Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series) (4 page)

As all of this was running through my mind I said nothing, but when I snapped out of it I noticed that I was sitting at the table with my fists clenched, and that John was looking at me with a serious expression. No longer chewing the fry.

“Who are you?” I asked, and I was afraid for him to answer.

“I’m someone who cares about you,” he said, and my stomach twirled. As silly as it was, I almost believed him, with those clear blue eyes looking at me like that.

I took a deep breath. “Not gonna happen, John,” I said, and pushed my fake glasses up on my nose for emphasis. “I’m not that kind of girl.” I stood up and started walking. I was going to break whatever spell he was trying to put on me. Stripping in Vegas was bad enough — I’d heard the guys in North Dakota were rabid. No way, no how was I going up there and dealing with worse, getting pawed every minute and attacked in the parking lot.
Not me.

And as for him, if he was trying to play me? He should know now. Hot as he was, I wasn’t going to be anyone’s whore.

“What kind of girl, Liberty?” John asked, jumping up after me. I saw the group of suits follow his movements without seeming to watch us.

“The kind of girl who has people care about her? Or the kind that won’t give lap dances?”

“Both,” I say, over my shoulder. I’m trying to move fast and make it to the locker room before he can stop me. I don’t want him to try to break me down with any more of this crazy talk.

I also didn’t want to look at him. Even though I wanted to get away, being this close to him and being riled up was making me feel out of my mind. Looking into his eyes wouldn’t help. The fact the he was practically running after me was making my breath come fast and ragged. Part of me wanted to hurl myself at him, into his arms. That same part — a very primal, confused, not-to-be-trusted-part that existed in between my legs — wanted him to catch me. I had never felt the sensation I was feeling there before, the overwhelming ache, and it made me feel out of control. John clearly wanted something from me. I needed to get away from him before I went crazy and had to find out what it was or even worse, offered to give it to him.

“The glasses look great,” he called to my back.

I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder, warily marking the distance between us. “Are they from you?” I asked, breathing hard. I was suddenly afraid that they were.

“How ... how did you know where I live?” I asked, and I felt myself start to shake. Crazy talk about everything happening for a reason was one thing. Stalking me was something else.

John’s sun-kissed, lined face twisted all of a sudden. He winced.
He hadn’t meant to scare me.
That’s what his face said, anyway. He hurried over to me and almost put his hand on me, but looked at my face and thought better of it.

“Liberty, I am so sorry. I don’t know where you live. I promise. I asked Alex to have them delivered to you. I swear,” he said. “I thought the glasses would compliment your outfit, that’s all. I just wanted to help. I’m sure it’s not easy making a living the way you’re trying to do it, but I admire you for it.”

This was all too much to take in. I had to get away from him and get ready for my next shift. I let out a deep breath and willed myself to stop shaking from adrenaline based on the combination of fear, confusion and lust. “John,” I said, as calmly as I could muster. I took a step back. He looked slightly hurt at that, but not at all surprised. “You seem like a nice guy. Mostly. But I don’t need your help. I’m fine taking care of myself.”

I turn on my pink suede spike heel and head to the safety of the locker room. “It was nice to meet you,” I call out and wave, but I don’t look back.

I woke up mad the next morning. The one guy I meet who I think is cute is either (a) trying to recruit me as his escort, (b) trying to drag me to North Dakota to strip for sex-deprived oil workers, or (c) is just plain old crazy. His timing sucked, too. I had finally been in Vegas long enough, been alone long enough, that I had stopped hurting a little. I was getting used to being alone. Then John had to come here and look me in the eye and start trying to get in my business.

I didn’t like the fact that I liked him. He made my heart race. That was exciting to me, and I didn’t want to be excited. I wanted to be alone and not get hurt. Because that’s what people did, I had learned, they worked really hard at disappointing you. They got creative about it. That’s what John had just done to me. He had let me down. Telling me he cared about me, acting like he knew I was a good person, sending me the glasses to help — he was trying to see inside of me, get a piece of me, connect with me, make me depend on him or want him or need him or think about him. Him and his expensive suit and his entourage.

It was a disappointment — his presumed familiarity. He could have just asked me to dinner like someone normal. But no. There might be normal in Vegas somewhere, but I was never going to find it. There was no normal for me. It had always been like that. That’s why I’d never had a boyfriend and was still, ridiculously, a total virgin at twenty one. (When I say total virgin, I mean it. It was embarrassing.) Strippers can’t blush and they sure as hell couldn’t be virgins, but here I was.

My mother said I was a chicken, and she was right. Maybe I’d seen too much of what Ray and a host of other suitors did to her, and how it sounded in our small apartment. I couldn’t want that for myself.

