The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (2 page)

“I know, Stan. But—”

“She needs the money.”

That stopped me. Mom never needed money. That was part of the appeal of her job. At least for her. I looked at Stan.
 

“Why does she need the money?” I asked slowly, watching his face to betray the answer.
 

My mother had undergone one brief period when I was a teenager where she drank too much and too often. It lasted a little over a year before she cleaned herself up, but it was long enough for her to blow all her money and almost ruin things between us. Never mind the fact that she had trouble dancing and earning any tips when she was passed out in the locker room.
 

I watched Stan’s face for a hint that she might have fallen off the wagon. He saw the unasked question in my eyes and shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s nothing like that.”

“She’s not drinking?”

“No,” he said again. “She’s fine.”
 

I needed to see for myself so I turned to watch her. A waitress was putting down a line of shot glasses full of amber colored liquid. I tensed and waited. Her client, for lack of a better word, grabbed two, handing her one. He downed his and slammed the glass on the table. My mother put her still full glass next to his and expertly swung her leg over his, beginning her private dance.
 

I let out the breath I was holding and faced Stan.
 

“See?” he said. “I told you. It’s nothing like that.”

“So what then?” I settled back into the vinyl chair. It didn’t look like I’d be able to talk to my mom any time soon. At least not until her client was done with her.

“Well, she’s not dancing much anymore,” Stan said.
 

I nodded because she’d told me that last time I’d seen her. Stan had given her the house-mom job. In essence, she looked after the other girls, keeping them out of trouble and stopping any fights. At the time, I thought it sounded like a glorified babysitting job but it was better than gyrating on stranger’s laps. At least I certainly thought so.

“But you still pay her?”

“Of course. You know I run a fair business, Whit.”

I smiled. He did, too. Stan was probably the most trustworthy and honest strip club owner in the country. I could never figure why he was in the industry at all. Truthfully, I think my mother was the only reason he hadn’t sold years ago. He’d do anything for her and for whatever reason, she loved the Lusty Lady.

“But she misses the tips,” Stan continued. “And she’s saving up. We both are.” Before I could ask him what they were saving for, he changed the subject. “So, when do we get to meet this boyfriend of yours?”

I looked down and picked at a chip in the veneer of the table. “I don’t know, Stan. It’s not really very serious.”

He put his hand over mine and held it still. I looked up. I could see he was trying hard not to look hurt, but his smile wasn’t as bright as it usually was. “It’s okay, Whit. I understand if you don’t want us to meet him.” I shook my head in protest, but he continued. “Your mother and me, we’re not really the traditional parental types. I get it.” His smile almost broke my heart.
 

“Stan,” I said. “Honestly, it’s not you.” And it wasn’t. Not really. It was William. I wasn’t in a hurry to introduce him to Patty and Stan for a lot of reasons. Of course there was the minor detail that he worked with me and I may have led him to believe that my parents were dead. “I’m just not sure about William yet,” I said. “But as soon as I am, you both will be the first to know.”

“Okay, Whit.” He patted my hand. ”You know we only want what’s best for you.”
 

“I know.” I nodded and glanced behind me to check on the progress of the dance, which had to be getting close to completion. “I’m going to go say hi.”

Stan nodded. “Larry’s a regular anyway,” he said. “He probably won’t get too upset at the interruption.” He was so calm about the fact that the woman he loved was just rubbing up on some strange man for money. No matter how many times he told me it was just business, I still didn’t get it. “And I’ll send him over a drink, that should help.” He gave me a conspirator’s wink. “It was good seeing you Whit. You should come around more. We miss you.”

Hot guilt flashed through me as I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Stan. I’ll see you soon.” The lie rolled off my tongue easier than it should have.

I stood up, shook my coat off, making a note to wash it when I got home, and wove through the chairs and tables across the room.
 

“Hi, Mom,” I said. She was still sitting on the man’s lap, and I tried not to look down. “We need to talk.”

“She’s busy,” the businessman grunted but didn’t take his eyes off my mother’s breasts.

