Beautiful Failure (7 page)

“Is this
other place
how you afford your designer clothes?”

She smiles and leans back against the hood. “
It is
. You interested?”

“I already have one legal case over my head, so if it’s illegal no thanks.”

“Gentlemen’s clubs aren’t illegal.”

“You mean
strip clubs
?”

“Sort of...” She hands me a black business card. “I average at least four hundred dollars a night, but on some nights,
much more
.”

I stare at the card. There are only two words—“The Phoenix” and a number.

No address. No details. Nothing.

“It’s only stripping, right?”

“If that’s all you’re in for, yeah.” Her voice is low. “That’s all I do, but it depends on the person. The money I make from keeping it simple is more than enough.”

I sigh and turn the card over in my hands.

Four hundred dollars a night for at least five nights a week is an easy two thousand dollars. If I did that for the summer I’d have more than enough to pay the city back and skip town.

“Expect the cold shoulder treatment when you first start.” Sarah interrupts my thoughts. “If you choose to work there, I mean.”

“Why?”

“Stripping isn’t like a normal hourly job, it’s
extremely
competitive. You and I are friends and all, but—”

“We’re
friends
?”

“I wouldn’t be sharing my weed with you if we weren’t.” She takes the blunt from me. “Anyway, every week there’s some new doe-eyed girl that tries out for the club, some girl who thinks that just because she’s beautiful we’ll all bow at her feet and she’ll make the most money. It
never
happens for her.”

“I don’t think like that.”

“Ha!” She laughs. “You’ve probably never had to beg for attention a day in your life.”

“That’s not true...”

“Sure, it isn’t. Beautiful people always have it easy. No need to lie.”

I roll over on the hood and look her over. She’s extremely attractive—blond hair, bright blue eyes, small button nose and high cheekbones, so I’m confused as to why she doesn’t think she’s beautiful.

Leah would definitely consider her a nine and a half out of ten.

Grabbing the dwindling blunt from her, I take a short drag and realize I haven’t asked about any of the details of this so-called club. “Where is this place?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“
What
?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she repeats. “You’ll have to call and ask for yourself.”

“Okay...Can you tell me anything about it?”

“Nope.”

I roll my eyes and look at my watch. I’ll just google the place later.

“You were an asshole in high school,” she says, sighing. “Do you know that?”

“I was only there for a few months senior year. You were in my class?”

“Duh.” She scoffs. “Everyone felt bad for you because we heard about your mom, but...”

“But
what
?”

“We also thought—Well,
I
thought you were a queen bitch.”

I smile. I want to tell her that “queen bitch” was my real nickname at my old high school, but I don’t.

She looks over at me and laughs. “Of course you think that’s
funny
. I remember asking you if you needed help with anything on your third day. Do you remember what you said to me?”

“No. What?”

“You said, ‘Get the fuck out of my face.’ It was priceless.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If I had just lost my mother, I’m sure I wouldn’t want some geek with uneven bangs hanging around me.”

“Probably not.” I lie back against the hood and puff out more O’s.

When the last blunt is gone and the two of us are tired of staring at the starless sky, she rolls over to face me. “Were you and your mom close, Emerald?”

“I thought we were.” Leah’s last letter flashes across my mind. “But lately I’m not so sure.”

“I feel you. My mom died yesterday and I still can’t figure out our relationship.”

“She died
yesterday
?” I sit up. “Why are you here with me then? Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

“I figured someone as fucked up as me would be much better company...”

“I’m
not
fucked up.”

She shrugs and looks back up at the sky. “Yeah, you’re the most put-together person I know.”

A
google search of “The Phoenix in Alabama” brings up a random array of images, bird sightings, and a restaurant that’s two hundred miles away. I add “gentlemen’s club” and “strip club” to the keywords, but nothing about the club ever appears.

Even stranger, is when I run a simple search for all the strips clubs in the state, there’s no mention of The Phoenix. Anywhere.

Something is beyond suspicious about this place, and I’m honestly not sure if I want to find out what it is.

I never thought any less of Leah for what she did to support us, and I knew that if
I
ever needed to do it, I would, but from Sarah’s vagueness, I already know The Phoenix is more than a strip club.

She said all she does is strip though, so maybe I can do the same thing...Wait, am I really considering this?

“Care to join the conversation today, Emerald?” Tim’s annoying voice crashes into my thoughts, and I suddenly remember that I have over two months of rehab left.

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on.” He prods. “Tell us something personal about yourself. It can be something as simple as your favorite thing to do at home or a country you’d like to visit someday.”

I blink.

“Could you at least
try
?” He pleads with his eyes.

I say nothing.

I showed up early today and watered the hundreds of plants in the field. I mopped the building from top to bottom and I set up the room. That’s all I’m required to do.

The court papers didn’t say shit about actually “participating” in these discussions and I’m not going to. Ever.

“Okay...” He sighs and starts talking to the man on my left, leaving me alone to think about The Phoenix again.

After the session is over and I’ve completed my tasks, I drive to an abandoned football field that’s three blocks down. I pull out the black business card and take a deep breath before dialing the number.

“The Phoenix.” A deep voice answers after only one ring.

“Yes, I was—” I hesitate. “I was wondering if you could give me some directions to the club.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Blythe. Folsom Street.”

He’s silent for several seconds. “Are you a potential
patron
?”

“No.”

“Are you a member of a bachelor party for tonight?”

“No.”

“Then why do you need the
address
?” His tone is cold and I know he’s seconds away from hanging up in my face.

“I’m looking for a job.” I spit out and he goes silent again.

“Age?”

“What?”

“Your
age
.”

“Twenty one.”

“Height?”

“Five six.”

“Hair color?”

“Black.”

“You’re available to come right now?”

