TWENTY-THREE

Tim is sitting at the bar with his back to everyone, scowling as usual. It’s been months since I’ve seen him in a good mood. Lately I’ve been hearing rumors that his big belly is the result of stomach cancer. If that’s true, then I guess I don’t really blame him. Who knows, though? None of us would dare ask him about his health.

I rush past him and down the stairs, where I struggle to find a clean corner of the dressing room floor so that I can be momentarily barefoot. This place is always so filthy. The bouncers don’t even like to come down here; they say it smells like fish. But they’re just making a crude, not very original pussy joke. It actually smells like dead rats.

Alannah is standing in front of the mirror. “Hey,” I greet her.

“Hi, ma,” she says.

She’s somber today, too. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her looking so serious and so sad. Fuck, God, what’s wrong with everyone?

It seems to be epidemic. When I passed the three-week mark of Barry’s being gone, I decided that it would be okay for me to tell some of the girls about it. This is the longest I’ve ever been able to hold out after I’ve made him leave.

Once I opened up to them, people began to confide in me, too. Some of these whispered confessions, on the floor in between customers, have caught me all the way off my guard.

Jessica, a waitress, came to work the day after an abortion. “Can you tell I’m wearing a pad?” she whispered.

Tanya’s son was shot to death in a bad drug deal. “Oh, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” she whimpered. Her hands shook and she slipped into patois as she rocked back and forth in the chair over her cigarette, her face crumpling. “My baby boy… how me gonna live wi’ he gone before me?”

Dahlia has returned to New York, but now her boyfriend is moving back to L.A. to try to kick dope. She’s decided that she’d like to kick, too. She’s going to stay here for another month or two, and then she’s going with him for good. Her hepatitis is bothering her, and she doesn’t want to struggle through another New York winter.

Liz admitted that she carries liquid latex in her purse to wear on her hands in the back room. So that she has no chance of getting sick from giving someone a hand job. “You never know if you have a cut on your cuticle or something. Better safe than sorry, ya know?”

Ronnie the bouncer had a girlfriend here, a statuesque and gothic bartender. She just quit last week, and his inscrutable mood has turned obviously sour. The word is that they had a fight so bad it required police intervention. Occasionally he flirts with Tracy the Barbie girl, but most of the time he’s just waiting to catch one of us in some minor infraction, so that he has someone to take it out on.

I’m not the only one here with problems – that’s for damned sure.

“Alannah.”

She looks up, and that’s when I see that there’s a band-aid on the inside of her wrist.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods, but she looks preoccupied. I apply my lipstick, watching her carefully.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” I finally blurt out.

“Nothing,” she says, defensively. “Yeah, I tried to kill myself, see? That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“Honey, it’s just a weird place to have a band-aid, that’s all.”

“Yeah. Weird.” She turns away, pulling a dress over her head and then brushing her hair savagely.

I decide to leave her alone. I head upstairs for my first cigarette, five minutes ahead of schedule, and plop down immediately into a chair against the wall. Tim ignores me.

A few minutes later, I get up to peek into the DJ booth to see who’s working tonight. It’s the new guy who has just replaced Cody. I don’t even know his name, but I scowl at him and return to my seat. I’m bitter about Cody being gone. I never did get his phone number. And I still don’t know if anyone ever found out we were fooling around in the booth sometimes, and if so whether he got fired because of me.

I don’t like to start the shift with a lousy attitude. But this has the markings of a really bad night written all over it. I wish I’d stayed in bed. What difference does it make if I show up or not?

Alannah emerges from the basement, still looking dark and unhappy. I’m ready to just leave her alone, but she sits down next to me. We don’t speak for a while.

Both of us stare straight ahead at the nearly identical wall across the room, our reflections distorted by sweat and many years of thick, grimy disappointment.

“Listen,” she says, breaking the reverie.

Her beautiful face is pinched.

“What’s up?” I ask.

There’s a long pause, and then she says, “Could I maybe crash at your place for a little while if I had to?”

This is the last thing I expected her to ask me. We’ve never even hung out.

But…  “Of course.” My response is automatic. It never occurs to me to say no. Or to ask her for how long she plans to stay.

“Like maybe I can come home with you tomorrow night and just stay there?”

“Yeah, Alannah, sure, but what’s going on?”

She’s quiet for a moment.

“Alannah.”

“I have to get away from my old man,” she says. “You see this bruise?”

She unwinds a scarf from around her neck, and sure enough, there are marks all around her throat. I don’t know how I missed seeing them while we were downstairs.

“What did he do to you?” I ask.

“Last night.” She holds back a sob. “He threw me on the floor and choked me. We were fighting. I just wanted him to leave me alone. So when he let go of me, I ran in the bathroom and slit my wrist. I told him if he liked me better dead, I’d do it myself.”

“Jesus! What the fuck? You have to get out of there!”

“I know. So, really, is it okay?”

“Fucking yes, it’s okay! You working tomorrow night?”

She nods.

