“I can recommend a company but I don’t have a crew myself.”
I covered my mouth to hold back a laugh. Either this guy was thick as molasses in winter or he had cojones the size of bowling balls.
“I want to pay you off so you’ll sign the goddamn papers and I can finish this fucking remodel!” The sound of a chair slamming back into the wall had me jumping back about a foot. “How much do you want?”
“I’m sure you aren’t suggesting I risk my career and reputation for a measly payoff.” The voice was closer this time when it spoke so I tucked myself against the wall and out of the way in case he came out.
“Fuck you. I’ll find someone else to pay.”
“Good luck. I’m the only certified building inspector within two hundred miles with the authorization to sign off on this.” There was another shuffle and the voice was closer. “And no person with any morals would sign off on the shoddy work I see here.”
The door opened so abruptly after that bold statement I jumped and hid my face to the wall. I didn’t know why. I never hid myself. If anything, I showed too much of myself but for some reason, I didn’t want this stranger seeing me or knowing I had listened in. His confidence in the face of Occum was unsettling; his voice, a little too intriguing.
He brushed past me with a polite, “Excuse me, ma’am,” taking care not to touch me, which was tricky with the construction material taking up all the hall space.
He muttered something about fire hazards before melting into the darkness of the bar. I couldn't tell much from his retreating figure; his dress pants and collared shirt were a little too fancy for this place. His hair was salt and pepper, but that was about all I could see. Shoulders back, his stride was as cool as his voice had been, confidence oozing as he disappeared. My jaw hung slack like a largemouth bass.
Then his words registered. I was half tempted to chase after him just to smack him upside the head. “Ma’am”?! Me? I was equal parts confused and offended. My outfit hardly covered my nipples and he called me something we call ol’ Mrs. Albensi when we saw her at the Piggly Wiggly. I’m not a ma’am, I’m a miss. I’m still in my twenties! Technically. Though, my hangovers were lasting a little longer these days and I did pluck a grey hair this morning.
I debated chasing after this stranger to give him a piece of my mind when Occum shot out the office.
“Goddamn!” His face was twisted with rage.
That’s when I should have skedaddled but I was stuck like a bunny on a state route—too afraid to move and about to be roadkill. Occum’s head was shaved completely bald but what he lacked up top sprouted from his face like Rip Van Winkle. The thin tip of his beard reached all the way down to his belt buckle.
He spotted me still half turned facing the wall. “What in the hell are you doing, Short Fuse?” Before I could make up an answer he added, “Get your ass on stage, right now.”
For somebody with a reputation for talking too much, I struggled to find words. “I need to talk to you.”
Now wasn’t going to be the best time to talk to him but the words had tumbled out after days of preparing them. I guess that’s why everybody told me God used a teaspoon to pour my brains in and had shaking hands.
He had been looking down the hall after that ballsy fellow but this caused him to snap his head toward me. “You want to talk? What about, nail polish and blowjobs?”
I ran my hand down his arm and squeezed his sinewy bicep. His cologne was overpowering this close. “I was thinking—”
“That face ain’t for thinking.” He pushed me off his arm. “I have important clientele here tonight and I promised them a show. I’ve had enough backtalk from people for one day. Now get moving before the next song starts or I’m gonna have one of my new girls dance and you can bus tables.”
I blinked back the hurt at his words. I batted my eyelashes and smiled to sidetrack his tension. “Okay, sugar. Whatever you want.”
“That’s my girl.” He smacked my bottom as I walked away and headed toward the changing rooms.
I'd talk to him after my set. I wouldn't lose my nerve. This was my life. I had gotten myself here with my bad actions and I was paying for them. I wasn’t fit for anything proper, but maybe I could have this one thing just for me.
Chapter 2
Clifford
Iwas meticulous about my hand washing despite the rage pumping adrenaline through me. I glanced at my bland expression through the splashes of God-knows-what on the mirror. I performed my counting mental exercises until my heart beat at a normal pace.
The froth of bubbles was the perfect consistency and evenly distributed as I scrubbed clean. I’d felt dirty for hours now. Of course, there wasn’t a dryer in sight, nor a paper towel roll. The only option was an old-fashioned towel loop where the rag was a rainbow of putrid oranges, browns, and yellows. This whole establishment had been nothing but a disgusting disappointment from the moment I crossed the threshold.
After seeing what happened here, I was sure there was no surface untainted.
That barbarian thought that I could be bought. He’d thought I didn’t understand his fumbling bribery. I’d given him a chance to back out, to realize how fruitless his attempt would be, but he was too thick-skulled to recognize the opportunity.
What would it be like to take the money, to be crooked and betray my own moral code? The things I could do with that bribe. The research I could get funded. But I stopped that train of thought before it derailed. Imagine-the-headline was my favorite way to stop bad decisions.
“UT Professor Found Guilty in Strip Joint Payoff Scheme.”
