Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(7)

I took for granted that Hannah would confide in me, tell me honestly if my cousin worked with her, and be discrete. Not only did she not answer my questions, she’d turned to stone. She’d also advised me to stop asking around if—assuming Heather was stripping at a local club—I didn’t want my cousin to cut and run.

Hannah had eventually explained that dancers, bouncers, and especially club owners never, never, never gave up information about each other. You never knew if a dancer was running from a bad situation, like trying to escape an abusive family. It was also how they kept the women safe from angry spouses and entitled customers, which was one of the reasons why all dancers had a stage name.

“You have four beautiful children who need you.” My momma’s voice cracked. “You have a good job. You’re a respectable, Godly woman. I am asking you again to rethink this. What will people in town say? Think of your reputation. Your aunt and uncle cannot ask you to debase yourself in this way.”

Gritting my teeth, I stared out the windshield. “I can still be respectable and help my family, Momma. No one is going to care if I spend two weeks this summer stripping in a local club. Why would they?”

“Charlotte.” My mother shifted forward in her seat and spoke right next to my ear. “I know this might be hard for you to believe, but people do gossip in Green Valley.” Her tone had turned patronizing, like it always did when she spoke to me about ‘proper behavior.’ “Your whole life, you’ve pretended like no one cares what you do. You never think or consider what people might say, how perception will impact your reputation. But you are gossiped about. Make no mistake. People have an opinion about you.”

“Yes, Mother. I know gossip exists in this town, gossip exists everywhere,” I seethed. “But I’m never going to care what other people say about me, nor am I going to pay attention to it.”

“It would do you good to pay attention to what they say about you and what they say about other folks, too. I think you’re the only person in this whole town who didn’t know that Diane Donner ran away with that motorcycle man.”

I huffed a dry laugh. “Are we seriously talking about Diane Donner right now? And that was like ten years ago, wasn’t it?”

“It was four years ago, not ten,” she said primly. “And this is exactly what I’m talking about, this is the problem with you. Folks are still talking about Diane and that man, and you don’t even know when it happened.”

“Who cares?! Why are we discussing this foolishness? What does Diane Donner have to do with anything?”

“You got nothing but cotton between your ears if you think folks in this town don’t love to gossip and judge, and pretending they don’t makes you the fool.” She lifted her voice, now yelling at me. “Everybody knows the story except you! You bury your head in the sand and—”

“You think I have space in my brain for what other folks are doing or not doing?” I yelled back. “Two of my kids are picky eaters whose palate changes based on the weather. I can’t keep up with who hates mustard and who hates mayonnaise, and you want me to give a crap about Diane Donner’s boyfriend?”

“It was the scandal of the century!” she shrieked dramatically.

“Again, why would I care?!” I turned and faced her again, my eyes probably wild with frustration. But how the heck had we arrived here? My mother and I yelling at each other in the parking lot of Hank Weller’s strip club about Diane Donner, former high society matron who’d disappeared ten—or, I guess, four—years ago? Who gave a flying flip about Diane Donner? We had bigger fish to fry.

“Listen.” I tried to calm my temper, cool my tone. “I don’t care about what other folks are doing or not doing unless they're my friend and need help. Now, can we please move on and focus on what I need to do to interview or audition at The G-Spot?”

Aunt Maddie, who’d started crying quietly during my shouting match with my mother, shook her head. “I don’t know, Charlotte. I think I agree with your momma. I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt at that other club.”

“Please, just trust me, okay? Finding Heather is the most important thing. Besides, you didn’t ask, I offered.” Dancing on stage in front of horny men couldn’t be any worse or more challenging than holding twenty-seven parent–teacher conferences in three days, or cleaning up after kindergarteners five days a week, or solo balancing the needs of my own children 24-7.

“But taking your clothes off,” my mother whined, no longer yelling. “Your modesty—”

I’d had enough. “Momma, I’ve had four children, my legs spread-eagle each time. Half the hospital has seen me more naked than I’ll be at The G-Spot.” Assuming I get the job. “And I’ve breastfed four babies. Everyone in this town has seen my boobs, several times. They are boobs, not a treasure chest full of pirate gold. And! I haven’t gone to the bathroom alone since Kimmy was born. I poop in front of an audience every day. Modesty holds no meaning for me, and besides, what use am I getting out of this body? At least I’ll get paid for showing it off.”

My mother gasped and I forced myself to shut my mouth. I didn’t want to upset my mother any more than was absolutely necessary. She’d always tried her best to love me, even when I didn’t make things easy. But I didn’t know how to be anyone other than myself. She’d always wanted a daughter as demure as she’d been: soft-spoken, decorous. Elegant. The poor woman had been given me instead.