StripperwithSpice (24 page)

I’m not sure how long I stay there, but sitting in the
parking lot isn’t going to solve my problems. I concentrate on starting the car
and putting it in gear. What do people do when they’ve lost everything?

They start over. Might as well get to it.

Two days later around dinnertime, I stare at my kitchen
counter in disbelief. Did I really cook all that food? It kept my mind off my
losses. It’s too bad I don’t have the appetite to eat much of it except for the
chocolate.

Every dancer from the club had called to corroborate Carlos’
story and tell me how much he missed me. Bombastic Brian told me Carlos couldn’t
even perform anymore. At the final night in the Bahamas, he’d screwed up the
choreography and was laughed off the stage. It sounds as if he’s in pain too.

Carlos left so many messages on my machine I have to clear
them out to free up the memory for my job search. Each time I heard his voice,
I had to grip whatever was nearby to keep me from picking up the phone. I hope
he gives up soon. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

I sort through the food, deciding to freeze some of it. How
much longer will I be able to live in this apartment? The job search must start
tomorrow.

Don’t let me end up on the street. If I get another job,
I promise I’ll be a wholesome employee 24/7. No more strippers…

The knock on my door sends my heart jumping to my throat. A
look through the peephole confirms my suspicion. Damn him. Why couldn’t he take
no for an answer? I open the door with the coldest glare I can muster.

“I told you to stay away. It’s over.”

When I start to close the door again, he grabs it out of my
hand and comes in. I should have remembered how strong he is. He’s wearing a
gray long-sleeved tee shirt and exercise pants and he smells extra good. To my
relief, my numb body is slow to respond. I’m wearing my ugly brown sweatshirt,
which fits my mood, but it hardly matters now.

“Hey, Janice.” At least he’s smart enough not to call me
querida
.
“I wanted to talk to you one more time, now that you’ve had a chance to cool
off.”

“I haven’t changed my mind.” I cross my arms so tight it’s
hard to breathe.

He walks into the kitchen. “What’s with all the food?”

Following him, I shrug. “I just felt like cooking.”

He must notice the dark circles under my eyes in the kitchen
light because he touches my face. The brush of his fingers coaxes a cold, numb
ball in my belly to life, making it ache.

His face doesn’t look much better. I’ve never seen his dark
eyes so big and sad. Invisible lines of strain pull his face, giving me an idea
of how he’ll look in ten or twenty years, and the scar near his eye stands out,
vivid and white.

“I see this separation has been just as hard on you as it is
on me.” He points to the kitchen table. “No laptop?”

Should I tell him? Why not? When he realizes what I’m going
through, maybe he’ll think twice about hurting some future woman.

“I lost my job. Tiffin posted a picture of me at the club
licking champagne off your body. She posted it to social media and upper
management.”

He hits the table with his fist. “Shit. This is all my
fault. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s over now,” I say in a quiet voice. “Would you please
go so I can get on with my life?”

“I know how hard being unemployed is for you.” He touches my
arm. “But you don’t have to worry. I’ll be your safety net. Move in with me.”

“No thank you.” I enunciate each word. “I’d rather grovel on
the street than depend on a cheater.”

Needing to do something with my hands besides shredding them
with my nails, I grab a container of chocolate-chip cookies and rearrange them.

He scrubs a hand across his face. “I’m sorry I screwed up.
Can’t we get past this?”

“All along you’ve been telling me to trust you.” Emotion
creeps into my icy voice, melting it faster than hot water. “When I finally
did, I really paid for it. I even went on birth control for you.”

Damn.
I didn’t mean to tell him that. As soon as a month’s
cycle is over, I plan to go right back off it.

“You did?” His fragile smile almost snaps my heart in two.
“That’s great.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s pathetic.” The emotions boil up inside
me, out of control until I’m throwing chocolate-chip cookies across the
kitchen.

“I thought you were more mature than the others,” he shoots
back at me. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but use your logical mind.”

I’m not feeling too logical at the moment. The next cookie I
throw whizzes past his ear.

“Because of you I’ve lost everything,” I yell. “I wish I’d
never met you. Get out, Carlos! Get the fuck out and don’t ever come back!”

