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Located in an industrial area just north of the Las Vegas Strip, the Barely There topless gentlemen’s club operated Tuesday through Sunday from five p.m. until two a.m. The hours were a bit more restrictive than the other clubs in town, mainly because the owner also single-handedly managed the place. Unfortunately or appropriately, his name was John.
John genuinely cared about his staff, as Carly had known firsthand. She had intended to quit in January when the baby began to become an issue, but John had offered to let her work as a dishwasher until she felt ready to resume dancing. Given that Barely There already had enough dishwashers, I suspected John had made the decision out of charity rather than to support a strategic business plan. He’d even gone so far as to tell her to call in sick whenever she wanted.
And now I had the unwanted honor of relaying the news of her death.
I took a deep breath and knocked on John’s open office door.
“Megan,” he boomed. A whisper from John would drown out the normal decibel level of most auctioneers. “Come in, come in.”
I stepped inside and wrung my hands together. “John, I have so—”
“I’d like to change your stage persona to something more bookish,” he barreled on. “Picture naughty librarian in pasties collecting overdue fines. What do you think?”
I blinked, making the mental shift from Carly’s death to me in word-of-the-day underwear dancing provocatively while juggling encyclopedias.
“You’d make a tantalizing chef too,” he continued. “Think whisk twirling and whipped-cream bras. Hey!” He yanked open a desk drawer and pulled something out before wheeling his arm around. “Heads up!”
I squeezed my eyes shut and threw my arms up in an X to protect my face, holding my breath while I waited for the item to bounce off my hands and land on the floor.
John howled with laughter. “You catch just like a girl. I bet you’re one of these girls who throws a basketball by hurling it underhand from between your knees. Am I right? Don’t worry, I didn’t let go.”
I peeked between my arms. Dropping my defensive stance, I stepped toward him and took whatever he’d pretended to toss.
It was a vegetable peeler.
I furrowed my brow. “What’s this for?”
“Your new routine,” he said, as if stating the obvious.
I suppressed a groan. “John, I’m not skinning carrots on stage while wearing whipped cream.”
“Just an idea,” he said. “Men respond well to your college-coquette act, but hey, it’s no secret you’re getting older, and your character should reflect that.”
“Maybe I should wear Depends and douse myself with prune juice,” I suggested.
John laughed hard enough for the room to vibrate. “Now that would be a sight!” He slapped his thigh then sobered. “But in all seriousness, you do need to find a new act. You’re no longer believable as a college girl.”
I substituted the word young for college and tried not to feel offended. In reality, I’d never thought I had been believable as a college girl even when I’d first started this job four years ago at the age of thirty-two. But back then John had been so grateful to employ a dancer who showed up for work on time that he’d overlooked my glaring lack of qualifications.
“I’ll think about it,” I assured him, slipping the vegetable peeler in the pocket of my jeans. “I’m really here to tell you about Carly.”
“Now there’s a beautiful woman!” He picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk. “I’ll tell you, I was lucky to snag a looker like that one. She’s bound to—”
“She died Sunday night,” I interrupted, before this could turn into another speech like the one I’d just suffered through with Mike.
John fell silent, the pen now idle in his hand. “Died. No kidding.”
“Apparently she overdosed on drugs.”
He shook his head so hard I grew dizzy watching him. “Nah, I don’t believe it. I’ve been around my share of junkies, and that girl wasn’t one of them.”
“Nobody can believe it,” I told him, as if this somehow made it true. “I’m on my way to the dressing room. I’ll let the girls know.”
“Okay.” John began moving his pen again. Some part of his body was usually in motion, and I didn’t mean that lewdly. He reminded me of a windup toy with arms and legs that swung in perpetual circles.
I ducked down the hall. About ten exotic dancers worked on any given night, but usually only a few of us occupied the dressing room at the same time. We were constantly entering and exiting to change outfits and freshen up makeup as our acts rotated across stage and we took breaks from circulating through the floor or entertaining in one of the private rooms.
This evening, Norma Rae and Yasmine had both arrived before me.
“Hey, Megan,” Norma Rae shouted from where she sat at a vanity table. “You got any deodorant?”
“Yes.” I reached into my locker and tossed her the can I’d bought solely for the purpose of passing around on an as-needed basis. I maintained that certain hygiene products should never be shared, and kept my own deodorant stick tucked behind a stack of spare panties.
Norma Rae sprayed herself as if she expected to sweat up a stench. “Carly still at home when ya left? I ain’t seen her, and she’s s’posed to bring me somethin’ to eat before I be goin’ on stage.”
My chest tightened. “Actually, Carly died Sunday.”
“Died!”
The indignation in her voice made a huge dent in my already flagging patience. I pulled my outfit and cosmetics case out of my locker before slamming the door shut. “Does that conflict with your dinner plans?”
Norma Rae’s eyes narrowed in her mirror, although the change was barely perceptible given the hideous amount of eye shadow she’d spread around them. In fact, maybe her reaction had nothing to do with my comment and everything to do with the strain of keeping her eyes open under the weight of all that makeup.
