Chapter 2
Makynzee
It’s Saturday. I stare at Jay in shock. She stares at me in shock. I’d gone to her house to show her my hair and tell her about the fight and she’d blurted out that she wasn’t at school because they’re moving. I wait for her to say something and when she does I’m thrown off.
“You look prettier, more mature; you could definitely pass for 21 now.”
“You’re leaving me?”
“Next Friday.”
I finally take notice of the boxes and packing tape everywhere. “What am I gonna do when you’re gone? Kristen and her goons tried to jump me yesterday.”
“I’ll fucking kill them!”
She has anger management issues. I have them too. I just know how to channel mine. She’s violent with hers. Her first instinct is to fight and curse. I hate cursing. “It’s nothing, Jay. I actually got in some pretty good hits.”
“That means they’ll come back for more, you can’t let them see your weakness.”
“I’m not worried about them. Where am I gonna go when my mom starts acting crazy?”
“Promise me you won’t let them bully you, they come at you, you better fight!”
“Okay.” I shake my head up and down for emphasis.
“Come on,” she says as she grabs my hand and leads me upstairs.
The next two months go by in a blur. I can only remember the four fights and the suspensions I got as a result. I got a job as a waitress at a local restaurant, but the money is nowhere near what I want. Financial aid won’t be enough and I don’t want to be stuck paying off student loans. I guess that’s why I’ve been to four different strip clubs trying to get hired as a dancer. One of the owners said that with my looks and body I should consider more than dancing. Not an option. Jay used to strip twice a week. When I told her I was going to try it out she went off on me.
“You’re not cut out for that, Mak. They’ll eat you alive.”
Maybe she’s right. I’m headed inside the fifth club of the day. I’m not as fragile as she thinks I am though. I look around and see a guy sitting behind the bar. He glances up at me as I walk in, but looks back down at the papers on the bar. Obviously I pose no threat to him because he doesn’t look up again until I’m close enough to say excuse me. What happens next confuses me. My throat feels like sand paper, I forget how to speak, and my stomach is filled with butterflies. All of this happens within three seconds of him looking at me. He’s beautiful. Wait, I don’t think men can actually be beautiful, so what is he? Handsome would be an understatement.
With a slight frown, he asks, “What you need?”
Damn, his voice only adds to my current struggle to take him all in. He looks dangerous…sexy. I think I should be scared, but he stops frowning. I struggle to find my voice as he gets up and begins to walk to me. He’s very tall. Very athletic looking; his body is amazing. I wanna touch him.
“You look lost, where you trying to go?”
Of course I would turn into a mute right now. Did I expect anything more of myself? I try to speak, but my voice seems to still be on vacation. I’ve never been this drawn to anyone before. His skin is dark, much darker than mine, but his eyes are a weird mixture of green and something else, maybe brown. Color doesn’t matter though, they’re stunning. I get lost in them and before I know it he’s standing directly in front of me.
“You okay?”
His scent assaults my nose. Someone should seriously bottle it up just for me. His voice gives me goose bumps. He’s much taller than I thought. I’m 5’7” and wearing heels and I still have to tilt my head to look at him. I finally manage to croak out, “I’m fine.” I clear my throat and he smiles at me. I feel faint. If it were physically possible, I’d melt.
“Then what you need?”
“I’m looking for Kalil.” I glance at the paper in my hand to make sure I say the right name.
He walks away and asks, “Who sent you here?”
“Blue.”
“Why?”
“I need a job. She said to tell him to cash in the favor he owes her.”
“A job doing what?”
He’s frowning again. I’m not sure if I should be offended or not. The obvious answer would be dancing, but he seems to be genuinely curious. I decide to be offended. “Well this is a strip club isn’t it?”
“How old are you?”
“21.”
He stares at me in silence then sits on one of the bar stools. “Bullshit, your real age.”
I should have expected a challenge.
“21.” I reach into my purse and pull out my sister’s ID. I’ve kept it since she left two weeks after my dad died. I’ve never felt the need to use it until now. He holds his hand out and I slowly walk to him. He stares at it for a few seconds then looks at me.
“This could be fake, Riley.”
I say, “It could be real.”
He stares at me again. His eyes bore through me, as though he can see all of my secrets. I take the ID from him and step back as though it would make his gaze less penetrating. It doesn’t and I suddenly feel the need to tell him the truth. “Are you Kalil?”
