My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,62
it’s early. I would’ve called first, but it’s much easier to explain everything in person, and I’m hoping if I just show up with Peyton, Monica will be less likely to send me away. I see her piece-of-shit red Dodge Shadow parked on the side, and it makes me smile. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen Monica, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I missed her.
I remind myself that I am here to help Peyton so my mind doesn’t wander to all the hot girls wearing next to nothing. I’ve never actually been inside Mo’s because I’m underage, but I’m hoping that since it’s lunchtime and there aren’t many cars in the parking lot, I might be able to convince someone to at least get Monica a message.
“You’re taking me to a strip club?” Peyton shakes her head as she climbs off the handlebars of my bike. “I’m not taking off my clothes for money. No way. I’m not that desperate.”
“You don’t have to take off your clothes. Just follow my lead.” I prop my bike against the side of the building and make my way to the front, past the first blinking neon sign that says “Open 24 hours / Live DJ” and the second that says “Live naked girls.”
When I open the front door, I’m greeted by pulsating music and a bouncer built like a sumo wrestler. He doesn’t look like the sort of person who would take pity on a not-quite eighteen-year-old trying to get into a strip club with his equally underage girlfriend. He positions himself squarely in front of the purple velvet curtain that separates the entrance from the actual lounge.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“Uh…yeah. I’m here to see Monica.”
He narrows his eyes. “Can I see some ID?”
“Um…I don’t actually have it on me. If you could just tell her that Hank is here, she can totally vouch for me.”
He doesn’t budge. “Uh-huh. You need an ID to get in. No ID, no access.”
The man clearly takes his job very seriously. I’m betting he’s been Employee of the Month more than once.
“Here’s the thing. I really need to talk to Monica. It’s sort of a life-and-death situation.” I can feel Peyton staring at me, and I silently plead for her to roll with it.
The bouncer dude crosses his arms over his four-foot-wide chest and says, “Life and death, huh?”
“Yes, life and death,” I assure him. “You see…I’ve just found out that someone we both know and care about is sick, dying actually. And I know she’d want to know about this. He’s like a father to her, and she’d be devastated if something happened and she didn’t get a chance to say good-bye.”
“It’s really rough when someone passes and you don’t get to say good-bye. You never get any closure,” Peyton chimes in, and I bite my lip to keep from completely losing my shit.
“Never. It’s like an open wound,” I say as Peyton gives a sorrowful shake of her head.
The guy shifts uneasily. “Dying, huh?”
“Could be a matter of hours. So touch and go,” I say.
“The worst part is he’s so young, like a brother,” Peyton says.
Bouncer Dude’s brow creases with confusion. “I thought you said he was like a father to her.”
I nod. “Yes, he’s like a father and a brother. I don’t know which is worse.”
“I lost my father,” the bouncer tells us. “Two years ago next Sunday.”
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry,” Peyton commiserates.
“Then you know how it is,” I say, sensing his weakening resolve. “She’s gonna be wrecked. Like a total head case. So I’m hoping we can break this to her in person. You know, in private.”
The guy hesitates. We’re as good as in. He shoots a glance over his shoulder. “Okay, there’s practically no one here so be cool. Monica’s dressing room is in the back, although around here she’s called Fantasia.”
“Thank you,” I say before he can change his mind, but the bouncer sticks out a beefy arm the size of a small tree trunk.
He leans in and says in a voice that’s all business, “Walk like you know where you’re going, because if anyone asks where you came from, I’m going to say I was on a piss break and you two snuck in. So be cool.”
“Like frickin’ ice cream,” I assure him.
He parts the purple velvet curtain for us and we’re in.
“Nice work. I’m not even going to ask why you’re on a first-name basis with a stripper,” Peyton says as