Rock Chick Regret
Page 131
Jack (muttering): “Jesus. Chavez owes me big for this.”
Me (deciding to move on): “Anyway, we need designated drivers. We’re going to Smithie’s.”
Jack: “I’m on it.”
Disconnect (without a good-bye).
Well!
* * * * *
Hector, Matt and Bobby showed up, everyone squeezed into SUVs (tightly) and we rolled out to the strip club. Hector took Ralphie, Buddy, Daisy, Ally and I in his Bronco. The men escorted us in, right past the long line outside that was standing at the velvet rope (without the doorman even looking twice at us) and through the doors. We’d barely cleared the doors when a big, on the good side of middle aged black man approached and, just like Tex, he cleared a path through the club and shoved some men away from tables at the front, left side of the stage. We followed in his wake.
“VIPs, f**kin’ move,” he shouted at the men at the tables and they scurried immediately.
Wow, the Rock Chicks were something!
Jumping the velvet rope and front row seats at a strip club!
How bizarre (and cool) was that?
Then he turned to me and opened his mouth but before he said a word, Jet was there.
“No, Smithie, she doesn’t dance.”
Smithie turned wide eyes to Jet. “What? You think I’m crazy? Askin’ Seth Townsend’s daughter to strip for me? He’d have my balls for dinner, battered and fried.”
Oh my.
Me?
Stripping?
Oh.
My.
Jet looked like she was going to mouth off so I intervened.
“I’m Sadie,” I told him unnecessarily and put my hand out.
My small hand was engulfed in his big one and he squeezed.
“I’m Smithie and I know who you are. Heard about you. Thought all the talk was bullshit but you actually do look like a f**kin’ fairy princess.”
I smiled at him and leaned in. “That’s nice but I know it’s not really true.”
He’d leaned in to listen but leaned back, brows drawn and said, “Bitch, look in a mirror. You’re right out of a f**kin’ movie.”
I was a little shocked he called me a bitch but by the way he spoke I didn’t think he meant anything bad by it.
Then he leaned back in and proved me right when he went on, “It’s too f**kin’ bad they don’t fry men for what Ricky Balducci did to you. He got the chair, I’d be happy to flip the f**kin’ switch.”
My eyes got big at what he said but not the part about him obviously knowing I’d been raped. I’d realized by that time the Rock Chicks didn’t keep secrets, not even personal ones. He pulled away again, dropped my hand and looked at Hector.
“You stayin’?” he asked Hector.
“Nope. Lenny on tonight?” Hector replied.
Smithie nodded, said (bizarrely), “He’s on her,” then he left.
Hector curled me into his heat with an arm around my neck and I looked up at him.
“Boys’re busy but you’ll have rides home,” he told me. “Lenny is one of Smithie’s bouncers. He’s good. Lee tried to recruit him but he couldn’t work for Lee and study for his Master’s at DU at the same time. Even though he’s good, he’s untrained so don’t make it tough on him, keep him in sight at all times and don’t let the girls talk you into anything stupid.”
I nodded. Hector kept talking.
“I get done before you leave, I’ll come get you, we’ll sleep at my place. You get done before I get here, you go home with Ralphie and Buddy and I’ll be there later.”
I tilted my head to the side and asked, “Do you want me to wait up for you?”
He shook his head and answered with a demand, “Give me your keys.”
I gave him my brownstone keys and the alarm code. He kissed me quick and hard and he was gone, leaving me swaying.
Then we sat. Lenny, a huge, tall, muscular, midnight-skinned black man materialized and positioned himself behind my chair. Shirleen talked me into trying appletinis (they were fab). We gossiped, giggled and sometimes watched the strippers.
I sat there thinking it was definitely my second best day ever.
Not just my friends and the Balducci Blowout party but also because, that afternoon, Vance took me to my father’s storage locker. Hector was busy but at his arrangement (which, personally, I thought was ultra-sweet and super thoughtful and worth some sort of payback but I’d have to think of something other than a building or an island, maybe something that involved lingerie), Daisy and Kitty Sue met us there.
Vance opened the locker and, with a hand on the small of my back, pushed me in walking in behind me. He turned on the light but it hit me before the unit was illuminated.
The smell.
My mother’s perfume, White Shoulders.
I hadn’t smelled that smell in years.
I took a step back and my shoulder ran into Vance’s hard body.
I stopped, frozen for a moment then twisted my head to look up at Vance.
“Her perfume,” I whispered, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
His hand slid up my back to my neck and his fingers curled there, giving me a squeeze.
“We can come back,” he told me, his voice and eyes soft.
I took in a deep breath, shook my head and Vance and I walked in, the weird, warm, reassurance of Vance’s hand didn’t leave my neck until I dropped to my knees at the first box.
We stayed there an hour, all of us going through boxes (except Vance who, after helping me through my initial weird out, stood outside). I cried a little bit and Daisy held me. Kitty Sue cried a little bit and I held her.
When we left, I had a list in my purse of the things I’d come back and get later but there were two things I took then.
I’d uncovered a framed photo, a photo I’d forgotten existed but it used to sit, pride of place, on our mantel. It was a picture unlike anything the Seth Townsend of now would allow. It was taken when I was six, out in our backyard, by a professional photographer. However the setting was casual, my Mom’s flower-filled garden in the background, and the pose was natural. My father sat in a garden chair and had Mom in his lap, his arm around her waist, his fingers curled at her hip. Both her arms were around his shoulders and she had her cheek against his. I was standing, pressed into his other side, his other arm wrapped around my little kid body, my head leaning into his chest. Mom and I were laughing at the camera, I didn’t remember why. My father wasn’t laughing but he was smiling, not like something amused him but like he was happy and precisely where he wanted to be.
