Chapter Five
Carolyn
Time passed so swiftly I almost forgot that I had ever had a life before The Playground. I played my five nights a week, and I even filled in when other entertainment had to cancel.
I felt as if I was on top of things for the first time in my life. I actually got my car payments caught up and then paid it off! Naturally, I still had a whole bunch of collection agencies after me for other things but I was earning good money and, since I changed my cell phone to a local number, I didn’t get the calls all the time either.
I met a lot of new friends, too, and that was the best part. Before, my life had always been so filled with drama I just didn’t have a lot of friends. Now, I had a number of them. They were interesting, too. I learned a lot of the people, who came to the club, were Daddies and little girls. They weren’t dads with their daughters, but people who had a relationship where the man ran things the way a father might. It was interesting and kind of sexy to think about.
I couldn’t help but fantasize some about a Little.
Oh, who the heck was I kidding? I couldn’t help but fantasize about it a whole lot. A girl who worked at the club as a waitress, Helen, was quickly becoming the best friend I ever had, and she had a boyfriend named Ryan. He was her Daddy and she was his little girl. She talked about their relationship all the time.
It felt as if nothing could ruin things for me. For the first time, life was actually working out. And then it fell apart.
It started with a collect call from someone, who’d tracked me down, and ended with me suddenly not having my guitar for that evening’s performance.
My mind raced as I tried to wrap my head around everything. I was supposed to play my guitar in just seven hours. I was supposed to play my guitar and my guitar was in the pawn shop, because I just couldn’t get a handle on my damned life!
The last four months had been the best four months of my life. At least they were the best four months I could remember. I was safe and happy and yet I was still me, and that meant I was still an idiot. What in the world was I thinking? I could have hung up the phone, but I let a bill collector browbeat me into sending a wire, and the only way for me to get that money immediately was to pawn the guitar.
In the grand scheme of things, it shouldn’t have been a crisis. If I’d just had the courage to hang up on the guy, I could have sent the money in a day, after I was paid. Instead, I just focused on getting rid of what immediate pain I saw in front of me, as I always did, and that was that. I got rid of one pain by trading it for worse pain.
I felt so small and helpless. I felt useless and stupid. I felt like the worst kind of human being. I couldn’t help but also feel paralyzed, as if there was nothing I could do to be a better person; to be the kind of person who could accomplish anything at all.
How did I get myself in these situations all the time?
Two-hundred and fifty dollars.
What kind of girl my age didn’t have two-hundred and fifty dollars? The kind of girl who went online to try to earn it with sex, I guessed. If I hadn’t drained my bank account paying off my car, it wouldn’t have been a problem at all. I did, though, and I could do nothing else.
What kind of girl my age showed her boobs for a few dollars online? Oh, I had nothing against strippers or anything like that, but I wasn’t doing it because I was a stripper or because of money a stripper might make. I was doing it because I was a damned idiot. It humiliated me, but I still did it because I kept screwing up.
The man on the other end of the computer was jerking off, and I felt sick watching him. He was fat and ugly and jerking off because I’d showed him my breasts. I felt dirty and sickened. I felt like some kind of horrible whore and it took all of my energy and all of my willpower to keep from crying.
I couldn’t cry, though. At least, I couldn’t cry until after the man paid.
He was the second one today, and I would still need to do eight more after him, to get the two-hundred and fifty dollars. I could probably have gotten enough money with only one or two more, if I took off the mask and showed my face. I was certain I would disappear into nothingness if I did that.
The man finished and the sight of it almost drove me over the edge, but I managed to keep from crying. I couldn’t talk, to thank him and risk the tears, so I typed out a quick, “Thanks, Baby,” on the keyboard. I waited for the sound of a cash register indicating he’d paid. Instead, one word appeared in the chat.
WHORE
Then, he was gone and the tears flowed. These were not cleansing tears. They weren’t getting rid of emotion and helping me come to peace tears. They were terrible, overwhelming, sad tears. I felt myself slipping into despair, absolute despair, and I didn’t feel as if I’d ever fallen this far before.
I closed the laptop and wept.
I still had to play.
Not only was playing how I made money, but it was also the only thing that comforted me and kept me centered at times like these. I knew what I could do, even though it was the worst possible thing in the world for me to do.
I crept out of my apartment and into the dressing room and then into the club. It was empty, of course, at ten in the morning. I made my way to the cabinet behind the bar where the cash was kept and even though I felt evil, I took two-hundred and fifty dollars and left to get my guitar.
When I returned, I had my guitar, sure, but I also had all of the horrible stress over what I’d done. I felt idiotic, and certain I’d be caught at any time. I walked into the club and put the guitar on the stage. I noticed the light was on in Carl’s office. It streamed from under the door. Nobody else was here, yet.
I liked him. I liked him a lot.
It occurred to me that he could count the money before we opened, at any minute. The thought terrified me and I got up and headed toward his office. I liked him, but I also needed to occupy him. I felt pretty bad about going in there to seduce him, just so I wouldn’t get caught. I felt particularly bad because I would have loved to have seduced him just to… well, to seduce him.
I opened the door and smiled at him.