The Space In Between(31)

My phone went off as I read the newest text message that slapped me with guilt.
Did I do something wrong?
I stared at all of the former text messages before this one, and they only read ‘soda pop’ between her and me.
She’d never written anything more than that, so to read those words stung me. Did she do something wrong? No. But I couldn’t tell her. Not yet.


Chapter Nineteen

FREAKING A, I missed him. Why hadn’t he called or texted? It’d been weeks since we last talked. Did he find Order before me? I felt so stupid for even thinking on the matter. Maybe I’d scared him off with my breakdown about Derrick. I wouldn’t have been surprised. If I were him, I would have run too. I wish there was an un-send button for text messages, but there it was—my needy text sitting in his inbox.
Focus on something else. I needed a distraction. Dance.
It had been a few weeks since I had my first dance on the stage. The first night was terrible, the second night was embarrassing, and the sixth night was a bit better. Roger must have been pleased with my performances, because he was getting closer and closer to offering me the closing number. “We’ll see,” he would say whenever I’d ask. I wanted a shot at it. Jasmine told me there wasn’t a chance in hell she would give up her spot, but everyone knew I was better than her. My degree in dance was really paying off. Thank you, college education.
When I walked onto the stage each night, it was as if I were in a trance. I tried not to think about it too much because it was all too depressing. So I danced. I moved my body. And I blocked out my thoughts. In a way it was somewhat a form of art. And moving my body in a way to create art was all right, in some twisted way.
The crowd that night seemed extra intense. There were loud rackets of noise traveling from the club to the dressing rooms. Bachelor parties, probably. I hated bachelor parties the most because the stupid bachelors always forgot that they were getting married in the freaking morning. So much disrespectful grabbing. I stopped applying my makeup when Ladasha walked over to me and leaped onto my makeup table.
“I’ve been thinking. Maybe I’ll go back to school.”
“You should.”
Ladasha smiled, nodding with confidence. “I should. I always wanted to be a lawyer. Or a doctor. Or hell, a f*ckin' English teacher. If it's the number two you spell it T-W-O. If it's like, 'I'm gonna have sex with him and him, too" it's T-O-O. That's my type of English lesson. I might even be the first black female president. Wouldn't that be political gold? The president's an ex-stripper.” She grabbed her breasts and smiled widely. “Vote for Ladasha! I’ll watch a few political movies for tips. It can’t be that hard, right?”
She was slipping into her dark thoughts. I could tell when it happened because she always tried so hard to cover her sadness with goofiness. I knew better. Ladasha laughed lightly as she went back to applying her makeup, but I saw the slight glimpse of disappointment slip through her eyes.
“You can do it,” I assured her. Ladasha could do anything if she didn’t find the need to always run after awhile. I was really hoping she wasn’t feeling the need to run any time soon.
Just then, two other strippers, Maria and Shelly, walked into the room and took their seats, doing what they do best—gossiping. Maria shook her head in disbelief. “Can you believe that?”
“Hell yeah I can believe it,” Shelly chuckled, picking up a pink, glittery wig to go with her pink, tacky thong.
“What happened?” Ladasha asked.
“Jasmine got caught doing an escort job. Cops picked her up.” Shelly paused for a brief moment to roll her eyes, and then continued to speak. “She's so stupid. That's why I don't mess with that shit. I may take my clothes off, but I ain’t licking, kissing, or sucking nothing.”
Maria nodded in agreement, pulling on her fishnet stockings, which would be ‘viciously’ ripped off in about twenty minutes. “Now her kid's in the system. That kid ain't got a chance at a life with a prostitute mom and a locked-up dad.”
Ladasha quickly turned to defend the poor kid’s life. “You don’t know what the kid can make of himself. Give him a chance.” Her whole being shifted and she was to the point where humor wouldn’t fix her emotions.
“The only chance that kid got at a life is selling crack on the corner to the other messed up brats.”
Ladasha’s eyes couldn’t hide the self-pity pouring out. I quickly reached across to her and squeezed her hand, delivering a shot of comfort. Locking eyes with her, I sent her a simple nod, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. It was the same reminder she gave me when I first showed up to New York—no words, just a look of understanding. Her halfway smile and one-shoulder shrug was all I got before she went back to her makeup. Turning to the other girls, I asked the next question on my mind. “So who’s doing the closing number tonight?” Jasmine always got the closing number. She and Roger had a ‘close’ employer/employee relationship. I called her a slut, Ladasha called her a businesswoman.
Shelly smiled through her mirror in my direction. “You’re gonna want to add a lil more blush tonight, Wisconsin.”
Suddenly, Roger came barging into the dressing room, causing some of the girls to squeak in horror and throw things in his direction. He rolled his eyes, uninterested. “I aint gonna see nothin’ that everyone else in the club hasn’t already seen.” His eyes shifted to me. I hated when he looked at me. Roger was a creep, but then again, I was a stripper. I guess I kind of had it coming. I watched him chewing on the end of his short cigar, puffing rings of smoke into the air. His hairy face matched his hairy chest that was semi-hidden under his one-size-too-small black tank top. Too bad it wasn’t completely hidden. Disgusting.