CHAPTER FIVE
After the meeting with Ranger Bill on the beach, we went back to our hotel and I promptly passed out on my bed. The late night, the travels and the change of location did a number on my mind. Like usual, I had a bizarre dream that I couldn’t quite remember as soon as I woke. Normally I was so good at remembering the details but lately I just couldn’t. Though, perhaps that was a good thing. Some nightmares were best left forgotten.
The game was at 7 p.m., so I was putting the finishing touches of my makeup on and listening to the band Mini Mansions on my iPhone speaker when there was a knock at my door. It was Dex, who walked in wearing a ratty black and yellow Canucks jersey and holding a new, smaller blue one in his hands.
“Uh?” I asked, pointing at it.
“You listening to ELO?” he asked, peering at my phone.
“No. What is this?”
“Oh, I went for a walk, thought you should wear this.”
He pushed the jersey into my hands. It was my size and not as hideously ugly as the one he was wearing. But still. Confusion.
“You bought me a Canucks jersey?” I asked. “I don’t even know if I like the team. Or any team, for that matter. Or the game.”
“You will. And you’re welcome.”
“I thought you were a Rangers fan. You grew up in New York, didn’t you?”
“I was, now I’m not and I did, but I’m not in New York anymore. Either way, it’s going to be an exciting game and I would be honored if you would slip that jersey over your pretty little head and wear it tonight.”
I wondered if he ever tried to dress Jenn up, too, and drag her out to games. But there was no way I was bringing that up. I was getting the distinct impression that Jenn was a touchy subject this weekend, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe they had a fight or something. I can’t say that didn’t tickle the back of my head in a delightful way.
So I decided to be a good sport, be the anti–Jenn if you will, and put on the jersey. I was only wearing a thin, long–sleeved shirt at the moment anyway. I walked over to the mirror and peered at myself. It didn’t look half bad. It was a bit tight around the boobs; Dex somehow had underestimated them, but it flowed loosely everywhere else.
“Really brings out your eyes,” Dex said, standing behind me, meeting my gaze in the mirror’s reflection. It was almost romantic. Then he said, “They aren’t as angry as usual.”
I mustered up the best glare I could, hoping it might shatter the glass in the mirror.
“Yes, that’s the look,” he remarked with a nod.
I tugged the jersey down further and walked over to my phone and switched off the music. Then I had to quickly check my emails to see what was being said on the blogosphere.
He followed me over to the bed and snatched the phone out of my hands.
“What are you doing?” I cried out.
“I hope you realize that I didn’t pay extra for the wireless here and if you’re using roaming on your phone, it’s going to be retardedly expensive.”
“I just need to check something,” I explained, making a grab for it.
He held it high above his head, which was too far for me to reach. I was only 5’2” after all.
“What are you checking?”
“None of your business!”
“I think it is… if you’re checking those blog comments, it’s only going to bring down your whole weekend. We’re here now, and there’s nothing you can do about them. Haters gonna hate.”
I hated that saying.
“I have to promote on Twitter,” I stammered. That was the truth.
“I’ve seen your Twitter. You’ve got haters on there too.”
That wasn’t true. On Twitter I was amassing a range of followers who genuinely seemed interested in me and the show. Twitter had become something of an addiction for me. I probably checked it at least once an hour, which probably was racking up a huge bill while I was in another country.
“I have to text my sister.”
“I’ll text her for you,” he said, and brought the phone up to his face.
I almost agreed to that until I remembered the last text Ada had sent me, about an hour ago. It said, “Are you guys humping like bunnies yet?”
Horror filled me with a jolt and I lunged for the phone while a “Nooooooo!” escaped from my mouth. I nearly knocked Dex backwards. He looked pretty shocked at my outburst and quickly tossed the phone back at me.
“OK, OK. No need to go apeshit here. Save that for the game.”
I quickly stuffed the phone into my jean pocket for added security.
“Just promise that you’ll just use your phone for texting and to stay in touch with your family.”
“Why do you care?” I asked, grabbing my purse and coat.
“I just do,” was his answer. I could tell he wanted to say more but he kept his mouth shut this time, for whatever reason.
Soon we were out on the streets and heading towards the game. It was a bit darker here than it was in Portland and people were out and about, milling on the streets, a mix of early–bird party brats, homeless people and all–around weirdos. It reminded me a lot of home.
The hockey games were housed at a large arena downtown and judging by the number of people in blue jerseys as we got closer, it was the place to be tonight. Without knowing much about the game or the team, I could see that hockey fever in this town was a very contagious and highly flamboyant disease. By the time we reached the steps that led us up into the building, I couldn’t help but feel as excited as everyone else seemed to be.