I put on my most innocent smile and batted my eyelashes at him. “Doesn’t look like it will take much longer, if you know what I mean?”

My mother tried to stifle a laugh but it was too late because her fat businessman certainly did not look impressed by the interruption. With another grunt and a glare in my direction, he lifted my mom from his lap and got up.
 

“Don’t forget to leave a tip,” I said as sweetly as possible.
 

He grumbled something I couldn’t make out and reached into his pocket, pulling out a fistful of bills that he thrust in my mother’s direction before storming off.
 

After he left, I turned my attention back to Mom, who was wadding them up in her hand. “Mom, we need to talk.”

“It’s so good to see you, darling,” my mother purred. “What brings you all the way down here? It must be important. It’s been a while.” She shot me a look, but there was no point saying anything back. We both knew exactly how long it’d been since we’d seen each other. She was right; it’d been a while.

“I tried to call.”

She waved her hand in the air. “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she said. “I don’t have that thing anymore.”

“What thing? Your iPhone?” I’d bought her an iPhone for her birthday a month ago for the sole purpose of avoiding trips to the Lusty Lady.

She shrugged. “I’ve decided I don’t need a cell phone. They’re confusing with all the buttons and apps and…what are apps, anyway? I thought I was just supposed to push the buttons and make a call? Why would I want little birds flying around into pigs on my phone anyway? What is that?” She stared at me and fluffed her hair.

“Mom, I—”

“And even if I wanted to,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “you can’t call out on the stupid thing. There aren’t any buttons on it.”

“It’s a touch screen, Mom.”

“Whatever.” She tugged her tube dress up and over her naked breasts. The hem of it barely covered her rear end, but I’m pretty sure that was the point.
 

“Mom, how am I supposed to call you if you don’t have a phone?”
 

She tossed her hair and gave me a brilliant smile before linking her arm through mine. “Well, that’s the thing, my darling. If I don’t have a phone, you’ll just have to come visit me more often and you know how much I like to see you.”
 

I walked with her toward the bar. “I was worried.”

“About me?” She stopped walking and her hand fluttered to her chest. “That was sweet, darling.”

“Mom, I was worried because you didn’t answer your phone. I thought maybe something happened.” I tried to hide my frustration, but I knew I wasn’t doing a good job of it.
 

“I’m sorry I worried you,” she said. “Now tell me, was that the reason you came to visit?”
 

I shook off my irritation. “Mostly,” I said. “But I wanted to tell you that Grams moved into a retirement complex a few months ago.” I handed her a piece of paper, ignoring the guilt that I’d waited almost six months before telling her. “That’s the address and phone number in case you want to visit.” She tucked it in the cleavage. We both knew she wouldn’t visit.
 

“It’s about time,” she said, and her face hardened the way it always did whenever I mentioned my grandmother. “She’s old. And you shouldn’t be living with an old lady.”

“She’s not old.”

“Yes, she is. She was when I was a kid and she’s even older now. That was my biggest regret,” she said and looked away. “You shouldn’t have been raised by an old lady.”

I bit back a reply because there was no point getting into it with my mother. Not now. Not about things that couldn’t be changed.
 

“Well, she’s not old,” I said again. “She just decided she wanted to be around people her own age, playing cards and dancing and stuff. It’s really quite a great place and—”

“I’m sure it’s very exciting. And old.”
 

I shot her a look.
 

“What?” Patty shrugged her shoulders. “She’s what? Eighty-one?”

“Eighty-two.”

“Right,” she said. She got a faraway look in her eyes for a moment as if she were remembering something. “Sometimes I forget she was so old when she had me. That’s why I did it the right way and had you before twenty.”
 

I raised an eyebrow at her but if she noticed, she ignored it. It seemed pointless to mention that it was Grams, her “old” mother, who’d raised me.
 

“Well,” Patty continued, “she always used to say that she’d move into one of those old folks’ homes when she was ready to die.”

I froze and a chill crept down my spine. I stared at my mother. Did she know?
 

