Sandy

I’d always performed in an altered state of being. When I got on stage, I never did so as Sandy, I was always Texxxas. And, when I went home, Texxxas remained in the dressing room, where she belonged.

It left Sandy immune to everything that happened in the club, and allowed her to live a life unaffected by the men who lusted over Texxxas.

The process had worked well for me.

Until now.

It seemed that lately Texxxas was spending all her time on stage thinking about Smokey. My two worlds were somehow colliding, and I didn’t like the result.

“Fuck yeah,” someone screamed. “Look at her big fucking titties. I’d like to stick my cock between ‘em and…”

“Skinny little bitch needs fucked,” another hollered.

“Show us your tits!”

“Yeah, show us your tits!”

I turned slowly, gyrating my hips to the beat of the music, wishing all along that I hadn’t given any notice. I regretted not walking in and simply quitting. For the first time since I started dancing, I felt guilty for doing so. It wasn’t because I perceived the profession as wrong, because I didn’t.

But I could no longer separate the real me from the make believe me, and the girl who was on stage was slowly falling for a man who asked her to stop performing.

And I hadn’t.

As I turned toward the front of the stage, I heard shouting from the entrance of the club. It grew louder and louder, and then I saw Craig rush in the direction of the commotion. I tried to focus on the music, lose touch with whatever might be happening, and simply make it to the end of the song without becoming an emotional mess.

“Show us your pussy,” someone hissed.

“Fuck yeah! Take that fucking bikini off!”

One of the men who was shouting got up and began to climb on the edge of the elevated platform where I was dancing. I glanced at where Craig normally stood, only to realize he hadn’t returned.

The overeager patron pulled himself onto the side of the dance floor, rose to his feet, and began writhing to the music as he shuffled toward me.

“You’re a sexy little bitch,” he said, his tongue thick from the alcohol he’d consumed. “Come here. I’ll help you get that top off.”

Still dressed in my bikini, I folded my arms over my chest in protest of his offer. “Get off the stage!” I said through my teeth.

“Hey motherfucker,” a familiar voice shouted. “Get the fuck away from her!”

I looked up.

Oh shit.

Smokey and another man were mere feet from the front of the platform and coming in my direction as fast as they could maneuver around the tables.

The music stopped.

Short of the commotion in front of me, the club fell silent.

“What the fuck?” someone shouted.

A group of men stood from their table and turned toward Smokey and his friend.

“What the fuck, dude?” one of them said. “She was getting’ ready to show us her puss.”

While his friend continued toward the stage, Smokey spun to face the three men and began a very one-sided fight.

In my time at the club, I’d seen many fights, several of which involved bikers, but I’d never seen three guys get their asses kicked that quickly. In three or four punches, and what appeared to be one headbutt, the three men were on the floor at Smokey’s feet.

I glanced to my left.

Smokey’s friend, who I now recognized as a club regular named P-Nut, had climbed onto the platform. Upon seeing him, the man who was approaching me pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked it open with a click!

Oh shit.

“He’s got a knife!” I shouted.

P-Nut glanced at the knife, and then looked at the man and grinned. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Why are you smiling?

“Better bring more than that if you wanna fuck with the Nut,” he said, laughing as he spoke.

The knife-wielding man took a quick step toward him.

P-Nut extended his arms and curled his fingertips toward his palms as if inviting the man to come closer. “C’mon, motherfucker. Come cut the Nut.”

With my mouth agape, I stared in disbelief.

What’s wrong with you?

He’s got a knife.

The man lunged forward and swung the knife wildly toward P-Nut’s chest.

P-Nut blocked the swing, gripped the man’s wrist, and then extended his arm straight. While the man’s eyes widened, P-Nut thrust his open hand against the man’s elbow, breaking his arm with a loud crack!

The man screamed in pain and the knife fell to the floor.

A few quick fists to the man’s midsection followed, and then he fell to the floor in a pile. Clutching an arm that now dangled at an awful angle, the man began to blubber.

“You broke…my fucking…you broke my arm!”

P-Nut shrugged and reached for the knife laying at his feet. “Shoulda listened, dumbass.”

He picked up the knife, put it in his pocket, and then looked at me. “Name’s P-Nut.” He reached for my hand. “C’mon. I’ll help you down.”

Still in shock from what I’d seen, I accepted his offer and then glanced toward where Smokey had been standing. Just a few feet from the edge of the platform, and now in an all-out bar room brawl, Smokey was swinging his fists toward anyone who got near him. Most men were running toward the door, but everyone within arm’s reach was being pummeled.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Craig rushing toward him.

“Hey, you Dwayne Johnson looking motherfucker!” P-Nut shouted from beside me. “Stay away from him!”

Craig looked up, and his eyes immediately shot wide. After coming to a complete stop, his hands slowly raised above his shoulders.

I glanced to my left.

P-Nut held a gun in his hand, and it was pointing right at Craig.

Oh, God.

Please don’t...

“Stay the fuck away from him,” P-Nut said, waving the pistol to the side. “Just step to the side, and everything’s gonna be cool. We’re just takin’ her home, and those fellas was bein’ disrespectful to her.”

Craig stood, frozen in place, with his hands raised to shoulder height.

The man on the platform floor continued to cry out in pain, and there were no less than six men on the floor below us doing the same. After walking me to the edge of the platform, P-Nut shouted at Smokey.

“Smoke!” he yelled. “Time to roll.”

Smokey, holding a rather limp man up by his shirt, pounded him once more in the face with his right hand. After dropping him to the floor, he turned toward me.

“You’re done working here.” His voice was stern. “It’s over.”

The thought of having him lose trust in me was crushing. I leaned over the edge of the stage. “I gave notice, I was just--”

His eyes narrowed and his forehead creased. “O-ver.”

I swallowed heavily. My guess was that he just took possession of me, and as weird as it seemed, I loved it.

I fell into his arms as if I didn’t have a care in the world. As he caught me, I looked up. “Okay.”

He lowered me to the floor, scanned the club, and upon seeing no threats, pulled off his kutte. He handed it to P-Nut and then took off his wife beater.

“Put this on,” he said.

“Go ahead, Smoke,” P-Nut said. “I got your back.”

Smokey looked at me with angry eyes. “Stay between us,” he demanded.

I pulled his shirt over my head. “Okay.”

With Smokey leading the way, the three of us walked past the overturned tables and toward the door. When we reached the entrance, the two doormen, who were also bouncers, were standing there.

“Step aside fellas,” Smokey said dryly.

“Let ‘em through,” I heard Craig say from behind me.

They stepped to the side of the door.

“Smokey, wait,” I said. “I want you to meet someone.”

He spun around and shot me a hard look. “What?”

“I want you to meet someone,” I said sheepishly.

Obviously still on an adrenaline rush from the fights he’d been in, he glared at me as if I had asked him to jump off the San Francisco Bridge. I tilted my head to the side. “This is Craig. He’s my best friend.”

Craig cleared his throat. “Her gay best friend.”

Smokey gave the two doormen an angry glare, glanced at Craig, and lifted his chin ever so slightly. “Nice to meet you.”

I shrugged and then put on an awkward smile. “This is my baby’s daddy.”

“I’m not your baby daddy,” Smokey growled. “I’m your Ol’ Man.”

With my eyes still fixed on Craig, my mouth curled into a prideful grin. “Didn’t take long, did it?”

He gave me the thumbs up.

“Mail my check?”

Craig simply smiled.

“What was that about?” Smokey asked.

“Inside joke,” I said.

That night I walked out the door of the club for the last time, with my Ol’ Man leading the way, and P-Nut watching our backs.

And, it felt right.