We made our way up to the level where our seats were (I got a few random high fives from overzealous drunk boys) and Dex immediately made a beeline for the concession stand, where he was hell bent on getting us beers.
“As long as you’re buying,” I said, eyeing the prices. Eight bucks for a beer seemed like highway robbery but I figured it was all part of the experience. And since he was paying, I wasn’t arguing. Dex and I never really got drunk around each other, so it was nice to actually just be real people and have a fun Friday night instead of worrying about ghosts showing up to spoil the show.
Dex handed me my beers – yeah, we got two each, stocking up you know – and walked up through the entrance until we were overlooking the arena.
He said he had gotten the tickets from his boss, Jimmy Kwan. Or should I say, our boss Jimmy Kwan. I’d only met Jimmy the one time when Dex was trying to sell him on the show and I hated him immediately, thanks to his terribly rude personality. He pretty much called me fat and ugly and laughed me out of the office. Well, I might be exaggerating but it was enough to reduce me to tears. But Jimmy also had a million connections and apparently hockey tickets were one of those perks. I probably shouldn’t complain too much about the guy who is paying my meager hourly wage but, hey.
The seats were in the nosebleed section of the arena but luckily from the way the place was laid out, it seemed even the cheap seats got a pretty awesome view of the hockey rink. The seats were also on the aisle, which meant we didn’t have to squeeze past the fans with our overflowing cups of beer in hand.
The tension and excitement in the air was thick and kinetic. The arena smelt like a mixture of ice, chemically cheesed nachos, and stale beer. The people around us were shit–talking the Rangers, which took precedence over the terrible anthem music blaring from the speakers.
“Good thing you’re not a Rangers fan tonight,” I told Dex as he flipped through the game leaflet some kids at the door were handing out.
He shook his head and placed the leaflet in my free hand. “You should probably read up on this, get to know the roster.” He jabbed it with his finger.
I eyed it briefly. “Are you sure you weren’t a teacher in another life?”
He laughed at that. It was nice to see it reach his eyes.
“We would all be doomed.”
I shrugged. “We pretty much already are.”
“Kiddo, I’m afraid you’re the only person who actually listens to me,” he said, peeling the lid off of his beer cup. I knew that wasn’t true. Jimmy seemed to cave into whatever Dex asked of him, and my own parents were somehow shown the light within minutes of meeting him.
“And you barely listen to me at that,” he added. “Not that I blame you.”
“I’m listening now,” I said, leaning in closer to him. We were already quite cozy in our seats and I couldn’t help but want to make it cozier. He brought his eyes to mine and let them slide lazily down my face. “Tell me something,” I said with a soft voice.
He grinned with a boy–like awkwardness that I rarely saw on him. “Yes, m’am.”
And then he proceeded to explain the entire game to me, from what “icing” and “offside” meant, to who did what on the team, who were the best players and what constituted a penalty. If I were a hockey player, I know I’d be in the penalty box for most of the game. I’d wanna just hip–check the f*ck out of everyone.
By the time we were at the intermission before the third period, I was heavily buzzed on four beers and trash–talking the Rangers with the couple next to me.
Dex was beside me being strangely silent. Not that he didn’t lapse into his quiet spells from time to time but considering how enthusiastic he was (and damn loud) every time the Canucks scored, almost scored or made a save, it was a bit strange. When I wasn’t talking to Jim and Trudy (the couple who were next to me) I was stealing glances at him. He was engrossed in his phone and from the way he was chewing on his lip instead of drinking beer, I knew it wasn’t something good. I also knew enough to leave him alone.
I took my attention off of him and looked around at the large crowd. People seemed as lubricated as I was and the atmosphere was infectious.
“How are you liking the game so far?” Jim asked kindly, trying to keep me engaged while Dex was in texting land. He was an amiable looking man in his late 50s, with a shock of white hair and a leather jacket with the Canucks logo on it. He had been coming to games for almost as long as there had been a team.
“I think I’m hooked,” I admitted. “It’s fast, it’s fun and aggressive. Almost makes me want to take up the game myself just so I can beat the crap out of some people and not get in trouble.”
He laughed. “The small ones are the most dangerous. If you play against your friend here, I’d advise him to wear protection.”
I giggled and looked at Dex. He had been telling me earlier that he used to play hockey when he was growing up in New York, and I had a sudden fantasy of tackling him while he was in full uniform. He’d look very sexy.
Dex finally realized that we had been talking about him and looked up from his phone with a sheepish look. What a hypocrite. Even though it was constantly gnawing at the back of my head, this itch that people somewhere out there were talking about me, I hadn’t looked at my phone once this whole game.
“Sorry,” he apologized, putting the phone back in his pocket and eyed Jim. “Are you trying to convince her to play hockey against me?”
