Authors: Pender Mackie
Chris gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Hey, I do what I can. You know it’s not easy playing twenty questions with your mom. After she grilled me about your love life, she started asking me how you were doing at work. I had to pretend someone was at the door so I could hang up before I spilled the beans. She said she had something to tell you, so make sure you call her back.”
Jesse stood and finished his coffee. “Thanks. I’ll call her after my shower.” Lying wasn’t easy. Jesse found it hard to deceive his parents. Every time he talked to his mom, he expected to trip up, and she’d find out what he really did to earn his money. He liked to take a few minutes to mentally prepare before he called home. Of course when his mom called him, he didn’t have that luxury.
She phoned every couple of weeks since he’d moved to Vegas, and Jesse had been truthful about everything but his job. With his work experience he’d planned on getting a restaurant job, and his parents had assumed that he had. Jesse hadn’t contradicted them.
Telling them he had a boyfriend hadn’t been difficult. Maybe because he could do it over the phone, but there was no way he could tell them he danced naked every night.
Once he was showered and dressed, he called home. Chris disappeared into his room, probably to give him some privacy. Jesse knew his dad would be at the diner. He’d been a cook in logging and fishing camps before he married and had built up a successful restaurant business, though he still put in long days in the kitchen. His mom helped out, waiting tables and doing the diner’s books.
Jesse had spent most of his childhood at the diner. As a kid he’d gone there after school and done his homework in the back booth next to the kitchen. As he’d gotten older he’d worked there right up until he’d moved.
Since he’d left town, his parents had hired Sal, a crusty ex-army cook who, his mom swore, made the best panfried potatoes she ever tasted. They’d hired a couple of extra waitstaff too. Now his mom went home after the breakfast rush.
His mom answered on the second ring, and they chatted about the latest smalltown adventures. Their neighbor, Mr. Albrecht, had been writing to the newspaper again, complaining that something should be done about the number of car thefts and the “criminal element.” This time he suggested knockout gas in a bait car. That way the joyriders would pass out and be caught before they could drive away.
Jesse snickered. “Knockout gas? Why do they even publish his letters?” “As long as he keeps writing in, the paper will keep publishing him. It’s entertaining. Everyone knows he’s harmless. He’s just lonely.” His mom took a deep breath. “So Chris says you’re still seeing Val. I’m so happy for you, honey. He must be special.”
He didn’t feel comfortable having this conversation with his mom. He tried to distract her. “We went to a state park last week. You should have seen it. The rocks were so red…” Jesse rambled on about rock formations and petroglyphs until he ran out of things to say.
“Well, we might get to see all that. Your dad thinks we could get away for a couple of days, as long as it isn’t over an entire weekend and we can convince Sal to come in.”
Jesse stood gripping the phone with his mouth open as his mom chattered away. “It’ll be so much fun. We could meet your Val. Meet Chris, see your apartment. I bet things have changed a bit since our honeymoon. You know, I’ve always thought if I ever got back to Vegas, I’d like to stay at the Sahara.”
He tried to see himself introducing Val to his parents, the four of them having dinner together. It was a stretch. He hadn’t imagined anything like that. Not yet. His mind raced. Maybe Val didn’t want to meet his parents. Women loved that stuff, but men were different.
Val never talked about his family. Jesse knew that Val’s dad sold cars and his mom liked to party, but that was it. Val would probably hate having to sit through a dinner with Jesse’s parents, making small talk. He might think Jesse was getting too serious and freak out. Even break up with him.
What if Jesse mentioned it to Val in passing? Just casually commented that his parents were coming, maybe while he and Val were at work, where he couldn’t go into a lot of detail. He’d get a feel for how Val— Oh, shit. His job!
Chris wandered in dressed for work. He dropped down beside him, flipped on the TV, and put his feet up on the coffee table. Jesse ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. He could feel Chris’s stare.
“That’s good, right? They’ll probably take you out and spoil you. When are they coming?”
“I don’t know.” In hindsight he should have asked before he hung up in a panic. Introducing Val to his mom and dad was the least of his worries. Finding out their only child was a stripper was bound to upstage meeting his boyfriend.
A dozen scenarios ran through his mind, but he couldn’t see any way to avoid the inevitable. “They’re going to find out about my job.”
Chris laughed.
“It’s not funny.”
“No. I guess it’s not.” Chris scratched at his knee. “If you don’t want to tell them, take some time off while they’re here.”
Jesse shook his head. “That’s not gonna work. Even if I did, there are huge posters outside the theater, photo ads in the entertainment magazines, in the hotels. Everywhere. There’s no way they won’t find out. I’m doomed.”
“So tell them, but take the time off anyway. That way you can make sure they don’t go anywhere near the show. You don’t want your mother showing up in the audience, telling everyone Firefighter Jesse is her son.”
Jesse sat up straight, horrified.
Please, God, no.
He’d never be able to do the show. Not if his mom was in the audience. “She wouldn’t do that.”
“They’ll get a nasty surprise if you don’t tell them and they find out on their own. What if your mom decided to check out an all-male revue while your dad’s off playing blackjack? It’d be a hell of a shock.”
Jesse threw out excuses. “My dad doesn’t like card games, and my mom’s not like that. She’s not into naked men.”
Chris shrugged. “Just playing devil’s advocate here, but lots of older ladies go to those shows. You said so. Your mom might decide to entertain herself. Especially if she thinks you’re busy working the dinner shift in some restaurant. You need to take time off and keep her occupied. No mother should have to see her son in assless chaps and dancing to ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,’” he added solemnly.
