Surrender (15 page)

She studies me. There’s a long pause in the conversation. “Then don’t worry about Carlos or your family right now. Focus on getting better.”

Tears burn my eyes. Something bad is going to happen; I can feel it in my bones. No one has ever been this accommodating, this kind, this welcoming to me. The garage door opens. Garrick. He’s carrying two boxes and a pink Zales bag.

“Is it your birthday?” I ask Gretchen.

“Nope.” She eyeballs her brother. “Is it yours?”

“No,” I answer, growing more curious by the second. Maybe a late birthday present?

Garrick smiles and leans in to kiss me. “Come upstairs with me.”

I’m wearing Gretchen’s pink terry-cloth robe. She’s only two sizes bigger, but when I stand, it gaps open. I pull the belt tight. “Sure.” I follow him.

I sit on the bed and he places the boxes next to me. “I picked up a few things for you to keep over here.”

I open the first one. There’s an array of panties and bras, all perfectly sized. Even a red lace teddy. I chuckle. “Thank you.” He gestures at the second package. I open it. Two pairs of Balmain jeans and three blouses. “Garrick . . .” I’m shocked. “I can’t accept these. These jeans cost too much. I don’t wear designer clothes, I can’t afford them. I love that you went to all this trouble, but . . .” He places the Zales bag on the bed.

I’m silent. If he’s crazy enough to buy me $500 jeans, what’s in the bag? With trepidation I pick up the gift. There’s a large white box inside. I gaze at him.

“Don’t be afraid, baby.”

I open it. I blink, then eye him. It’s the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen. It’s a diamond solitaire pendant in yellow gold. A
big
pendant. My hands quiver. I gently scoot the box aside. “Garrick,” I say tremulously. “Thank you a thousand times. But I can’t . . .”

“You can.”

“What will Gretchen think?”

“I don’t care—the gifts are for
you.
”

“I don’t want your money.”

“I never thought you did.”

“It’s one thing to tip me onstage . . .” He’s on me, peppering my face with hot kisses.

He reaches for the necklace. “Pull your hair aside,” he commands.

I do so reluctantly. The gold is cool against my flushed skin. “Look in the mirror,” he suggests.

I jump off the bed and walk to his dresser. The chain is long enough so the pendant dips between my breasts. The diamond shimmers in the sunlight. I’m speechless. Touched. Furious. It’s beautiful. “Please . . . don’t make me do this.”

He hugs me from behind, staring at my reflection. “Customers give you gifts all the time.”

“Yes,” I confirm. “That’s different.”

“How so?”

“It’s meaningless in a way. They’re trying to impress me. I usually give them back.”

“Have you
ever
accepted any?”

“Sure,” I admit. “A couple of bracelets, flowers, and gift certificates to the spa.”

“Part of the business,” he states. “Accept this as an expression of my deepest regard for you.”

“Regard?” I turn. “This necklace represents way more than simple regard.”

His brow juts up.

“Your sister, who already has doubts about me, will think I’m a money-grubbing stripper whore.”

His features darken. Then he grabs me by the shoulders. “Don’t talk like that, Robyn. I hate it. I’m not a simple-minded country bumpkin. I’m capable of purchasing a gift for a woman without consulting my sister first. Or you.”

“Please,” I beg. “Don’t take my resistance as an insult. I
love
the necklace. I’m astounded, really.” I finger the solitaire nervously. “No one has ever . . .” I go silent.

He releases my arms, then caresses my cheek. “Wear it for a few days,” he offers. “If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll return it.”

Robyn’s reaction is both endearing and infuriating. I know she has self-esteem issues. All dancers do. I’m prepared to deal with it. I care more than I can say. But if she ever calls herself a whore again, I’m not sure how I’ll react. She was a virgin.

Two hours later, Robyn meets me downstairs, wearing one of the new outfits I bought her. The black ribbed jeans hug the curves of her ass like a glove. I grit my teeth.
Damn.
Maybe I should lock her in my room and throw away the key. I’m driving her to school so she can make arrangements with her professors to miss class the next couple of weeks. I don’t want her running around campus with that lunatic piece of shit Carlos out there.

We go outside. “Want to take the Corvette?” I ask.

She eyes my car. It’s sleek and black, everything it’s supposed to be—a pussy magnet.

As I open the passenger-side door, she slides into the leather seat. I get in, then rev the engine. She gives me a toothy smile. I’m in heaven. My girl loves football and fast cars. I’ll have to work on that paint job her Camaro desperately needs. We pass the big
Texas A&M University Corpus Christi, The Island University
sign and pull into the SandDollar Parking Lot. We walk to the Performing Arts Center.

