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9
CAMBRIA
When I show up for work the next day, I’ve hardly walked through the door before I realize that there’s something unusual going on near one of the side stages. At first, I can’t make out what’s being said because all I hear is a female voice slurring between bouts of shouting.
As I approach the scene cautiously, it takes a moment of wandering through a small crowd of patrons and dancers before I see what’s going on. Isabelle, one of the younger, less experienced dancers, is refusing to end her time on the stage as her shift ends.
“I have… I have a kid, you know!” she mumbles. “I need this spot way the f-fuck more than that skank!” she shouts, pointing to Daphne, who I know has had issues with Isabelle in the past.
“Iz, it’s time for you to go home. Maybe you should sober up first,” suggests the bouncer, Dean, who has come to assess the situation. I’ve heard that he has a horrible temper and that most of the girls here would rather keep their heads down than answer to him.
Not Isabelle, apparently.
She leans over for a moment, her face overtaken by nausea as her limitless capacity for hard liquor catches up to her. “My kid needs clothes for school. You can’t make me leave until I have enough for him!”
Dean rolls his eyes and climbs up the stage to her, dwarfing her as soon as he stands up. She’s so small; I’m almost afraid that he could pick her up and crush her if he put his mind to it.
“If you didn’t spend all your fucking money on blow and Jack Daniels, your kid could wear name brands to school every day. But you’re a dumbshit stripper just like the rest of them, so obviously that’s never going to happen,” Dean growls as he reaches over to her.
She swings in his direction sloppily, and he immediately reaches out and grabs her fist before returning a blow and sending her straight onto the floor below the stage.
Isabelle screams so loudly that I’m momentarily terrified that she’s seriously injured. When she begins to stagger to her feet, it appears as though her nose is broken. From the punch to the face or the subsequent fall, it’s impossible to say.
What isn’t impossible to say is that Dean just hit her intentionally.
“Dean! What the fuck is going on here!” Abram roars from across the room. He likely just got here from a meeting, as he’s being trailed closely by a man I’ve never seen who is wearing a tailored suit.
“She was misbehaving, sir. I had to subdue her,” Dean blurts defensively, shrinking in Abram’s intimidating presence.
“At the very most, you pick her up and kick her out. You don’t fucking punch my girls, you fucking idiot,” Abram growls, the vein in his forehead popping out as his anger grows impossible to contain.
“I was doing what needed to be done. She needed repercussions,” Dean continues, sizing Abram up as he climbs the stage to meet Dean face to face.
“I decide what those repercussions are, not you,” Abram warns.
“What’s done is done. What’s your problem, anyway?” Dean challenges, standing up to Abram until their faces are inches from each other.
Abram smacks Dean in the head with his own forehead, grabbing him by the throat as he collapses and smashing him against the pole in the middle of the stage.
“You want to do my fucking job? Huh? You want to pretend to be me for a day? Be my fucking guest. You’d be shitting your pants within the first hour,” Abram growls.
Before Dean can reply with some poorly thought-out, snarky response, Abram slams him into the pole again. Then, he brings him down to the floor, straddling his chest and punching downward into his face repeatedly.
When it’s clear that Dean isn’t about to get up anytime soon, my ears perk up to the sound of the overdressed man in the corner laughing to himself. He seems to be getting a rise out of Dean’s beating.
Abram rises from Dean’s groaning body and turns to the man. “You think this shit is funny?” he shouts at him, his eyes wild with rage.
The man rises from his seat at the bar, casually and without urgency. “I do, in fact. I think it’s funny that you would defend the honor of a run-of-the-mill titty bar slut instead of trusting the judgment of one of your fine men. A manyouhired to display such judgment,” he replies, maintaining an infuriatingly smug grin.
“I need my dancers just as much as I need security. Without dancers, we have no business. A man as obsessed with profitability should know that better than anyone,Josiah,” Abram replies haughtily.
The man, who I now know to be the same Josiah who shot a man while I hid under Abram’s desk, rolls his eyes. “Maybe someday, you’ll truly understand the meaning of the brotherhood. For now, it seems you’re hellbent on chasing after cheap ass, and you’re willing to throw away your integrity for it. How sad for you,” he replies, taking a sip of his drink.
“I don’t need this shit from you. Leave now before I say something I can’t take back,” Abram warns.
Just as Dean attempts to rise from the floor, Abram turns to him swiftly and kicks him back down. “I’d better never, ever see you in this building again for any reason. I don’t care if you’ve got a million dollars to toss on the stage. You’re dead to me,” he continues.
Abram watches closely as Dean slowly rises to his feet, flinching every so often as he anticipates another blow to the face. Josiah scoffs from across the room, making sure that we all hear how discontent he is with Abram’s conduct.
