Jack chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me. I get it.”
“Of course you do.” I relaxed. I had been getting worked up. My shoulders were almost at my ears when I forced them down.
“Is that what you told the dean today? Is that why you’re all wound up?”
My stomach soured at the mention. I groaned.
“Didn’t go so well?”
“She reminded me the original research stipend is almost out.” The tension from the week returned.
“Any other options?”
“We talked about possible grants I could apply for. Some that I already applied for. She wants me tenured here but there isn’t money for my type of research. It’s not flashy enough. Not in so many words, but that was the gist. The current administration isn’t interested in government funding programs to help the less fortunate.”
“Damn. That sucks. What about your research?” Jack asked.
“I’m not sure. I may have to put it off for a few more years. Take on a couple more classes until I can find something.” I let out a breath counting down from five. It would have been so easy to take that money from the bikers.
“Someone will fund. This always happens. It comes down to the wire. You’ve got months. Something will come through.”
I appreciated his attempt. “Maybe.”
“We’re going tonight for the potential investors. Just talk to them like you practiced with me and you’ll be fine. Don’t get nervous. You got this.” Jack slowed to a stop and studied the surroundings. “Wait, are you sure this is the right place?”
Neither of us had heard of this hotel in Old North Knoxville. The neighborhood was less than reputable but the hotel itself had decent reviews online. Despite that, something was off about this invite from the get-go. But it came to my staff email address and promised investment opportunities. Distantly, bass thumped and a hint of sweet tobacco reached me. Jack had been bribed into coming as my moral support by the promise of free appetizers and drinks. These university fundraising mixers were often boring but our house was almost out of food, so it didn’t take too much convincing.
I pulled out my phone and double-checked the email. “Yes, according to the GPS this is where we need to be.”
We had both dressed in nice slacks, pressed shirts, and blazers—though somehow Jack looked dapper and I just looked old—but already it was clear we were both overdressed. Our heads turned to follow a group of scantily clad young women who walked past. They turned back to giggle as they caught us staring.
“Huh,” Jack said, and I nodded agreement with his assessment.
We studied them for a moment longer. I cleared my throat and he shook his head. There was no signage to mark the event. I made my way to the front desk to ask, only to realize I wasn’t sure what to ask. Normally, these events had some cheeky name like “Funding our Futures” or “Titrating Liquid Assets.” But just as I was about to ask, a local congressman headed toward a back hallway. If anybody had money, it was this guy. Jack and I exchanged a glance, obviously having the same idea. We tagged behind him as he headed down a carpeted hallway and toward the sounds of rumbling bass, sporadic laughter, and yelling. We were led to a pair of double doors. Grabbing a handle each, we opened the door and walked straight into a den of iniquity.
“Holy hell,” Jack said on a breath.
We didn’t get much past the threshold before our progress slowed to a stop. We took in the scene in front of us.
Women.
Women everywhere. Mostly undressed. They strutted around carrying trays of drinks. They lounged in the laps of men smoking cigars. They danced on a makeshift stage in the middle of the room.
“I repeat, holy hell.”
I nodded, again, in agreement.
At one point the room must have been some sort of respectable banquet hall, the kind you’d expect to host a wedding reception or bar mitzvah, but now it looked like walking into the dirtiest biker bar in all of Tennessee. Aside from small yellow lamps on the dozen tables and the main lights that circled the stage, an unidentifiable red glow filled the room. It truly looked lit from the pits of hell. Seductive, bass-heavy music filled the room.
“My asthma is not going to like this.” Jack coughed and waved a hand in front of his face.
“There’s no way smoking is allowed inside. This room violates several health codes. In the state of Tennessee, if the establishment isn’t twenty-one and over at all times then smoking is strictly…”
I trailed off as a topless woman walked up to us carrying a tray of beers. She had small silver tassels barely covering her areolas so as she walked, they alternated spinning like propellers on a jet.
“Gentlemen, come in. Don’t be shy.” Her eyes flicked back and forth between Jack and I and caught on him a second too long. This reaction upon seeing him was not uncommon. He was strikingly tall and almost everybody that met him found him handsome. I fought hard to keep eye contact with her. Jack had given up completely and studied his shoes.
“Thank you.” I grabbed a beer for myself but Jack shook his head once at the floor. “I’m sorry, but is this the fundraiser?” I asked.