I look at where the gas needle is sitting on my dashboard. Empty. “Yes.”

“Good. We’re sixty miles outside of Blythe. You’ve got an hour and a half.” He gives me the address and hangs up without saying anything further.

I reach under my seat and pull out my emergency twenty dollar bill—the only money I have left, and make a mental note to pick up my last check from Starbucks later.

Knowing that there are only three gas stations in Blythe, I head for the cheapest one and pull up to the pump. Just like in New Jersey, the gas pumps aren’t self-serve so I have to wait for an attendant to come out of the store and do it for me.

No one comes.

Three minutes pass.

Still no one.

I honk my horn as hard as I can, and then I see a shirtless man walking towards my car in the rearview mirror. Instead of coming to my window first and taking my money, he pops open the tank and places the pump inside.

Annoyed, I roll my window down and stick my head out. “I’m only paying for ten dollars’ worth so please don’t think you’re doing me any favors.”

He looks up and slowly pushes his shades off his face, revealing a pair of deep blue eyes.

Carter.

What the hell is he doing here?

If it wasn’t for the fact that I have somewhere to be, or the fact that I swore not to have sex with
anyone
in Blythe, I would be stepping out of my car and trying to seduce the shit out of him.

In broad daylight.

He steps closer to my window with his eyebrow raised and smiles at me. “You need to get your brakes fixed.”

“You need to finish pumping my gas.” I hand him the money. “I never thought you’d be a
gas station attendant
.”

“I’m
not
,” he says. “I’m helping a hometown friend. And you don’t have to pay for the gas, it’s on the house.”

I glance at his sweaty chest for a second and look into his eyes again. “You may want to reconsider that. I need ten back.”

He gives me another swoon-worthy smile and softly pushes my hand away.

“I missed seeing you at Starbucks yesterday.” He leans down, bringing his face at level with mine, showing off his full and defined lips. He presses his hand against my face and softly brushes his thumb against my cheek. “I went three separate times...Did you quit or did they get smart and
fire
you?”

“They fired me.”

“
Shocking
. Did your friend give you my note?”

“She did.”

“Do you know how to
read
?”

“Your handwriting was too terrible.”

He grins and moves his face even closer—so close that we’re nearly lip to lip. “Am I going to have to
chase you
, Emerald?” He stresses every syllable of my name. “
I will
.”

I can’t think of anything sarcastic to fire at him because for whatever reason, my heart is racing and I’m pretty sure he just made me wet.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he says as he steps away.

He taps the gas nozzle against the edge of my tank as he pulls it out, and then he pats the back of my trunk—signaling for me to drive off.

I don’t hesitate to speed away, but I glance in my rearview mirror to get one last look at him—watching him smile as he slides his shades over his face again.

Damn...

I speed off towards the backstreets of Blythe and follow the directions I’ve scribbled on the back of a receipt.

Turning the radio up, I groan as the sound of country music blasts through my speakers. I have yet to get used to that twangy-yodeling and I doubt I ever will.

As I cruise down the open lanes, I notice that there’s not much to see on my left or my right—just barren fields and a small wooden house here or there. Up ahead I see what appears to be a herd of cows grazing in the grass; one of them lifts his head and moos when I get closer.

I honk at him and throw up my middle finger.

Satisfied that I’ve shown him who’s boss, I turn off the radio and decide to listen to the sound of my tires against the street for the rest of the drive. Even
that
sounds better than country music.

An hour and twenty minutes later, I find myself outside of a colossal black building. It’s hidden behind a clove of trees and a random brick wall with climbing ivy.

There’s no sign on the outside that says anything about it being The Phoenix, but this has to be it.

Just as I’m about to park my car—right out front and not in a parking lot because I don’t see one, a buff man in a gray suit walks out of the building.

He looks at my car in confusion, then he walks over to my window. “May I help you,
Miss
?”

“I’m here for an interview.”

“An
interview
?” He raises his eyebrow. “We’re not hiring.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re looking for a job, there’s a diner down the street and to your left. Try them.”

I suck in a breath and try to stay calm. “I’m here for a goddamn interview and I’m not leaving without one. I spoke to someone on the phone a little over an hour ago, so I suggest you either A) Get on the same page as him, or B) Bring out someone who knows what the fuck he’s talking about because I’ll sit out here all day if I have to.”

He blinks.

“Are you the valet or do I just leave my car right here?” I cut my engine off. “You’re not getting a tip.”

A slow smile spreads across his face and he pulls a phone out of his pocket. “Mr. Watts? Yes...Do you have an
interview
scheduled for today? You do? Well, she’s out front.” He pauses and steps back a bit. “Green. Her eyes are dark green...Yes...No...She
does
...Will do.” He ends the call and opens my door. “Leave your keys in the car. I’ll escort you inside.”

Following him, I notice that the inside looks more like an expensive hotel lobby than a strip club. As a matter of fact, it reminds me of one of the hotels where Leah met her suitors.

The walls are a smooth taupe, the floors are a sparkling hardwood, and the artwork that hangs high is framed in crystal.

There are a few plush chaises and sofas scattered about the room, but it looks as if they’ve never been used.

“Miss?” The man clears his throat, and gestures for me to keep following him.

He leads me down a long corridor—where I can hear the faint thumping of music coming from what seems to be a lower level, and then he knocks on a door.

“Send her in.” The voice on the other side of the door answers.

The man opens the door and motions for me to step in, then he slams it behind me.

I step forward and look around the opulent office—ignoring the man that’s sitting behind the desk.

“You’re the girl on the phone?” The man is suddenly standing in front of me, looking into my eyes. He’s about thirty years old—beautiful brown eyes, perfectly trimmed blond hair, and slight smile lines, but I’m not attracted to him.