“She obviously has a lot of aggression to get out,” said Jim good–naturedly. “I’d be careful with her.”
Dex smirked at me. “Oh, I am. She’d show no mercy against me. She’s a tiny tiger.”
Our eyes locked. A wave of tingles rushed through me. My head felt weighted with the beer and it seemed like there was more than face value to what Dex was saying. Then again, it always felt that way. With us sitting so close to each other it was taking a lot of strength to blot away the impulse to straddle him right there and show him how aggressive I really was.
“Hey!” Jim exclaimed loudly, tapping me hard on the shoulder. It snapped me out of my mini daydream with a jump. He was gesturing up at the screen above the rink. The “Kiss Kam” was on (you know, when they film couples in the crowd and try and convince them to kiss for the cameras) – and it was on us. Us.
There was Dex and I, our big, stupid faces splashed across the massive screen in high definition for the entire arena to see, with hearts drawn around us and a gum logo. I knew what people were expecting. Everyone – and I mean everyone – was looking at us. I suddenly wished the two seats in front of us were occupied so I could hide behind them.
In what felt like slow motion, my head turned to Dex. He was grinning at me, borderline sleazy. He lifted up his arm and put it around me. He took his other hand and touched my chin with his long fingers, tilting my face towards him.
This was happening. He was going to kiss me. In front of thousands of people.
Despite the mix of surprise and anxiousness flooding through me, I coaxed my wide eyes shut, parted my lips, leaned forward and…
SLURP.
He licked my face – from my chin, over my lips and nose, in between the eyes and ending at my forehead. I grimaced automatically, pulling back from the sloppy wet trail of spit he just left. My eyes flashed open to see him laughing like a 12-year old, while everyone else around us joined in too. I don’t know why I thought for one second that Dex would have taken something like a Kiss Kam seriously. I couldn’t have felt stupider.
But to show I was a good sport, I sucked it up and made an even more disgusted face for comic relief. I eyed the screen and luckily it just flashed on to another couple. To satisfy the giggles of the people around us, I took my hand and smacked Dex squarely in the forehead.
“Thanks a lot, you doofus,” I said, rolling my eyes and trying not to sound as embarrassed as I felt. Oh, but he knew. He always knew. That’s why he did it. That jerk.
Jim leaned over me to Dex and said, “You should sleep with one eye open tonight, sonny.” >
Dex nodded at him and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were devilish, enjoying himself immensely. I had the urge to smack him in the head again.
He took his arm off of me and leaned in closer. “Sorry, kiddo,” he whispered in my ear.
I glared at him, hissing, “Would it have killed you to kiss me like a normal person?”
He smiled quickly. “Maybe if it was on a dare…”
I rolled my eyes again and sat up straight in my seat. I was relieved to see that the game was resuming in a few minutes, anything to save me from the awkwardness. On a dare? Or how about if we were about to die? Were those the only two reasons he had? That thought tugged at my heart a little bit, making me feel foolish all over again. I loathed this stupid school girl crush of mine.
He was watching me. I could see that out of the corner of my eye. I wanted him to get out of my head and go back to texting Jenn or whoever the hell he was so wrapped up in minutes earlier.
The players came out on the ice and all the attention was diverted their way. I needed to get wrapped up in the game again. And I did. I finished my beer, started cheering for a fight and slowly forgot about what had happened.
I didn’t say much to Dex, either, and kept my questions directed to Jim instead. He was in the middle of explaining how even though some seats in the arena were empty (such as the ones below Dex and I) that Canucks games had sold out consecutively for many years, when Dex’s phone went off. He snatched it out of his pocket and put it up to his ear.
Jim kept on talking but I didn’t hear a word he was saying. My ears were tuned to Dex’s conversation.
“I can’t talk about this now,” he said roughly into the phone, his voice trembling slightly.
He closed his eyes to whatever the person on the other end was saying. His brow furrowed, scrunching up his forehead in a landscape of expressive lines and the grip on the phone tightened. His other hand came up to his eyes, covering them. I could almost feel his breath seize. I had never seen him like this before. It was fascinating.
Finally, he took his hand away and looked up at nothing in particular. His eyes were red, but not watery. He looked plain scared. I wish I could have heard what the person on the other line was saying to make him look that way.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said to the mystery party, his voice breaking. He looked around him wildly, his eyes catching mine for a second but they didn’t “see” me. Dex could have been anywhere at that moment.
“I can’t do this now,” he cried out.
And then he got up, knocking over one of his beers and started hurrying down the stairs with the phone to his ear, shaking his head as he went. I leaned over and picked up the beer before the spillage reached my feet.
“Bad news?” Jim asked me. I jumped and looked at him, making an uncomfortable face.
