Offensive Behavior

“Reid.”

Zarley startled when another man blocked the light source from the street front. Three on one, this was superhero territory and she was only a tired pole dancer who had a paper due and needed a back massage.

This new man threw an arm around Back Booth. “Is he being a dickhead?” His eyes widened when he saw the downed man, he looked from Zarley to booth guy. “Did he? Reid, did you? When I said you needed to loosen up I didn’t mean . . . my God.”

“Your pal, Reid, is a drunk. He couldn’t hit a stationary train with a car if his foot was tied to the pedal.”

Reid pushed his friend away and glared at Zarley. “I didn’t touch anyone.”

The friend ignored Reid and focused on her too. “You’re okay? Do you want the police? We’ll wait with you, in case . . .” he tipped his chin at the hulk in the alley.

That was a point. Did she? No, screw it. She just wanted to go home. “If you’re any kind of real friend you’d get Reid,” she said his name with as much disdain as she could manage, “straightened out.”

“I’m drunk, I’m not unconscious,” Reid said, and it sounded like an order, not a correction.

Zarley rounded on him. She’d had enough of this night. It made having the love of a man like Gerry,

who didn’t seem to mind if his wife whored herself out to fund expenses, seem like a prize. “You’re a dickhead.”

Reid turned to his friend. “She called me a dickhead.” He threw his head back and roared with laughter and Zarley made her escape, stepping out of the shadows onto the curb and flagging a passing cab.

She showered in extra-hot water and scrubbed herself all over as if she’d been rolling in filth, and dragged her sorry self to bed where she stayed until it was time to repeat the pattern all over again, this time hopefully without the need for violence and debate.

The next night, she ditched her themed dress-up costumes for more traditional stripper attire. It’s not like it mattered that she’d tried to style herself as a dancer and an entertainer and not a free shot for sex.

“What’s with the all you can eat look?” Lizabeth asked. She was a vision in purple, a thong bikini and lace-up platform boots. There was nothing snack-like about her, she was the full banquet.

Zarley adjusted the ass-grazing black cotton mini-dress. It was more a suggestion of clothing than an actual dress. It was slashed across the front, side seam to side seam in ribbons from under her breasts to the hem. She wore black bikini pants underneath. It was a dirty hot look so unlike her usual fun and glamor, but Cara liked making this kind of stripper outfit as much as she liked hunting down vintage pieces and concocting themed looks.

How to explain the switch in looks? “I’ll get more tips.”

Lizabeth retied the lace in her boot. “You get plenty without showing so much skin.”

It was a fuck you to every man who thought they could have anything they saw whenever they wanted it. “I want them all to see what they can’t have.”

Lizabeth laughed. “Now that I get.”

“I don’t. Why?” said Kathryn. Tonight she was dressed in a white corset with red lacing, red panties with ruffles and her flashing light platform Pleasers. “Is this about what happened last night? Because that was stupid, Zarley, you should’ve come back inside and called the cops on that guy.”

“We should insist Lou lets us leave by the front door so we come straight out on the street like the customers. The alley’s not safe,” said Melinda.

“For real you brought a guy down?” said Kathryn.

It wasn’t the first time. And tonight Zarley was going to bring every guy out there to his knees without a single touch.

Because she could.

“Is booth dude out there?” She didn’t want to share the fact she knew his name, that he was one of the dickheads she wanted to feel the pain of wanting what you couldn’t have. They’d only tease her, try and make something more of it.

“He’s out there,” said Melinda. “You’ve got a thing for him.”

“We all have a thing for him,” said Lizabeth. “He’s ten thousand times better looking than the average Lucky’s loser and he tips four times as much.”

“I don’t have a thing for him,” said Melinda.

“Yeah, yeah we know, Gerry, who respectfully supports your occasional trick turning,” said Kathryn.

Melinda gave a shriek of protest. “You shut your face. He doesn’t know about that. Sometimes I just get, I just. Shit.” She stormed out, a vision of aggression in neon green Lycra.