My Kind of Crazy - Robin Reul Page 0,63
she looks around, all wide-eyed.
“Monica used to date my dad,” I explain. “Don’t worry. She’s cool.”
“And how exactly is she going to help me? Because call me crazy, but I don’t think I can pole dance myself out of this situation.”
“Would you please trust me?” I say, which seems to pacify her.
Jesus, this place is everything I imagined it would be. There is a smattering of tables and bar stools around the edge of the stage where a few early-afternoon diehards are guzzling drinks and watching a bored-looking brunette with a cheetah G-string and black tassels grind a pole.
The DJ is in the corner, jamming to the beat of the house music and wearing giant headphones and sunglasses despite the fact that he’s inside. He can probably stare all he wants and no one would even know. It’s like my dream job. There are seminude girls every-frickin’-where, and it’s like naked Disneyland.
A cocktail waitress wearing a sexy maid apron and not much else checks me out, then notices Peyton, who stands out like a sore thumb in my Batman hoodie and sweats, and looks the other way. It figures that the one time I actually get to be in a place like this I can’t even enjoy it. I grab Peyton’s hand, and we wind our way through the maze of tables toward the back like we mean business.
Be cool, Hank. Just be cool, keep it together, and find Monica. Or Fantasia. Whatever.
At the back, a narrow hallway leads to a series of black doors, which I’m figuring are the dressing rooms. There’s a piece of paper taped to each one, and the names of the dancers are scrawled on them in Sharpie. This is obviously not a big-budget operation. I find the one that says Fantasia and knock.
“Who is it?” a voice calls.
“It’s…um…Hank.”
“Hank…Kirby?”
“Yeah,” I say and dig my hands in my pockets.
The door flies open, and Monica is suddenly all over me, throwing her arms around my neck and pressing her perfect body up against mine. Thankfully, she’s wearing clothes. I’d forgotten how completely intoxicating she smells. I try to shift my thoughts to incredibly unsexy, un-hot things—like senior citizens without their dentures and people with excessive body hair—so I don’t get too excited about this reunion.
She pulls back, still holding on to my shoulders and says, “Oh my God! Hank! How are you? I’ve been thinking about you. I’m so glad to see you. How did you get in here?”
“It wasn’t easy, but if anyone asks, we have a mutual friend who’s dying.”
“Hi, I’m Peyton.” Peyton shoves her hand into the space between our bodies, forcing Monica to let go of me. Christ, I’d almost forgotten Peyton was standing there.
Monica responds with her name and grins. Then her gaze travels to Peyton’s hair and her expression turns to confusion.
“Listen, I need to ask you a favor. Is there somewhere we can maybe talk in private?” I ask.
Monica invites us upstairs where she is renting a small room above the club. She listens intently as I tell her Peyton’s story, and how I thought she might be able to help Peyton get fixed up since she’s studying to be a beautician. The next thing I know, Monica’s putting her arms around Peyton and telling her she’ll do whatever she can.
Peyton looks uncomfortable with the attention, with a stranger knowing her story, but honestly, I don’t know who else to turn to. I’d ask my mom, because she always knew what to do no matter the situation, but that’s not an option. Ironically, Monica’s probably the closest substitute I have.
Monica settles me in front of the TV while she digs through her closet to find Peyton some clothes and then takes Peyton into the bathroom and sits her on a chair in front of the sink. She starts rooting through a bag and pulling out scissors, combs, and all sorts of crap. I catch the occasional sentence here and there over the sounds of the TV, and I presume that Monica is sharing her own story with Peyton. A good half hour later, they emerge from the bathroom. My jaw drops.
Peyton’s Peyton, but transformed.
This girl is wearing jeans that hug her in all the right places and a skintight long-sleeved top that shows the curves I didn’t even know she had until last night. Monica has cut Peyton’s hair into a short pixie style that’s sexy as hell. For the first time, she’s not hiding under all that hair or