Authors: Lourdes Bernabe
“
Okie dokie,” I said right before the screen went black.
Well that was a bust.
He offered a play date but I wasn’t too interested. It could be interesting but I doubted it. I also couldn’t shrug off the feeling that Derek wasn’t being completely truthful about the reason he was in town. And when I asked about his job, he gave me the run-around. What was Derek trying to hide? Not that it mattered. I already knew he was a killer. What more was there? He didn’t owe me any explanations about anything going on in his daily life but it didn’t stop my brain from trying to figure it all out anyway. But that would be a project for another time.
Heavy metal rock music blared
up once again from the apartment next door. I really didn’t want to sit here all night listening to that crap. But it was still much too early to go to bed and bid the world good night. I shuffled over to my bedroom and pulled out jeans from the bottom drawer. I yanked out a guinea tee from the top dresser and threw them both on with ease. I checked myself in the mirror just to make sure I wasn’t walking out of my apartment with feathers sticking out of my head. The view was good enough and I was out the door.
I
got into my Jeep even though I wasn’t really sure where I was heading. I just didn’t want to stay home.
So I ho
pped on the highway and drove in no particular direction and with no inclinations to go anywhere in specific. Driving could be a therapeutic experience if you allowed it to be. I could drive for miles and miles on the Garden State Parkway. I’d hoped the drive would quash the feelings of angst but I was wrong. This didn’t seem to be helping. Not even a little. Tonight, it seemed the sinister thoughts just would not let me be.
I was trying
so hard to be good. I really was. But the more I fought the dark urges inside of me the angrier they got. It didn’t matter how well behaved my dog was. A dog was still a dog. I still had to take him out for a walk every now and then. He couldn’t stay cooped up in the house forever. He’d make me pay for it sooner or later by eating the couch or my shoes.
I
whizzed by a bright neon sign that read Pink Pumps: A Gentlemen’s Club. I wasn’t into that sort of thing but I was full of boredom with no visible end in sight. What was that old saying about idle hands and the devil? At the very least, the bar would be a distraction. And I reeeeaaaaally needed a distraction right now. No I didn’t have an inkling for a taste of the other side. Though, I could say I’d enjoyed a woman’s company a time or two. But that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.
I took the next
ridiculously complicated U-turn and found my way back toward Pink Pumps. I’d heard this was a popular club from various friends and acquaintances but this would be my first time at this particular establishment. I parked my Jeep towards the back right out of sight from the cameras. It wasn’t a necessity at all but it was one of the precautions I’d come to live with. I wasn’t really sure if I’d be staying long or leaving fairly quickly.
I walked past several
parked cars on my way into the bar. It only took a moment or two for my eyes to adjust to the black and neon lights bouncing around the stage and onto the walls as I entered the club. I found a row of open stools at the far right of the bar. The bar was strangely shaped like an upside down backwards L. Inside the bar was another L shaped platform with two silver poles jutting out from the stage. A teeny tiny young white dancer, who couldn’t have been older than 19 or so, hung upside down from the pole closest to me. Gravity weighed her blonde hair pin-straight towards the ground as she swirled sensually down the pole.
Say what you will about
strippers. Personally, I’d say they were talented. It couldn’t be easy to fling around those poles so seamlessly. Not to mention the noticeable bruises that spotted the dancer’s inner thighs. It took a great more skill to pretend to enjoy the attentions of drooling old men offering a meager dollar at a time.
Another young girl with jet black hair danced around the other pole on the opposite side of the bar.
She had beautiful Russian features but her face bore the tell-tale signs of cold, hard resentment. I couldn’t see the slightest flicker of a smile on her face. I wondered if the men could see that look of pure hatred on her face. Not a chance. People saw only what they wanted to see. And even if they had noticed, they were incapable of caring.
“What can I get ya
?” asked the bartender. She came out of nowhere. I hadn’t seen her come up to me but then again I was distracted by the show up on stage. She was older, a lot older than she should have been to work in a place like this. I imagine when the streaks of gray start to show you know its time to hang up your thong and call it a day. Clearly, no one had let her know her time had come.
“Uh yeah, let me
get uh…Cuervo. Straight up.” I wasn’t in a drinking mood but what the heck? When in Rome… What else was I gunna do?
The AARP- card holding
bartender tossed a shot glass right in front of me and poured the liquor in one swift move. She didn’t spill a drop. Nor did I as I took the shot and slammed the glass upside down against the bar. “How much?” I asked. I didn’t want to run up a tab. By the time I was ready to pay the bill I might be too drunk to comprehend just how I drank $300 worth of alcohol in one sitting. Been there, done that, learned that lesson a few too many times.
“No charge. One of the guys at the end of the bar wanted to buy you a drink,” the bartender said. Her name tag read Sunny. I doubted that it was her real name but that’s w
hat it said.
“In that case, hit me
again Sunny…gimme another one.” She flipped over the shot glass and poured another shot of that luscious golden Tequila. I threw it back just as quickly as she poured it. Sunny walked away without a word and so I assumed whatever random pervert sitting at the other end of the bar was charged for that one as well. Suckers.
How had I not discovered th
is before? How was I to know that drinking at a sleazy strip club meant drinks were free? Well, they weren’t
really
free but I wasn’t paying for them so that meant they were free for me. My eyes wandered around the room as I let the Tequila simmer inside of me. The room appeared to be much more spacious on the inside than what it looked like from the outside. From the outside, it looked like a swollen trailer park.
There were the usual wall decorations I assumed you would see in a place like this. Neon lights that said Miller Lite in red and a green Bud Lite Lime lamp hung across one side of the wall. Beer specials decorated the opposite wall. All in all it was a simple place for simple people.