“Whitney? Darling? Are you okay?” I barely felt her hand on my arm. My thoughts were spinning. But there was no way my mother could know about Grams being sick. I hadn’t told her. I knew for a fact that my mother and my grandmother did their best to avoid each other, so Grams certainly hadn’t told her. No, I reasoned, she was guessing.
 

“Whitney?” She shook me and my eyes snapped back into focus and locked on her.
 

“I’m fine,” I said. “Sorry, I just thought of something.”

My mother dropped my arm and smoothed her hair. “You don’t look good, Whitney. I thought you might pass out there for a second. You should get some sun.” She patted my cheek and leaned in to kiss me on the lips. “I gotta run. I have another number.”
 

She turned to go and then, remembering something, turned back. “You should stick around I’m getting back on the pole next. I’ll show you that your mama’s still got it.”
 

Saving me from making up an excuse, my cell phone started to ring. I pulled it out of my pocket and William’s face displayed on the screen. Great. I didn’t really feel like talking to him either.
 

Choosing the lesser of two evils, I held up the phone and said, “Maybe next time, Mom. I should take this.”

“No problem, darling. Next time.” She winked at me and turned, swinging her hips all the way to the back room.
 

With a sigh, I headed out into the sunlight. It wasn’t until the door swung shut that I remembered—I’d never asked her what she was saving money for.

As soon as I was clear of the building, I hit Ignore on the phone. I knew I should have taken William’s call, but I hadn’t told him yet about my mother and I didn’t want to lie to him about where I was. I hated lying, even though I’d been doing it with pretty much every guy I’d dated.
 

Stan had a point. It’s not that I was ashamed of my mother and her lifestyle it’s just that over the years, I’d discovered it was easier if I didn’t actually introduce them. Or for that matter, even mention Stan and Patty to anyone I dated.
 

I opened the door, tossed my purse over to the passenger seat and stuck the keys in the ignition, trying to push the niggle of guilt out of my mind. I had plans with William later. Maybe I’d tell him about Mom then. Or, more likely, I wouldn’t.
 

As I navigated my car through the seedy downtown area and back into my residential neighborhood, I had to admit to myself neither of those options sounded all that appealing. I needed to clear my head.

***

I only had thirty minutes, if that, but I didn’t care. Sometimes even a few minutes was all I needed. As soon as I pulled into the driveway, I ran inside long enough to drop my purse on the counter before I turned around again. Dashing across the backyard, I let the kitchen door slam behind me and I felt like a little kid again, escaping up the ladder into the treehouse that had been my refuge since I was a little girl.
 

I squeezed through the tiny access hole and pushed all my childish feelings aside. It didn’t matter how old I got, I’d still loved my treehouse. Because it was mine. And because my mother had built it for me. Well, not really my mother. Technically, Stan built it. But it’d been her idea. She’d said a girl needed a place where she could just be. And she was right. Ever since I was eight and the treehouse was finally finished, I’d always been able to just be inside it. It was mine. As a kid, I’d play Barbies, and read comics and I had my friends over to hang out. I tried to get Grams to check it out and see how I’d fixed it up, but she refused. She didn’t climb up the little wooden ladder and visit me. Not once. I think it had something to do with the fact that it’d been my mom’s idea. Or more likely that Stan had helped out. Grams hated Stan. Always had.
 

But it didn’t matter. It didn’t stop me from making the space mine. And obviously, once I was an adult I didn’t play dolls in there, but it was still the only place where I felt I could be real. With all the crazy that was my everyday life, it was the one space I didn’t have to pretend. I reached across the small space and grabbed the plastic tote where I kept a blanket and pillow. As soon as I was organized and comfortable, propped up against the wall, I opened the notebook I’d brought with me, picked up my pencil and started writing whatever came out of my head. That was the best way.

I didn’t try to pretend I had any great talent. And it wasn’t even about what I wrote. Not really. It was about getting out of my own head and sometimes the only way I could do that was by letting the words flow. There’d been a few times when I’d let Grams read what I wrote. And true to grandmotherly form, she loved every word.