“I have no idea,” I said quietly.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said sincerely and then turned his attention back to the game, hinting that I should too.
I tried. I really did, but now all I could think about was Dex. What was going on? Was he OK? As intriguing as it was, I also felt for him. Whatever was going on wasn’t good.
I mulled over what it could be but my inebriated mind couldn’t really come up with anything and the game’s commotion kept distracting me.
Jim tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up to see him standing. A bunch of people on his end were trying to get out and needed me to stand up so that they could pass. I guessed even though there were 15 minutes left in the game, some people liked to beat the rush and leave early.
I flashed them a quick smile, trying not to look annoyed, and rose out of my seat to let them by. They blocked my view of the game momentarily and at what sounded like a very exciting moment.
As soon as they had passed I sat back down just in time to see the Canucks’ goalie, Roberto Luongo, make a great save with his pad. The crowd chanted “Luuuuuuuu,” as they always did when he made a good play (or any play) and I joined along too.
And then I noticed there was a woman sitting in front of me in the previously empty seat. She had probably sat down while I was letting the other people pass. I didn’t know why anyone would catch the last half of the last period but people were fanatical here.
I looked back at the game but something strange brought my attention back to the person. I couldn’t see her properly because a rail was between us and she seemed as short as I, but a feverish tickle at the back of my neck was letting me know something here was wrong. I knew not to ignore that feeling.
My breath slowed as my eyes locked on the back of her head. The hair was old–fashioned, like something Betty Grable would have worn with short, perfectly coiled curls. It was the shade of the palest smokey lavender. I had seen that hair color on someone before.
I wanted to lean forward to get a better look at what she was wearing but I already knew what I was going to see. The puffed taffeta collar at her neck was enough of a hint. As were the glimpses of pom pom appliqués through the rail.
I froze in my seat. My thoughts slowed. I only had one.
She was here.
The lady shifted, subtly, like she was receiving some incoming message from me, and turned around at an excruciatingly slow pace. She really was in slow motion – the rest of the world around me continued on at its regular go.
And then her eyes were peering up at me through the space in the railing. Blank pools of darkness rimmed by a shoddy makeup job. Below them her mouth was spread wide in a disturbing grin, her face cracked by the corners of her shellacked lips. It was a mask of pure and utter derangement and it was looking at me. Looking into me.
Every inch of my body was telling me to run; my nerves were sizzling at their endings from the build–up of dread. I wanted to look at Jim to see if he could see what I saw, to make me feel safe, to make me feel sane, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but watch.
Time seemed to lose all meaning and I wasn’t sure if it was seconds or minutes that passed while I was under her spell, while we just stared at each other like two equally immovable corpses.
Then…
They look at you the way they looked at me.
Her lightly accented words formed in my head, much like they had on previous occasions. She had the ability to talk to me without opening her mouth.
I opened my mouth to say, “Who?” but caught myself. I don’t think I could have formed the words if I’d tried. It didn’t matter anyway because her voice continued resonating inside my skull like I was hearing someone yell underwater.
They’ll always be afraid of you.
Who? I projected.
He’ll fear you too.
Dex? I thought. He had already told me that on several occasions.
A different kind of fear.
What kind of fear?
I loved her so much but the fear drove her away. They put me away.
Who? Who did? Who is she?
It will happen all over again. They’ll take you too. And I won’t be able to help you. It will be too late.
Help me? I thought, while waves of dizziness pulled at my eyes. Despite the anguish in her words, her face remained caught in that same, creepy clown–faced expression. How are you helping me? What do you want from me? Why are you here?
I’m always here. I always have been. But you can’t end up like me.
How the hell would I ever end up like you? I mustered.
It’s easy. You let them talk to you, you talk to them. Everyone will pull away, all the ones that you love, and you’ll realize they never loved you. Not enough. Blood runs thin. There are no ties. And they’ll take you too.
Take me where?! Panic and frustration shivered up my spine. I didn’t know what she was talking about and it was terrifying. She was talking inside my head. She was here. She had to know something.
You’re not crazy. But I’m not here.
What the f*ck?
Be there for him. He may be the only one there for you in the end. The end. When they come for you. That’s the end. Then it’s just you and me. Forever. Forever. Forever.
Her words grew louder and louder as they bounced around in my head until they were as loud as a jackhammer and as painful as a drill. I closed my eyes in pain and put my hands to my ears, vaguely aware that people were staring at me. I thought I heard Jim ask, “Are you all right?” but it was barely audible above the racket inside my brain.
Her face flashed before my closed eyes and she was inside of me. I was unable to escape her stretched, inhumane face. The darkness started to close around me like a cloak. There was no way out.
