“What? Why? I’m not taking off my clothes,” I tell her with shake of my head.
“You’re creating problems where problems don’t exist. PJ isn’t a pervert and he’s not annoying. You’re hot. You’ve started to come out of your shell and you shouldn’t be surprised that a gorgeous, successful man is into you. The only problem we have right now, and the one you keep avoiding, is the fact that you still aren’t comfortable with the idea of being naked in front of people. Well, I’m people. Take your clothes off,” Ariel demands, pushing away from the door frame to put her hands on her hips.
“I am not taking off my clothes for you. I know I need to get over this hurdle, and I will. Just . . . don’t rush me,” I explain.
I hate that this is still a major roadblock on my trip to self-discovery. And I hate that all I can think about is how Brian is the only man who ever saw me naked, and he never exactly gave me any boosts of self-confidence when I did take my clothes off in front of him. There weren’t any lingering glances or muttered curses or proclamations about how beautiful I was. Sure, I’m in my early thirties, and that’s not old by any means, but I’ve also had a child. Things aren’t as high and tight as they were when I was younger.
“Someone needs to rush you. We’ve got bills to pay, and I’d like to start making some money before you march over to my house and make me sell my shit. Come on, take off your pants,” Ariel urges, reaching her hands toward the button on the only pair of jeans I own. “Jesus, are these mom jeans? I can’t even see your belly button!”
Her hands lift the hem of my shirt and her face scrunches up in disgust.
“These are not mom jeans!” I argue, smacking her hands away and yanking my shirt back down into place.
“If you can tuck your tits into the waistband and it looks like you’re wearing a diaper, they’re mom jeans. Never wear those again,” Ariel informs me. “Do you not want to get naked because you have a hairy troll pussy? It’s fine, we can fix that with a quick trip to the salon and some hot wax.”
“I don’t have a hairy troll . . . area. And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter, since we’re not getting fully naked,” I remind her.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re covering that shit up. Hairy troll doll pussy hair does not need to be puffing out of the sides of your thong. Also, if you don’t say the word pussy at the top of your lungs right now, I will wrestle you to the ground and rip those clothes from your body, then shove you outside and lock the door,” Ariel threatens.
“I’m not saying that word. It’s disgusting.”
“Do you really think it’s disgusting, or did Brian think it was disgusting? The whole point of all of this is to figure out who you are. Who you want to be. You’ve told me that every decision you’ve made for the last thirteen years was because of him. Old habits die hard. Do you want to be the woman blending in with the background, or do you want to be the woman taking charge of her life?” Ariel asks.
“You already know the answer to that, so why are you asking me?”
“Because you keep fighting me every step of the way. Then, you step out of your comfort zone and you realize it’s amazing. You stopped wearing beige, and you love it. You went to a strip club, and you loved it. You gave a guy a lap dance, and you loved it. Are you still in love with Brian? Is that the problem? Are you afraid to take that final plunge because you think there’s a chance he might come back and you’re scared he won’t find the same woman he left behind?”
Honestly, I’ve thought about this exact thing so much over the last few weeks. A small part of me worries, what if he does come home? What happens when I no longer want to fit into the mold he made for me? But the other part of me, the much larger part, really doesn’t give a damn. I think about the way I used to live my life before Ariel came crashing in with her foul language and zest for life, and Belle came tiptoeing in with all her random knowledge and sweet innocence, and it makes me sad. It makes me realize just how truly alone and unsatisfied I was and I know I can never, ever go back to being that person again.
“Can we be honest?” I ask quietly.
“We just discussed your hairy troll vagina. It doesn’t get much more honest than that,” Ariel shrugs.
“I don’t think I ever really loved Brian. I cared for him. I wanted to make him happy. But I read all of these books and watch all of these movies about soulmates and people being in love, and I’ve never felt the way they have. I’ve never felt like I couldn’t breathe if I lost him. I’ve never felt like his love was the only thing I needed to make me happy. I loved the stability and security he gave me. I adore the daughter he blessed me with, and that he gave me a family. I never had that growing up, and when he gave it to me, it blinded me to all of the reasons why we weren’t a good fit,” I tell her.
“The problem is, you did it wrong. You’re supposed to marry the first guy for love and the second guy for money,” she says with a smile to lighten the heavy load I just spilled.
“I am never getting married again.”
“Amen, sister.”
Ariel holds up her hand and I give her a high five, after which she turns away from me and starts heading up the stairs.
The doorbell rings, stopping me from following her.
“Where are you going?” I ask as I make my way to the front door.
“Just going upstairs to make sure I got all the beige nightmare out of your closet. We’re having a party this weekend, and we’re burning shit,” she shouts over her shoulder from the top of her stairs.
“We are not burning anything this weekend!” I yell after her as I open the door, the smile on my face dying and my heart immediately trying to pound its way out of my chest when I see who’s standing on my front step.
“Cynthia.”
Vincent practically spits my name out as he stands in the open doorway wearing one of his usual tailored, three-piece suits, his arms folded in front of him.
