“Get one thing straight, Iris. I am never coming back to you. Never.” I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know what to do. As I walked out, the paparazzi were still there, hammering me with questions about the rumors between Iris and me. The child’s gender. The next season of the show. I tried my best to ignore them as I slid on my sunglasses and walked faster. It was all too much to ignore when a small girl, around the age of six, was walking with her mom and was pushed by one of the paparazzi.
“Jesus! Come on! Y’all are knocking over kids!” I hissed as I helped the girl up.
The man who made her tumble over gave me a devilish grin and said, “What are you talking about, Cooper? You kicked her over, not us. Have you been drinking? You should be more careful.”
I wanted to kick his ass. I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck, shake him, and scream at him to wake the hell up. To get a real f**king job instead of finding a way to be a stalker and get paid for it. They were sick creatures who made a living off of destroying lives, just to sell a photo.
But I couldn’t. I walked off and tried to figure out what the hell to do about Iris and Andrea.
I WALKED AROUND Central Park with my camera, taking photos. Shit, it was cold. I pulled my winter coat tighter and wrapped my scarf around my mouth to shield off the chill. I always felt at ease when I was doing what I loved. What I really loved. Unlike the garbage reality shows I had somehow gotten sucked into doing with Iris. She said it would make us grow closer. I told her couples who did reality shows were doomed to fail. She disagreed.
I was right.
I was avoiding Andrea. She had texted me a few times earlier that week calling for Soda Pop, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be seen with her in the city with the paparazzi covering my every move. It was to protect her. I should have told her about the photos. But if I did, I would lose her for sure. I had to work this through my head, figure out the best way to handle it without pushing her away.
The sunlight had faded for the night. I made my way to a bench and let out a heavy sigh. I needed more time to figure things out. More time to find a way to keep Andrea’s name out of the tabloids. The first moment I’d seen her, I’d promised her I wouldn’t say a word about her stripping, and now Iris was threatening to tell the whole wide world she was a damn prostitute.
My phone went off as I read the newest text message that slapped me with guilt.
Did I do something wrong?
I stared at all of the former text messages before this one, and they only read ‘soda pop’ between her and me.
She’d never written anything more than that, so to read those words stung me. Did she do something wrong? No. But I couldn’t tell her. Not yet.
Chapter Nineteen
FREAKING A, I missed him. Why hadn’t he called or texted? It’d been weeks since we last talked. Did he find Order before me? I felt so stupid for even thinking on the matter. Maybe I’d scared him off with my breakdown about Derrick. I wouldn’t have been surprised. If I were him, I would have run too. I wish there was an un-send button for text messages, but there it was—my needy text sitting in his inbox.
Focus on something else. I needed a distraction. Dance.
It had been a few weeks since I had my first dance on the stage. The first night was terrible, the second night was embarrassing, and the sixth night was a bit better. Roger must have been pleased with my performances, because he was getting closer and closer to offering me the closing number. “We’ll see,” he would say whenever I’d ask. I wanted a shot at it. Jasmine told me there wasn’t a chance in hell she would give up her spot, but everyone knew I was better than her. My degree in dance was really paying off. Thank you, college education.
When I walked onto the stage each night, it was as if I were in a trance. I tried not to think about it too much because it was all too depressing. So I danced. I moved my body. And I blocked out my thoughts. In a way it was somewhat a form of art. And moving my body in a way to create art was all right, in some twisted way.
The crowd that night seemed extra intense. There were loud rackets of noise traveling from the club to the dressing rooms. Bachelor parties, probably. I hated bachelor parties the most because the stupid bachelors always forgot that they were getting married in the freaking morning. So much disrespectful grabbing. I stopped applying my makeup when Ladasha walked over to me and leaped onto my makeup table.
“I’ve been thinking. Maybe I’ll go back to school.”
“You should.”
Ladasha smiled, nodding with confidence. “I should. I always wanted to be a lawyer. Or a doctor. Or hell, a fuckin' English teacher. If it's the number two you spell it T-W-O. If it's like, 'I'm gonna have sex with him and him, too" it's T-O-O. That's my type of English lesson. I might even be the first black female president. Wouldn't that be political gold? The president's an ex-stripper.” She grabbed her br**sts and smiled widely. “Vote for Ladasha! I’ll watch a few political movies for tips. It can’t be that hard, right?”
She was slipping into her dark thoughts. I could tell when it happened because she always tried so hard to cover her sadness with goofiness. I knew better. Ladasha laughed lightly as she went back to applying her makeup, but I saw the slight glimpse of disappointment slip through her eyes.
“You can do it,” I assured her. Ladasha could do anything if she didn’t find the need to always run after awhile. I was really hoping she wasn’t feeling the need to run any time soon.
Just then, two other strippers, Maria and Shelly, walked into the room and took their seats, doing what they do best—gossiping. Maria shook her head in disbelief. “Can you believe that?”
“Hell yeah I can believe it,” Shelly chuckled, picking up a pink, glittery wig to go with her pink, tacky thong.
“What happened?” Ladasha asked.
“Jasmine got caught doing an escort job. Cops picked her up.” Shelly paused for a brief moment to roll her eyes, and then continued to speak. “She's so stupid. That's why I don't mess with that shit. I may take my clothes off, but I ain’t licking, kissing, or sucking nothing.”