But out of nowhere, John had made me rethink that. Actually, there was very little thinking involved. There was just a lot of throbbing in a part of my body that had been long dormant. Along with calling me chicken, my mother had always told me I was a late bloomer. I was beginning to see what she meant. Sasha had lost her virginity to her boyfriend in high school and she was always raving about how hot Jose was, how she loved being with him. I listened to her but I never understood the inclination. Physically, I just did not get it. I pretended when I danced that I knew what sexy was, what it meant. But I didn’t have a clue.

John had made me feel a pang, a deep empty ache in between my legs, that I had never felt before. Now I couldn’t feel anything but. Damn him. Why couldn’t he just have asked me to dinner? Why couldn’t I have met him
anywhere
but here?

I had convinced Alex that I only needed a few hours sleep and that I would be back for the early, quiet shift. I planned on begging to stay again, but there were always tons of girls on Saturday night. I promised myself I’d be extra nice. Maybe it was time for me to go out on the floor, to start making more money and saving towards that bus ticket. I could do it, I told myself. Maybe.

There was a knock on the door as I was brushing my teeth. I looked through my peephole to see what I assumed could only be a bike courier, complete with a messenger bag and a mohawk, staring back at me. “Package,” he said. “I’ll leave it out here.” He rapped on the door one more time and then trotted out of sight in his weird shoes and biking shorts. I made sure he wasn’t coming back before I opened the door and grabbed the small package off the ground.

I locked the door, put my toothbrush on the kitchen counter and rinsed my mouth. Then I sat down. I knew who it was from, but I had no idea what was inside today.

I opened the package with shaking hands and pulled out a wooden ruler and a note.

Good morning Liberty,

I am very sorry about our meeting yesterday. It was worse than bad manners for me to speak to you like that. It must have been overwhelming and it was unnecessary. So, does making a mistake like that refute my theory that everything happens for a reason? No! It underscores my belief in humanity’s perfect imperfection. And it has given me the opportunity to send you another gift to apologize. The ruler should be a hit with the bachelor party crowd ... feel free to use it on anyone who misbehaves....Including me.

I’ll be in the club tonight. Speak to me only if you wish.

John

I let myself laugh at the ruler. I hugged the note to my chest. No one was there to see, and I only let myself do it for a minute. John wasn’t giving up on me. After our crazy talk last night, and my suspicions about his motives, I was irritated with myself to find that I was very relieved to hear from him.
He was still out there. He still wanted me to think about him.
He might be crazy, but he was thinking about me ... and I couldn’t lie to myself, my heart felt full and happy at the thought. I was not alone today. I didn’t know how long it would (or should) last, but at least this morning, in the privacy of my beat-up apartment, I could let myself beam a little.

I packed my ruler in my bag with my glasses tucked safely in their case. I practically skipped out to the Fiesta, heading for the urine-soaked parking lot with a big smile on my face.

* * *

Alex let me work another double. Some of the other girls might raise their eyebrows about that, but I was the one who showed up here two days in a row, dancing during the day while guys wiped ketchup off their mustaches, and begged to stay. I ordered a burger for dinner, hoping that I could eat it quickly and then run and brush my teeth before John showed up. But dinner came and went, and there was no sign of him.

I was applying my chunky brown eyeliner a little halfheartedly. The excitement that had been so fresh this morning had started to fade, and the memory of the package and the note had lost their urgency. He wasn’t here. I wasn’t the most important thing he had to do today. I was starting to lose hope when Alex showed up at my station.

“Hey gorgeous,” he said, and gave me a full-wattage smile. “Your little friend is back, and he’s looking for you.”

My heart dropped to my knees, in sort of a good way. “He’s hardly
little
,” I said, unable to remove a trace of pride from my voice.
He was here! He came back!

“Oh honey,” Alex said, looking at me with a worried expression. The tone of his voice was scolding, motherly almost, and it wiped the smile off my face. “Don’t take it to heart. You’re a beautiful girl, but remember where you are. Remember, he’s a customer. And he’s here with Cruz, so I need you to be your best, most professional self.”

Cruz was here. I’d never seen him before. Maybe that’s what John had been busy doing, catching up with his old friend. That made me feel a little bit better and I nodded at Alex. I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath, preparing myself to see John again, come what may. “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“Go give ‘em a show,” said Alex, as he very kindly patted me on the shoulder instead of the behind. “We got, like, five bachelor parties, too. Go make some money!” He shooed me towards the stage.

I was as ready as I’d ever be. I went to my locker, took my glasses out of their case and slid them onto my nose. I smacked my bubble-gum scented lips together, pushed up my boobs and fluffed my hair. And I grabbed the ruler, just in case.

The nerves I normally experienced before I went out on stage had gotten better over the last couple of days. I guess I had other things to worry about. But now they were back, big time, and I felt a knot in my chest and butterflies in my stomach, wanting to come out. I made myself strut to the stage. This DJ liked me because I always thanked him and tipped him well. When he saw me coming he put on a very popular song about a girl who was nice on the outside but trouble on the inside ... the crowd got rowdy, clapping and whooping. I felt the wild girl inside me practically push me aside as she claimed the stage, strutting around in those ridiculous pink heels, a small smile playing on her lips.