Robyn rushes to a table in the commons. “Professor Acavedo.”

A thin, middle-aged guy stands. “Ms. Gonzalez. I’m glad you made it.” He looks at his watch. “I’m sorry to hear your mother is ill . . .”

I wait until the initial conversation is over and join them. Acavedo throws me a tentative look. “Garrick Dempsey.” I extend my hand.

He shakes it. Robyn stares between us. “This is my boyfriend, Professor Acavedo.”

He gives me a thin-lipped smile. “Glad to meet you. Are you a student here?”

“Garrick graduated from MIT, when he was twenty,” Robyn announces.

The professor’s demeanor changes immediately. “Wonderful, just wonderful,” he says.

We collect Robyn’s assignments for both classes and leave. “I’m glad that chapter in my life is over.” I wipe sweat from my brow.

“Really?” She looks surprised. “I could sit in a classroom every day for the rest of my life.”

I tousle her hair. “Geek.”

“Me?” she asks. “You’re the strip-club mechanical engineer.”

I scoop her up and twirl her around. She squeals like a little girl on a playground. “Put me down.”

“Never.” I spin her again.

When her feet hit the ground, she’s dizzy. I laugh. “Lightweight.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been on every roller coaster between Texas and California.”

“Willingly?” I ask.

“I love them.”

“I see a trip to Six Flags in our near future.” We stroll back to the car. “Where to, darlin’?”

“Drive me to Macey’s?”

I’m hesitant. I don’t want my girlfriend hanging out where she was attacked. But, if Pepper is back . . . I’d love to wring her meth-loving neck.

Macey’s house is only a mile from campus. I rev the engine as I turn into the driveway to announce my arrival. We walk to the front door and ring the bell. Macey answers, still dressed in her pajamas.

“What’s up, girl?” She kisses Robyn. “Garrick.” She pushes the door open; we step inside.

“Is Pepper here?” Robyn asks.

Macey plops down on the leather sectional. “We haven’t seen her since the party. She’s turning into a real dope fiend.”

“Have you called the police?” I query.

“Police?” Macey throws me a wicked look. “The first rule in the party palace manifesto is no cops.”

I’m disgusted. “What if Pepper is hurt, or dead?”

Macey shrugs. “She’s a big girl.”

“Macey!”
Robyn exclaims.

“Hey.” She holds up her hand. “After what that asshole did to you, I don’t care if they fish her out of Packery Channel.”

I’m grateful for Macey’s loyalty, but . . . “We have to draw a line somewhere. If the girl doesn’t come home by tomorrow, you need to file a missing persons report.”

Macey exhales. “I’ll think about it.” She turns away from me. “La Mafia is playing at Rosario’s Night Club next weekend. It’s been too long since we’ve had a girl’s night out.”

Robyn’s eyes light up. “I love Tejano
music. Why’s La Mafia playing at a dive?”

“A favor for a friend of a friend.”

“Rosario’s on Ayers?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Macey answers. “It’s not that bad.”

Oh yes it is.
“I’ll get off work early,” I say.

“You need to chill, homeboy.” Macey flicks me an exasperated gaze. “Free and twenty-one . . .”

“Twenty,” I correct sharply.

I get another
fuck you
look from Macey.

Chapter Fourteen

Bachelor parties at the Devil’s Den are wild. For $300, the groom picks up to five of his favorite dancers and gets a two-song table dance onstage. Tonight it’s Macey, Desire, Velvet, and me. I go to the kitchen and grab two cans of whipped cream from the refrigerator. Garrick stops me. He eyeballs the cans and looks up at me.

“Really?”

“Garrick.” I see a hint of jealousy blooming on his face. “I’m doing what I’ve always done—long before I met you.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

I don’t like what he’s implying. “Stay in the office for the set.”

“Macey, Desire, Robyn, and Velvet, stand by . . .” the DJ calls over the mic.

I slant my head. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

“That’s what they said when they took my appendix out,” he quips. “I was on my ass for a week.”

I peck his cheek and hurry out. This is the fourth night I’ve worked with Garrick. Overall, it’s been uneventful. He makes rounds and I dance.

