behind the shops, runs a canal, whose boardwalk is lined with soft white lights that add a festive glow at night.
A quaint and beautiful little town, like something straight out of a book.
In spite of its bewitching allure, though, there’s an emptiness that looms like an invisible cloud overhead. A shadow of something absent here. Forlorn and spectral, like ghosts staring down from the sky.
At the light, she tells me to hang a left, and it isn’t until I’m pulling into the parking lot of the place that I notice the neon sign out front. Sinners and Saints.
The place looks like it might’ve been a church at one time, with its neo-gothic architecture, but the sign out front, flashing a woman with half her tits hanging out, tells me this is no holy establishment.
“Your sister … she’s a …. She’s ...” Brie is a stripper?
Nothing against them. Hell, I’ve been tempted by the cash myself in recent months. About a year ago, I tried to do the webcam thing, just to see if I had the nerve, but chickened out the moment I saw a dick pop up on the screen. For the hour that followed, I paced back and forth, paranoid that Russ would swipe up my phone, and some random cock would pop up out of nowhere from a screen I failed to shut out and slap his eyeballs out of his skull. The years have hardened me enough that I don’t tend to get too squirrely about strippers and prostitutes, but Brie? I guess my memories aren’t as reliable as I thought.
“She manages the floor.”
That makes more sense.
“I’m the one who dances.”
Keeping my attention forward, I do my best to school the dumbfounded look on my face, because the Marcelle I used to know, or I think I remember, anyway, was like Brie on steroids.
Unless she wasn’t. In which case, my memories have become so unreliable, I might not even have the right person.
The entire lot is packed, not a single place to park, as I idle through rows of cars, fancier cars, still trying to sort my head on this one.
“Just pull up to the side. That door there.” She points to a door along the side of the building, which I’m guessing is the entrance for the dancers.
When we roll to a stop, she opens the door without unbuckling her son, and just before she closes it on him--and me--I lean forward.
“Wait. Aren’t you taking him with you?”
“I’ll just be a second.”
“Wait, wait, wait. You’re …” Leaving your son with a complete stranger at the back door of a strip club? “What if he cries?”
“He won’t. He likes you. He’s got a … sense about people.”
I do, too, and I’m not liking what it’s telling me right now. Scratching the back of my neck, I glance down to the boy, who doesn’t seem troubled, at all, by this arrangement, then back to her. “Just for a minute?”
“I promise. I’ll go in, get the key, and I’ll be right out.”
Sinking back into the seat, I sigh, as she slams the door shut and heads inside. In the quiet that follows, I clear my throat, doing my best not to notice the awkward discomfort hovering between me and the three- or four- or five-year old beside me.
“You dwive weally dood,” he says, adjusting the glasses on his nose.
“Thanks. You, um …. You did a good job. Sitting still all the way here.”
“Thanks.” His little feet hang off the edge of the bench as he sits fidgeting. “What’s yew name?”
“Ce--Carly.”
“Cecawly? Das a weird name.”
I chuckle at his comment, the tension slowly settling in my stomach. “Carly. My name is Carly James. What’s yours?”
“Dustin.”
“Dustin?”
“No. Dus-tin.”
“Dustin,” I repeat again.
“No, no. Say it wif me. Duh.”
“Duh.”
“No. Das wong.” He slaps a hand to his forehead, and I glance around, wishing his mother would hurry up, because I feel bad that I don’t understand what the hell he’s trying to tell me.
“Does it start with a D?”
“No. A dzaaaay.” Okay, so maybe I was off about his age, because I’m not sure a three-year-old knows how to spell his own name. Unless, maybe they do.
“Okay, so it’s Justin?”
“Yessss!” He kicks his feet in what must be sheer excitement, and again, I find myself chuckling. “Hey, Cawly?”
“Yeah, Justin?”
“I weally, weally have to go potty.”
Shit.
“Um. So … what do boys do? Just … go outside, right? Pee on buildings, or something? You can probably pee on that wall right there.”