Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(12)
I didn’t realize most strippers were independent contractors, but I supposed it made sense. It gave them freedom to perform at more than one club or leave for months at a time if they wanted. Jasper and one of the strippers who happened to be present—a woman who called herself Mason Dixon—also told me to save all my costume and props receipts as they’d be tax deductible.
“Funny thing, Beau was trying to get a hold of you”—Jethro lifted his chin toward his wife—“they were trying to track down Charlotte when they couldn’t reach her phone. He asked that I make sure Charlotte stays put until they get here.” Jethro popped the grape in his mouth and grabbed another.
Jethro and Sienna looked at me while I tried to breathe past the summersault in my stomach without squirming. What could Hank possibly want with me? He’d made it clear enough on Sunday that he found my existence offensive.
“How . . . interesting.” Sienna tapped her bottom lip with the pen she still held. “To be clear, you’re talking about our Hank? Strip club owner and Harvard dropout?”
“That’s the one.” Jethro nodded, still scrutinizing me. “I didn’t think you and Hank got along, Charlotte.”
I sputtered for a moment before managing, “We don’t not get along.” My voice was oddly pitched, the words arriving stunted and unsure, so I cleared my throat. “We barely know each other.”
The side of his mouth tugged down. “He’s not a bad guy, despite what the gossips in town like to spread around. He’s—you know . . .”
“Pushy? Single-minded? Impatient? Thinks he knows better than everyone else?” Sienna filled in, smiling softly. She must’ve misread the turmoil shadowing my features, adding as though to explain, “I knew Hank in college. I didn’t put up with his abruptness or grouchiness and I made him laugh, so he and I got along really well. But other people found him a bit much.”
Huh. I didn’t know Sienna and Hank had gone to college together . . . did I? It seemed like something I should’ve known. Maybe I did know and I forgot. Quite possible. My memory retention wasn’t the best, thanks to the sleep deprivation associated with having kids.
“Did they say why they want to talk to Charlotte?” Sienna stole the grape from Jethro and quickly ate it, smiling at him while she chewed.
Giving her what looked like a mock-irritated glare, he grabbed a few more grapes and held them protectively against his chest. “Beau said Hank has an offer for Charlotte that she’ll want to consider. That’s all he said.”
Once more, Sienna and Jethro turned their attention to me, and the pause that followed felt empty. Obviously, they wanted me to fill it. Mashing my lips together, I affixed my attention out the window again and silently begged one of my children to do something objectionable, like start crying for no reason or shove something into an orifice—theirs or someone else’s.
Wouldn’t you know it? The one time I wanted my kids to interrupt adult-time was the only harmonized, collectively well-behaved moment in their lives.
“Charlotte?” Sienna sing-songed, sounding playful. “What’s going on? What kind of offer do you think Hank is going to make?”
“I suppose it’s going to come out sooner or later,” I muttered, lifting my eyes to the ceiling to avoid witnessing Sienna and Jethro’s reactions. “I’ve decided to—to, uh, strip at The G-Spot.”
Jethro made a choking noise, drawing my attention back to him. He looked visibly stunned.
Sienna glanced between us. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Please tell me this is a joke,” Jethro rasped, his eyes huge.
I gave him a steady stare. “It’s not a joke and it’ll be fine. I already talked to Jackson and he confirmed that violence against the dancers is extremely rare. No arrests have been made in over ten years.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen!” he exploded, making me flinch. “That means they don’t report it because those bikers are mean fuckers and they don’t want retaliation. Charlotte”—Jethro’s eyes turned beseeching—“why are you doing this? Do you need money? We’ll loan you money. Don’t do this.”
My chest seized and I caught my bottom lip between my teeth. I hadn’t thought about underreporting being a possible explanation for no arrests.
Sienna turned her concerned attention to me. “I don’t know anything about this—this—”
“Strip club. It’s called The G-Spot and it’s extremely dangerous,” Jethro ground out.
“I don’t know anything about this club, but I think what Jethro meant to say is, even though what you do and who you do it with is none of our business—and we won’t interfere or meddle in your business if this is important to you—if the reason you’re considering dancing at The G-Spot is because you need money and you don’t feel like you have any options, please know that you can ask us.”
“That is not what I meant,” Jethro snapped, causing both Sienna and me to gape at him. I’d never heard Jethro speak that way to his wife or his kids. He was the most even-tempered person I knew. Cool, calm under pressure, self-assured.
But at present, a vein was pulsing in his forehead and he was giving me a fiery look that made the fine hairs on my forearms stand on end. “You cannot work there. You have four kids and you are not this stupid. I don’t care what your reasons are, you will not. Do you hear me? And if I find out that you have, Beau, Cletus, and I will drive over there and extract you. I don’t care if you’re kicking and screaming. Hell, even Billy and Roscoe would fly out.”