I join the girls by the main stage and Craig escorts a redheaded guy with freckles up the stairs. Craig pushes him onto a chair and handcuffs his hands behind his back. That’s our cue. Macey goes first. She does a ten-second intro grind on his crotch and stands aside. Velvet goes next, followed by Desire. I’m last. I shed my dress and squeeze his face between my breasts. He’s already grinning drunk. For the duration of the first song we go back and forth, teasing and rubbing the poor guy until it looks like he’s going to fall over.

The music fades. “Timmy,” the DJ calls.

Our bachelor gazes across the smoky room.

“I heard you like blow jobs . . .” Dave taunts over the mic.

Timmy’s stupid smile suggests he does.

“Do you spit or swallow . . .” The crowd applauds and screams—enjoying themselves at Timmy’s expense.

Next, Craig removes Timmy’s handcuffs. Timmy waves at his friends nearby. Velvet spreads a blue tarp in the middle of the stage. Craig takes hold of Timmy’s arm and directs him to lie down on the tarp. “Stick your hands underneath your ass,” Craig barks. “If you touch, the fun’s over.”

Macey has a container of strawberries, Velvet has a bottle of Hershey’s chocolate syrup, Desire holds a riding crop, and I shake the whipped cream. I kneel beside Timmy and unbutton his shirt, then peel it open, revealing a prepubescent-like chest. No hair. I unsnap my bra and whirl it aside. Next, I spray whipped cream in neat little circles around my nipples. Timmy’s eyes bulge and he snaps like a ravenous dog. I scoot aside, and Velvet slides in.

Halfway through “That Girl,” we cover Timmy from navel to neck in whipped cream and chocolate. Macey dips the strawberries and hand-feeds Timmy. He’s struggling to be a good boy. Desire rubs her breasts across his chest, covering herself in the sticky mess. It’s my turn. I crawl between his legs. I’ve never liked this part. And if the cops show up, we’re all going to jail. I take a handful of strawberries from Macey and rub them on his stomach. He’s howling. I lean to give him a bite. Suddenly, he seizes my hips.

“Let go, Timmy,” I whisper. His fingernails dig into my flesh.

“Let go, asshole.” Desire whacks him in the face with the whip. He won’t stop. She thwacks him again.

I manage to look up—right into Garrick’s angry eyes.

He growls at me and snags Timmy’s wrist. “I’ll snap it . . .” he thunders in Timmy’s ear.

The bachelor screams like a stuck pig after Garrick bends his wrist back. I’m free. I roll off him and scramble to my feet. “Go to the dressing room,” Garrick roars.

I nod, afraid to say anything. With one hand, Garrick scrapes the bachelor off the stage. Timmy’s dangling. I’m mesmerized by my boyfriend’s brute strength. I’ve never seen him pluck a guy off the ground like that. I’m slowly retreating, baby step by baby step. I watch Craig and another bouncer, Jonathan, take custody of Timmy. Garrick does a 180 and glares at me.

“Go. To. My. Office. Now.”

I trot ahead of him, feeling gross with all the dried chocolate and whipped cream on me. I left my clothes onstage, so I’m nearly naked. I rush inside the security office and Garrick steps inside. He slams and locks the door.

“Sit down!” He points at his chair.

I refuse.

He grabs the back of the chair and rolls it behind me.

“Sit.”

“No.”

He gives me a small push, and I hit the cushion. “I can’t believe you.” He’s pacing.

“Did you watch the whole thing?”

He points at the monitors. I look. I see bar backs mopping the stage. “You promised not to . . .”

“No,” he says. “I agreed to stay in the office.”

My head droops.

“Robyn.” He’s calmer. “I’m only a man. You’re my girlfriend. What do you expect me to do? Enjoy it?”

I raise my head. “Maybe we made a mistake.”

He scowls and comes toward me. “A mistake? Is that what you call it?”

I finger the pendant. “That’s why I
never
get involved. Men can’t handle it. You can’t control it and we work together. It’s hypocritical.” I cross my arms over my breasts.

“Am I hand-feeding strippers chocolate-covered strawberries?”

“No.”

“That’s right. So why am I a hypocrite?”

“You stare at tits and ass all night. I don’t complain.”

“Robyn . . .” He exhales and rubs the back of his neck, clearly frustrated and angry. “I
don’t
look at tits and ass all night to get off on it. I’m here to protect you. I can handle stage and table dances. I
won’t
handle what just happened ever again. You’re off bachelor parties.”

I stand. “You don’t have the authority to do that.”

“I do.”

“I’ll talk to the owner—he’ll override anything you say.”

“Robyn,” Garrick says. “The owner went to high school with my father. I’ve known him since I was a kid. He’ll support my decision.”