Dear Tabitha (11 page)

Thankfully, it was an uneventful trip with no creepers on the bus. I’ve heard horror stories about these kinds of trips.

I wander around the city for a few hours looking for someplace to stay. I know I need to find a job quickly. I’ve only spent about three hundred dollars on my trek across the county, leaving me with about fifteen hundred. The bastard Richie had about seven hundred dollars in his lockbox. I’m not sure how far that is going to get me since hotel rooms in this city seem to average about two hundred a night. At those rates, I’ll blow through this cash in a week. It’s funny, but I don’t feel bad about stealing from Richie Lohman. For what I had to witness and how scared I was, he owed me big time. I shake my head as I try to erase the image of him jerking off in front of me.

I turn to walk up the block and literally run into a man. “Oh! I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I stammer.

He smiles at me as I push myself away from him. “Where are you rushing off to beautiful?” he asks me.

Against my better judgment, I tell him. “I’m new here and looking for a job. Can you point me in the direction of a diner or restaurant in the area?”

He points his thumb over his shoulder to a building behind him. “Tony’s Place. We’re
always
hiring and we pay top dollar.”

“Are you Tony?” I ask.

“No, I’m Dante, the manager. Would you like to come in to check out the place?”

I answer immediately. “Sure!” If they pay top dollar at this restaurant, I should be able to keep my stash of cash and find a decent place to live.

He smiles even bigger as he turns to open the door to let me pass. The place is dark and I tense up.

“It’s okay, honey. We aren’t open yet. We open at four.” He flicks several light switches on and the entire place lights up.

On one end of the room is a stage with several shiny poles on it. The room is packed with lounge chairs, small bar tables and couches. Oh no! It’s a strip club. Okay, I’m out of here.

As I turn to leave, I say, “I’m sorry. I’m not looking for
that
kind of work.”

He chuckles. “The job I’ve got for you is a cocktail waitress, doll. I’m not asking you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.” He stares at me and then his eyes travel up and down my body, focusing on my boobs. “Of course, if you wanted to do
other
things, I’m sure we can accommodate that.”

I shouldn’t be in here and my discomfort is growing.

“We pay our cocktail waitresses ten dollars an hour, and most of our girls pull in between one and two hundred dollars a night in tips. We don’t require you to share your tips. They’re all yours. All we ask is that you keep the drinks flowing for our customers and keep a smile on their faces.” He winks and smiles at me.

Wow! That’s a lot of money. My need for independence is beginning to outweigh my nervousness. I start to consider this as a serious option.

“Are you eighteen?” he asks.

“Yes.” I lie. I will be soon and if I want this job, I need to lie. This guy gives me the creeps, but holy hell, the money sounds good. I’ll be able to afford a nice place in no time.

“This all sounds good to me, I think.” I can’t believe that I just landed a high paying job. “I’m looking for a place to stay. Do you have any recommendations?”

“Oh, here’s the best part. We have an apartment above the club. One of our cocktail waitresses recently left and it’s now vacant. It’s yours if you want it. Tony only charges two hundred dollars a month. Do you want to take a look upstairs?”

This seems too good to be true. But right now my options are limited. I can always stay here for a few weeks while I get the lay of the land and then find my own place.

I look back at Dante and he’s staring at my chest again. This should bother me, but I’m too excited to get the ball rolling with my new job. At least he’s not leering at me like Richie Lohman did.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Okay, sit down at the table over there, and I’ll be back with some papers for you to sign.” He walks toward what I presume to be an office.

I look around the club. This place isn’t so bad. It’s not what I picture a typical strip club to look like. It’s very clean and the couches and lounge chairs make it feel comfortable.

“Okay, we have a few things that we need to go over, and then I’ll show you the apartment upstairs. First, though, what’s your name, doll? I realize that I never asked you.” He chuckles and shakes his head, slightly embarrassed.

“Tabitha Fletcher,” I state.

He places the documents in front of me and I sign all of them. I don’t quite understand everything that I’m reading, but it mostly talks about inappropriate behavior with the patrons. I’m not allowed to prostitute myself. What? I almost laugh out loud. I grab the pen that he placed in front of me and start to sign my name on the documents. I don’t see anywhere to put my birthday or social security number, which I find a little odd, but I don’t say anything. If I have to provide him identification, I’m screwed. He’ll know how old I really am.

“Alright, Tabitha. It looks like we’re all set. Your first shift will be tonight if that’s okay with you. You’ll be shadowing Hollie so you can learn the ropes. Let’s get you upstairs and settled.”

I grab my backpack and follow behind as he unlocks a heavy door that leads to a long hallway. We pass through several locked doors until we come to a stairway. I follow Dante up the stairs to my new place.

We step into the small, but comfortable looking living room. “Home sweet home, Tabitha,” he says.

“Thank you.” I smile and can’t believe this place is all mine. I place my backpack on the couch and turn to Dante. “Can I have my key?”

“Oh, no need for a key. One of us is always around to let you in. Tony is very security conscious. He doesn’t want our girls to have any keys to the private areas of the club while they’re working. They can be easily misplaced. Or used for the wrong reasons, wink, wink.”

Hmm, I guess that makes sense. As long as there is always someone around to let me in through all of the locked doors, I should be okay.

“That’s fine, I guess,” I reply.

“Alright, see you at ten o’clock. Oh, and don’t worry about what you wear. We have uniforms here.” He leaves the apartment.

