Chapter Seven - Maddie
It’s dark in here. They do that on purpose so customers can’t tell how late it is. But it’s not late anymore. It’s early. So the only reason I care if it’s dark or not is because I want to see his eyes. Like… really see his eyes. And I can’t. Because it’s too fucking dark.
“Uh,” I say. Because even though he was really chatty all night—told me stupid jokes and funny stories—he’s quiet now. Like he’s wondering what the fuck just happened.
I’m wondering that too. “Thanks?” I say.
It comes out like a question and I roll my eyes at myself.
I have never—ever—given a customer a blow job. Shit. I don’t let these jerks touch my tits, let alone sit in their laps and get giddy like a stupid fucking schoolgirl. And get off, I remind myself. And swallow their fucking come.
I glance at the table of drinks. You know, the ones that are still full. So I can’t even play this off like I was drunk.
I sucked his dick and swallowed his…
I shake my head and turn away as the waitress comes up with the bill. “Sign here,” she says, handing him a pen.
There’s a shuffle of paper—the credit card slip, I guess—so I glance over my shoulder to look at him one last time before he walks out, and catch him pocketing his card. He’s looking at me like…
“No,” he says. “Thank you.”
And then he turns away, rubbing his hand over his beard. I’m not sure if he’s feeling as lame as I am due to the lackluster final conversation taking place, but I don’t want to leave it this way.
So I open my mouth and I’m about to say something… maybe explain myself. Tell him I’m not that kind of a girl, I never do this sort of thing, he’s the only one… but that’s when fucking Raven bursts in.
“Time to go home, big spender.” She shoots him a wink that’s sexy, but only in a sad stripper sort of way. And then she glances down at the bill and laughs. “Jesus, Scarlett! What’d ya do? Suck his fucking dick all night?” Raven. Real class act.
“He’s a fucking customer, Raven,” I snap, a little louder than I should. Pissed and trying to play it off at the same time. We’re not allowed to fuck the customers. I mean, girls bend the rules all the time. Mostly we get them all excited and they come in their pants. But we don’t fuck the customers in the club. And we certainly don’t get on our knees and let them shove their cocks down our throats. If we wanna do that shit, we gotta take it someplace else.
Raven squints at me.
Shit. She knows. She must. I glance at the waitress, who is playing monitor for this room, and she gives me an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Meaning—I didn’t say nothin’.
So I go all in with my defense. Because I cannot lose this job. This guy right here might’ve saved my ass tonight, but one night does not change a girl’s situation. I gotta think of myself. “You know I would never suck a customer’s cock. Especially this guy,” I whisper, loudly, thumbing over my shoulder at him. “Come on, Raven.”
I glance behind me, just to see if he’s gonna play along or decide to out me, but his face is almost blank.
Almost.
There’s a slight frown if I’m reading him correctly. It’s hard to tell with that beard.
Did I hurt his feelings?
And now I feel like shit. I feel confused and stuck between two worlds. Maddie and Scarlett. The person I am and the person I have to be. I want to say more, tell him that’s not what I meant, goddammit. But he’s already heading for the door.
“Hey, chief,” the bartender calls from the other side of the room. “Thanks for the tip!”
My guy says nothing. Just huffs and keeps walking until he passes through the doors, and out into the early-morning light.
“Did you—” Raven starts.
“No,” I snap. “Don’t be a bitch, Raven. I don’t appreciate you accusing me of inappropriate behavior, OK? Keep that shit to yourself.”
“Well.” Raven laughs. “You’re certainly taking this personally. But OK,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender. “Whatever. You didn’t suck his cock. Congrats on getting him to spend more than two thousand dollars on you tonight. Plus the liquor and room tab. Guess you won’t have a problem paying me now, will you?”
“Yeah.” The bartender laughs as he approaches us. “And that fuckin’ hobo spent almost two grand on drinks at the bar too!”
“He tipped us good too,” the waitress says. “Almost eight hundred bucks.”