Maria nodded in agreement, pulling on her fishnet stockings, which would be ‘viciously’ ripped off in about twenty minutes. “Now her kid's in the system. That kid ain't got a chance at a life with a prostitute mom and a locked-up dad.”
Ladasha quickly turned to defend the poor kid’s life. “You don’t know what the kid can make of himself. Give him a chance.” Her whole being shifted and she was to the point where humor wouldn’t fix her emotions.
“The only chance that kid got at a life is selling crack on the corner to the other messed up brats.”
Ladasha’s eyes couldn’t hide the self-pity pouring out. I quickly reached across to her and squeezed her hand, delivering a shot of comfort. Locking eyes with her, I sent her a simple nod, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. It was the same reminder she gave me when I first showed up to New York—no words, just a look of understanding. Her halfway smile and one-shoulder shrug was all I got before she went back to her makeup. Turning to the other girls, I asked the next question on my mind. “So who’s doing the closing number tonight?” Jasmine always got the closing number. She and Roger had a ‘close’ employer/employee relationship. I called her a slut, Ladasha called her a businesswoman.
Shelly smiled through her mirror in my direction. “You’re gonna want to add a lil more blush tonight, Wisconsin.”
Suddenly, Roger came barging into the dressing room, causing some of the girls to squeak in horror and throw things in his direction. He rolled his eyes, uninterested. “I aint gonna see nothin’ that everyone else in the club hasn’t already seen.” His eyes shifted to me. I hated when he looked at me. Roger was a creep, but then again, I was a stripper. I guess I kind of had it coming. I watched him chewing on the end of his short cigar, puffing rings of smoke into the air. His hairy face matched his hairy chest that was semi-hidden under his one-size-too-small black tank top. Too bad it wasn’t completely hidden. Disgusting.
“Andrea, you got a person in a VIP room requesting you.” He turned to leave as I shot up from my seat.
“Wait! Is it true I have the finale tonight?”
“If you keep bringing in people who pay hundreds for fifteen minutes with you in the VIP rooms, you can have anything you damn want.” Roger’s eyes sparkled like he’d won the lottery as he dragged his feet out of the room.
“Who the hell is requesting you for a lap dance?” Maria asked.
Ladasha smiled brightly—a genuine smile. She was coming back around to her normal, cheerful self. “Cooper Davidson.”
My eyes lit up at the idea of Coop being in the other room. Just hearing his name from my best friend’s lips made me want to go deliver the best lap dance ever. “Well, who the hell is Cooper Davidson?” Shelly hissed as she overdosed on hairspray.
“HE’S MY HUSBAND and you’re sleeping with him!” she hollered at me. My heart was in my throat and it seemed like all of the air had been sucked from the filthy VIP room. Sweat started spewing from my forehead as my knees began to shake. I opened my mouth to speak yet nothing came out. So she continued to talk. Something about me being a home-wrecking, smutty, vomit-worthy slut.
My eyes shifted to her stomach. Oh god…Cooper didn’t tell me she was pregnant.
Wait.
Cooper didn’t tell me anything about Iris. “I don’t know what to say.”
She laughed in a mocking tone. “Don’t say a word. Just stay the hell away from my husband.” I turned to leave and she glided herself in front of the door, blocking me in. “Seriously. I can ruin your pathetic life in an instant. You understand me? In. An. Instant. I can take whatever you have and destroy it. Don’t test me.”
“Go to hell!” I yelled. I hated her. I didn’t have much knowledge of who she was, but what I’d discovered in the last five minutes was that she seriously lacked people skills. And I also hated that she was so damn gorgeous. More beautiful than anyone I’d ever seen. Her face was flawless, her stance was ballerina worthy. For a moment I paused to think why Cooper would come to me when he had her waiting for him at home.
Oh my god. I was a slut. A home-wrecking, smutty, vomit-worthy slut.
“Is there a problem?” Frank opened the door when he heard me holler, and his eyes narrowed in on me, checking if I was all right.
“Yes, there actually is a problem.” Iris stood up tall in her high heels and held her Michael Kors purse close to her chest. “I want her fired.”
My eyes bugged out as I looked at the crazy psycho. I searched for a glimpse of sarcasm, but it wasn’t there. Whatever. There was no way I would be fired because of this woman. Roger just told me I was a money maker. Dollar bills flashed in his eyes back in the dressing room. It wouldn’t be good business to get rid of me. Before I knew it, I was having a yelling contest with Iris as Frank tried to control the noise. But he should’ve known, once women attack each other, it’s pretty much useless to do anything about it.
“What the hell is going on?!” Roger screamed, storming into the heated fight, panting. He was out of breath from the short jog over to the VIP room.
Iris crossed her arms and looked to him. “Are you the owner of this place?” she asked.
He was. She continued. “I want her fired.” She pointed at me as Ladasha walked up behind Roger to see what all the commotion was about.
Roger arched an eyebrow at Iris as if she were crazy. “There’s no way in hell I’m firing my best employee. I’m sorry you two had a dilemma, but let me get you another girl…” He put on his charm to try to get Iris to calm down. I knew Roger wouldn’t get rid of me. He may have been an asshole, but he wasn’t a heartless asshole.