“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
I gesture to the sign, incredulous. I really feel like this situation requires no further explanation. “We need to find a legitimate attorney, not Saul fucking Goodman.”
Eleanor narrows her eyes. “Saul Goodman won, like,allof his cases. He was a great lawyer; his life was ruined because of the money laundering.”
Before I can argue further, the door under the awning opens and a man I can only assume is Eleanor’s friend saunters out. At first glance it seems like he might actually be somewhat reputable after all, dressed in a suit and tie despite the heat. Then he gets close enough for me to notice he’s wearing Converse and his tie has the X-Men symbol printed all over it.
“Ellie!”
The guy envelopes her in a bear hug as soon as she’s within reach. She returns the embrace and lets out a little squeak when he lifts her off the ground.
“Damn, dude,” he says when he sets her back down. “Adulthood looks good on you.”
“Me? Look at you! You’re wearing a suit.”
My gaze flicks back and forth between them, trying to figure out why Eleanor is staring at this guy like he hung the moon. His jacket is at least one size too big for his lanky frame, and his floppy hair is overdue for a cut, something he’sunsuccessfully tried to hide with too much gel. Her standards cannot possibly be so low that this guy managing to dress himself semi-appropriately is enough to impress her.
He straightens his ridiculous tie with a smirk. “I know, right? I had to go to court this morning. Gotta look the part.”
“The part of a lawyer who conducts business out of a strip club?” I cut in, and Eleanor scowls and smacks my arm.
Tyler seems to take it in stride. “Is there something wrong with working in a strip club?” he asks, head cocked as he gives me a once-over, lingering for a moment on my slippers.
“No, that’s—I didn’t…” I cast a look at Eleanor, who seems to be enjoying seeing me sputtering. “Obviously, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Tyler hums in agreement. “Did you know the United States has more strip clubs than anywhere else in the world? But as a society we still perpetuate a stigma against sex workers, which in turn perpetuates a cycle of violence and bias held against them by police, judges, and juries. Which is why so many victims of sexual assault decline to even file reports.”
I shuffle my feet, feeling distinctly cowed, but Tyler offers me an easygoing shrug. “The bulk of my clients are sex workers. They don’t typically mind meeting me here.” He turns the wattage up on his smile. “Plus, the girls give me free lap dances on my birthday!”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “That’s… nice of them.”
“We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Tyler.”
I shake the hand Tyler is offering. “Adam.”
“All right.” Eleanor’s hand finds Tyler’s shoulder, turning him around and guiding him back toward the entrance. “Lead the way.”
I avoid Eleanor’s eye as we approach a large bouncer standing with arms crossed in front of a velvet curtain.
“They’re with me,” Tyler tells him, and the guy nods once and pulls the curtain aside.
It’s half past noon, but inside the windowless club it’s so dark you’d have no idea the sun was even up. I wouldn’t have expected a place like this to even be open midday, but apparently this particular establishment fully caters to the lunch crowd. Which is… not the most charming of crowds. Mostly it’s composed of older men who look like the types to get edged out of their companies with offers of early retirement, just so HR doesn’t have to deal with any more sexual harassment complaints.
People like Griffin Hastings.
I don’t know why I’m having so many intrusive thoughts about that asshole today. It’s been almost a year since he was fired from Exeter. Long enough ago that no one at work really talks about him anymore. But I guess spending time with Eleanor and seeing all the ways she’s changed since we first met reinforces how fuckingyoungshe was at twenty-two. And how messed up it was for Griffin, a fifteen-year veteran at the company, never mind a man pushingforty, to get involved with her. The fact that two other women reported him to HR for inappropriate comments leading up to his dismissal confirms what a creep the guy is.
Eleanor catches me looking at her, and like I’m afraid she’ll somehow be able to read my thoughts, I turn my head away quick. Tyler is leading us past the stage, and I allow my gaze to land on the woman in six-inch platform heels and not much else swinging around a pole upside down.
It’s not like I’ve never been to a strip club before. I’ve beento bachelor parties, done the cheering-up-a-friend-who-recently-got-dumped thing. And I know what people imagine the music industry to be like. Stereotypically, it’s all about sex, drugs, and rock ’n roll. Except that really applies more to the artists themselves. Not the people responsible for the paperwork, the contracts and budgets and bookings. And there is something distinctly uncomfortable about coming to a place like this with someone you know through work.
Even if any semblance of a professional relationship between Eleanor and me is pretty much shot to shit at this point.
Thankfully, we don’t linger on the club floor. I’m relieved when Tyler brings us backstage, but that relief is rather short-lived, because there are even more half-naked women gathered there, fixing their makeup in front of a wall of mirrors. One of the dancers is singing along to the Nicki Minaj song filtering in from the club. It feels invasive for me to be back here, uncomfortably voyeuristic to focus on them in their private space, so I keep my gaze glued to Eleanor’s back as we walk through a cloud of cheap perfume and hairspray. I follow her down a hall and through an unmarked door, which Tyler closes behind us, blocking out the music from the club.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee?”
“Uh…” I weigh my caffeine craving against the likelihood that anything Tyler serves from this office will be potable. “Sure?”