Me (deciding to move on): “Anyway, we need designated drivers. We’re going to Smithie’s.”
Jack: “I’m on it.”
Disconnect (without a good-bye).
Well!
* * * * *
Hector, Matt and Bobby showed up, everyone squeezed into SUVs (tightly) and we rolled out to the strip club. Hector took Ralphie, Buddy, Daisy, Ally and I in his Bronco. The men escorted us in, right past the long line outside that was standing at the velvet rope (without the doorman even looking twice at us) and through the doors. We’d barely cleared the doors when a big, on the good side of middle aged black man approached and, just like Tex, he cleared a path through the club and shoved some men away from tables at the front, left side of the stage. We followed in his wake.
“VIPs, f**kin’ move,” he shouted at the men at the tables and they scurried immediately.
Wow, the Rock Chicks were something!
Jumping the velvet rope and front row seats at a strip club!
How bizarre (and cool) was that?
Then he turned to me and opened his mouth but before he said a word, Jet was there.
“No, Smithie, she doesn’t dance.”
Smithie turned wide eyes to Jet. “What? You think I’m crazy? Askin’ Seth Townsend’s daughter to strip for me? He’d have my balls for dinner, battered and fried.”
Oh my.
Me?
Stripping?
Oh.
My.
Jet looked like she was going to mouth off so I intervened.
“I’m Sadie,” I told him unnecessarily and put my hand out.
My small hand was engulfed in his big one and he squeezed.
“I’m Smithie and I know who you are. Heard about you. Thought all the talk was bullshit but you actually do look like a f**kin’ fairy princess.”
I smiled at him and leaned in. “That’s nice but I know it’s not really true.”
He’d leaned in to listen but leaned back, brows drawn and said, “Bitch, look in a mirror. You’re right out of a f**kin’ movie.”
I was a little shocked he called me a bitch but by the way he spoke I didn’t think he meant anything bad by it.
Then he leaned back in and proved me right when he went on, “It’s too f**kin’ bad they don’t fry men for what Ricky Balducci did to you. He got the chair, I’d be happy to flip the f**kin’ switch.”
My eyes got big at what he said but not the part about him obviously knowing I’d been raped. I’d realized by that time the Rock Chicks didn’t keep secrets, not even personal ones. He pulled away again, dropped my hand and looked at Hector.
“You stayin’?” he asked Hector.
“Nope. Lenny on tonight?” Hector replied.
Smithie nodded, said (bizarrely), “He’s on her,” then he left.
Hector curled me into his heat with an arm around my neck and I looked up at him.
“Boys’re busy but you’ll have rides home,” he told me. “Lenny is one of Smithie’s bouncers. He’s good. Lee tried to recruit him but he couldn’t work for Lee and study for his Master’s at DU at the same time. Even though he’s good, he’s untrained so don’t make it tough on him, keep him in sight at all times and don’t let the girls talk you into anything stupid.”
I nodded. Hector kept talking.
“I get done before you leave, I’ll come get you, we’ll sleep at my place. You get done before I get here, you go home with Ralphie and Buddy and I’ll be there later.”
I tilted my head to the side and asked, “Do you want me to wait up for you?”
He shook his head and answered with a demand, “Give me your keys.”
I gave him my brownstone keys and the alarm code. He kissed me quick and hard and he was gone, leaving me swaying.
Then we sat. Lenny, a huge, tall, muscular, midnight-skinned black man materialized and positioned himself behind my chair. Shirleen talked me into trying appletinis (they were fab). We gossiped, giggled and sometimes watched the strippers.
I sat there thinking it was definitely my second best day ever.
Not just my friends and the Balducci Blowout party but also because, that afternoon, Vance took me to my father’s storage locker. Hector was busy but at his arrangement (which, personally, I thought was ultra-sweet and super thoughtful and worth some sort of payback but I’d have to think of something other than a building or an island, maybe something that involved lingerie), Daisy and Kitty Sue met us there.
Vance opened the locker and, with a hand on the small of my back, pushed me in walking in behind me. He turned on the light but it hit me before the unit was illuminated.
The smell.
My mother’s perfume, White Shoulders.
I hadn’t smelled that smell in years.
I took a step back and my shoulder ran into Vance’s hard body.
I stopped, frozen for a moment then twisted my head to look up at Vance.
“Her perfume,” I whispered, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
His hand slid up my back to my neck and his fingers curled there, giving me a squeeze.
“We can come back,” he told me, his voice and eyes soft.
I took in a deep breath, shook my head and Vance and I walked in, the weird, warm, reassurance of Vance’s hand didn’t leave my neck until I dropped to my knees at the first box.
We stayed there an hour, all of us going through boxes (except Vance who, after helping me through my initial weird out, stood outside). I cried a little bit and Daisy held me. Kitty Sue cried a little bit and I held her.
When we left, I had a list in my purse of the things I’d come back and get later but there were two things I took then.
I’d uncovered a framed photo, a photo I’d forgotten existed but it used to sit, pride of place, on our mantel. It was a picture unlike anything the Seth Townsend of now would allow. It was taken when I was six, out in our backyard, by a professional photographer. However the setting was casual, my Mom’s flower-filled garden in the background, and the pose was natural. My father sat in a garden chair and had Mom in his lap, his arm around her waist, his fingers curled at her hip. Both her arms were around his shoulders and she had her cheek against his. I was standing, pressed into his other side, his other arm wrapped around my little kid body, my head leaning into his chest. Mom and I were laughing at the camera, I didn’t remember why. My father wasn’t laughing but he was smiling, not like something amused him but like he was happy and precisely where he wanted to be.