I screamed and jumped up, stumbling over my purse. The bright lights of the arena blinded my eyes but I kept them focused enough on the ground in front of me. I grabbed my purse and made a run for it, nearly tripping again over Dex’s empty seat, and then flung myself awkwardly down the steps, almost taking out a young boy who was making his way into the stands.
“Sorry,” I cried out, and I got a quick glimpse of where I had been sitting. The crowd around me was staring at me full of amusement and concern, while Creepy Clown Lady sat there, watching me. Always watching me.
I looked away before she could get in my head again, before I could hear her demonic chanting, and booked it down the hallway that lead into the rest of the building. I ran until I was out beside the concession stand we had been at earlier. It was now closed, which made me feel even more creeped out, but there were enough people milling about, leaving the game early, so that I wasn’t entirely alone.
I leaned forward, my hands on my knees. I needed to catch my breath and to lasso my brain, which was running wildly all over the place. What had just happened? And did it actually happen?
I listened, half expecting her voice to resonate in my head again, but there was nothing but the sound of my heart pounding madly and the pulsing flow of blood. I wasn’t as relieved as you would think. I was just worried. She said she wasn’t there, but I had seen her. I had heard her. Rarely do your illusions tell you they are actually illusions. Just how f*cking crazy was I?
As I pondered that, my mind running over what she said, what she could have meant, I realized that Dex was standing nearby. He was leaning against the wall near the entrance to the restrooms, his back to me, his head bent over. It didn’t look like he was on the phone anymore. He looked so vulnerable in his ratty jersey, back to me, back to the things he was afraid of.
A different kind of fear.
I straightened up and walked over to him. Even if he wanted to be alone, I sure as hell didn’t.
“Hey,” I said. I still hadn’t caught my breath yet so the word came out in a whisper.
He didn’t move or flinch. I stopped in front of him. He kept his head down, staring at a spot on the floor. I followed his eyes. There was nothing there.
Did he just have the same experience as I had?
“Dex,” I whispered. “Are you OK? Did you see her too?”
He blinked, a sign that he had heard me, and lifted his head. He looked horrible. His eyes were dull like they had given up seeing anything, his lips were raw and chewed on. His hair was messier than normal, as if he had been pulling it out. I forgot all about clown lady and immediately wanted to embrace him, to smooth down his hair with my hands, to make everything OK. If only I had that power.
“Oh,” he said listlessly. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Neither are you. You look spooked.”
“I am spooked. About you.” And Creepy Clown Lady but for some reason I didn’t feel like I should bring it up, lest the attention get diverted to me. I wanted to know what happened to him. I needed to know.
“Who was on the phone? Who called you?” I asked, carefully placing my hand on his shoulder. He stared at me. From that angle, with the way that his arched brows connected with the bone, he was as unnerving as she had been. I thought he was going to kill me.
I took my hand off of his shoulder. That action broke his concentration. The hate left his eyes, his forehead relaxed.
He came off of the wall and stretched his arms above his head. He groaned, holding the pose for a few seconds, then let his limbs flop to the side. He shook out his shoulders, pursed his lips and said, “You want to get out of here? Game’s almost over. We have this one in the bag.”
There was nothing I wanted more than to get the hell out of there, but I wasn’t going without an answer of some kind.
I sighed and stood rigidly, hoping I conveyed business. It was hard to feel authoritative at my height.
“We’ll go when you tell me what the hell is going on,” I said sternly, keeping my eyes as hard as steel.
He gave me a wry look. “No offense Perry, but some things are a private matter.”
Oh.
“I’m sorry,” I said feebly. “I’m just worried about you.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine.
“Was it Jenn? Is she OK?”
“It’s fine.”
I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it. And after all, why should he discuss personal problems with me? I didn’t discuss personal things with him.
“Now, are you OK?” he asked, taking a step closer.
I quickly nodded. If that’s how he was going to be, I didn’t have to share my fears either. My fears that I might be going insane.
“Then we’re all good,” he stated. “Do you want to come with me to a strip club?”
“Say what?”
“Come on.” He took my arm and led me towards the doors just as the buzzer from inside went off, signaling the end of the game. “Game’s done. The rest of the night awaits.”
* * *
It probably won’t come as much of a surprise to you but I had never been in a strip club before. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, yet it still met my expectations. I’ve never blushed so hard before in my life. >
After we left the hockey arena, beating the throngs of excited and drunk fans by milliseconds, we walked quickly through the brisk night air until we got to a strip club/hotel past our hotel, just at the foot of the Granville St. Bridge.
It was apparent that Dex had been here many times before. It wasn’t like the barely–dressed waitresses knew him by name or anything, but he knew his way around the place all right. For a minute I was certain he was going to make us sit at the foot of the stage where the bare–breasted strippers danced but I think he could tell I was feeling as awkward as anything and led me to a dark, small booth in the corner. We still had a nice view of the stage anyway. Well, nice for him.