He doesn’t say a word, but his face turns bone-white,
telling me he heard every one of mine. Instead of leaving my apartment as I
expect, he goes into my bathroom and closes the door.

I drop to the floor on my knees and attempt to pick up
cookie fragments. But the more I pick up, the more I want to throw them. Before
long, I’m huddled on the floor in a ball with bits of chocolate under my fingernails.

And crying. Crying as I’ve never cried in my life.

I finally sit up, rubbing my aching stomach muscles and
realizing how quiet the apartment is. What in the world has Carlos been doing
in the bathroom all this time? I’m glad he left me alone and didn’t attempt to
comfort me. Now I want him completely gone.

When I rap my knuckles hard on the bathroom door, I get no
answer so I open it, having no idea what I’ll find. He’s sitting on the fuzzy,
pink toilet-seat cover that—like everything else in this bathroom, this
apartment—hell, my entire life—begged to be replaced years ago. Facing my
chipped ballerina nightlight, his elbows lean on the sink and his head is in
his hands.

“Carlos?”

No answer. What’s going on? Is he stoned or something? All
the more reason to end it. When I shake his shoulder, he looks up at me with
dead eyes inside a pale face. The way he slumps over hides his muscles and
makes him appear small. For the first time, I see the scared child he used to
be.

“Why did you come in here?” I ask.

“Because I felt sick.” He shakes his head and continues to
stare at the wall. “All I do is hurt people and screw up their lives.”

I can’t think of an honest denial so I stay quiet while the
leaky faucet I’ve all but begged the landlord to fix drips to infinity.

“I’ve spent my life trying to make women happy and all I’ve
done is make them miserable. I hurt them with my sexual conquests. When I
finally found one to love, I hurt her the most.”

The golden honey of his voice has hardened to something
rough, brown and brittle.

I touch his shoulder. “You’re not a bad person. You mean
well.”

But good intentions are not enough to base my trust on. I
won’t make that mistake again.

He finally looks at me. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have let
that girl kiss me. I was honestly paralyzed because I didn’t want to hurt her
worse. Not that it matters now. I know you don’t believe me.”

For once, he doesn’t bother to hold his palms up, trying to
placate me. It’s as if he’s given up or knows better. Maybe I do believe him
now, a little. The man sitting here slumped over my toilet doesn’t resemble a
player. He looks like someone who has just lost everything. I can relate to
that.

“You said something before about my childhood making me this
way,” he continued. “Maybe you’re right. I plan to work on it.”

I nod. “Good.”

He takes my hand. For once, his is limp and cold. “I just
wish it weren’t too late for us.”

It’s my turn to let him down easy, I guess. “We come from
different worlds. It never would have worked.”

“Maybe not.”

“You must be tired of sitting on my toilet. Are you ready to
get up?”

He nods and grabs my shoulder for support as if he’s an old
man. His other arm swings around, pulling me into a hug that accelerates from
feeble to fierce.

“Thank you for what we had, Janice. It was great even if it
didn’t last forever.”

My nose settles against his neck, inhaling his scent.
Tears—quiet ones this time—seep from my eyes. This is it. It’s really over. My
fingers dig into his shoulders, squeezing.

“You still love me,” he says into my hair.

No, I don’t! I don’t!

When we finally pull apart, we each take a deep breath in
unison and leave the bathroom, stopping at the front door.

“So what kind of job are you looking for?” he asks.

“The same,” I reply. “My former boss is giving me a nice recommendation.”

“That career made you miserable. Why don’t you go to cooking
school instead and pursue your dream?”

I frown at him. “Are you crazy? I can’t change careers at my
age.”

“I have to do it too, you know. Besides, now is the perfect
time. Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.”

“But I have bills to pay.”

When he takes my hand this time, his grip feels warmer and
stronger. A greater warmth, deep in my belly, replies.

“I promised I’d never let anything happen to you and I meant
it, whether or not you’re my girlfriend.”

“That’s not necessary.” I need more than ever to stand on my
own two feet.

