Five
Justice
“The Booty Shop? When did La Fortuna let strip clubs into town?” I stared at the marquis. “Hot, wet and sexy!” it screamed.
“It’s nearly in the next town, okay?”
We’d hoofed it nearly two miles to get here. Good old La Fortuna where everything’s spitting distance. I felt extremely uncomfortable already, and we hadn’t even stepped foot in the place. A strip club with my grandfather? No way. I ducked my head. “Sure we’re not going to run into somebody we know?”
“We might.” Papaw rocked on his heels as his unfocused gaze stared at the poster depicting a voluptuous model on her knees with sexily mussed up hair. She wore a G-string and nothing else.
I bit down on my lip. “I don’t know about this.”
“You’re twenty-five, kid. I think you’ve seen a naked lady before.”
I glanced at my watch. “Are you sure about this?”
He grabbed my arm. “Yes, I’m sure. Quit acting like an old lady.”
I took a deep breath and a tentative step forward. We entered the club, and my eyes took a few minutes to adjust to the dark as we made our way to the bar to the strains of loud disco music.
We sat down, and Papaw slapped his hand on the counter. “Two shots of your best tequila.”
The bartender nodded. “Coming right up, buddy.” He poured us two strong ones, and we slammed them back. When in Rome.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Shit. That stuff burns.”
“Grows hair on your chest.” Papaw signaled for two more.
I put my hand on his arm. “Slow down. You planning on getting us arrested?”
The bartender placed the shots down, and Papaw sipped his. “Is it a crime to hang out with my favorite grandson and catch a buzz?” Sadness filled his eyes. “Damn. I miss your uncle.”
If Papaw wanted to catch a buzz and watch some hot ass shake their groove things, I suppose I had no choice but to go along. I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “It’s kind of weird being here with you. You sure you’re not going to put me in time out?”
He threw his head back in laughter. “I know you used to steal my Playboy magazines.” He clapped me on the back. “Loosen up, kid. We’re grown men.” He picked up his glass and gestured toward the stage. “Enjoy the show.”
I took a tentative sip. No way was I going to get plastered.
The dim room came into better view. I glanced around at the scantily clad women who were all hot tits and ass, wearing bra tops with so much glitter I thought I’d go blind. One sultry brunette straddled a patron for a lap dance, flipping her long silky hair over her shoulder. She gazed my way and gave a lewd wink. I raised my shot glass in a cautious toast.
The ‘70s music pounded through my chest and my pulse sped up when the next alluring female took the stage.
I’d been in a few strip clubs in my time, but the funny thing about The Booty Shop was that a lot of the strippers were not your typical girls-gone-wild straight out of college. The place seemed to specialize in a mixture of ages and body types. One woman wore a huge afro wig. Another looked to be in her 40s. Anyone who brings home a paycheck’s got my vote. Hats off to ‘em.
The sultry redhead who took the stage could’ve stood to lose a few. Okay, maybe thirty pounds. But damn, she was hot. I always thought a few curves on a woman made her sexier and, judging by the crowd’s reaction, they agreed.
Hot damn. The redheaded beauty was all fire. Her purple sequined top glittered under the lights as the music played a slow, sultry strip tune. Her luscious ass shimmied in the faces of hungry men, and one waved a twenty her way. She smiled a gorgeous red lip-sticked smile and crouched down, her legs spread, her pussy lips straining against the skimpy G-string bottom. My cock sprang to life. Fuck. What the hell was I supposed to do? Here I was with my flipping grandpa.
Not that the strippers were anywhere close to Lola. Damn it, Justice, stop thinking about her.
The dancer gave the crowd just enough to inspire one hell of a jack-off session. I licked my lips as I watched the alluring stripper.
The patron placed his twenty in her G-string, and she leaned forward and blew a kiss his way. She stood up, turned around and bent over, so we all saw the outline of her pink treasure. Damn.
She turned around and rubbed her huge tits, her hard nipples begging for release. She reached around and undid her top, flinging it to the side. Her hotter-than-hell boobs sprung out, and she pinched her cherry red nipples, her head lolling back, her long red hair cascading over her creamy white back. She squeezed her boobs together, and another man offered her a bill. She got on her knees, her clear plastic stilettos jutting skyward and accepted the note between her teeth as those sexy tits dangled in front of his face.
She got into another crouching position and rubbed her pussy through the sheer fabric. My heartbeat sped up and I thought I was going to come right then and there. Fuck.
But what this beauty really had were some kick-ass pole dancing moves. She straddled the pole, one leg hugging the metal, and mimed sex with the pole. Her ample body shimmied up and down against it.
Papaw nudged me. “That must take one heck of a lot of practice.”
