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“The sex industry,” said Lux. “Which traditionally takes advantage of women.” Her expression told him he could fuck off and die, but he didn’t get it. She didn’t get it.
“You think because you don’t strip and you don’t work in a real strip joint you’re not in the sex industry?”
“Yes, we’re hypocrites,” she said.
“Exactly.” So she did get it. “You get paid the same way.” He looked around the table. “You’re all contractors, right? You have no benefits,” he threw his hands up in frustration. “It’s like being half pregnant.”
“I don’t like this guy anymore. I’m ordering something expensive to go with my hypocritical, not a stripper, not accidentally pregnant attitude,” said Lavinia. She half stood with the menu in her hand to get a waitress’ attention and he thought for a moment she was about to lean over and slap him. Maybe he deserved it. Was it more chivalrous to suggest they should be fully dressed at all times data-entry operators?
“That’s exactly what my parents think,” said Tiffany. “I told them it was just dancing. They think I’m a prostitute.”
“Now that’s different. Dancing for money and sex for money are not the same things.” Any fool could see that.
“Some strippers sell sex, so what you’re saying is we might as well all do that,” said Lux. She had a way of putting words in his mouth that annoyed him.
“I’m not saying that. I’m only saying you’re all talented.” He glanced at Tiffany. “You’ll get there if you keep working at it.” Tiffany ducked her head and blushed, and it occurred to him he need not have singled her out, even though what he said was true. Sarina would’ve chewed him out for that.
“You could all be doing better for yourselves at a better club.”
“You think we should be strippers, well of course you do,” said Cinnamon. “We only get to be saints or whores.”
“What I think is irrelevant, but you’d be in good company. Gypsy Rose Lee, Josephine Baker, Mata Hari, all strippers.”
“Who?” said Tiffany.
“Have you been researching strippers? That’s creepy, ew,” said Cinnamon.
“I have time on my hands.” And yes, maybe it was a slimy thing to have admitted to.
“He’s right.” Lavinia slid the menu between the salt and pepper shakers. “Mata Hari was a spy. Josephine was the bomb. First black movie star, got a medal of honor for working for the French Resistance in World War Two, and that woman refused to dance for segregated audiences. She stood on stage with Dr. King.”
Reid went on. “Channing Tatum, Lady Gaga, Chris Pratt, Dita Von Teese, Diablo Cody.”
“She wrote Juno and United States of Tara,” said Vi.
“All reportedly strippers at one time. You do not have to be ashamed of what you do, clothed or unclothed.”
“You’re just being a man,” said Cinnamon.
“If I was being a man I might react like Tiff’s father. I’m being a realist, no bullshit, no moral judgments. I don’t believe God is going to get you for this. I think if you’ve got an asset you have a responsibility to use it to the best advantage.”
“So you’d have no trouble dating a stripper,” said Lux. “Treating her with respect. Taking her home to meet Mom?”
Fuck, if only that was an invitation. No hesitation. “None.”
Lux shook her head in disbelief. “That’s bullshit.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say try me, when the waitress arrived with the coffee pot. Everyone wanted a refill. Reid just wanted Lux to meet his eyes again.
“What do you do for money, Reid?”
He turned to Vi. He could say any old thing, it wouldn’t matter. “I’m an unemployed bum.”
“So you’re not a dealer?”
He laughed. “You think I’m a drug dealer?” He glanced at Lux. She was stirring sugar into her coffee, but her eyes flicked up to his.
Vi shoved her hand in front of his face. “You have money, you have free time, you hang out at Lucky’s.” She ticked those points off finger by finger. “You know about stripper history. You don’t look like a sad bean counter, or a roofer, or a salesman.”
