Fiona was lying on the bathroom floor when I found her. Her eyes were open, and she managed words, "I don't feel good." Her usually ruddy skin looked especially bright red, and I could see that she shivered under a thin layer of shiny sweat. Her eyes moved in circles, toward the ceiling. I asked what we were both thinking, "Do you think you were drugged?" She wasn't sure, but then again, how often can we know for certain? She already had a cup of water, and the bouncer was aware of her state. I glanced ruefully at the filthy tile, wondering how much urine she was resting in. She reached for her phone beside her, and flipped the cheap cell open. "Here." She slid it across the tile and it landed near my short heels. "JJ. That's who you call if I get worse."
She had a feeling who had drugged her, if anyone. The dimpled young man from New York, dressed moderately, but acting cocky at the bar. He'd already pulled at my arm as I walked by. "You're wasting your time with these low rollers. I have money. Come talk to me." He was the only customer Fiona had been sitting with for the last hour, and he'd bought her a couple drinks and asked for five lap dances. For the first sixty minutes of the Tuesday shift, she'd made at least a hundred dollars, but now she was unable to work, lying in someone's piss. I looked at her again, as she moaned and shivered. I went upstairs.
The Dimpled Man was eating a salad, shoving it furiously in to his mouth. I sidled up to him.
"So, I'm about to go on stage, but I have time for you after."
He nodded, but didn't look up. Chewing. I walked to the stage, danced an energetic set. Glancing in the mirrors from beneath my fringed hair; he never looked at me. The rack was mostly empty and I took my modest singles politely and dressed in the lapdance room, approaching him again.
"You're wasting your time," he said as I stood next to him. Before I could think of a response, Bartender approached and he told me to order a drink on his tab. Bartender stared extra hard at my face as she handed me the short glass of vodka and soda water. I stared back, agreeing.
"Hey, thanks smartass." I stirred with my small straw, tossed it in the trash behind the bar. "Watch this." And downed it in three gulps. He smiled and put his fork down.
I kept talking, "So, are you all talk about your money or do you want to get off that cute brown ass and spend some private time?"
My naturally shy person had a hard time forcing out the words, but he followed me back there.
I asked, "So where's Fiona? I saw you guys hanging out."
Flatly, he said, "Who cares. She was boring. She didn't get rough with me. The girls never get rough enough with me. I want you to get rough."
"Okay. I'd like that," I said honestly. "But I'll need you to pay me first."
He pulled two twenties from his pocket and threw them at the ground. "Here's to start."
I wrinkled my nose very deliberately. "That's cute. What is that, toilet paper? I'll need more than that."
I felt like I was walking a thin line, but he pulled forty more and I snatched them from his hand, and then slapped him on the face with the other. He opened his mouth and eyes in shock, but then grinned hugely, and leaned forward in anticipation of more.
It is at this point that I should probably explain that I don't like being paid to strike people. I'd probably make a terrible dominatrix. I just don't like it. I'm afraid of opening their face and transmitting diseases through blood. I'm afraid of triggering a violent response. And I don't like hurting people who haven't yet hurt me.
But he was different. I thought of Fiona on the floor, probably puking and waiting for her boyfriend to drive her home.
I cupped my right hand and slapped into his groin. He liked that too.
A couple songs and more money later, I was psychologically drained, and didn't want to be in the room with him anymore. I told him he could "Have a break", and I ran downstairs to wash my hands. I wasn't dealing with him anymore. I didn't want to. I thumped down the stairs, and saw an empty space in the dressing room. Fiona was gone, her boyfriend had come to collect her.
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And now for something a bit light, here is my daughter and I.
Love,
Casper
