Good Time(44)

I could ask him what exactly our status is, as a couple. I know I could ask. I know I should ask. But the thing is, this marriage is still very new. So I don’t want to remind him that we’re married by asking about the marriage. You know? Fine, you probably don’t know, but it’s a really tricky situation and I’m not a marriage expert. It’s not as though you’d ask a guy you’d been dating a week what his intentions were. I just happened to marry a guy and then date him for a week after the wedding. By ‘just happen’ I mean a drunken elopement that is no more than seventy percent my fault. Fine, eighty. Eighty-five percent, max.

Maybe you’d know better how to handle it, if it happened to you. Maybe you’d never get yourself in such a situation to begin with. I get it—I have a lot of opinions on things too—but I’m not an expert on anything. I’m not even an expert on being me, but I’m trying. I’m trying to be the best me I can be. I’m trying to make the best of this incredibly bizarre situation I’m in and work out my feelings for Vince at the same time. Live my best life and all that.





*



On Saturday morning Vince gets up before I do, per the routine that’s been set all week. Except it’s Saturday, so it kinda sucks and catches me a bit off guard. He told me he had work to do, kissed me on my forehead and left. I was half asleep due to an early-morning round of sex so I didn’t protest. It didn’t even occur to me that it was Saturday until I awoke some time later and realized I had nowhere to be.

And that I had no plans with Vince for the weekend. Or in general, really.

I wonder where he’s at. The club? His law office? I don’t even know where his law office is. Downtown, he said, when I asked if he ran the law firm from the club. He laughed. I suppose the idea of a bunch of lawyers working out of a gentlemen’s club is rather ridiculous.

It occurs to me that I wanted to take more of an interest in his hobbies. Just last night he watched the new episode of Married at First Sight with me because I told him it was my hobby. Which is true—it’s sort of a hobby, right? Watching reality television? It is for me, I decide, and I don’t think anyone should judge anyone else’s hobbies. Besides, I find it both relaxing and informative so it’s more of an educational hobby.

In any case, I should take an interest in Vince’s hobbies. It’d be so wifely of me.

As luck would have it, I have just the idea.





Chapter Twenty-Three





“Okay, where do I start?” I eye the pole and take a test swing around. By swing I mean both my feet are firmly on the floor, one hand on the pole, and I let the momentum of my upper body swing me around.

“Well, you can start by taking off the stripper heels. If you break your ankle Vince is going to kill me.”

“They’re just my regular fuck-me heels. Stripper heels seems offensive, no?”

“Just take them off.”

I sigh and kick my heels off, pushing them out of the way with my toe.

“We don’t even offer dance classes, but you’re oddly convincing.” Staci frowns like she’s not sure how she’s found herself here. We’re on the main floor of Double Diamonds in a sort of side room. It’s off the main entrance, but it was empty and the lights dimmed, kinda like a section in a restaurant that hasn’t been assigned a waitress. There are two poles on this stage and it’s a little bit quieter in here because we’ve turned the speakers off—the music from the main stage is more than loud enough to reach us, but this way we can talk. “Are you sure Vince said this was okay? I don’t want to lose my scholarship.”

Err. Technically what I told her is that Vince wouldn’t mind. I don’t think I said he said it was okay. When I said he wouldn’t mind I meant that as my impression of what Vince’s feelings would be, not an actual conversation.

“That’s a positive attribute, don’t you think? Being convincing?”

“Sure?” Staci shrugs like she’s completely indifferent to the value of a convincing argument. Or the ability to get someone to teach you how to pole-dance.

I wonder why she called her job a scholarship? Is it some kind of bullshit strip club lingo? I should know the lingo.

“Why did you say ‘scholarship?’ Is that some kind of word that means ‘job?’”

“No.” Staci glances over at me like I’m the one not making any sense. “I’m in law school at UNLV. On a club scholarship.”

Right. A club scholarship. I’m about to ask what the hell that means when Staci’s attention is diverted.

“We’re in training,” Staci says to a guy who attempts to come in and watch. I smile and wave because I appreciate the support. If I was actually trying to earn money as a dancer it’s good to know I have tip-earning potential. Plus I’m in workout shorts and a sports bra, my hair in a ponytail, so it’s not exactly like I’m putting forth a real effort here.

“Who comes to a gentlemen’s club at eleven in the morning?” I ask Staci once the guy has left.

“Guys who work overnights, usually. Sometimes retirees. Lonely people, mostly. The world is filled with lonely people, Payton, just looking for a little human interaction wherever they can get it. I’ve got a weekday regular who comes in, drinks coffee and reads the paper. Says he likes the chairs.” Staci shrugs again.