“Look at it this way,” he said to me as the waitress gave us our drinks (he ordered us both Jack and Coke, big surprise). “You pay cover going into any other bar nowadays. Might as well get a show with it as well.”
He raised his glass at me. I held up mine.
“Even though these drinks are probably $10 each?” I mused.
“Oh, it’s worth it.” And then we clinked glasses.
I looked around us warily. The place was half full. The creepier guys were as close to the dancers as possible, as were your usual Ed Hardy–wearing douchebags. On the stage the last stripper was just stepping off and another one was coming on. She was dressed in a flurry of sequins and sheer clothing. Having just seen the previous girl exit bare–ass naked, I knew it wouldn’t be long before this one would be as well. She was tall, beautifully crafted (by God and her plastic surgeon) and had a thick wave of ravishingly red hair.
“I guess we’ll find out soon if the carpet matches the drapes,” I said underneath my breath.
“Ha,” he remarked, leaning back in his seat. “There’s not a carpet in this place. All hardwood.”
The music came on and the stripper started her artful grinding.
“Marla always has the best moves here, doesn’t she?” he said, his eyes enraptured with her, as if I’d know. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the way he was looking at her.
“You know her name?”
“You always remember the best ones. That’s not saying much,” he said. I never really took Dex for a stripper sort of guy. In fact, I never really thought of Dex as much of a guy in many respects. But why not? He played video games. He liked rock music. He probably watched a lot of porn as well. And like most guys, it didn’t seem to matter that his own girlfriend was a million times hotter than any of these girls.
I remember finding out my boyfriend in college, Mason, had a nasty porn habit. It wasn’t even that nasty; I was just so shocked. Why did he need porn when he had me? Looking back, I don’t blame him one bit for it. Maybe it’s because now that I was older, I kind of understood. And maybe it would have disappointed the old me to learn that Dex was a frequent customer of strip clubs, but now it didn’t at all. If it hadn’t made me feel deathly insecure about my own appearance, it would have been a turn on. Not that I needed another reason to find my partner attractive.
He shot me a sly look, and asked, “Is this making you uncomfortable?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“You think less of me now.”
I laughed at the mock hurt look on his face. “If anything I think more of you.”
He smiled and reached over for my glass, lifting it up to my face for me to drink. “Good,” he said. “You’re learning.”
I raised my brow but slurped back on the drink. I didn’t need all that much encouragement, though my tiny voice of reason piped up that getting drunk around Dex, at a strip club, was not the best idea. It was only a matter of time before my insecurities starting spilling out of me, leaving me as exposed as Marla, who, at this point, had no hair down there to verify that she was a redhead. Dex was right. All hardwood.
“You need to relax a bit, kiddo,” he said. “Enjoy it. Enjoy the naked ladies and the pervy weirdos and the free booze.”
“I’m sitting with a pervy weirdo.”
“So you should be used to it. And you know what? I need to relax too. This place helps. You just feel things. No need for thoughts here.”
“Except perverted thoughts.”
“That’s not really thinking. That’s instinct.”
He waved over the waitress, this time a different one dressed in a simple black dress. Her hair was cut short, which showed off her cute, minxy face and pouty lips.
“Two more Jack and Coke doubles, sweetheart,” he said to her. He was sleazy about it, which would have bothered me, but I detected that level of amusement that always sat beneath Dex’s surface. In the end, everything was still a bit of a joke.
The waitress eyed me up and down. I had already taken off the Canucks jersey and was just wearing my black top from underneath. “This your girlfriend? She’s cute.”
I fidgeted while Dex said, “She is cute, isn’t she.”
I blushed at what Dex said (and at the fact that he didn’t correct her – it’s the little things). She eyed me again and came in closer to me, smelling like overtly flowery body lotion. “Honey, with your eyes and those breasts, you should be up there too.” And like that, she left, leaving Dex and I saddled with that comment.
My cheeks grew hot, hotter than they had been all night, and I gave Dex an incredulous look.
“Guess it doesn’t matter what sex you are,” I squeaked.
“Don’t be so modest,” he said, turning his attention back to the next dancer, a black girl with a butt that rivaled mine. Maybe I could be a stripper…if I lost a million pounds and wore 10–inch heels.
“I’m not modest…” I trailed off. I really didn’t need to get into it. Once again the booze was just begging for me to open up like a book.
“You know, kiddo…you’re way better than any of these women,” he said seriously, his eyes still on the stage. “You just need some confidence.”
That I knew. And I was getting better. But confidence didn’t come out of nowhere.