“Well, bring some clothes to work with you. Just pack a small suitcase. You’ll come home with me after work. Don’t even tell him you’re leaving,” I say.

“Are you sure?”

“Girl, don’t ask me that again.”

But the next night, Alannah shows up at the club without her suitcases. She accosts me at the bar when I come up from the dressing room.

“Hey, listen, I think it’s gonna be all right with my old man. He said he was sorry. Thank you, though.”

“Didn’t you bring your stuff?” I ask her.

“No. I didn’t want him to see me packing. I don’t know if I should leave,” she says.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“All my stuff’s there, my dogs are there, we both take care of his mom…”

“Alannah, you have to leave him if he hits you. We can go back for your stuff. And his mom? Fuck her. She didn’t do anything for you when he tried to kill you the other night, did she?”

She shakes her head. Her lip trembles, and her voice rises, breaking with the next sentence.

“You don’t understand how crazy he is. He’ll look for me.  And he’ll find me.”

“Alannah.” I put my hand on her shoulder. She sits there stiff as a board. “Listen to me. You hear me? We will figure this out. We will handle it. I promise. I’m not going to let anything else happen to you, okay?”

“It won’t work. I just… I don’t know,” she says.

“You can get new clothes. Everything you have at that house is replaceable. Except for you.”

She’s still silent.

“You need to leave him.”

A couple of tears start to run from the corners of her eyes. She wipes them away roughly with the back of her hand.

“Leave that son of a bitch. You leave there with the clothes on your back, and we will put your life back together once you’re gone.”

I’m firm with her in a way that no one’s ever been with me. I’m proud that I’ve thrown Barry out and that so far I haven’t called him back. Hey, if I can do it, so can she.

“Are you sure, mama?” Alannah asks.

“Absolutely, I’m sure,” I tell her.

Another long pause. “Okay,” she finally says.

Tim has been sitting on a barstool behind us for this whole conversation. Now he abruptly turns around.

“Good, you girls have a plan. Now can we please go hustle it?”

He really does sound like Archie Bunker.

“Ok, Tim, we’re going.”

I pat her on the back, and then I move away to scan the room for potential marks.

It picks up for me shortly afterwards. I do my lap dances by rote, and I hustle a few customers into the back room. My stage sets are decent. I’ve resolved that nobody is going to break my stride tonight.

About halfway through the shift, when I’m pumped full of VIP room vodka, our cashier grabs my arm and pulls me off the floor. He faces me down behind the cashier stand.

“What, Jose?” I’m annoyed.

Jose has a thing for me. It’s sort of a running joke. When I’m in a good mood, I go along with it, because it means he doesn’t ever try to rip me off at cash-out. But I don’t like it that he thinks he’s entitled to be my best buddy. Or that the other girls seem to think I’ve had sex with him.

“What are you doing? Are you out of your mind?” Jose wants to know, his Cuban accent slightly thicker than usual, the way it is when he’s upset.

I purse my lips. “What are you talking about?”

I haven’t had any problems with customers tonight, so I don’t know what I could possibly be in trouble for.

Jose exhales. “This is not the first time that Alannah has tried to leave her crazy boyfriend.”

“So?”

 “So, you should stay out of it,” he says.

“I can’t stay out of it. I’m involved now.”

“You’re making a big mistake.” His eyes bore right into mine. I yank my arm away, and stare him down just as hard.

“Last year,” he continues, “We all got involved and tried to help her leave that guy. Anna took her in. Guess what she did?”

I’m quiet, just watching him. He’s shaking his head.

“She went right back to him. And that’s not all. That psycho kept stalking Anna until he broke Alannah down. Anna had to move into a new apartment.” He rubs his eyes. “Alannah will do the same thing this time. It’s not worth it. You’re just taking on more trouble. Trouble like that, you don’t need.”

“Don’t matter, Jose. She’s got to get out of there.”

“I’m telling you, and you can ask anyone here. They’ll tell you too. You should worry about your own self.”

“I already promised,” I say.

He shakes his head again. “You should know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Leave it alone, Jose.”

He shrugs. “Now you know.”

Alannah sits quietly on my living room couch, which is going to be her bed from now on. I watch her intently, looking away quickly each time she catches me staring.

“Do you need something to sleep in?” I finally ask her, stubbing out a cigarette.

She nods, yawning.

I give her a nightgown that’s a little too big for me. It’s a pretty corny nightgown – flannel, long and flowered, left over from my childhood and my mom’s lousy taste. I think I see her mouth turn down at the offering, but she masks it quickly enough. She thanks me.

“Don’t thank me anymore, babe. Just let’s get you settled,” I say.

On a whim, I kiss her forehead. She shrinks at the kiss. I guess she doesn’t like to be touched. After her ordeal, I suppose I don’t blame her.

“I don’t have anything to wear except for this outfit,” she announces, indicating the jeans and shirt she wore to work. “And fuckin’ stripper clothes.”

“Yeah, hon, I know,” I reply. “When you have your next day off, we’ll go shopping.”