“She died?” Yasmine squeaked, having either just gotten wind of this conversation or now hoping to defuse some of the tension building between me and Norma Rae. “How terrible!”
“She overdosed on drugs,” I said.
Yasmine shook her head. “That’s awful.”
“Yo, college girl,” Norma Rae interjected. “You got any food? I be starvin’ over here.”
I yearned to tell Yasmine to let Norma Rae suffer. She had been a moocher for as long as I’d known her, and, of the many things I disliked about her, this ranked near the top. I didn’t know how much money she saved by getting the other girls to let her use their toiletries or buy her food, but it must be substantial.
But Yasmine was too sweet not to oblige. I regarded her as she dug through her locker, unable to prevent a pinch of envy. Unlike me, Yasmine was entirely believable as a college girl, mainly because she really was one.
She held up a fistful of wrapped bars. “Do you like granola? I have enough for everyone.”
The sight activated my salivary glands, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten yet today. “I love gran—”
My words were cut off when Norma Rae leapt out of her chair and lunged in front of me. I watched, dumbfounded, as she snatched all three bars out of Yasmine’s hand.
Miffed, I considered ripping one of them from her paws, but I didn’t want to go out on stage with the start of a black eye. Instead, I stared at her while she tore open one package and shoved half a bar into her mouth.
Unfazed, Yasmine reached back into her locker and extracted two more bars. “Megan, you want one?”
“Yes, please.” I accepted one, shooting her a grateful smile. “Thank you,” I said while looking pointedly at Norma Rae. She was so consumed with ingesting her own score that the words faded away unnoticed.
I’d just stuffed most of the granola into my mouth when Yasmine said, “So, Megan, tell us more about Carly. Is there a funeral planned?”
I swallowed hard, the granola shredding my esophagus as it worked its way down. “The funeral will be in New York, but her mother wants to hold a local vigil.”
Norma Rae snorted. “A vigil? Like she a saint or somethin’? I didn’t even know Carly had no mother.”
Yasmine gawked at her. “Of course she has a mother. Everyone has a mother.”
Norma Rae rolled her eyes. “No shit, college girl, but some ain’t worth mentionin’.”
“Well, maybe she had a falling-out with Carly and has always regretted it,” Yasmine said. “Maybe she’s trying to make amends.”
Norma Rae, still working on the granola bars, lit up a cigarette. She inhaled, then blew smoke toward Yasmine’s face. “You talkin’ ’bout Carly or yourself?”
Yasmine blushed, and I realized Norma Rae’s comment had hit close to home. Evidently, even college girls had family problems.
“The vigil is Sunday at two,” I informed them. “You’re all invited.”
“I’ll go,” Yasmine said.
“Will there be food?” Norma Rae asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know the details yet.”
“Well, tell her we like to eat,” she said. “I ain’t gonna be starvin’ all day at no vigil when I could be out eatin’ me a hearty meal.”
“Maybe I should take your order now,” I proposed. “I can relay it to Carly’s mother tomorrow.”
Norma Rae missed my intended sarcasm. She puffed pensively on her cigarette, her gaze trained toward the ceiling as if she were mentally reviewing an unrestricted menu.
“Actually, I’ll just tell her that light refreshments would be appreciated,” I said, not wanting to hear what she came up with.
“Light refreshments?” Norma Rae scoffed. “What we be, southern belles? Why not a meal?”
“A meal might be nice,” Yasmine said, twisting her hands together as she glanced at the floor. “Or we could make it a potluck. I can bring my potato salad. Everyone back home raves about it.”
Norma Rae huffed. “I ain’t slavin’ away near no stove in order to go to no vigil. And I ain’t eatin’ no potato salad. Us girls in our thirties be needin’ to watch what we eat. Right, Megan?”
I had to bite my tongue to not say anything. Not only did Norma Rae have to be in her forties, but her idea of watching what she ate involved counting dollars rather than calories. If someone else paid, she’d eat it.
“I could make something healthier,” Yasmine said. “Do you like regular salad?”
“Or, Carly’s mother could just take us to a buffet,” I interjected, the last of my patience evaporating. “Then we can all pick out what we want.”
“I hear the M got themselves a great buffet,” Norma Rae said. Naturally, she would bring up one of the most expensive buffets in town.
I was preparing a caustic reply when Georgia distracted me by stepping into the room. She had the garments she’d just finished shedding on stage clutched to her generous bosom.
“Yo, lesbo,” Norma Rae shouted. “You hear ’bout Carly?”
Georgia dumped her clothes on a dressing chair. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”
Norma Rae screwed up her face. “What? Ain’t you a lesbo?”
Georgia glowered at her. “I am a lesbian, yes. But I have a name too.”
“Georgia,” I interrupted, deciding Norma Rae wouldn’t be the most sensitive person to break the news of someone’s death. “I have some bad news. Carly died this weekend.”