“You’ve got a beautiful face,” he continued, his voice a register lower. The roughness of it made the hairs on my arms stand up. “Gorgeous eyes. I mean I’ve rarely seen eyes like yours. F*ck. It’s like looking out at the ocean, trying to read it as the weather’s changing. Perfect lips. The most adorable freckles and the tiniest little nose. You’re like a sexy…bunny.”
I was so confused. Dex was laying on the compliments like I’ve never heard him do before, all the while watching a naked chick gyrate on a pole. The absurdity levels were overflowing tonight.
I didn’t know what to say…did he just say I was gorgeous? Did he just compare me to a rabbit? But he ended up turning his face to meet mine, looking surprised at my dumb expression.
“Speechless? That’s a start.”
At that, the waitress came by and plunked our drinks down. Dex slipped her $25 bucks with a wink. In turn, she winked at me and sauntered off.
“Has no one ever complimented you before?” he asked honestly, once she had left. He pushed my drink into my hands even though I wasn’t done with the other one.
I shook my head. I mean, I’ve heard I was cute. And I knew I wasn’t as bad as my ego wanted me to believe. When I called myself fat, I knew I wasn’t actually fat anymore (though I definitely was back in the day), I just knew I was miles from perfect. And if I wasn’t perfect, like Jenn, like these girls stripping, like the women on TV, then what was the point? I might as well give up.
He was watching me closely. I focused my eyes on his.
“Can you see the ocean now?” I challenged.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You don’t believe me. But you want to. You still think you’re fat. Or something. You think those f*cktards on the internet are on to something.”
That actually is what I was about to think next. His insightfulness was crazy. Was I really that easy to read?
“I really hate you sometimes,” I blurted out.
He shrugged. “I don’t blame you. I hate myself too sometimes. Often. Look, I brought my partner to a strip club while on assignment, and not a very good strip club at that. We might as well be at Hooters. I guess I am just a pervert with rapist facial hair.”
“Well, you’re my kind of pervert,” I said. And then immediately regretted it. You’re my kind of pervert? What the hell was that? So, I covered it up with, “And I probably don’t need this drink.”
“Yeah you do. So do I.” He downed his drink and moved on to the next one. He stared down at the fizzy bubbles for a beat, taking in a deep breath.
“Honestly kiddo? You’re beautiful. You use your weight as an excuse but you’re just all woman. Not every woman has to look like a stripper. Or a model. Or Megan Fox. You’re petite, have a tiny waist, a fantastic rack, a devastating ass…what the hell more do you want? You should know it. Everyone else knows it…that’s why you’re getting all these asinine comments. Can’t you just see that it’s just jealously that’s ripping these people apart?”
I swallowed hard, my cheeks still burning, my heart pounding hard against my ribcage. I felt tingly, dizzy, awkward. The man I loved just told me how beautiful I was. I could barely explain it. How could he just say these things to me? Didn’t he know?
“And now I’ve embarrassed you. Which was my plan.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “So you didn’t mean any of that?”
He grinned at me. His eyes looked a bit sloppy. He was feeling the bourbon as well.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, slapping the table with his palm and heading off towards what I assumed were the bathrooms. Probably to jerk off. Though at this point, I wasn’t exactly sure who he would be jerking off about. I could pretty much guarantee it wasn’t Jenn for once. I’d be lying if I didn’t have a sick, twisted little thrill about that. That was fantasy fodder for later.
I sat back in the booth and carefully sipped my new drink. It was much stronger than the other one. Bartender probably poured me a triple. I didn’t drink all that often and tonight I think I drank more than I had all year. But I did feel relaxed…despite everything that had been going on. Despite the comments and my parents and Creepy Clown Lady telling me people would be coming to take me away…
OK, I probably shouldn’t have thought of that last one. Suddenly her face was all I saw. I shut my eyes hard, hoping to will it away, hoping her disembodied, foreign voice wouldn’t infiltrate my senses and barge into a place I had protected. I was at a strip club with Dex. That alone was enough for me to focus on.
When I opened my eyes again I was shocked to see a woman standing in front of me. But it wasn’t Creepy Clown Lady – far from it. It was Marla, the redhaired ravisher. She was clothed again, this time in tight club gear. She smiled at me with perfect teeth, which had me calculating how much they would have cost and how much she made a night.
I stared at her teeth for so long that she stepped forward and put her hand on the table, leaning forward.
“So, how about this?” she purred, her voice somewhere between cat and lion.
“Uhhh,” I stuttered, not sure what she meant.
“It’s your call. Want to do it here?”
“What?”
“Your boyfriend bought me, silly. For you.”
I looked over her shoulder and saw Dex slowly making his way over, another drink in his hand. He stopped a yard away, leaned against the wall and just watched us. It was…weird. Unnerving. Perverted.
