The Space In Between(10)

I wasn’t as interested. “Of course, and some nice herpes on the side.”
Kyle sat back in his seat; he appeared f*cking shocked by my statement. Really? Was it that shocking that I didn’t want herpes?
“You're so judgmental it’s sick. It really is, Cooper. Jasmine is a very pleasant girl.”
“So let me get this straight. You want me to have sex with a prostitute that you’ve slept with? No thanks.”
“Stop it, stop it.” Kyle was outraged. Growing extremely protective of this Jasmine chick, he snapped at me. “She's not a prostitute, jerk. She's a stripper, and I don't appreciate how you are talking about her. My God. When did you become so disrespectful? It’s disgusting. Besides, it’s her friend who you are meeting up with.”
“You're serious? I thought you wanted me to lay low?”My fingers ran across my eyebrows, trying to figure out if he were serious or not.
“Look, Coop. Think of this as a renewing of your life. I’ll get you through the back entrance. No one will ever know. Jasmine just texted me the girl’s number. You got your new phone? Type it in. I'll tell you what. If it works, you do one of the many magazine interviews that are coming in. You deal with your issues with Iris. You at least consider the other television offers I have been getting. And you do what you do best, and make us a shitload of money.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” I questioned.
Kyle lowered his eyebrows and rubbed his fingers across the bridge of his nose. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll look into your ‘indie photographer’ mumbo jumbo.”
“Really?” That sparked my interest enough.
“Really. Jesus would agree. Listen, just don’t get all…weird. Okay? Like, don’t tell anyone about this ‘I met Jesus and he changed my life in a psych ward’ type crap. Get a lap dance. Maybe have a little sex. Just try to act like the guy you were before you found out your wife…” Kyle’s sentence faded off and I was quick to chime in.
“Found out my wife was a cheating, pregnant whore?”
Kyle nodded as he picked up his bread roll and took a bite out of it. “Exactly.”


Chapter Five

PROMISES. PROMISES TO love one another. To pick up the milk on the way home. To not raise your children like your parents raised you. To follow each other’s dreams. Promises to fight at least once a month over some mediocre crap—and follow it up with some killer make-up sex. To be with one another forever and always. Til death do us part. Til death do us part…
Screw promises.
I just got a promotion.
It smelled like crap in this place—a miniature dressing room with too much hairspray, too many perfumes, and an overload of glitter. I stood in front of the full-length mirror that had a feathery boa lying across it and studied my body. I was wearing nothing more than a safari hat, a black trench coat, and five-inch-high stiletto heels. I hadn’t even noticed I was digging my fake nails into the palms of my hands until Ladasha came over and placed her hands on my shoulders.
“You don’t have to do this, Andrea,” she said. I guessed she could see the fear in my eyes. I shook my head. Our rent was falling behind and she had already stretched herself thin to make me comfortable in New York City. Plus, I was the one who ran off our other roommate with my issues. I wasn’t going to let Ladasha down again.
“Don’t worry, Shot Girl. I got you a good one tonight.” Jasmine grinned as she sat at her cramped makeup table. She was the best dancer in this whole place, and our boss, Roger, made sure to always give her the closing number on stage. Jasmine made more money in a week than some people working in Hollywood, but she also had a side job that helped up her profit. Her thick Brooklyn accent and hoarse voice filled the air as she applied more mascara onto her outrageously fake lashes. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get him to take you to his place afterwards. You’ll be eatin’ off that money for the whole month.”
My stomach bubbled up as I shot a dirty look her way. “I don’t sleep with guys.” The thought alone made me think of Derrick, and instant guilt hit me.
Jasmine stood up from her seat and chuckled as she walked to me with her jet black hair falling down to her waist. “Wasn’t it just yesterday you didn’t even strip, Shot Girl? What you waiting for? You waiting for God to pay your bills? I don’t know about you but I’m gonna get mine right now, and I suggest you do the same.”
With that, she left me standing there, filled with an overwhelming feeling of vomit trying to escape from my gut. Ladasha rolled her eyes and told me not to listen to Jasmine, but how could I not? She was right— just yesterday I wasn’t a stripper.
I looked at myself and watched my bottom lip quiver. Ladasha tried to convince me there was another way to get the money for rent and I shouldn’t worry about such things. But I wasn’t ready to back down. I could do it. I just needed her to give me a few of her comforting words to ease the freak out that was about to be released into the world.
Ladasha could tell how seriously I was in need of a pep talk so she delivered her best one. “Pretty Woman,” she said.
“What?”
“Pretty Woman. Name the rules. Before she was stupid and went and fell in love and got rich and shit.” She was serious. Most of Ladasha’s best pep talks were based off movies. She was addicted to all movies, and it would be a shock if she didn’t know what was playing in the nearest theater.
I nodded as I thought over the rules of Pretty Woman. “No personal information. No kissing on the lips. No second meet up.”