Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) (6 page)

SEVEN

Reid didn’t have to say much, the place was buzzing, the women kept
up the chatter, the food was good, and he was genuinely hungry for the first
time since he’d been sick. He sat between Vi and Lavinia. Cinnamon and the new
dancer, Tiffany, the one who’d cried on stage, were opposite him with Lux
between them. It was clear they didn’t want him to have their real names. It
was equally clear he was only here as their wallet.

He
tried not to stare at Lux, which logically should’ve been easier than when
she’d stood in front of him wearing not much at all, but he’d felt the warmth
of her body from rib to hip and all along his thigh in the car and there was no
getting away from the fact his obsession with her had exploded into full-scale ambition.

She had
a gray hoodie on with jeans, not a lick of makeup on her face. It was
positively church on Sunday in comparison to her usual look. The only skin she
showed was at her face, neck and hands, but still he did a slack job schooling
his eyes, and then she unzipped her hoodie and revealed a scoop-neck tank and
he gave up trying not to look at her.

He
liked looking at her no matter what she wore, and what did it matter? This
wasn’t work, he didn’t have to hold himself apart. The women knew he’d sent the
flowers, and had been a dickhead in the alley, and he’d keep his promise, thwart
his own ambition, and never see Lux again after he sent everyone home in the
car.

The one
mystery, if he put aside the overwhelming desire to know what Lux’s skin felt
like under his palm, what it might be like to touch her shiny hair, run his
finger over the peaked bow of her full top lip, was why she hadn’t told the
others how she’d saved his sick sorry self from being rolled on the street or
picked up for vagrancy.

Curious
that.

Why
would she do that?

“Aren’t
you going to ask why we’re strippers?” asked Lavinia.

He
wasn’t. He intended to watch Lux and construe increasingly more distracting
fantasies of them together in his head, like holding her hand, making her
smile, kissing her, rubbing his hands over her naked body, so he didn’t pick up
the subtlety until it was too late.

“Why
are you all strippers?” he said.

Mass-scale
grumbling ensued. He wasn’t supposed to ask that.
Shit
. Lux met his eyes
with her patented kiss-off look. Up close and casual like this when it couldn’t
be construed as part of her act, he didn’t like it one bit. And he didn’t like
the disapproval either.

“Ah,
none of that. You’re not strippers, but why the hell not? You’re more than
halfway there, why not own it?” It was the same logic he’d used at Plus. Halfway
good was never good enough. To succeed you had to commit one hundred percent,
even when that went against common sense and collected wisdom.

“Wow,”
said Cinnamon. “I’m a pole dancer because one day I’m going to be a
chiropractor and not crippled with debt when I get there. You do know what a
stripper does?”

Interesting,
they expected him to judge them poorly for what they did. “Earns more than you
guys. Works in better clubs. Gets to become a debt-free chiropractor a whole
lot quicker.”

“Takes
her clothes off for money,” said Lavinia. “Let’s men touch her. Gives lap
dances.”

“None
of that is a crime. It’s a choice. It’s an art. It’s an industry.”

“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.”

“I’m
totally a drug dealer.”

A cone
of silence descended on their table. Apparently that wasn’t funny. “If I was a
dealer, don’t you think I’d fuck myself up with my own product?”

“Didn’t
say you were good at it,” Vi grumbled.

“I’m
not a dealer. I promise I’m not. I had a great job I loved, but I screwed it up
and got fired, that’s why I’ve been moping around Lucky’s, drowning my sorrows.”
He fixed on his brunette dream girl who’d unwittingly given him another reason
to keep showing up. “But I told Lux if she came out with us, I’d straighten up,
so you won’t be seeing me around anymore.”

The
suggestion of a smile tugged at Lux’s lips. It did strange things to his pulse.

“Hold
on.” Cinnamon made a TV hostess arm wave over the table. “You told Lux you’d
quit boozing if she went out with you, this is not the same thing.”

“It’s
not, but this is Lux’s choice.” Like it was her choice not to tell the whole
story. Did she do it to protect him from embarrassment? She had no idea how
well he had embarrassing himself checked off already.