I let myself get into it tonight. It was hard not to with the music. I felt in character —
a good boarding school girl gone bad. Wouldn’t you know, the bachelor party guys ate that up. I took off my clothes more quickly than I usually did, and there was a lot of bills coming my way. When I took off my skirt, I turned around and showed the crowd the wooden ruler I had shoved through the back of my thong underwear, like my underwear was a tool belt. The crowd went ballistic as I took it out and tapped it against my palm, winking at them. The next guy who tried to put a single dollar bill into the side of my thong got swatted lightly with it, but I blew a kiss to the guy who gave me a ten. The crowd actually laughed. This was it. Stripping mecca. I was putting on a performance and the guys were loving it.

My song was ending as I collected my things and started to sashay towards the back. I felt eyes on me and I turned and saw John standing quietly by the stage, watching me. His hand was covering his mouth and his eyes were hooded. I smiled at him, unsure, and he raised his hand up to give me a small wave. But he wasn’t smiling. Instead, he looked pissed.

I hurried to get dressed and cleaned up.
Why would he be upset?
I used his ruler, it helped me make more money than I normally did….and that’s what I thought he wanted. I got a lot of attention from the crowd tonight, but so what? John was well aware that I was a stripper. It’s not like he hadn’t seen the show before.

Troubled, I put my outfit back on and buttoned up my shirt. I headed out to the floor. He was out there waiting for me by the entrance with the same disgruntled look on his face. His eyes looked hollowed out.

Forgetting all about my reservations from last night, I went up and grabbed his arm and rubbed it. “What’s the matter?” I asked, and I could see his entourage over his shoulder, standing against the bar, talking amongst themselves and drinking beer. John put his free hand over mine and sighed and smiled, relaxing a little.

“Hi,” he said, and his grip on me became a little firmer.

“Hi!” I said. That was more like it. That was the John I recognized.

“So, what has you looking so glum?” I asked, and my heart sped up as he laced his fingers through mine.

“You,” he said, and shaking his head and smiling down at me. I pulled my hand away a bit and he tightened his grip.

“Me?” I asked, and I widened my eyes at him in mock surprise. “But
I
used the ruler!
I
did what you suggested! AND
I’m
speaking to you, because I wish to, or whatever weird thing you said in your note!” This time I succeeded in shaking my hand free of his, and I promptly placed it on my hip. Now we were both laughing.

“True, true,” John said, and he reached out to slide my hands to the side and put
his
hands on my hips. It was like we had broken some barrier, touching each other, and now he didn’t want to break the connection. I didn’t want him to, either. It was like last night, when I
wanted
him to catch me. It was like some sort of force field was pushing me to him— like I was compelled to be connected to him.
His hands on my hips felt totally right and totally foreign at the same time. I didn’t know what to do with them, but I didn’t want them off me, either.

“So?” I asked.

His face, which was looking pretty pleased to have a hold of me, went totally blank. “So?” he asked.

“How am I your problem, exactly?”

“Oh,” he said, remembering, and he flexed his fingers on my waist, exerting just a little bit of pressure. That place
down there
started throbbing again. I desperately hoped he couldn’t tell somehow, couldn’t feel it through my hip bones.

“It wasn’t so much you,” John said. “It was those other men touching you. They shouldn’t do that.”

“Earth to John,” I said, exasperated. “I’m a stripper. People put money in my underwear. That’s how I make a living. You know this.”

“You should retire,” he said, “tonight. No one needs to touch you again. Except me.” We just looked at each other for a moment. Me, laughing; John, dead serious. This was probably when he was going to ask me to be his mistress.

“I’m not going to ask you to be my mistress, or anything crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, and laughed a little. I think my face fell a little bit. Not that I wanted him to do that, but he was narrowing the list of things he might be asking me for, and that made me nervous.

“Cruz might not like me being so proprietary with his star this evening,” he said, wistfully dropping his hands from my waist. I felt cold with his hands off of me, and it made me shiver a little. “I have to leave to go back to work. Do you want a ride home? I could take you, or get you a cab?”

“I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head. “I have my car.” And there was no way he was going to see my sad apartment complex. Not only because it was disgusting, but also because he could still turn out to be a freak, like the guy Keisha brought home who offered her a thousand dollars if he could pee on her face. (She let him, by the way.) I didn’t believe that he was crazy, in my heart, but my head wasn’t going to forget years of experience.

“Will I see you again?” I asked. I held my breath. Everybody goes home from Vegas eventually. It was not the real world, and the real world always called all the real people back. While we, the props, the set pieces, stayed here waiting for the next act.