Jesus. That’s like… seven grand, all in. On one night with me.
I saw his credit card. It was one of those green American Express ones. Not even the gold one.
Who the fuck was that guy?
And then I realize… I never got his real name. Ford Aston. What a crock of shit. No one is called Ford Aston.
I head for the door and for a second I feel like chasing him out to the parking lot. Making him tell me who he is. Getting his fucking number, or writing down his license plate, or… something.
“Hey,” Raven calls, stopping me in my tracks.
“What?” I snap again, so sick of her shit.
“You better watch yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I saw you flash a customer last weekend.”
“What customer?”
“Sitting in the front row during your dance? Waved that fifty at you? And then you spread your legs and pulled your panties aside. Gave him a peek and took his money.”
Shit.
“Guys like that, they—”
“Guys like that, they what?” I ask.
“I’m just saying, watch yourself, Scarlett.” She sneers my name. Of course she knows it’s fake—Raven is fake too—but it’s a hard-and-fast rule that we don’t call each other by our real names in here. Too easy to slip up in front of customers. “Because rules are rules. And I don’t even like you, so if you think you’re gonna break the rules and still have a job… think again, sweetie.”
She pats my cheek—two quick slap-like taps to make her point—and walks out.
I am torn between chasing down the beard guy and just wanting to grab my shit and get the fuck out of here.
I go for option two.
Fuck this place and fuck that guy.
He’s just some stranger I met at work. Just another sad dude who needs to watch girls get naked to make himself feel better. He’s nobody, and the quicker I put this night behind me, the better off I’ll be.
The next day—or night really, since I slept all day—I am ashamed of what I did. I just stare at that money he paid me and feel… dirty. Sinful. And I’m not even religious. Like at all. But this is Sin City, right? I mean, I grew up in the Devil’s playground and last night I broke every rule I have in place that lets me pretend I have values. But the truth is, my job is a ticket straight to Hell if it turns out there is a God standing guard at some pearly gates checking everyone’s moral compass before he lets them pass through.
I’m totally fucked after last night. I mean, before that I could play it off. Pretend I’m nothing but an entertainer. But the longer I work at Pete’s, the looser I get. I did pull my panties aside for that Logan guy. Raven saw. And he works for Carlos, and now I can only imagine what they’re all saying about me.
Not that I care what some kingpin’s henchmen think of me, but… I sorta care.
I spend the rest of the week beating myself up for what I did. Promising myself I’ll never do it again. Maybe it’s because I wore the angel garb or maybe I’m just starting to lose it a little bit, but I find that I now seem to have an angel of my own sitting on my shoulder that I’m begging to forgive me and a little devil sitting on the other side—who really likes having extra money for once—that I’m telling to fuck off.
But the devil is winning. He’s got a much better argument. I like having extra money. And I do need it. Because two more real-estate agents turned me down. I even made them each a free video. It’s like they were just taking advantage of my freebie offer and wanted nothing to do with my services.
Fucking freeloaders.
Plus I think about that guy.
A lot.
All week.
Almost every minute of it.
And that makes me stare at that money and wonder if I should give it back.
My angel is saying, Yes, Scarlett. The angel is calling me Scarlett. Jesus. Give it back. You’ll feel better and your soul will be cleansed.
But the devil is the one I listen to. Because he says, Fuck that! You earned it. And after everything you’ve fucking been through? Everything you’ve dealt with, all on your own? Fuck it. You take that shit, Maddie.
But why does he call me Maddie when the angel calls me Scarlett? Before I can reflect on that too heavily, he speaks up and interrupts. And you’re never gonna see that guy again. You can’t give it back. You need it. And you don’t even know his name. So this guilt is a pointless moral exercise.
Like I said, he makes a lot more sense.
So I listen.
But here’s the part I don’t expect: To my horror, when Friday night rolls around, I discover myself hoping that my guy will come back and give me more.
Not money, though.
Just… more.