Page 17 of Truth Be Told
The possibility of quitting my job is a happy thought. I suspected Cohen had money because of his car, but I had no clue that he hadthatkind of money, and never in a million years would I have imagined that he’d offer such a thing out of the blue.
Cohen, a man I’ve only known for a few days. Been out on only one date with– actually, was that even a date? An early morning McDonald’s run we were practically forced into due to the club’s closing, sitting in a parking lot and eating ice cream and burgers out of a car. No. That was definitelynota date, even in the loosest sense of the term.
About an hour ago he dropped me back at my car, where we’d left it at the club, and we drove out together, eventually parting ways without another word.
But before I left him, he gave me his address and his phone number. He told me to call or stop by the next night so we can finish sorting things out. That is, if I decide to take him up on his offer. It’s a good enough plan, but I still haven’t agreed to anything, and I’m not sure that I will.
The whole money thing isn’t like me. As soon as he brought it up, I knew I probably wouldn’t go through with it, despite how undeniably tempting it was. I’m not the kind of person who can accept someone else’s handouts. I don’t have it in me, the same way that he doesn’t have it in him to fit in with the strip club crowd. It’s not a part of me, and it’s not something that can be faked.
I finish the glass of wine, tossing the last drop back, and when the water temperature starts to drop I get out and get myself ready for bed. I pull the stuffed animals off my bed in order to make my way under the sheets. Yes, I still sleep with stuffed animals, and no, I’m not ashamed, although I get that at my age it’s a pretty unique thing to do. And it can make for some interesting conversation if I should ever bring a guy home with me some night.Ifbeing the key word. I give one, my oldest teddy bear, a kiss on the nose before placing it on a nearby chair.
The few remaining cold weather birds we still have hanging around are starting to chirp. I hear them through my window as I lay my head down on my pillow, breathing in the sweet smells of peppermint and lavender emitting from the essential oil diffuser in the corner of my room. The sun will be up soon. I bundle my arms under the pillow, supporting my chin, and fight against closing my eyes. I want to see him again. I don’t want to see him for his money, or his car, or the fact that he’s incredibly good looking and smells delicious. Sorry, Lorelei. Smellssexy. All those things are great, don’t get me wrong. But there is more to him than that… something kind and attractive and potentially wonderful, and it’s that part of him that I want to see again.
I roll onto my back, my eyes still wide open in the half-darkness that’s now lighting my room.
He’s a night owl.Why,I wonder. One thing I learned during my studies in psychology is that very few people’s brains arethatprogrammed for such a reversed sleep schedule unless they give it a good, forceful reason to be. Like me, with my job. My job pulls the night owl trait out of me, tooth and nail. I roll onto my side. It’s a given that there’s more to Cohen than meets the eye, so I don’t even know why I’m trying to figure it out on my own. He will have to help me with that.
Even apart from that, I have a lot to think about. If I accept his offer, that means I’ll have to give my notice of resignation to Mama May within the next day or two. And I know she won’t be happy, because I’m one of her best dancers. And Lorelei… Lorelei is a whole different story. She’ll require some explaining to. She’ll be working on her own from now on, at least until they can find someone to replace me. She won’t let me go without a fight.
My thoughts continue to swirl until they finally land back around and rest on Cohen.
I’m used to men throwing themselves all over me, both on stage and off, but it’s different with him. When I’m with him, the fact that I’m a stripper doesn’t seem to exist. In his eyes, I’m a normal person, as worthy of his attention as anyone else, and perhaps a bit more so. I saw it in the way he looked at me in the club, and I saw it in the way he pulled me away from those thugs, how the thought of participating in their evil acts so obviously didn’t even register in his mind – only the thoughts of vengeance, and me. He’s one hell of a sexy mystery, and I’ve never felt so intrigued.
Finally, I close my eyes. I pull the covers up to my chin and bundle them up with my fists, creating a warm cocoon of safety around my aching body, my lame attempt at somehow feeling someone else here with me. I fade into darkness to the sound of the birds.
I spend the following day wasting a few hours in the office, lazing through the necessities. When I return home, I busy myself with cleaning and organizing – my number one hobby when I’m not on the pole.Which,I think as I carefully dust around an outdated Christmas figurine that I never got around to putting away last month,makes my life incredibly lame.As lame as it is, I get through all of it the morning without giving much thought to Cohen, and for that, I’m impressed with myself.
