Birthday Girl(97)

I drop the tube, having reached nearly the end.

“So, you’re fine, then?” I ask, for clarification.

“Yeah.”

“Will you come home?”

But he shrugs, looking unsure. “It would be uncomfortable, I think. I want Jordan to stay here as long as she needs.”

I approach him. I’m still a couple inches taller than him, but I’m always surprised at how much bigger he seems every time I see him.

I hesitate to say it, because I don’t want her to go anywhere, but I know Cole’s place is here. “I can find a different arrangement for her,” I tell him.

I can figure something out to make sure they’re both taken care of.

He doesn’t seem to need to think about it, though. “No.” He shakes his head, squaring his shoulders. “It wouldn’t be worth it. I’ll have my own place soon anyway.”

“Really?” Now I am worried. This new job seems a little too good to be true. “You’re making me nervous again,” I tell him.

But he just starts chuckling again, and then he turns his attention back to the vacuum, and I join him in hauling it up.

“Listen,” he says, “I wanted to get my first tat before this job starts. I was thinking we could get one together. Would you want to?” He flashes me a nervous look, and I can tell it was hard for him to ask. “Like next weekend?”

A tattoo?

The last one I got, he was two, I think. It’s not really what I’m into anymore, but I’d definitely do it for him. I’m just grateful he’s even asking to do anything with me.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Sounds good.”

I even know what I want to get, too, the idea pops in my head so fast.

“Come on,” he nudges, pulling on the vacuum. “I’ll help you with this, and then I’m gonna go meet up with friends, okay?”

“Yeah.” I pull on the last of the tube, and the vacuum emerges, draining water.

I have a little errand to run, too, actually.





I don’t even think anyone under twenty-one is allowed in this place unless they’re an employee, and Jordan better not be. I have a fleeting thought on the way over to call and report Mick Chan for letting a nineteen-year-old in his strip club, but it’s not like I didn’t take advantage of lenient bar owners when I was nineteen, either. Plus, it would just piss Jordan off more. I can hear her now. Oh, I’m old enough for you to go down on but not old enough to have a drink?

Well, yes, legally speaking. If she wants to get technical about it, anyway.

Sliding my keys into my pocket, I head across the parking lot and pull open the door to The Hook. The music bounces off the walls and vibrates under my feet, and I inhale the familiar smell of the orchid-scented shampoo Mick always uses for the carpets. It smells like the flood of perfume you get walking into a high-end casino that’s trying to cover up the odor of cigarettes. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in here, but all of a sudden, I’m nineteen again.

I pay the cover and walk in, stopping as I pass the bar and see the sea of people in the place. Young guys, older men, a few women and couples, purple lights under the white stage and streams of smoke drifting up into the air from the orange ends of cigarettes.

Apprehension takes hold. I shouldn’t have come here.

I should leave before she sees me. She’s an adult, she’s taken good care of herself for a long time, and that little voice in my head is right. If I can take her to bed and keep her up half the night going at it, then she’s old enough to make her own choices. She should be able to go with her friends. I want her to go out with her friends.

I just don’t want her here, because I know Mick wants her, she needs money, and I made her situation in my home feel shaky tonight. She’s upset, and what if she starts thinking she needs to move out? What if she has a few drinks and decides she needs to make some extra money?

I run my hand through my hair, feeling the gel I put in it and remembering how I got cleaned up for her. I even changed my clothes.

I glance down at the navy blue suit I bought last year for Cole’s graduation, but I left off the tie tonight. Just a white shirt, open at the collar, and some black shoes. I don’t know why I put it on, because I’m feeling fucking stupid now, but I think I just want her to know that I’m not an open book. I can be different. I can still surprise her.

I back up to leave, praying she hasn’t seen me, but the crowd in the club cheers and bellows, and my attention is drawn to the stage where a group of girls stand in a line.

They’re dressed in everything from jeans to skirts to thongs, looking nervous but giggling and playful. A couple women have already started the contest, and it seems the will to win three-hundred dollars now calls for more extreme measures than back in my day. Two women are already wet, some older woman coming by and dumping pitchers of water all over them as they reach inside their drenched shirts and jiggle their breasts and then turn around, straddling the floor as they shake their asses for the roaring crowd. More water gets dumped all over their backs. Heads of wet hair fly, and they may as well be fucking naked. They practically are.

Some of the guys have their camera phones out, and I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed, but no one cares. These women are not amateurs, are they? Jordan can’t do that shit.