Three new girls stepped on stage as the previous two stepped down. The girls who stepped off stage diverted in opposite directions shaking their asses one at a time for each guy seated at the bar. The guys glided their dollar bills happily into the dancers’ g-strings grabbing as much skin as they could until the dancer pulled away. I watched as this repeated over and over again. It was an endless repetition of ass shaking continued by a deposit of a dollar or two by whatever dumb schmuck happened to be sitting there.
Was that
it? Was I missing something here? There had to be more to this than just an ass shake and a dollar from a girl who looked liked she’d rather be getting a lobotomy than dancing at this club. The girls were bored. The guys were bored. I was bored. Where was all the glitz and glamour? The movies made it look like strip clubs were “poppin.” I didn’t see any of that here. I motioned to the bartender for another drink and that’s when I spotted the pool table.
It wasn’t anything special
by any means. It just sat there looking neglected. I walked on over to it and noticed there were teeny tiny vertical tears in the felt from overuse and lack of maintenance. So they did actually play pool here but no one was playing at the moment. I took a look at the machine and saw that it only took quarters. I grabbed some change from my purse and inserted them into the table. I’d just finished racking up the balls when I first noticed a pair of a men’s black leather shoes come into view.
Instinctively, my head shot up to see the face of the man standing before me
with his hands in his pant pockets. I blinked and started back upwards from his hands, to his chest then neck, only to finally land on his face once more. And by God if it wasn’t the loveliest face I had ever seen. This guy didn’t fit the mold of the type of man you’d expect to find in a place like this.
Well, I couldn’t
really say what type of man you would find in a place like this. I took a look around the bar suspiciously to be certain and this man was definitely different.
Most of these guys were older, but not just older. They were decrepit. Some looked to have
forgotten to shower in recent days, as evidenced by their dingy clothing and general withered appearance. Showers were probably the last thing on their minds as they took sip after sip of beer after beer. These were hard working labor men from what I could gather from their worn out jeans and tattered workman’s boots. They were dirty, grimy and appeared to be oh so tired. Their sunken eyes conveyed stories of lives wasted away at the slow rate of one drink at a time.
Some of them
believed they were in love. They sat there with the pretty young girls at their sides trying to believe, but really just hoping that the girls really did find them that funny. Maybe she really did like him for what was on the inside. The money didn’t matter…Right?
M
y attention fell back to the man standing before me. His dark brown hair and strong square jaw were the image of pure perfection. He wore a black tailored suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. And he wore it so fucking well. His clothes must have been custom- tailored. How else could you explain how perfectly the pants clung to his hips? The jacket only added to his flawless appeal. The man had taste.
“Mind if I play with you?” he asked. His voice was smooth. “I was
hoping to get in a game before I left.”
Oh please come play with me, I thought. But I didn‘t dare say it. “Why not?” I replied. “It’s no fun playing alone.”
“I’m Bill by the way,” he held his hand out to me and we quickly shook hands.
“
Jolene. Nice to meet you,” I said as he chalked up his cue. “You break.”
“Likewise,” he smiled. He
leaned forward and broke the rack with deliberate intensity and sunk three balls right in. Alright then. He knew how to play. Check.
“So Jolene. What’s the story?” he asked.
“What d’you mean?”
“I mean,” he said as he prepared to take another shot. “What are you doing here? You don’t work here and you didn’t come with friends. No offense. But girls don’t come here for the same reason men do. Therefore, I repeat. What’s the story?”
He missed his shot and stood there waiting for an answer. “Your shot.”
I took aim and shot the cue, ignoring his question momentarily. The ball slowly rolled into the pocket and I took another shot. I missed and stood there waiting for him to shoot. Admittedly, I had no real answer for him. I had no fucking clue as to what I was doing here but how do you say that to a man who looks like he was sent
directly from the heavens? But I had to come up with something.
“Trouble with the boyfriend?” he
asked. He was digging and I rather enjoyed evading the question as long as possible.
“No.” I said finally
. “I needed to get out of the house. Ya know? Do something’ different tonight.”
“Ah,” he said.
“What about you? What brings you here tonight?” I asked as he made yet another spectacular shot. If his pool skills were an attempt to impress me, it was worrrrkkkkking.
“I’d say about the same.
I’m exploring. I had to see what the night had to offer.”
I couldn’t
, for the life of me, place his subtle accent. It sounded foreign but I couldn’t place the country. His accent wasn’t heavy. Not the type to completely obliterate the English language so as to make it impossible to communicate. But it was there. And it was irresistible. I had to know.
“Where’s that from?” I asked.
“Where’s what from?”
“The accent. You‘re not from around here.”
“I’m Turkish. I moved here just last month,” he replied. “Would you like a drink? How rude of me not to offer you something sooner.” he said. It was so proper. He spoke with such eloquence. You didn’t run across much of it in this area. The men in New Jersey were a no non-sense can’t be bothered type of men. I’m not complaining. I certainly enjoyed the local cuisine on numerous occasions. But I also had finer tastes. Bill was doing a fine job of tickling my curiosity.
“I would love a beer. Sam. If they have it,” I replied.
“I believe they do,” said Bill.
By the time he came back over with two beers I was already setting up the next rack and over the course of the next few games, and beers, I learned quite a lot from my new Turkish friend
, Bill. He was 33 years old, unmarried, and without children. He was a psychiatrist which I found interesting but didn’t inquire further. I didn’t ask but I suppose those were the basic factoids one learned when meeting someone new. I likewise, told him I was 26, also unmarried without children. I didn’t mention a boyfriend and he didn’t mention a girlfriend. A tiny detail of which I was sure we were both aware.