Things We Do in the Dark(31)

Yes. He was.

“You must be hungry. I’ll heat up last night’s pizza.”

Her mother pulled her up. She kissed the top of Joey’s head, then wrinkled her nose.

“You smell like cologne. Go take a shower.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Drew has read five of the six diaries, and he’s not sure how much of Joey’s words will make it into the podcast. It’s a fine line between talking about the horror of a mother Ruby was, and revealing Joey’s personal pain for the world to see. It may not be possible to do one without the other, but ultimately, he owes it to her to tell the truth as best he can.

Back in the old neighborhood once again, he looks up at the black-painted exterior of the Golden Cherry, where the pink neon GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS sign used to be. All they’ve kept are the gold neon cherries above the same gaudy brass doors, but it’s enough to hint at the nightclub’s history. Drew could have stopped in after his lunch with Deborah Jackson the other day, but he wasn’t ready then.

He’s not sure he’s ready now. But if he wants to learn about the last year of Joey’s life, which was the year he was in Vancouver, then the former strip club is probably the best place to start. He called earlier, and whoever answered the phone had told him to stop in before the club opened.

He tugs on the door and it opens easily. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden dimness, but when they do, he can see quite well. There are light sconces on all the walls, and the pendant lights above the bar are turned on.

“Hello?” Drew calls out. “Anyone here?”

Without bodies to fill the space, his voice echoes. The room is cavernous. The main level, which used to be filled with tables and chairs, is now one large, empty dance floor. Still, there are reminders everywhere of the Cherry it used to be. The old sign from outside that read GENTLEMEN’S CLUB has been relocated above the bar, which spans the length of the side wall. The original stage has been converted into a raised VIP area with tables and loveseats, but the three stripper poles are where they’ve always been. Mounted on the wall behind the stage is a neon sign that reads CHAMPAGNE ROOM. And directly across the dance floor, just above the projection screen that’s two stories high, is the original GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS sign. Everything is turned off, and the projection screen is blank, but he can imagine how cool it must all look when the nightclub is in full swing.

The memories come flooding back.

“Can I help you?” a woman’s voice calls out.

Drew looks around, trying to determine the direction the voice is coming from, and spots a blond woman in a red pantsuit watching him from the second level.

“The deliveries come in through the back,” she says. “You’re supposed to ring the bell. My partner will be back soon.”

He catches the tension in her voice. She probably didn’t realize the front doors were unlocked.

“I’m not delivering anything,” Drew calls up. “I phoned earlier, hoping to talk to someone who might have worked here back when this place was a strip club.”

“And who are you?” she asks.

“I’m a journalist. I’m working on a story about a friend of mine who used to dance here back in 1998.”

“Stay exactly where you are,” she says, and disappears.

Ten seconds later, he sees her coming down the spiral staircase, one hand on the railing, the other carrying a pair of red high heels. When she reaches the bottom, she slips her shoes on, then heads straight to the bar and flicks a switch. The neon signs throughout the club light up in a burst of glowing color, and the giant screen projector turns on. An artsy slow-motion black-and-white video begins to play, and it’s of strippers doing what they do best … stripping.

The effect is nothing short of astounding. Whoever transformed this place did an exceptional job of making the Cherry operate like a nightclub, while still feeling like a strip club.

“This is incredible.” Drew can’t conceal his amazement. “Am I too old to party here?”

“You’re asking the wrong girl,” the woman in red says.

She remains behind the bar, her posture erect. It’s obvious she’s alone, and he can see he’s making her nervous. You’re a man, his mother used to constantly remind Drew when he was growing up. Be mindful of how you appear to women, and keep your distance unless invited. Think of how your sisters would feel.

Drew stays where he is, near the entrance.

“I remember every girl who worked for me,” the woman says. “What was your friend’s name?”

“Joelle Reyes,” Drew says. “But everybody called her Joey.”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell.” The woman frowns. “Back in ninety-eight, you said? Do you have a picture?”

“I don’t.” Drew realized the other day that he doesn’t have a single photo of Joey. Somewhere in his storage locker at the condo is an ancient digital camera with a long-dead battery, and it’s possible there’s a picture of her on it from back in the day. But he doubts it. Joey hated having her picture taken. “She was half Filipino, about five five, with long black hair?”

The woman smiles. “I had two girls like that back then. One called herself Betty Savage. The other went by Ruby.”

Drew isn’t sure he heard her correctly. “Her stripper name was Ruby?”