Chapter 21
A number of days had passed, and Lincoln hadn’t seen or spoken to Carmen. His calls went directly to voicemail, and his home visits went unanswered. History was repeating itself, and depression swept over him. Women he cared for were falling off the earth and leaving him all by his lonesome. He wondered what he’d done that forced her to walk out of his life without saying a word, but he came up blank.
The strip club’s neon lights danced across the room and colored Lincoln’s face blue. His eyes lay low, and his shoulders were hunched so far down that only the bar kept him from tipping over. The faster the songs played, the faster the lights flashed. Lincoln watched half-naked women dance and live up to their stripper names. The burning sensation from the vodka rushed down his throat and took him to a world of misery and anger. His eyes were locked on a female who belly danced for a Chinese man. He allowed himself to fall victim to her rhythm.
“You like what you see?”
Slowly, Lincoln planted his attention on a slender, brown-skinned woman. Her eyelashes were long and looked like tiny fans on her eyes, while her hair was an ocean of waves crashing down on her neck.
“No,” Lincoln slurred. He turned away and focused on the pretty colors.
“I bet your attitude is why she left you.” Curly shook her head and motioned for the bartender. After placing her order, she looked back, only to see Lincoln’s eyes burning holes into her face.
“You know nothing about me or my woman. So get back on that damn pole where you belong.”
Ever since Carmen’s disappearance, Lincoln’s whole demeanor had changed. He drank like a fish, and whenever a drop of liquor touched his taste buds, he transformed into a mean drunk who no one recognized. Love was turning his heart black, and his good nature was quickly leaking down the drain.
Curly grinned. That little jab Lincoln threw at her was nothing. She was used to being disrespected because of her occupation.
“Thank you, Jim,” she told the bartender. She kicked back her shot and took a sip of her martini.
“Save your breath. I know your story: good guy done fell for the wrong chick. You’re too squeaky clean. You’re too”—Curly looked him up and down—“innocent.”
“Just a second ago you said my attitude is what ran her off, so what the hell are you talking about I’m squeaky clean?”
Curly drank the clear liquor until the glass was half empty. “The word ‘attitude’ can be used in a positive context as well. You’re not her style. Even in a place like this, where you’re fucked up and staring at ass, you still stick out like a sore thumb and have the words ‘good guy’ stamped on your forehead.” She grabbed a pinch of his shirt and dropped it. “Not even your wardrobe can mask who you are.”
Lincoln was at a loss for words, so he opted to stare at the stranger who had read him like a book.
“You’ll never satisfy her, and if you do, it’s only because you placed yourself into her world and proved yourself in the ultimate way.”
Curly was once a good girl who was on the path to becoming a counselor, but she took a wrong turn in life and became stuck in the world of stripping. Reading people was her specialty, so when she spotted Lincoln, she thought she’d tell him about himself. She looked over at him once more and smirked. Reality was a bust, and she pitied him for having to live in it. She grabbed two small white pills from her booty shorts’ miniature pockets and popped them into her mouth. She finished her drink and estimated how long it would take her to enter the world of ecstasy.
“Good luck,” she told him and walked away from the bar.
The club’s lights faded as the DJ announced the dancer known as Misery to the stage. Within minutes, Curly was on the stage dancing like never before.