Oh. And did I mention it was great? Beyond great.
It was exactly what I was hoping it would be, all this time. Makes me not feel so bad about waiting it out like this. Suddenly I wish I was back in Berkeley and Zay was some guy from one of my classes. Maybe we could date for a while or something? I could hit a party with my roommate and tell her all about my encounter with Zay's perfect inked flesh.
But instead, I have to do my hair and paint my face and get ready for tonight.
This time, I'm not going to be late. I'm going to show up on time, and I'm going to do what I have to do to make money. I'm not going to take crap from anybody, I'm not going to get fired, and I sure as hell am not going to let anybody touch me.
It's going to be okay. Everything is.
Because I'm going to make sure it turns out that way.
My night at the strip club is weird. That's the only way to describe it. Or maybe I feel weird because of what happened with Zayden and me. It's like there's this secret surprise waiting inside of me that I want to tell everyone about except that there's no one around that cares or wants to listen. I shoot some texts to my friends back in Berkeley, but it's just not the same without being there in person.
The manager of the club tells me to do exactly what I did during the audition. According to my friends, some places in So Cal were willing to hire girls on the spot based on looks alone, but I had to actually try out for a job here at the Top Hat. It's the only club in town and most of the girls look like they've actually taken dance lessons before. At least it's clean inside, and the bouncers look big and brutal.
The crowd is pretty much nonexistent, and some of the other dancers complain, but I feel myself breathe a sigh of relief, dressing up in my black teddy, matching thong, and the towering heels I bought for a Halloween party once. Oddly enough, my roommate back in Berkeley thought it would be super awesome to take pole dancing classes, so in a freak turn of luck, I know exactly what I'm doing.
Afterwards, I don't feel as bad as I thought I would. I mean, it's not great and it's definitely not my dream job, but at least bullshit and harassment aren't tolerated by the bouncers or the management. I can tell customers to fuck off if they get too rowdy and not worry about being fired. Honestly, in another job, it might be worse having to deal with subtle misogynistic crap all the time.
I think I can do this—at least until I get my degree. Then I'll be able to get a job as a biostatistician and make a cool hundred grand a year to start. I might have to move the girls at that point, but at least things should be more stable then.
As I'm driving home after, I let the radio play and listen to some stupid pop songs instead of my usual hardcore stuff. I have no idea why, probably because of Zayden or something, but I'm definitely not in a place to psychoanalyze that right now.
I pull into the driveway next to his minivan and take a deep breath.
Please don't let this be weird, I think as I climb out and make my way to the front door. I let myself in with my key, finding the baby asleep in the portable crib, baby monitor sitting nearby. I don't see Zayden at first, but then I notice that the back door is cracked and move over to peek outside.
He's sitting on the tire swing that's strung up in the back, hunched over the glowing screen of his phone. As soon as he hears my heels on the damp wood of the deck, he glances up and gives a little wave, hopping off and jogging across the yard.
“Well.” Zayden claps his hands together in a prayer position and puts the tips of his fingers against his lips, eyes wide as he looks up at me. “How was it?”
I pause and swing my keys in a circle on my finger, trying to figure out how to put my night into words … and then direct those words at the guy standing in front of me. I never thought I would be in the position of having slept with the nanny. Isn't that spot usually reserved for old guys smack dab in the center of a midlife crisis?
“It didn't break me the way I thought it would,” I say as Zayden drops his hands and comes up the steps. The guy has a serious personal space issue, getting way too close for comfort. When he pauses in front of me, I realize he's got either blood or ketchup splattered across his shirt. I hope it's the latter, but knowing how kids are, it could go either way. “Everyone okay?” I ask as I point at the stain and Zay glances down, wrinkling his nose. The silver ring through his nostril winks at me in the moonlight.