“One of the waitresses just quit at my brother’s
restaurant,” he continues. “You could get a feel for the restaurant business
and have some money coming in while you go to school.”

“I don’t think so.”

“My family would treat you a lot better than a fast-food
joint would.”

“I’ll think about it.” It’s the last thing I’d do, but I’ll
say anything to get him out of my apartment before I succumb to weakness.

He looks down as he squeezes my hand harder. “I can’t walk
out on you when you’re going through this. I know this sounds lame, but can we
at least be friends?”

“I don’t see how that could work, but I-I’ll think about
that too. Just leave me alone for a while so I can figure out my life.”

Nodding, he plants a slow, sad kiss in the middle of my
forehead and walks out the door.

After it closes, I sink against it and slide to the floor,
covering my face with my hands. He’s such an honest and caring person and
despite my rejection of him, he’s still concerned about my safety.

Aside from his flaws and the fact it’ll never work between
us, I’ll always love him. Maybe I haven’t lost everything after all.

* * * * *

Two weeks later, I’m working as a waitress and kitchen
helper at Fernando’s. Crazy, right? Spontaneity must be here to stay. No other
restaurants were hiring. I’m also enrolled in a local cooking course. It’s not
chef’s school, but it’ll let me know if cooking will be my next career. My
current one certainly isn’t going very well. I’ve had several interviews with
no results.

Although I’ve learned new things in school, such as cutting
skills and pastry techniques, this restaurant has been the biggest teacher of
all. I’ve learned how to fry plantains, make corn tortillas from scratch with
masa
harina
and how to fry tortillas into nachos. I’m even learning Spanish
words for food, such as
arroz
for rice and
frijoles refritos
for refried
beans.

“Can you help prep some more tamale stuff?” Fernando asks.
“We’re also running low on
salsa verde
.”

“Sure.” I smile, feeling a warm sense of family from the
festive holiday lights Fernando’s wife had hung up for December.

“You have a visitor.” He jerks his head, indicating Carlos
who just sat down in the corner. “He’s never spent so much time in this
restaurant in his life.”

I scurry to the kitchen to do the prep. Carlos has been
watching me from a distance the last two weeks. We’ve had small talk in the
restaurant but nothing more. I’m grateful to him for not pushing me.

When I’m done, I walk to his table. One would never guess
the somber-looking man dressed in a gray wool sweater is a stripper. Now that
the shock of the Bahamas and my firing has worn off a bit, my hormones have
come back to life. Just standing near him has produced a flush from my head to
my toes.

“How’s the cooking class going?” he asks casually.

“I like it. What’ll you have?”

It’s probably a waste of time to ask. He never eats anything
here except chips and salsa, which he barely makes a dent in. The dark circles
under his eyes tell me he isn’t sleeping well either.

He levels me with a passionate dark stare. “You know why I’m
here, Janice. I want you back in my life.”

The voltage intensifies, circling my heart and plunging to
my empty core. Drops of wetness trickle into my panties. If I stand too close
to the Christmas lights, I’m likely to cause a short circuit.

Although I’ve been celibate for years at a time, the last
few weeks without him have been torture. It’s as if he’s forever changed my
body. I wake up sweaty from the hot dreams he stars in and I use that egg from
the romance convention more often than I care to admit.

Even now, I’m tempted to straddle his thigh and give him a
lap dance right in the middle of this family restaurant. Or sweep off the
basket of nachos, bowl of salsa and glass of water so he can lay me on the
table and feast on my damp cunt instead.

I want to be back in his life too, but I can’t risk going
through that pain again. Over the past couple of weeks, I think of what he said
about my logical mind. I know his weaknesses, but I also know he’s working on
them. For one thing, he wouldn’t have time to pursue other women if he’s always
hanging around here watching me with sad puppy eyes. Nevertheless, the bottom
line is it just won’t work between us.

“Carlos, you have to stop coming here so much.” I sigh,
struggling for self-control. “It’s over. Seeing each other every day just makes
it harder for both of us to move on.”

He doesn’t answer and a customer across the room summons me
with a wave. A couple of hours pass while he nibbles on nachos and stares into
space. When my shift is over, I walk to his table with brisk authority.