I know this man has no clue I was the woman sitting on PJ’s lap last week at the club, but it still doesn’t stop the embarrassment of knowing it myself, causing my cheeks to flush and my hands to shake.
The chiming of an incoming text message has me quickly grabbing my phone out of my back pocket to silence it, but not before I see another text from PJ.
My lap is always available if you need something to do, Cin.
Even with Vincent standing here looking like he wants to murder me, and knowing that he saw me give a guy a lap dance even if he didn’t know it was me, PJ’s comment still makes me tingle in all the right places at the wrong time.
“We need to talk,” Vincent says as my phone chimes in my hand again.
All the tingling immediately disappears when I see PJ’s next message.
What about a dog grooming business? You like dogs, right? Dogs are cute and cuddly.
“Since you’ve been ignoring my repeated phone calls and numerous voice messages,” Vincent continues in a snotty voice, “I had no other choice but to show up here unannounced. This has turned into a very serious situation, Cynthia. We will be getting the lawyers involved if you don’t hand over the money that was stolen.”
My blood starts to boil as I listen to this man lecture me, while the man who won’t stop texting me continues to make it worse.
You could write a book. I’ve heard self-publishing is all the rage right now.
I don’t know who to be more disappointed in: The man who has known me since I was eighteen years old and doesn’t even care about how much I’ve been struggling since Brian left, or the man on the other end of the phone, who still doesn’t understand why I’m doing this.
“I don’t have your money, Vincent,” I tell him quietly, wishing all of the anger and frustration that’s boiling right under the surface would just come screaming out of me, right into this man’s face.
I want it to. I really, really want it to. I even open my mouth to let a whole string of curse words I’ve never used come flying out of it, but nothing aside from a nerv
ous squeak comes out. I need to channel the woman who flew onto PJ’s lap without thinking, but she’s nowhere to be found as I stand here in my own home, letting this man threaten me and intimidate me.
“The clock is ticking. You should consider yourself lucky that I’m giving you any more time at all,” Vincent finishes, giving me a terse nod before turning and walking away, leaving me standing in the doorway, unable to move or speak as I watch him get into his Lexus and drive away.
After all this time, after all the ways that man has let me down over the last few months, I still want him to love me and respect me, and no amount of screaming at him will change that. He was the first father figure I had after my own father died. He gave me something I’d been missing since I was ten years old and my father left me all alone. He gave me someone to look up to, and he became someone I wanted to impress, and someone I wanted to be proud of me. No matter how much he’s hurt me with his accusations and his cruelty, I’m still that same, lonely little girl just wanting to have a father who will love her. It’s sad, and it’s pathetic, and I don’t know how to make those feelings go away.
With tears in my eyes and disappointment with myself raging through my body, I slowly close the door and lean against it, letting my head thump back against the wood. The phone in my hand chimes again, and I swipe away at the tears that have fallen down my cheeks as I look at another message from PJ.
I’ve got it. You could open a bed and breakfast.
That’s it. That’s all it takes for the dam to break. I open my mouth and scream at the top of my lungs, letting out all the pain and infuriation that wouldn’t escape with Vincent.
“What the hell is going on?!” Ariel shouts over me, racing down the stairs.
I finish off my screaming and start panting from the exertion, feeling a little better than I did a few seconds ago.
“Call Tiffany. Tell her to invite all of her stripper friends from Charming’s over this weekend,” I tell Ariel as she stands at the base of the stairs looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“I thought PJ shot you down when you asked him if they could come over for another lesson?” she asks tentatively, still staring at me like I might start screaming again.
“He did. And I don’t care. Invite them all. We’re burning stuff this weekend.”
Chapter 16: I Think We Broke Princess Barbie
“Are you sure you’re okay? You haven’t said one word since you came outside an hour ago. You’re making everyone nervous. But you look hot, so there’s that.”
I blink in response to Ariel, not even bothering to try and pull down the tiny, tattered jean shorts Tiffany made me put on. They are so short the white pockets hang out below the ripped denim hem. I glance down at myself—or rather, I glance down at my amazing cleavage currently popping up and out of the ocean-blue tank top Tiffany also made me put on, praising the miraculous wonders of a push-up bra.
Looking out at my front yard, I wonder why I’m not freaking out that it’s filled with a bunch of super gorgeous women, all from Charming’s, standing around a blazing fire pit, staring at me and waiting for me to toss in the first article of beige clothing sitting in a huge pile at my feet by the sidewalk. Or why I’m not freaking out that we’re having this party in my front yard, where the entire neighborhood can see. My backyard used to be the perfect place for entertaining, with a gorgeous stone fire pit in the middle of it, but I could only afford enough gas to mow the front yard, so right now, the back looks like an overgrown forest of weeds and most likely stray animals. I’m honestly afraid to go back there.
When Vincent left my house three nights ago and I told Ariel we were having a party, she made the calls immediately, not even giving me a chance to change my mind. Then we went through my clothes and made a pile of things to sell and a pile of things to burn. I spent the rest of the week alternating between crying and being angry, thinking about the words Vincent said to me and how utterly I failed at sticking up for myself. Continuing to get flirty texts from PJ, in between more business ideas, didn’t help my mental well-being.