When the afternoon starts to disappear, I messily stuff my cleaning supplies back under the sink and clap my hands. A clean apartment always makes me feel better, but I know what’s going on here. I’m avoiding shit, and I’d been trying to pull that wool over my own eyes. I’ve been avoiding noticing that I’m avoiding something. How messed up. I should already know what I’m going to tell Cohen, but thanks to these successful attempts at keeping myself too busy to think, I have no idea what’s going to happen when I go over there in a few hours.
I did manage to make up my mind to visit him instead of calling him, so at least I came that far. I figure if I’m going to turn down such a generous offer, the least I can do is show him the grace of doing it in person.
I quickly change out of the messy sweats I was wearing for cleaning and slip on a pair of leggings and a long, warm sweater. It’s the sweater my mother gifted me a few Christmases ago, and I almost forgot about it until I rummaged through my closet just now. A few tosses aside of some clothes here and there, and there it was, folded neatly on a back shelf, just waiting to comfort me with memories. I lift the sleeves up to my nose, breathing in the scent, wishing it still smelled like her. Of course, it doesn’t. It’s been sitting far too long and has taken on the musty, stale scent of the back of my closet. I throw my hands down.
My mother is in Florida with the rest of my family, and we haven’t seen each other in a year. At first, we tried to visit every few months, then twice a year and then we settled into a pattern of once a year. But this year, my work got in the way. I simply didn’t have the time to make the trip from Connecticut to Florida, even for a few days. It broke my heart, but the work I do isn’t exactly portable, and I have deadlines. I can only hope things will be different next year, but in my world, there are no guarantees.
As a last-ditch effort at making myself presentable, I spray on a dash of perfume, then head out. In the car, I use my phone to pull up Cohen’s address and plug it into my GPS. My car is nowhere near as nice as his, I notice as I wiggle back in the uncomfortable seat. It’s about seven years old, racked up with miles, and the faux leather trim is starting to peel around the edges. That’s not to mention the most disturbing thing of all – it’s yellow. As in, taxi cab yellow. This is the car I bought at the beginning of my freshman year of college. It goes without saying that I’m well overdue for an upgrade, but there’s been too much chaos lately, and my mind couldn’t register the fact that I should be embarrassed about my car in front of Cohen, especially when compared to his. There also just so happened to be so much else on my mind at the time. You know, potentially big, life-changing offers involving quitting my side job.
I set my phone down in the center console as the female voice spouts out directions. Cohen doesn’t live far from me, but his house is in an area I’ve never been before, and as I drive further and further through the unfamiliar winding roads, I can see why. The houses are huge.
I expected that, of course, given what I now know about him. But I didn’t expect anything like this. All the homes are big, but when I see Cohen’s address in gold numbers against a brick entryway, I stop. His house is the biggest. It’s completely gated on all sides, and I can only see the house itself by trailing my eyes up the long, winding driveway that sits behind the closed security gate. There, sitting on the top of a hill, is a huge white mansion. Its outside lights are on at the moment, giving the house and its entire exterior a warm, hazy glow, as though the entire house is illuminated to be the obvious focal point of the city.
I release my foot off the brake and my car rattles slowly up to the security gate. I’m confused at first, as there’s no obvious way to get through, and I pick up my phone to call Cohen to let him know I’m here. Then I drop the phone back down. There’s movement coming from a behind a patch of trees, and a man in a security uniform approaches my car. I can see it now, how he emerged from a small, tucked away booth. It’s not lit up, so it wasn’t obvious before.
He taps on my window before I roll it down.
“Hello,” I say, somewhat awkwardly. “I’m here to see Cohen. Er– Mr. Thatcher.” Thank goodness I remembered his last name. My mind can be slippery like that, and I’m not so sure Mr. Security Man here would have been impressed.
The man is dressed in a black suit and tie, and he has a clipboard in his hand. “Can I say that he’s expecting you?”
I nod. “Yes. Yes, you can.”
He gives me a brief once-over, leaning down to peer past me into my car, and says, “Wait here.” Then he walks away.
The thought of seeing Cohen again is bringing back that familiar feeling of butterflies in my stomach. Now I’m wishing I’d taken the time to dress better, or at least stick on a pair of earrings or something. I remembered to use some perfume, though, so at least I have that going for me.
From here, I can hear the security guard talking into a phone. I can’t tell if he’s talking to Cohen, but I hear a few of his brief words: “Yes. She is. Okay, sir. Goodbye.”
At the sound of “goodbye,” I snap back to attention and shift my eyes away from him so he won’t catch on to the fact that I’ve been trying to listen in. He returns, this time without his clipboard and with a friendlier look on his face.