“You got that right. Gotta be a good athlete.”
The dancer finished her set and took a bow.
There was a lull in between dancers, and I took a thoughtful sip of my drink. The DJ selected a slow, easy tune. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Why does Devin hate me? Is it my fault what happened to his dad?”
Papaw let out a huff of air. “’Course it’s not your fault.” He counted off the reasons. “You’re talented, smart and all the chicks like you better than him.” He held up two fingers to the bartender.
“We used to be friends.”
The bartender set the drinks down, and I left mine untouched while Papaw took another sip. “Devin always blamed your uncle for what happened to his dad.” He seemed to wince. “How’d any of us know his dad would get killed in prison?” He stared at me with rheumy eyes. “What goes around comes around.”
I ran my hands through my hair and let out a heavy sigh remembering the awful way Devin’s father had died. “What’s that got to do with me?”
Papaw raised his shot glass and gave me a crooked smile. “You’re a Hamilton.” He leaned in, placing a hand on my thigh. “Listen. The kid’s jealous. Plain and simple. He’s got this crazy idea that being the town’s richest man is going to make him happy.” Papaw’s words began to slur, and I moved the shot glass out of reach.
He moved it back, but he didn’t take a sip. “You know, Lola dated him.”
I jerked my head up. “No way.”
“Way.” He took a small sip of tequila. “But it didn’t last long.”
I prodded him for details. “Did she bring him home to her dad?”
“Heck if I know. Nah. I doubt it.”
I toyed with the drink coaster and tried to make my voice casual. “Does Lola have a boyfriend?”
“She should. That lady’s not only a looker, she’s got creative talent coming out the yin yang.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “Yin yang? You been hanging around the shop too long.” I nudged his arm. “Seriously. She dating anyone?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why’re you so interested?”
“She was my girlfriend.”
“And you never should’ve left her.” He stared straight ahead. “I don’t think she ever got over you.”
I wasn’t about to start defending myself. Papaw loved this town, but I wanted more. I craved adventure and new people. New places. New surf spots. New women, I thought, shame washing over me.
The truth was, none compared to Lola. My heart swelled so much it nearly hurt when I remembered how much I had loved my sweet Lola. But I’d made my bed.
The lights dimmed, and a masculine voice came over the loudspeaker. “Listen up, La Fortuna ‘cause you’re in for a treat. Our next dancer’s not only hot, wet and sexy; she’s French.” His voice became deep. “Say hello to French Kiss.”
The spotlight zeroed in on an empty center stage. Everyone waited long seconds as the music played to nothingness.
Papaw elbowed me. “French Kiss must’ve taken the night off.”
The spotlight disappeared, and when it reappeared, it illuminated a sexy, brunette with purple streaks in her shoulder-length hair. She struck a dramatic pose, head down, a feather boa wrapped tightly around her breasts. The music swelled, and she threw her arms wide revealing a hot pink, diamond-encrusted bra top. Her head rolled as though in ecstasy and then she faced the audience head-on, her overly made up eyes thick with blue eyeshadow. A slow smile spread across her pretty face.
This woman was an extremely good-looking female. But she sure as hell wasn’t jailbait. French Kiss looked like she was in her early 50s. Kind of a Susan Sarandon type. I jabbed Papaw in the ribs and said, “Hey, there’s your next girlfriend.”
When Papaw didn’t respond, I noticed that his mouth hung slightly open. “Holy shit. That’s Ginger.”
“You know her?”
He ducked his head. “Yeah I know her. Holy mother of strip clubs. That’s Ginger.”
Papaw was not looking well. “You said that. Who is she?”
“Bobbie’s aunt.”
“Who’s Bobbie?”
“A kid who comes in the shop.”
“He take surf lessons?”
“Not he. She. Bobbie’s Lola’s neighbor.” He slammed back his tequila.
Clearly, I had a ton of catching up to do. “Slow down there on the drinks, okay?”
Papaw clutched my arm so hard I thought he’d draw blood. “What the hell’s she doing here? I thought she worked at the Grind and Gossip.”
I shrugged. “Guess she needed a part-time gig.”
His hands shook as he watched Ginger aka French Kiss attempt a clumsy go at the pole. She grabbed the pole, her long nails scraping against the shiny metal and it looked like her palms must’ve been sweaty because she slipped. I clamped a hand over my mouth. “Is that safe?”
She gripped the pole in another attempt and this time she gained purchase, but when she lifted her legs to wrap them around the pole, I saw her muscles quiver and give way.
Papaw’s hands flew to his head. “I’ve got to help her.” He jackknifed out of his stool and made for the stage.
