running so the air smells faintly of freon, or whatever chemical they use now, from the air conditioning. I almost feel isolated from the outside world inside the regulated air quality of my car. Out there, it’s hot, muggy, and stinking of asphalt and car exhaust. The city smells like the chaos that I now have to navigate just to pay my bills.
I’m not doing myself any favors getting all worked up before this interview. Natasha said that this manager job will pay me more than enough to get myself back on my feet again,andit’ll give me the experience that I’ll need when I eventually open my own club. I just have to keep my cool long enough not to blow it. I think about how Natasha’s morally gray personality has always been the thing to keep a roof over her head. If only I had the guts to dance naked for money. I’d probably have already gotten the money I needed by now. I will get back what was taken from me.
Eventually. Thanks to Ricky, I’ve gotta kick that even farther down the road. I swear, I’d better not see his face again unless there’s an axe through it.
I take a second and pull down my visor, lifting up the mirror. I look good. Professional. The curls in my hair haven’t fallen from the humidity yet. It’s ash blonde that blends into gold at theends, just like my Dad’s hair did when he was young. He always kept it short, so he looked like he was going gray prematurely for most of my life. I’ve never seen him with long hair. Not even in old photos. I often wonder how handsome he might’ve been if he ever let it grow long.
As for me, I like my hair color, though I find myself wanting to dye it every so often, andespeciallyright now. People tend to see blonde hair and blue eyes and think that the woman possessing them lacks the brain power to do anything but smile and look pretty. Here I am with super blonde hair and icy blue eyes. And I have the nerve to have a nice rack on top of that. Maybe this is why men have always thought that they could walk all over me.
Hmph. I really hate it that one of them actually got away with it.
Ugh,focus,Ember.
I put the visor up and take another deep breath.Protect your heart, keep your head in the game.Wise words from my dad. I’m going to let them carry me through this next chapter of my life.
I grab my billfold from the passenger’s seat and get out of the car and step into the thick late summer air. It’s only five in the evening, but I can smell the coming rainstorm that’s supposed to break the heat. Hope it doesn’t start until after I’m on my way home. I pause to look up at the sign above the door.The Kitten’s Pawis written in pink script next to a drawing of a cat woman in a bikini looking coyly over her shoulder, her long tail lifted into a curve.
“Welcome to the Kitten’s Paw,” the guy at the door says, looking me up and down. He’s wearing a white tank top and a baseball cap that nearly covers his eyes. He’s also about three hundredpounds. He looks like a big blob of jelly as he balances on the stool by the door. The sides of his large ass spill over it and it almost disappears completely underneath him.
He smiles, and I get a full view of several yellow and rotting teeth. “What can I do for you, darling?”
“I’m here for an interview.” I pause, then quickly add, “For the managerial position.”
His eyebrows raise up. “Oh, yeah? Pretty girl like you? Sure you don’t want to audition instead? Bet you’d do some real damage on that pole.”
Ugh.I have a good mind to walk right out of here.
“Em! Hey, Em!” I look over to see a welcome sight. Natasha’s waving at me as she walks up. In this light, her dark hair blends into the dimly lit background giving only a little bit of a shine as it bounces. The rest of her is just barely covered. She’s wearing a silvery bra and panty set with garters and stockings and impossibly high-heeled shoes with clear bottoms.
I smile as she rushes up and hugs me. “You made it! Right on time, too. Omar’s waiting for you upstairs.”
She takes my hand, but the blob at the door stops her, “Hey, Nat. What about the cover charge?” He looks over at me and winks. “’Course, it’s free if you want to rethink trying the pole.”
“Nice way to talk to your future boss,” Natasha says with a saucy tilt of her head. She pulls me away. “Don’t pay Junie any mind. He talks a lot of shit, but he doesn’t do anything but sit there like a fat-assed gargoyle.”
I snicker as she pulls me through the club. I can’t help but look around as we walk. It’s dead in here right now. The tables aremostly empty with just a few customers listlessly watching the few girls on stage. Two of them are moving their hips around the stripper poles with uninterested looks on their faces.
“Is it always this dead in here?” I ask Natasha as soon as we stop near the employe entrance at back of the club.
“It’s early,” she says. “The place really doesn’t get going until around eight or nine at night.”
I take another glance around the room skeptically. Open three hours early for hardly anyone to be here. “Why are you guys open so early? Just keeping the lights on at this hour must be more expensive than opening a little later.”
