“And yet you do everything in your power to project that image. You expect people to see the worst. You even encourage it. The motorcycle, the leather, the tattoos—it all projects that image. Maybe she needs you to be more than a member of that club. Maybe she needs you to be her hero.”
“I’m not cut out to be anyone’s hero.”
“Son, you were my hero.”
“Ma, I’ve been labeled a felon and a murderer by society.”
“Son—”
“No, Ma, you need to understand this. I’ll do anything for that girl, anything to win her love, just don’t ask me to be more than I’ve been labeled, because that’s not who I am. Not anymore.”
“Sly, you’re wrong. You’re so much more than what you’ve been labeled. I see it, and deep down, so does she.”
I study my boots, knowing exactly what Michaela sees when she looks at me now, and none of it’s good.
“You know, Son, you can be strong, but you can also be stubborn too. That strength, it got you where you are, got you through everything life threw at you, but the irony of it is—it might be what’s holding you back.”
“Maybe.”
“She’ll come around.”
I turn to her, clutching at straws, at any hope she’ll throw me. “You really believe that?”
“She don’t come around on her own, then you better bring her around.”
I huff. Like that’s so easy. Ma’s faith is a little biased.
“You think I don’t know how women flock to you like bees to honey? They drop at your feet. I’m sure you’re up to the challenge of this one. Besides, I’m not getting any younger, and I want grandbabies some day.”
I chuckle at that one.
“Don’t you want children, Son?”
“Yeah, sure. Someday.”
“You’re not getting any younger either. Don’t live your life waitin’ on ‘someday’ to come around. You’ll just end up wasting years.”
“I still got you though, don’t I?”
“You bet, but I’m not gonna be here forever. Just focus on what’s in front of you, baby. Michaela is the one. I know it. I got a feelin’.”
I chuckle. “Yes, ma’am. Who am I to argue with you when you get a feelin’ about something.”
“Don’t tease me.”
I kiss her hand. “I love you, Ma.” I pull her in for a hug.
She grins and pats my cheek. “Now go fix my sink.”
Twenty-Eight
Michaela—
It’s been a few days since my blowup with Sly. I’ve stuck mostly to the bar, working to get the violations taken care of and the bar up and running. The refrigeration unit was finally installed yesterday. I’ve drained my savings and with the help of my brother, sold my car. Today I needed a break, so I called Bethany to meet me up here at the diner for lunch.
We sit in a booth along the wall. As we wait for our food, I notice a white corvette pull up and park in the angled parking space out front. Two women climb out and walk in. They catch the eyes of every man in the place as they stroll across the room, their heads in the air like they’re royalty.
There’s a good reason they’re turning heads; they’re both stunningly beautiful, and their hair and makeup are done to perfection. I scan their outfits, finding nothing flashy about how they’re dressed, other than the fact that I know their clothes all carry the best labels. The first is a curvy brunette with long thick hair that falls all the way to the top of her perfect heart-shaped ass. She’s got a to-die-for Gucci bag over her arm. The second is a tall blonde with her hair partially pulled up high on her head in a waterfall of perfectly highlighted long curls. She carries a Prada handbag.
They slide in the booth behind Bethany, and I listen in on their conversation.
“North was a bear last night. He barely even said goodnight when I was leaving.”
“Don’t let it bother you, you know how he is. Did you have any problems from that little guy in the corner? He was a real douche.”
“No, I guess I missed him.”
“You always luck out. How much did you pull in last weekend?”
“About six grand. You?”
“Close. Gotta love those bachelor parties.”
“Next weekend should be great. I hear there’s a group of big-shots coming in from Atlanta, some sports team, I think.”
“Wow, they’re always big spenders.”
“Yeah, last spring I raked in a ton when they came out to the club.”
I meet Bethany’s eyes. They get huge and I know she’s listening in as well. Our food is brought over and I pick at my salad, distracted by my problems and the women’s conversation.
“I heard North and Aspen talking about how we’re gonna be shorthanded, with Persia, Star, and Tiffany being out with the flu. He was even contemplating trying to pull in some talent from Atlanta for the weekend.”
“Crap. I don’t want some big headliners coming in and taking the lion’s share of our money.”
“Girl, same.”
“Centerfolds is a nice gig; a lot nicer than a lot of clubs I’ve danced at. It’s upscale, and the security is awesome. I don’t want some Atlanta chicks coming in and deciding they might want to stick around permanently.”
“I’m with you, but we need more girls in the rotation, especially if these guys are going to want the VIP rooms.”
“Those are the money-makers too. I hope North doesn’t let the Atlanta bitches take up all that business.”
“He won’t. North’s fair, and Aspen will make sure we’re taken care of.”
“Guess so. I wish my friend Heather was in town. I’d call her to come dance. She’s really good.”
“Yeah, I wish I knew someone, too, but none of my friends are dancers.”
The waitress comes over and takes their order, then retreats. I stare down at my plate, thinking about all the money these girls make in a weekend. I bet they’d have no problem paying off a balloon note. My fork jabs at the lettuce, but slows as an idea takes form. A few good weekends like that and I’d have what I still need for the balloon payment. Well, that combined with the money Sly wouldn’t take.
I twirl a lock of hair around my finger. But could I do it, actually dance in a strip club? Would they even hire me? I lift my eyes to the two women. I probably don’t compare to them in beauty, but I might be able to pull off the attitude.
How desperate am I? I think about everything that’s on the line. Am I willing to lose the bar, my family’s legacy and their only income because of my inhibition and pride? Before I can lose my nerve, I slide from the booth.
Bethany looks up at me questioningly, and her eyes follow me as I move to the booth behind her.
“Excuse me, ladies, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.” I hold out my hand to one of them. “Hi, I’m Michaela Mooney. I run Mooney’s Pub. Could I talk to you a moment?”
The tall blonde shakes my hand. “I’m Sabrina, hi. This is Brandy.” She nods to the brunette. “Sure, I guess.”