Sandy

I knocked on the doorframe, and waited out of sight of the open door.

He cleared his throat. “Who is it?”

“Sandy,” I said. “Texxxas.”

“Come in.”

I stepped through the door and looked around. Mr. Rosetti’s office didn’t look like it belonged inside a strip club. Unlike the rest of the club, it was well lit, brightly painted, and decorated with modern office furniture.

Mr. Rosetti was nice, and not at all a weirdo or a pervert like everyone who didn’t know him assumed. He was a businessman, and looked at the club as a business, and at the women who worked there as his employees.

He pointed to one of the three open chairs. “Have a seat.”

It was my day off, but I doubted he realized it. Dressed in my street clothes, and feeling kind of out of place, I glanced at the chair, and then at him, and sat down.

He peered over the top of his glasses. “Is everything alright?”

I hugged my purse. “Oh, yeah. Just fine, thank you.”

He removed his glasses, and set them aside. “Are you sure?”

He was the best boss one could ever ask for, and was the most understanding man ever. He even remembered each of the girl’s birthdays, and passed out cards with $100 in them to celebrate. I felt terrible giving him the news, and struggled with just what to say.

“I uhhm. I need to. I have to quit.”

He went bug-eyed. “Quit? What? Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Just going home.”

“Don’t quit. You don’t want to do that. It’s never a good idea.”

“I need to, really. I just wanted to let you know. You’ve been good to me, and I don’t want to leave on bad terms.”

“You can’t go anywhere and make this kind of money, Sandy. Take a few days off, and think about it. I’m sure you’ll come to your senses. You sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

I clutched my purse and rocked back and forth in the seat. “No. Not really. And, no, I don’t need to think about it. I just need to go ahead and quit.”

“I’ll give you 70% of the cut from the drinks, and 100% from your take on private dances. How’s that?”

It made me wish I would have threatened to quit two years prior. At those rates, I’d easily make another $100-150 nightly.

“I really can’t.”

“What’s wrong? Did Joe Marcelli approach you? From San Diego? Are you going to San Diego?”

I shook my head. “I’m pregnant.”

He inhaled a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled. “You’ve got a while before you’ll need to quit. Just stick around until you’re uncomfortable, and then--”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. The father has asked that I quit.”

He nodded toward the door. “Not one of my employees?”

“Oh. No. He’s someone else.”

He stood, and then clasped his hands together. “Give me two weeks. How about that? Two weeks? It’ll let me find someone to replace you in the headlines. It’s not easy getting someone that’ll draw the crowds you do.”

Two weeks would let me stick a few thousand dollars away, and I was sure it’d be that long before I moved in with Smokey anyway, if not longer.

“I’ll agree to it if you keep those rates you were talking about. 100% of my dances, and 70% of drinks.”

“I can do that.”

I stood. “Okay. I’ll stay two weeks.”

“Thank you. And, before you go, be sure and come say goodbye. I’ll miss you, Sandy. I really will.”

“I’ll miss you too, Mr. Rosetti.”

I smiled and turned toward the door.

Two more weeks.

What could that hurt?