My 3 Rockstar Bosses

Mary-Kate’s voice was immediately contrite.

“I’m sorry Susie,” she said. “I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories.”

“No, it’s okay,” was my slow reply. “It’s just that Oscar’s not in any of our lives anymore, and so that one’s a dead end. Maybe I should just go on-line and buy my bus ticket now,” came my small voice. “After all, if I wait until the last minute, it’ll only be more expensive.”

But Mary-Kate could hear the pain in my voice and she responded. Pausing for a moment, the woman collected her thoughts before speaking in a hushed voice.

“You know, Susie, there’s something you could do.”

I sighed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I knew what Mary-Kate was going to suggest. She was going to say something like “throw a bake sale” or “put a sign up outside asking for help.” Sometimes the innocence of my hometown friends got to me too, and I could see why my older brother left the moment he was able.

“What is it?” I sighed, balancing myself precariously on the tub ledge. “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade right? Or with apples in your case,” I said.

But Mary-Kate didn’t squeal and burble the way she usually does. Instead, my friend’s voice dropped even lower as if she were afraid of someone hearing, despite the fact that she was currently locked in her bathroom with only the dog outside.

“Do you remember Candy Harworth from the next town over? The one who always wore those skanky clothes and supposedly got pregnant from dating that fifty year-old guy?”

I nodded although MK couldn’t see.

“Sure, I remember Candy,” I said in a puzzled voice. “Why? What about her?”

“Well, don’t you wonder where her money came from?” asked MK in a near-whisper. “She always wore leather pants and had nice jewelry. Not costume jewelry,” emphasized my buddy. “Fine jewelry. Like gold and diamonds.”

My brows furrowed.

“But she was dating that fifty year-old guy, like you said,” I spoke slowly. “Didn’t he buy them for her?”

I could almost hear MK shaking her head.

“No, that guy has nothing,” she said in a low voice. “In fact, she was supporting him by dancing at the Red Raccoon.”

I almost guffawed.

“You can’t be serious. The Red Raccoon? That seedy place across the tracks with sawdust on the floors?”

But MK wasn’t put off.

“Yeah, that place exactly,” she said in a scandalized voice. “But I hear the tips are good. Like real good, making it rain good.”

But I didn’t understand why my friend was telling this.

“Unfortunately, I can’t dance at the Red Raccoon,” came my slow reply, “I’m out here on the East Coast. Unless you mean ….”

MK leapt in then.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” she said in a low, firm voice. “You have to do what you have to do, and it’s not like it’ll be a permanent thing, Susie. I know you. You’re smart, talented and beautiful. You’re just stuck in a jam right now. So find a place like the Red Raccoon and dance there for a night. Just once. And then take the cash, pay whatever you need to pay, and never show your face again. It’s fine,” she said firmly. “It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person or anything.”

No words came for a moment.

“No, it’s not a morality thing,” I said slowly. “It’s just I never thought I’d be dancing, you know?” The word “dancing” came out a little choked, like it was a frog stuck in my throat. But “dancing” seemed more palatable than the word “stripping,” which was what we were really talking about.

But MK has been my staunch supporter since we were six years old, and she held firm.

“Again, Suse, this isn’t you, not really. It’s just that you’re in a tough situation, and have to make do with what you have. And why not?” she urged. “You’re in great shape and almost won the cheerleading championships for us last year, so you’re coordinated too. Just do it for one night,” she said, “and then take the money and go. Why not?” she repeated. “What do you have to lose?”

I wanted to say something along the lines of dignity, honor, and pride, but those words got stuck in my throat. So I nodded, face flushing and my fingers trembling a bit.

“I’ll think about it,” came my tense reply. “There has to be a better way.”