“You ever danced before?”
I hate when people answer one question with another. “Are you Kalil?” I don’t like repeating myself, but I won’t answer his questions until I know who I’m talking to. He calls my bluff and repeats his question. Okay, so I’m a little punk. I tell him yes, but leave out the fact that it’s been years since I’ve had an audience. Alone in my bedroom counts for something, right? I’m still a performer and one hell of a dancer.
“Show me?”
“Right now?”
He shakes his head up and down.
For the third time I ask, “Are you Kalil?”
“Sure, now show me.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Doesn’t matter, all dancers audition, so show me.”
“I’ll only dance for Kalil.” I wonder how much longer I can stall. He smiles again before reaching in his back pocket and pulling out a wallet. I love his smile. He gives me his driver’s license, which shows that he’s 24 years old, 6’7” is his height, he weighs 267 lbs, and he is indeed Kalil. I take a deep breath and pass it back to him. “There’s no music.”
“So?”
He gets up and goes behind the bar. I watch in silence as he pours a shot of dark colored liquor and slides it to me.
“On the house.”
“I don’t drink.”
“So you’re shy and you don’t drink, two reasons for you to not be here talking to me about being a dancer,” He says as he takes the shot.
“I don’t have to be a drinker to be a dancer.” I’m losing money and I haven’t even started earning it yet.
“Sometimes it helps.”
We stare at each other in silence and he comes from behind the bar. My instincts tell me to back away, but I want to smell him again…I need to have him invading my personal space. This need is foreign to me and I frown trying to figure out where it came from. When I frown he stops just short of being in my space. I can smell him though. His scent intoxicates me.
“Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, you can work the bar and the tables, we open at nine and close at two, you keep your tips and start at $10 per hour.”
“I didn’t come here to be a barmaid, I can do that anywhere.” I take a step forward. I still need him closer to me. He doesn’t expect this. It stuns him and surprisingly he takes a step back. We both frown. Was I just rejected?
“You won’t get tips like this anywhere else and all dancers audition.”
He’s regained his composure. I stare at him and continue to frown, but say nothing as I fight the urge to touch him. He can’t be real, right?
“And you wouldn’t get hired anywhere else to be a barmaid. You gotta be 21 to serve alcohol.”
He smiles as if trying to catch me in a lie. I’ll play his games. I smile back. He frowns.
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“You saw my ID, I wanna dance and last time I checked the legal age to be a dancer was 18.” I boldly step up to him, closing the gap between us. If I get any closer, he’ll feel the unnaturally rapid beat of my heart. I have no idea who I am right now.
“When you’re really ready to dance, you can audition.”
I faintly smell the liquor from the shot he just took. I think I like it. I lose my bravado and reluctantly back away. He smiles and sits back on the bar stool, waiting for me to respond. “Do I need a uniform?”
“Denim shorts or skirt, your choice, mid-thigh or shorter. Black or white shirt, no granny shit. Shoes gotta be heels, pumps, open toe, wedges, whatever you like, no flats.”
By the time he’s done talking I’m mentally calculating my wardrobe to see if I need to stop by the mall. “When do I start?” I look down at my watch. I have to have my mom’s car back to her in three hours and my house is two hours away from this club.
“Tomorrow.”
“Do I need to fill out any paperwork?”
He frowns again. “You trying to get me locked up?”
That means my money will be tax free. It also means he knows I’m not 21. “Anything else?”
“Are you even legal enough to be a dancer?”
I’m momentarily silenced by his eyes. “Plus three.”
He smiles. “You need a name tag, would you like for me to put Riley on it?”
He’s being sarcastic.
“Can’t you just make something up?”
“If you tell me your real name. I think I at least deserve that.”
He waits for me to answer him, but I don’t.
“Fine, I’ll see you tomorrow, come early. Ask for Cari, she’ll show you arpund.” He grabs the papers he was looking at when I walked in and starts walking towards an opening at the very back of the club.
“Makynzee,” I say.
He turns to me and asks, “Did that kill you?”
Instead of responding I turn and leave. By the time I make it to my mom’s car my heartbeat has begun to slow to its normal rhythm. I’m not sure if my nerves are frazzled from him or the fact that I was just hired as a barmaid in a strip club.