I don't know what day it is.
The realization strikes me somewhere after my second energy drink and my third time on stage. I know it's after midnight, because the gum I started chewing the last time I checked the clock - eleven-thirty - went stale ages ago. I swipe a hand across my sweat-slicked forehead.
It feels like I'm forgetting something.
Time has a way of speeding by when you're supposed to be paying attention; when you're supposed to remember something. Around Throckmorton County, entire months slip away from you. The weeks are too similar, too monotonous, to tell them apart. Nights at the Stella are practically identical. It's the only strip club around for miles, and every night is a sad parade of the same men.
The girl behind the bar is newer, she mostly keeps to herself. Karli? Candy? I'd ask her what day it is, except she's already working on the drink order for my table and she doesn't look happy about it. I've caught sharp sideways glances from her a few times tonight for drumming my fingers impatiently against the bar top. I can't help that I'm antsy. I want to get the fuck out of here. She rakes her glossy black ponytail behind her shoulder, sets six jack and cokes on a tray and slides it in my direction without any acknowledgement.
I thank her over the music and head back towards the table of drunk college boys. I'm ten feet away from them when the smell of Hugo Boss cologne hits me in a cloud. I hold my breath as I approach, plastering on a flirtatious grin. Still, I can't complain. They've tipped well, hardly groped at me in favour of angling for any information on Cherry, and they seem as though they'll be here until last call, making them the ideal customers.
"Babe," one of them - their blonde ringleader decked out in a pink Ralph Lauren polo - gestures for me to lean closer, "you have to get us the redhead's number. Please."
My eyes flick to the stage, where Cherry's curvy form is spinning expertly around the pole to Def Leppard's 'Pour Some Sugar on Me'. It's her go-to track to dance to. She calls it her 'money song' and it's clear why. Blue collar country boys go nuts for it. They start worshiping at Cherry's feet like she's an American flag up on that pole.
It's hard not to be envious while she's up there. Cherry moves like a professional dancer, and she's got the perfect body for this work. I'm wearing the most aggressive push up bra I own, and I'm practically invisible to the table of boys. She spins elegantly, blowing a kiss in my direction. The frat boys think it's for them, and they practically launch themselves over the table.
I shake off my jealousy and shoot her a grin as she lands in a split at the base of the pole. I nod towards my table so she knows to come collect their cash. The girls at the Stella all look out for each other, and there's a chance Cherry could make some good tip money off these guys.
I lean over the ringleader, putting on a conspiratory grin. "Tell you what honey, I'll talk to her for you, okay?"
I know full well that Cherry is a married woman, but these college boys with their designer golf shirts and their family's money can find that out after they've opened their wallets for her. The ringleader nods eagerly, his slightly off-focus eyes zeroing back in on the stage.
I'm killing it tonight, spinning around tables like I'm on wheels. I've maybe made Cherry a bit of extra cash, and I'm keeping the Stella tidy enough - as clean as this place can get, anyways - that we could get out of here at a reasonable hour for once.
If it weren't for the nagging sensation that I'm forgetting something vital, I'd be floating on air.
As if on cue, the door of the Stella opens and Hoyt strolls through, looking the part of strip club owner. He clocks me, his palm tree patterned dress shirt buttoned alarmingly low, and his lips curve upwards into a languid and sinister grin; a predatory warning.
Shit. How could I have forgotten?
It's past midnight, which makes it Friday. Not just any Friday; the last one of the month. Hoyt will be coming by my trailer in the evening to collect his 'protection fee'.
Hoyt and his guys run Throckmorton. Between his drug sales and squeezing protection money out of people, he's got his own disgusting little exploitation empire. Last month, when Angie couldn't pay, he took her upstairs to his office and they made a 'deal'. Angie said she could still smell his cologne after three showers. She picked up a third job after that.
I return my attention to the party of frat boys, bending over in my push up bra to take their empty glasses, hoping to provoke another round of drinks and tips. Behind my customer service smile, I'm scared shitless.
Do I have enough cash?
I have to. Blister didn't need any school supplies this month. Our trailer park fee was already paid. I went down to shower at the public pool a few times to save on water. I clipped coupons to buy our groceries with, and tucked a few of the pricier items under my sweatshirt. You do what you have to if you want to survive around here - and women shouldn't have to pay for tampons anyway.