As soon as everyone showed up at my house for the burning, Tiffany grabbed my hand and took me upstairs to my bedroom. She picked out an outfit for me, did my makeup, and convinced me to leave my long blond hair down, touching it up with a curling iron to enhance my natural waves. I took one look at myself in the mirror and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Ariel was right. I look hot. I feel hot. But something is still off. I’m still angry and confused, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t go back and change the past. I can’t rewind the clock and make it so I stood up to my former father-in-law. I know that and I accept that, but I still feel like a ticking time bomb getting ready to explode.
“Cindy, answer me. Are you okay? Blink once for yes, twice for no,” Ariel speaks again, getting right into my line of sight and blocking my view.
“There are strippers in my front yard,” I whisper.
“Yes, yes there are. Are you afraid one of the bulldogs from the neighborhood is going to come marching over here and complain?” she asks.
“Nope.”
Ariel nods. “Okay, so . . . what’s wrong then? I thought you were okay with having this burning party. Are you gonna start screaming again?”
I am okay with having this burning party. More than okay. And everyone is currently staring at me like they’re afraid I’m going to lose it because Ariel had to go and tell them about my screaming fit the other night, and all about what Vincent said to me. I don’t want them feeling sorry for me. I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.
My cell phone, which I’m clutching, chimes with an incoming text message, and I don’t even have to look at it to know who it’s from. PJ has been texting me nonstop since everyone got here, asking if I know where his dancers are. Something about how someone called out sick and now no one is answering their phones. And reminding me that they had better not be at my house for any kind of training because he specifically told me no.
I also don’t want anyone telling me what I can and can’t do. Especially PJ, the annoying man who makes my toes curl when I think about sitting on his lap again. I hate being confused. I hate feeling like at any minute, I might explode.
Tick, tick, tick . . .
“I think I’m drunk,” I mutter, holding up the now-empty wineglass in my hand to show Ariel. “I believe that was glass number five. Or was it eight? I lost count after three. Math is hard.”
Ariel laughs, cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting to the group in my front yard, still staring at us anxiously.
“IT’S OKAY, FOLKS. SHE’S JUST WHITE-GIRL WASTED!”
Everyone’s hands with various alcoholic beverages go up in the air and they all let out a loud chorus of shouts, screams, and whistles.
My phone chimes again, and Ariel snatches it out of my head.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What the hell is his problem?” Ariel mutters, staring down at the text message stream from PJ that I haven’t even bothered to answer.
Tiffany walks up to us, switching out my empty wineglass for a full one as Ariel turns the screen toward her.
“What is your boss’s problem? I’m trying really hard to get Cindy to ride his disco stick, but he’s being ridiculous,” Ariel informs her.
Tiffany lets out a sigh as I take a huge sip of my wine to stop myself from doing what everyone expects and letting out a blood-curdling scream.
“He’s a good guy, I swear,” Tiffany tells us after she finishes looking at the text messages. “He’s just really protective of all of us. Did you ever notice he never calls us strippers?”
I start to open my mouth and argue, but quickly clamp it closed as I think back through the handful of conversations we’ve had and the hundreds of text messages we’ve exchanged in the last week. She’s right. He’s never used the word strippers, it’s always dancers.
“His mom got pregnant with him right out of high school. It’s your typical story: teen mom,
deadbeat dad who ran for the hills, and shitty parents who kicked her out. The only work she could get was stripping. And back then, pickings were slim in this town. It was one seedy place after another, with one mean, shitty boss after another,” Tiffany explains. “But she did it, she put up with the bullshit and getting fired when she had to take off work because she didn’t have anyone to watch PJ, because it’s the only way she knew how to pay the bills and put food on the table. When PJ became an adult, he decided he didn’t want any woman going through something like that again.”
I really want to hate Tiffany right now for making me see something good and kind in PJ when all I really want to do is concentrate on how annoying he is.
“So, he opened Charming’s, and he only hires single mothers. We still get paid even if we have to miss work because of our kids, as long as we don’t abuse the privilege. And part of our pay includes a stipend for child-care costs and education if we choose to go to college and do something else with our lives. He never wants us to feel like we’re doing something dirty or something we should be ashamed of just because of the shitty hand life dealt us,” Tiffany finishes.
“Well, it’s not giving money to African orphans, but it’ll do,” Ariel sighs.
Right when I’ve decided I’m the biggest jerk in the world and start to take my phone back from Ariel to text an apology to PJ, the squeal of tires sounds from the street and we all turn to watch a black truck peel into my driveway.
A very angry-looking PJ flies out of the front seat, slams the door, and starts marching right toward me, shouting as he goes.
“I thought I told you you were NOT to invite my dancers over for any more asinine lessons!”
Tick, tick, tick . . .
“I have given you COUNTLESS other ideas for opening up your own business and you’re still stuck on this one, absurd thing!”
Tick, tick, tick . . .
“Oh my goodness. He looks really angry,” Belle whispers, coming up to stand next to us.