He was still trying to picture his mom’s face as he and five other men pranced around the stage in thongs, cowboy hats, and boots. Just thinking of the possibility was mortifying. Telling his parents he was a stripper was almost but not quite as embarrassing. “I can’t tell them.”
“Why? Would they be disgusted or something?”
“No. I don’t think so. I just…can’t.”
Chris glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go to work. I’m still on the afternoon shift.
If you can’t tell them what you do for a living, maybe you need to get a different job.” He patted Jesse’s leg. “You don’t know when they’re gonna visit, so you’ve probably got some time, but you need to figure out an action plan. At least think about telling them. Okay?”
After Chris left Jesse poured himself the last of the coffee. He sat on the couch and stared into space, lost in thought. He had enough to deal with without his parents wanting to visit and meet his boyfriend. Both Brad and Chaz knew he was gay. He wasn’t worried about Brad. After the night they’d drunk beer together Brad had never mentioned it again, but Chaz was unpredictable. He could be a real self-centered asshole.
And speaking of assholes, what about Ben Mitchum? Jesse had never figured out if their meeting was intentional on the jock’s part or just bad luck, but if Ben had shown up once, he could show up again.
Irrational fears aside, there were pros and cons to coming out at work. He’d make Val happy, and he’d feel better about himself. But if he came out, Val might get in trouble for dating him. They could both be in trouble.
But Chaz would no longer have power over him. At least no more than he had over anyone else. As it stood right now Chaz had leverage. He’d already asked Jesse to spend extra time in the audience, to touch and rub up against the customers. Things that Val didn’t like. Chaz’s next demands might be even more demeaning.
Even if admin assured him it was no problem, Jesse was smart enough to know the managers could pay lip service to company policy and still find some pretext to fire him and Val.
He took a sip and pushed his cold coffee away. He’d considered telling his parents he danced, but he truly didn’t want them to know about his job. Chris has asked why, but Jesse couldn’t tell him that after six months he was starting to think what he did for a living was cheap and sordid, or at least it made him feel that way. He might pretend it was dancing, but he was still taking his clothes off for an audience. It wasn’t even real dancing, just bumping and grinding. If that was what he thought, how could he expect his parents to feel differently?
Chris’s suggestion came back to him. He could change jobs. That could solve a lot of his problems. With his restaurant experience he could probably get a job as a waiter. He wouldn’t earn as much money, but he would make up some of the difference in tips.
Mike had helped him get this job; maybe he had some inside info on a couple of restaurants. Jesse could ask. See if Mike knew of anyone who was looking for waitstaff or even kitchen workers. Maybe he knew which restaurants were good for gays to work in.
Chaz was giving him the stink eye. Jesse towel-dried his hair. He’d messed up his routine on three separate occasions since his mom’s phone call four days ago, and now Chaz would chew him up and spit him out.
“Look, Chaz. I know my timing was off tonight. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, it was.” Chaz approached him, his expression one Jesse couldn’t interpret. “But no one in the audience gives a fuck. They’re here to drink and have a good time. If they wanted to see real dancing, they’d go to the ballet.”
Jesse blinked at this out-of-character statement.
“Me, though, I’m a professional. I care about the way we look out there.” Chaz narrowed his eyes. “And you haven’t been giving one hundred percent. You’re distracted.”
Now that was more like the Chaz they all knew and loathed.
Jesse shifted his weight. The sexual undertones in Chaz’s words and violation of his personal space made him uncomfortable.
Chaz wasn’t done. “Maybe you’re thinking about what you’ll be doing with him after the show instead of what you’re doing while you’re on the goddamn stage.”
“It’s not like that.”
He was distracted, but not for the reasons Chaz thought. Ever since his mom had announced the possibility of a trip to Vegas, he noticed just how many older women were in the audience. Every time he did, he felt a surge of panic, and it affected his performance.
“I’m not feeling well,” Jesse told him.
It was sort of true. This conversation was making him ill. His chest felt tight, and his heart beat rapidly, like a hummingbird’s wings. He imagined it hovering right at the back of his throat.
“You do look pale.” Chaz studied him. “Better take care of yourself. You’re one of my best dancers. That’s why I’ve cut you some slack.” He circled him, and Jesse fought the urge to turn, to keep Chaz in his sight.
“You’ve been flaking off these last couple of nights, but there’s a way you can demonstrate your commitment. To the company. To me.”
Jesse spun around and looked at him in disbelief. Who the hell did he think he was? The Godfather? Jesse kept his tone civil, but it was an effort. “What do you mean?”
“I want to talk to you.” Chaz glanced around. “Meet me here tomorrow. We’ll go for lunch. I’m buying.”
Jesse scanned the dressing room. No one was paying them any attention. In fact, one or two dancers who’d been on the receiving end of Chaz’s vitriolic tongue were very obviously not looking at them. Jesse didn’t blame them.
He didn’t want to have lunch with Chaz. He couldn’t imagine anything Chaz had to say would be something he’d want to hear. “I’m pretty busy tomorrow.” He turned away, opened his locker, and jerked back when Chaz’s palm slapped his locker door closed.
The loud metallic
bang
reverberated throughout the dressing room. The other dancers paused in their conversations.
Chaz’s words carried in the deafening silence. “For fuck’s sake, Snowe. Don’t be such a pussy.”
Jesse stared at the large hand splayed across the door of his locker, right at eye level. He kept his gaze on the coarse, dark hairs on Chaz’s forearm as he counted slowly to ten. Then he counted to twenty. He could not afford to lose his temper with Chaz. Not if he wanted to leave this job on his own terms.