Still, with all my scraping at the bottom of the barrel, I'm not sure I have enough to pay Hoyt. Checking that none of my tables need anything, I duck into the changeroom. Cherry's angled over the cracked makeup mirror, swiping at smudged mascara beneath her eyes.
"Hot as balls under those lights tonight." She hisses. "Is Hoyt trying to kill us up there?"
I shoot her a sardonic smile, opening my locker and rifling around in my purse. "I don't think he likes 'em dead, Cherry, but I wouldn't put it past him. He's a sick motherfucker."
She laughs knowingly. "You going up again tonight?"
I shake my head, my fingers closing around the envelope of cash. "Nah, I've been up three times already and I've made more serving drinks."
"Tell me about it." She scoffs. "It's quiet out there."
Cherry says this like it's abnormal, but Throckmorton Country only boasts a population of about fifteen hundred people. Most of our guests have - like the frat boys - drifted in from Dallas in search of wild back country girls. The Stella's only full for cheap bachelor parties or the rare birthday bash. Hoyt will sometimes throw a rager for his guys, but we don't get paid to serve those.
"You could definitely work the guys at my table for some cash. The frat boys. Sell them your number if you have to." I begin thumbing through the bills. I know I have a couple hundred stashed away in the trailer, which will almost do the trick.
"Ha! Think we're allowed to?"
"Oh, almost definitely not," I glance up from the envelope to wink at her, "but I won't tell on you."
She turns to face me, watching me count through the money carefully. "He still hasn't had you, huh?"
"Not yet." Relief courses through me, relaxing my shoulders. I've got more than enough between my stash at home and what's in the envelope. "And it's looking like he won't get me this month either."
Cherry nods, face going pale. "Good. That's good."
I blink at her, trying to read her expression. Between her kids and her husband being off from work with an injury, Cherry's got three mouths to feed at home, and Hoyt's got them paying for protection too. She doesn't have enough.
I grab some cash from my bra and the envelope and press a wad of it into her palms. Her eyes, big angelic blues contrasted by the fire engine red wig, swim with tears as they lock on mine.
"Take it. I'm over this month. There's a little extra."
"Jane, no." She breathes. "It's okay. Angie said it's not so bad"-
If only I'd had extra the month that Angie needed it.
I beat the depressing thought away. "Does this cover however much you're missing?"
She nods.
"Then take it. Hoyt can wax his dick elsewhere."
Her face falls towards the floor. "He's not after me anyways, Janey. You know he's had it out for you."
I shrug, letting go of her hands, stepping backwards as if trying to physically distance myself from her words. She's not wrong. Hoyt's been undressing me with his eyes long before I started working at the Stella, but I've managed to avoid him well enough so far.
"Cherry, there is an infinite amount of desperate things I'd do before I let Hoyt turn me into one of his girls."
"We're already his girls, Janey."
"Not completely. Not yet. You know how it works." Before he swung a deal with Angie, Hoyt made a few deals with Krystal. Then suddenly Krystal was pushing oxy for him. I heard her little brother got suspended for having drugs on him. "If he gets his claws into me any further, I won't be able to protect my sister from him."
Cherry fixes me with a stern look. "Does Bliss know how much you're breaking your back to pay his protection fee?"
I smile innocently. "What protection fee?"
She sighs. "Jesus. She's going to find out one way or the other."
"She's twelve, Cherry. She doesn't need to know about Hoyt or his damn fee. Stop lecturing me and just take the money, would you?"
Her eyes are still misty as she yanks me into a hug. "Thank you, Janey."
"It's nothing. Tell your no-good husband to heal faster and get his ass back to work. And go sell your number to those rich fraternity kids. Start a bidding war if you have to." I send her on her way, smacking her lightly on the ass as she goes.
"Right." I mutter. "Back to work."
By the time we hit close, I've barely made another fifteen dollars, but it doesn't matter. I sail through cleanup, my mood at an all-time-high. I made it. I have enough money to keep Hoyt off my back another month.
It's six in the morning when I breeze out of the strip club, an oversized jean jacket thrown over my shorts and t-shirt to ward off the slight chill in the early morning air. The sight of my Corolla stops me short. The tires have sunk low to the ground. As I kneel beside them I spot splits in the rubber; puncture marks. Someone's slashed them, and I'd bet my trailer I know who's responsible.
I turn back towards the Stella and see the blinds upstairs in Hoyt's office swaying gently.
Fuck.
///