I gave the girl, Marla, an innocent look. “I don’t think he meant to buy you…least not for me.”
She chuckled, rich and throaty. “It’s just a lap dance, sweetie.”
She grabbed my arms and pulled me out so I was sitting at the edge of the booth. And she started moving, slowly, up and down like a silk–skinned snake. Ironically it was to a song called “Stripsearch.”
I wanted to laugh. Badly. But I kept it in and watched it all unfold. After all, I didn’t have to do anything. I just had to sit and watch.
Marla had some smooth moves (and smooth skin) with some intense eye contact action. It was enough that I had to look away half the time, especially when her clothes started coming off. Was that even part of the lap dance? Or did the rules not count because I was a girl?
I brought my eyes over to Dex, who still stood behind Marla, watching the whole thing go down with a strange look on his face. It was conflicted. Maybe he wasn’t sure what he should be staring at. His quivering nervous partner or the quivering naked Marla with the excellent taste in music?
He took a few steps forward and finally met my own eyes. He was chewing away on his lip, ignoring the underwear that she just discarded on the floor, ignoring the fact that she was stroking my knees and bending over in front of him.
I don’t think I ever felt so awkward in my life. Keeping my attention on Dex instead of Marla was only helping marginally. Both felt off.
There’s something wrong with him.
The thought flashed through my brain, distracting me from Marla’s buoyant bosom that was waving in my face. She noticed this look. She reached for my head and slipped her hands into my hair. She brought her lips up to mine and I thought she was going to kiss me. All I could think about was how her red lipstick was going to make a mess of my face.
But she just whispered, “Relax. This is really all for him. He wants to see you loosen up. Enjoy it.” She pulled away and winked at me.
She danced for a few beats more to the driving guitar at the end of the tune. And then the song was over. She picked up a robe that had come from out of nowhere and walked past Dex without any acknowledgement. He followed her walk with his leering eyes. Then came back to the booth and plopped down in his seat. >
I stared at him, not amused. I know Dex was just being like any other guy, getting off on the idea of two chicks getting it on, or something close to that. But there was something off about him tonight. When I thought there was something wrong with him, there was a reason. He was being strange; I could see it in his eyes when he didn’t know I was looking. I wondered if it had anything to do with the phone call from earlier.
Then another thought flashed through my head. One that made me perk up a bit and then feel guilty for doing so. What if Jenn broke up with him? Or visa versa? What if Dex was a single man now? I mean, the strip club is usually the first place they go after a breakup…
“What?” he asked lazily.
“Nothing,” I said. I pulled out my phone and looked at the time. It was getting late and we did have a ferry to catch in the morning. I could do well on little sleep, but not when combined with a hangover.
“You want to go?”
I nodded. “I had fun though.” I didn’t want him to think I was ungrateful. It was my own idea that we hang out outside of work…although I didn’t in a million years expect that we’d go to a hockey game and a strip club in another country. “Obviously you had more fun than me. Though you weren’t in the bathroom all that long.”
I expected him to laugh at that or protest. He was watching me closely instead. I took my sight off him and watched the stripper on the stage. I didn’t want him to read me anymore. It didn’t seem fair.
“I hope you remember what I’ve said,” he said earnestly. He finished the rest of his drink in a few gulps, got out of his seat and walked around to my end. He held out his hand for me.
“Everytime I think of strip clubs, I will think of you,” I joked, taking his hand and letting him pull me up.
He pulled me up so I was right up into his chest. I was expecting him to take a step back but he didn’t. I could feel the bottom of his scruffy chin grazing the top of my head. He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back just enough to get a better look at me.
“I hope next time you feel – well, retarded – about yourself, you’ll remember that I think you’re…”
I looked up into his eyes. They were drunk, yes, but still absolutely mesmerizing.
He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead he said, “Sorry I licked your face.”
He turned and started to make his way out of the club. I followed in a hurry, feeling the eyes of the patrons and waitresses staring at me. We must have seemed like quite an odd pair.
We went back to the hotel but I didn’t fall asleep for at least two hours. My mind kept going over the events of the night. Creepy Clown Lady was a definite cause for alarm (or panic, or madness) but it was Dex’s words that kept resonating throughout, digging deeper at my heart and causing it to flutter with random palpitations. Did he really mean what he said? And if he did…what were we doing? I didn’t want him to go back to his hotel room, I wanted him in this big empty bed, beside me. I wanted to put more dirty and obscene thoughts in his head. I wanted to feel that he wanted me, not to just hear it.
Did I see a glimpse of the real Dex tonight? Or was that someone else, just a mask to cover up what was really going on, what he really wanted to hide.
I didn’t even think about checking my phone once.