Georgia spun toward me, her eyes wide. “She died?”
I nodded. “Her mother is holding a vigil Sunday at two, and we’re all invited.”
“It’s gonna be a buffet vigil,” Norma Rae piped in, her words nudging my blood pressure higher. “We talkin’ ’bout where to eat.”
I opened my mouth to remind everyone that Carly’s mother was hosting the vigil and the decision about buffets or food would be hers alone, but my words were obscured when Georgia clapped her hands.
“I love buffets,” she gushed.
“I ate at the Wynn buffet once,” Yasmine piped in. “My uncle flew into town for a convention and took me. Oh my God, it was heavenly. I’d never tasted food so good. Even my potato salad pales in comparison.”
Georgia’s ears pricked. “Did you eat their cheesecake? I really wanted to try it, but when I went I ate so much prime rib that I couldn’t possibly stuff in another mouthful.”
I cleared my throat. “The vigil is just as likely to be a memory-sharing affair in the park as a buffet extravaganza,” I said, but nobody heard me. The girls were now so lost in conversation about crab legs that the details of Carly’s vigil seemed moot anyway. I supposed I should be grateful they weren’t more emotional. Their reactions were much easier to deal with than the teary scene Mike had made earlier.
I sighed and sat down at one of the unoccupied vanities. Although I usually enjoyed talking with my colleagues as much as they did, today I couldn’t muster up the energy or enthusiasm. Making phone calls all morning had extinguished my desire to socialize.
After I had most of my makeup applied, I felt a tap at my shoulder. In the mirror, I spied Yasmine standing beside me.
“I hope you’re not offended by all this talk about food,” she said. “I really am sorry about Carly.”
I rotated toward her. “Nothing dulls the pain of death as much as eating, right?”
Half of Yasmine’s mouth lifted up. “I guess that’s why casseroles were invented. After my sister died, that’s all we ate for four months straight. If I ever get near another green-bean casserole, I think I’ll puke.”
The pain reflected in her eyes spurred an ache in my heart. “I didn’t know your sister died.”
“It happened a long time ago.” She tried to smile, but her lips wobbled.
“Events that occurred a long time ago can still bother us,” I said, thinking of my own father abandoning my mother and me.
“She was a year older than me. We planned to do everything together. At camp, we always bunked together. In school, we signed up for the same clubs and extracurricular activities. We even dreamed about applying to the same colleges and splitting an apartment, but she didn’t live that long.”
Yasmine’s reminiscence reminded me of my own apartment dilemma, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine. If I didn’t locate a new roommate soon, I would have to give up my place. I had too much bad history with the landlord to expect him to cut me some slack.
“Say, Yasmine, you don’t happen to be looking for a place, do you?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I’m locked into another three months at my current apartment. It’s right next to campus, so I’ll be extending my lease beyond that anyway. Sorry.”
My heart fell. “That’s okay. If you hear of anybody looking for a roommate, would you let me know? I’m kind of in a bind now that Carly’s gone.”
“What about Norma Rae?” she suggested. “She’s always complaining about what a filthy rat’s nest she lives in.”
The thought of boarding with Norma Rae induced a shudder. If her place was as bad as she complained, I didn’t doubt she was the main reason why. Norma Rae wasn’t exactly known for picking up after herself.
I glanced at her dressing table, the only vanity in the room reserved for a single person merely because nobody wanted to share her mess. At this very moment, several old take-out containers littered the surface, and her ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts. It wouldn’t take much effort to walk everything twenty feet to the garbage, but Norma Rae couldn’t be bothered.
As if intent on confirming my theory, she threw a now-empty granola wrapper on the floor. Before long the other girls would grow sick of stepping over it, and someone else would toss it in the trash.
Although, Norma Rae did have one positive quality, I had to concede as the image of Mike wailing in my living room popped into my head. Any guy I brought home wouldn’t find nearly as many kind things to say about her as they would Carly. Norma Rae was attractive, but I imagined she’d drop from gorgeous, to pretty, to average, and maybe even to distasteful once her personality revealed itself.
I certainly wouldn’t ever question whether she’d started up an affair with a boyfriend of mine. If she did, Norma Rae wouldn’t hesitate to brag about it. I’d probably be the first person she’d tell, if she didn’t get the news out to everyone at work first. She could never be as discreet as Carly apparently had been.
“In fact,” Yasmine went on, “last week she mentioned suing her landlord for not replacing her plumbing fixtures. She says the calcium content in her water is so high it coats the pipes, and now her bathroom sink is perpetually clogged. I’m sure she’d love to escape that place.”
If Norma Rae’s sink really was clogged, I was willing to bet money the situation had more to do with hair, makeup, and cigarette ash than calcium buildup.
“Thanks for the suggestion, but I think I’ll keep looking,” I told Yasmine, watching as the end of Norma Rae’s feather boa fell into a flat soda that had been sitting on her table for weeks.
Yes, I decided, I would move into my compact car before I moved Norma Rae into my apartment.