I quickly stood up and grabbed his arm. “Stop!” He whirled around, and his bloodshot eyes stared into mine. “Are you crazy? You’re going to get us arrested.”
“She’s going to get hurt!” He looked at his feet and swayed on his heels. “She doesn’t have anyone to protect her.”
My eyes roamed to the door and then to the stage where burly men stood with arms crossed. “They’ve got bouncers.”
A bit of fight left Papaw, and I ushered him back to his seat. His eyes frantically surveyed the stage watching French Kiss’ every move. She moved with catlike grace when she shimmied on stage, and the crowd went wild. But every time she attempted the pole, she never made it past the opening move and slipped. But there was something enamoring about her. I loved her gusto. She just wouldn’t give up on that pole.
Papaw signaled for another shot and slammed it back, his eyes never leaving the stage. “Fuck. Never thought I’d get this close a look at her.” The music swelled as French Kiss removed her bra and exposed one heck of a perfect rack. Papaw wiped a hand over his face. “Not right that they got to see her before me.”
“How well do you know this person?”
He looked away. “Been trying to get a date with her for months.”
“And what’ve you tried?”
He slapped his hand down on his thigh. “Made my decision. Not living one more wasted day. Had enough of those.” He pointed a finger at the stage. “I’m going to get to know that woman.” His voice became so loud that a few of the patrons turned to stare. “And then she’s going to walk down the aisle with me. I’m going for it, man.”
“Quiet.” I needed to get Papaw out of here and fast. “Come on, cowboy. I think I need to tuck you in.”
I signaled for the tab and paid it while Ginger righted herself from her most recent try at the pole, finished her set, and took a bow. She tripped over her boa on the way off stage and went flying, but she managed to somehow save herself. I clapped a hand over my mouth. “How do women walk in those shoes?”
Papaw leaned in hard and clumsily until I felt his warm alcohol breath in my ear. “We’ve got to stay. What if some guy waits outside for her?”
“Outside. That’s exactly where we’re going. Come on.”
He fought me, but I finally marched him onto the sidewalk, and glanced at my watch. 1:45 in the freaking morning. “I’m going back inside,” Papaw said. “I need to make sure—”
“You are not. You’ll embarrass her! Now, let’s get some fresh air.”
“But … but … but.” He shifted from foot to foot.
I slapped my thigh. “You like her! A lot. Can’t say I blame you. She’s pretty.” Maybe this was just what Papaw needed. I was hurting bad enough losing my uncle. I couldn’t imagine what my tough-as-nails Papaw was going through.
“You can talk to her tomorrow.” I grabbed his arm and marched him away from The Booty Shop.
He pulled back. “It’s almost closing time. Let’s just wait till she gets outside safe.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” When I saw the look on his face, I relented. Papaw had one heck of a crush on Ginger. “But you are not letting her see us. What are you? A stalker? Let the woman have some peace without you hanging all over her.”
Papaw and I waited in the chilly La Fortuna air until Ginger emerged from the stage door, clambered into her classic baby blue Ford Pinto, and drove off.
Papaw’s eyes were wide with wonder as he watched her every move.
“Satisfied?” I said.
“Nope.”
“What you need is a brisk walk.” I held him by the elbow, and we staggered home.
* * *
Papaw lived a block from the surf shop, and after I’d safely tucked him in, I climbed the ladder into my temporary digs—Uncle Seth’s loft apartment above the store.
As the moon shone onto the bed through the skylight, I opened my flip phone and thought about texting Lola. Her business card sat with the rest of the paperwork on my uncle’s desk.
I missed her.
But drunk texting someone at three in the morning, especially when that person was a Brazilian fireball who was ready to put my balls in a vise, was not a great idea.
I sighed and pulled the sheets up to my chin.
And what exactly would I say in this text?
“Hey, Lola. It’s been six years since I left you and not a day’s gone by that I don’t remember the taste of your sweet lips. I miss holding your hand and walking on the beach with you. I miss laughing with you and playing checkers like we used to. And hell yeah, I miss our fiery lovemaking. I always think about coming home and tossing a pebble at your window, climbing in your bedroom and eloping with you. I should have married you a long time ago. I want to make babies with you. Our kids would be so good looking with your fiery Brazilian looks and my He-man athleticism.”
I laughed at that last one. He-man my ass. What kind of man runs out on the love of his life?
I had intended to come back. But the weeks turned into months and the months turned into years. I didn’t blame her for being mad at me and I didn’t know how to tell her how sorry I was.
I would tell her in the text that life is short and that I love her.
But I didn’t text any of those things.
Why not?
If I was honest with myself, it was because I was afraid. I clapped a hand over my eyes. My sweet Lola. Can’t we start over?