The Ripple Effect

“What did Deena say?” I sounded like a scorned child, hoping her sister would help her gang up on the unfortunate parent who wouldn’t give her what she wanted. “I’m sure she loved hearing about men who can perform her job better than she can.”


“She didn’t mention it, actually. We talked, I promised to help her find a full-time position at a restaurant during the day, and that was that. She’s not as young as she used to be, and she likes the idea of getting a job during normal hours.”

“She has no problem with it?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Like I said, it’s done.”

I wanted to argue with him, but just like everything with Hector, his silence indicated his decision wasn’t open to discussion.

Son of a bitch, it wasn’t fair. Every single thing that was mine was turning to ash and vanishing in the wind. I was good at my job. It was something I looked forward to, sad as that was. I liked being around people who were as messed up as me, so I didn’t feel like the only fuck up living in New York.

“Fuck a restaurant. I’ll find another club.” I tried to act nonchalant. “You don’t own the only tittie bar in town.”

“Good luck.” He kept his gaze on the road. “Since they encourage employees to dress like strippers, do belly shots, and get inebriated with guests, you won’t last long.”

Damn you, Hector Fernandez.

Of course he was right. I made it at The BP because my boss, unlike other assholes, didn’t want his staff to whore themselves off unless it was on the stage or in the champagne room.

By the time he pulled up to my apartment, I was good and pissed. Like a short and stout teapot, I wondered if my ears were steaming. I yanked off my seatbelt, threw open the door, and started to climb out when my temper got the better of me.

“I’m dealing with a lot right now, but when it’s taken care of I’m swinging by your office for a chat. This discussion isn’t over.”

“Don’t even think about it. This is it. The end of the road. You step one foot inside my club and I’ll have you escorted from the premises.” He wouldn’t look at me, and that told me all I needed to know. I could scream, I could plead, I could fight and beg, but my job would still be gone.

“Goodbye, jodona,” he said softly. “If you think of a place you’re interested in, have them call me. I’ll do everything I can to help. You’ll find the money I promised you in an envelope in your duffel, and you can keep the cell I got you until the contract expires. I’ll keep the service active until then.”

I finished climbing out, closed the door and watched him drive away.

Rhiannon’s Law #29: Never get too comfortable. Just when you think the hammock is swinging in the breeze, a hurricane comes along, knocks you on your ass, and slaps you around. When you think it’s safe to relax, it usually isn’t, so sleep with one eye open.

My eyes burned but I refused to cry. The only thing that was truly mine was gone, shattered into a million pieces. The bar was my escape, a place to call my own. As much as I bitched about working there, I didn’t want to imagine not being able to walk through the doors, greet the dancers, and go on with my life as usual.

The walk to my apartment felt strange, like a trippy acid dream. I tried to detach myself from the truth, pushing the issue aside until I was ready to deal with it. Despite what many people think, it’s not always a good thing that one event leads to another, that something happens to steer you in another direction so you have no choice but to venture to other doors to see what lurks behind them. Because behind each one is a mystery, something that could be good or bad.

Given my circumstances, I wasn’t willing to take the risk either way.





Chapter Eleven


I contemplated calling Disco and telling him what had happened since a trip to his home wasn’t possible, but facing him and his maker would have to wait. It was nearing eight o’clock after I walked into my apartment, took a shower and made some coffee. By the time I collected my things, grabbed something to eat and hit the door, I had just enough time to meet Sonja at the warehouse.

J.A. Saare's books