“I don’t make money most nights,” she tells me, as if I didn’t already know.

“I told you, I’ll loan you some until you can pay me back. It’s really not a big deal. I do make money,” I assure her.

“Is it really okay?”

“Alannah, I’m happy to do it. My old man used to hit me too sometimes.” I pause, reflecting. “Of course, whenever he did, I would hit him back.”

“I bet he ain’t as scary as Blue Eyes, though. Blue Eyes don’t stop to think. If I ever hit him, he’da killed me.”

“Barry? Barry’s pretty fucking scary. You’ve seen him, haven’t you? He used to hang around outside the club waiting for me.”

“Nah,” she said. “I don’t think I saw him out there, ma.”

“He’s crazy enough,” I say.

“Blue Eyes made me take him and all his boys out to dinner. I had to pay for everything,” she says. “He made me take them to other strip clubs sometimes. Nobody ever said thank you. And they all knew,” her voice breaks. “They knew where I worked.”

“He doesn’t sound like much of a man, Alannah.”

“He ain’t a man. He’s a fuckin’ animal.” She starts to cry.

“Hey, hey… come on.” Fuck. I’m not so good with crying. Usually, I’m the one who’s crying.

I offer her a cigarette, and she shakes her head.

“You got some weed?” she wants to know.

“No, I don’t right now. But it’s cool. We can get some tomorrow.”

She sobs, her chest heaving. I sit down next to her, and I put my arms around her.

“Hon, it’s okay. It’s really gonna be okay, I swear to you. You did the hardest part already.”

Alannah lets me hug her. Her tears spill onto my shoulders and into my hair. I stroke her head and I touch her face.

“You’re gonna look back someday and this is just gonna be a blip on the screen,” I say.

“How do you know that?” she sniffles.

“Cause you’re beautiful, and sweet…”

“Yeah. Beautiful, right. I’m fucking beautiful. You know, my dad used to think I was beautiful, too.”

“Well, you are beautiful.”

“I’m so glad I was beautiful for my dad,” Alannah sobs. “So beautiful, Daddy’s little girl… come here, baby girl, and let Daddy see how pretty you are.”

I feel sick. I can’t imagine the scenes that are playing behind her eyelids right now as her tears fall. And I don’t think I want to.

“How old were you?” I whisper.

“Eleven,” she says. She stops crying, and her voice becomes defiant. “Then twelve, then thirteen. Then he stopped.”

“What about your mom?”

“She hated me,” she rasps. “She was my step-mom anyway. I don’t know my mom.”

“So… one day, he just plain old stopped?”

“When the boys started coming around, wanting to know me, he quit that shit. But then he used to hit me instead.”

“Do you have brothers, sisters?” I ask.

“I got an older brother. He did the same as my dad.”

I shake my head. “I am so sorry, Alannah.”

“Jenny,” she says. “My name’s Jenny.”

“Jenny.” I whisper it.

“You can call me by either one, I don’t care,” she says bitterly. “I answer to both.”

“How’d you get out of there?” I want to know.

“Me and Blue Eyes run off together when I was sixteen. He said he’d marry me. He was good to me for the first couple of years, but he never did propose.”

“What happened?”

“He started out sellin’ weed. He was makin’ money, so I didn’t need to work. I guess it was all good until we got to know our neighbors.”

She sniffles.

“Blue Eyes tells everyone he’s Puerto Rican now, ‘cause his white ass don’t want to get shot. He took up with the Latin Kings, runs coke for them, and it wasn’t long before he started dipping his own nose too far into the bag.”

“And you?”

“Yeah, me, a little bit. Why fuckin’ not?”

I think about the half-gram that might still be in my nightstand somewhere.

“Blue Eyes, he wanted me to work,” Alannah continues. “He got jealous every night when I came home, but he knew we needed the money. He’s the one who told me to go work there.”

She blows her nose.

“Then his mom come downstate to move in with us, and she don’t work at all. Says she’s got migraines or somethin’. Used to yell at me all day when I’m doin’ the laundry, that she don’t want no whore takin’ care of her baby boy.” She laughs. “She’s plenty happy about the food and the weed I bring home, though. She don’t say anything no more, but she still don’t like me.”

I light another cigarette, watching her.

“Blue Eyes ain’t been workin’ neither. He got stabbed in the stomach a couple months ago, and he’s been off the street ever since. Still goes out with his boys, though. Every night. That’s the only reason I could get out. Cause when he’s home, he don’t want me goin’ nowhere.”

“Well, you’re safe now,” I tell her.

She looks away.

“Just don’t let anyone know where we are, and you’re safe.”

“I wouldn’t do that, ma,” she says quickly. “You know that, right?”

I take a long drag.

“I got a spare set of keys that used to be Barry’s. You can have those, and we’ll figure the rest of it out when we get up. You’re workin’ tomorrow?”

Her lips form a smile that is devoid of all pleasure.

“Every day but Sunday.”

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