“That
girl is a damn fool,” said Lavinia. “Of all of us she could be earning bank, in
clubs where the dancers are treated right and the big money shows up, private
parties, the works, but she won’t take the chance. There’s this club, Madame
Amour, they have a competition with prize money. Lux could take it out if she
wanted to. She won’t even try.”

“You
don’t strike me as the scared type, Lux?”

Lux
folded her arms, the action sending his eyes straight to her chest. “You’re
buying my breakfast, not my life story.”

He blinked
hard, had to bite back a response. He wanted to order everyone out of the room
so he could go one on one with Lux about wasting her talent. But he wasn’t in a
conference room, he was in a diner surprisingly lively for nearly 4 a.m. He shifted,
and it was only when his spine hit the chair’s back he realized he’d been
leaning way forward. When he did that at Plus, Sarina would touch his shoulder
or scribble him a note telling him to sit back, not to look like he was about
to jump down a person’s throat.

He
palmed his face. He was having breakfast with five women he didn’t know, one of
whom he virtually itched to be alone with, and he’d lectured them about their
work choices, their lives.

“You’re
right. I’m sorry.” He was a desperately useless human being and he finally
understood what Sarina had tried to teach him. Mostly people want to enjoy
their work, and if they enjoy it, they do well at it, and the way to connect
with people was to talk to them about what they enjoyed.

“What I
should’ve asked you all is if you were having fun?”

Dead
silence.

So
maybe he still didn’t get it, because when Sarina asked that, the people she talked
to got busy responding, either complaining about things that annoyed them or falling
about like silly kittens, pretty much purring and rubbing up against all the things
they liked about work. It’d always been his cue to walk away, now it was his backup
plan.

“What, like
now?” said Lavinia. “I’ve eaten enough to store till next winter.” There were
agreeable murmurs.

“No, as
dancers? Does what you do make you happy?”

There
was another awkward silence and Reid recognized it for what it was. To answer
the question, the women had to share a part of themselves with him, and he’d
done nothing to prove himself worthy of that.

Cinnamon
took a sip of her coffee. “It’s a hell of a lot more honest than working as a
massage therapist.” She put her cup down and took a deep breath. “There were
guys who didn’t want to pay me full price because I didn’t give them a happy
ending. I’m trained as a sports masseuse but going into locker rooms made me so
nervous I used to puke. You know there are teams who won’t hire men, because
they think there’s something weird about having another man touch them. They
didn’t hire me because I was as good as a male masseuse, but because I was a
woman. That’s not positive discrimination, it’s sleazy. I don’t have to worry
about what the men who watch me dance are thinking. I know what they’re thinking.
I don’t have to worry that my hand is going to accidentally end up somewhere I
don’t want it. So yes, this is my happy thing till I’m done studying.”

“You
never said that before,” said Lavinia. She shoulder-bumped Cinnamon. “Girl,
that’s wicked twisted.” She looked at Reid. “I don’t have any Josephine Baker
kinda reason for doing this. I just know this body,” she shimmied her
shoulders, “ain’t gonna last forever and I want to use it before I lose it. I
used to work in an office, but the money was bad and it was so boring I thought
I was going to take a staple gun and go postal. One day I’ll have to do something
different, but I’m young, I’m having fun and the fact I can make a man’s tongue
hang out while I do it, yeah, I’ll take that. My name is Lizabeth, by the way.”
She held her hand out to shake and Reid took it.

“I’m
Kathryn,” said the dancer known as Cinnamon. She held her hand out too.

He was
blown away by the power of that simple question and what happened when he
actually listened to the answer. He felt connected to the women now in a way hired
cars, waffles and grand gestures didn’t achieve. He looked to Tiffany.

“I
don’t know yet. I’m so bad at it,” she said. “But there are worse things. I’m a
singer more than a dancer and I want to be in musicals but I have to do
something between auditions and I figured this might help build my confidence. At
my last audition they said I had poor stage presence.” She stretched her hand
across the table to Reid. “My name is Therese.”