I slowly take in all that’s now mine. I stretch, grab my bag, and head toward the door down the hall. It must be the bedroom. It opens up to a small but comfortable looking bedroom with a queen size bed. I’ve basically been sleeping on a bus for the past three days, and this looks so inviting. I step out of my boots and peel back the comforter. I have several hours before I need to get to work so I’m going to take a power nap.

I snuggle into the pillow, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

Present

Age 24

T
HE WARM
sun shines through the window onto my face. My head pounds and I remember the endless shots of tequila that I did last night. I roll over onto my side and try to stop my nausea. Drinking as much as I did was a mistake, but I certainly wasn’t as drunk as Alex.

Oh shit. Alex is in my living room. I still can’t believe that I let Kirsten talk me into going over to see him last night. And now he’s here. Shit. Thankfully, I hid all of Emily’s pictures so that he doesn’t ask any more questions. I’m still not ready to have that conversation with him.

I get out of bed and change into yoga pants and a long-sleeved tee shirt, my Saturday comfy clothes. I open my door and head to the bathroom. After relieving myself, I wash my hands and face, trying to be as quiet as possible. Maybe if I go out for coffee, he’ll wake up and leave after realizing that I’m not here. Besides, caffeine might loosen the vice grip on my head. Yeah, that may work.

I tiptoe into the living room, grabbing my boots as I make my way toward the door. Alex is still sound asleep, thank God. I take a moment to look at his calm face and have the urge to wake him up with a cuddle and kisses. Just like I used to do. My heart flutters as I imagine us together again. Ugh. What is wrong with me? I shake my head, grab my keys, and quietly open the door. I look back, but he doesn’t move. Man, he is out cold!

After grabbing a couple of coffees and a half dozen bagels, I head over to the bookstore. I wonder how Kirsten is feeling this morning, and what happened with her and Tristan last night.

When I walk in, she’s lying on the couch with her arm draped over her head. The soft music playing through the speakers almost covers her snores. The bell ringing on the door doesn’t even cause her to stir.

“Kirsten, wake up!” I yell, secretly taking pleasure in doing this.

She jumps up, startled. “Oh my God! You scared the crap out of me, Tabby!”

I laugh. “Well, after last night, you’re lucky that’s all I did to you. You know, there is a drawer full of Sharpies over there. I could have had a field day on your pretty face with those
permanent
markers.” Drawing on her face would help me get back at her a little because I’m still annoyed with her for talking me into going to his table. What did she think we were going to accomplish?

“Not funny. At. All.” After hugging me and kissing my forehead, she grabs a cup of coffee from one of my hands. “For me?”

“Yes, of course it’s for you.” I plop down in the chair and ask, “So, what happened with Tristan last night?” She better spill because I’m dying to know what’s going on between the two of them.

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing. And it’s all my fault.” She pouts and flops into the couch across from me.

“What do you mean? When the two of you left, it looked like
something
was going to happen.”

This is a never-ending cycle with the two of them. They never seem to get anywhere with each other or their relationship, if that’s what you can even call it.

“Well, thanks to you and all of the freaking tequila shots you made me do, I threw up outside of my apartment building! He helped me upstairs to my place, but that was it. I’m mortified.” She sips her coffee and closes her eyes.

“Oh no! It’s okay, honey.” I say. “It’s happened to the best of us.” It’s actually quite comical, but I stifle my giggles.

“He’s never going to want to see me again. I’m a disaster,” she says, sounding so defeated.

“Stop being so dramatic. You are totally not a disaster. You’ll have plenty of time to see him again,
sober.
” I try to make her feel better, but the look on her face tells me that I’m not.

“Enough about me. What happened with Alex last night? Did you tell him about Emily?”

“Of course I didn’t tell him about Emily. My God, Kirsten, you know that I’m not ready to do that.” We’ve talked about it several times. She knows that I’m not in a place right now where I can give him the complete truth about everything that I’ve done. “He came to see me last night after I left the bar.”

“What? Oh my God, what happened?” she asks, her curiosity obviously peaked.

My eyes tear up a little as I remember his tenderness last night. “He told me that he’s proud of me. Proud of the woman that I’ve become. He says I seem different. Stronger. In a good way.” I’ve been waiting so long to hear these words from him that it’s starting to sink in that he really feels this way.

“Oh, this is good Tabby. He’s starting to see the new you. The confident you. And he’s going to love you the way you are now. You’ve grown so much over the past few years, and he sees that and is clearly drawn to it. You have to tell him. You. Have. To.”

She’s right. I do have to tell him about Emily. Even about Seth and what I did to him. I have taken ownership of the pain that I’ve caused everyone that has loved me, and I need to admit it to them.

“Kirsten, I don’t know if it’s the right time. He said so many nice things to me. He was drunk, like really drunk, but he still said them. I’m not ready to erase those feelings that he has.” I’m petrified. I can’t bear for him to hate me again.

“Listen to yourself. That’s the old Tabby talking. The old Tabby avoided confrontation and never spoke her mind. The new Tabby doesn’t keep secrets from anyone. Alex doesn’t deserve to be kept in the dark. You need to tell him as soon as possible. If he doesn’t stick around after you tell him, then that’s what’s meant to be. But you can’t keep going on like this, playing these games with him. You aren’t that person anymore. Be direct and deal with the consequences.” Kirsten’s tone is stern and she is one hundred percent right. The weak Tabby would avoid this conversation altogether to preserve what relationship was there out of desperation and need. I’m not that girl anymore. I
can’t
be that girl anymore.