Deliver Us

The club was dead, and I wasn’t surprised.

Anytime there’s a major sporting event, the club is dead. To pump myself up, I hid in the dressing room and listened to the Lion King soundtrack. When I came back out into the strobe lights and deafening music, they had arrived. I moved past the glittering bodies--no glimmering (never glitter, you could get sent home) bodies as quickly and gracefully as I could. Even though I can run pretty well in heels, no one likes a desperate stripper, and nothing screams desperate more than a 6-foot glamazon running at you.

Anyway, they were here. The winning team.

I positioned myself against a chair and waited. Call it luck or call it dark brown skin draped in white satin, one of the ball players chose me. I knew he would. Token White guy with all of his Black friends...they tend to grab the sexiest piece of melanin they can find.

“Hi,” he didn’t sound nervous.

“What should I call you?”

-Does it matter?

He laughed.

-Amy. You can call me Amy.

“Okay, ‘Amy,’”—I hated the way he sounded when he said that. Like he knew it wasn’t my real name, like he was doing me such a favor... maybe he was trying to be funny and failing miserably, but my patience had already worn thin (remember, there was no one else to talk money out of and that realization made me feel desperate, which made me feel rage--if only briefly).

I had a feeling I knew what he was about to say.

“Me and my friends, maybe you’ve heard of us,” he wiggled his eyebrows, but I kept my expression impassive.

He coughed, “Me and my friends are celebrating tonight. Maybe you want to come back with us and help us celebrate?”

-Why don’t you take me to the VIP room first? Then we can talk about it.

“Oh com’ onnnn”, he drew out the word “on” and that’s when I realized that although he may be just under seven feet tall, he was very, very young.

-What’s your name?

“Max.”

-Are you Russian?

“What, why does that matter?”

-It might explain why you’re being cheap.

He laughed and looked offended simultaneously. One of his friends, the team captain I’m assuming, called out:

“Yo! We all got our girls, let’s go!”

-See, all your friends are going to the VIP.

He paused and said, “That’s not what I’m into.”

-Oh.

“I really want to connect with someone.”

-We can connect in the VIP room.

“Lol, that’s funny.”

We kind of stood there for a few minutes.

“Look, I can’t give you my number because my manager’s watching—” he gestured to one of the men who had yet to join the others in their walk to the VIP section.

-Who says I’m allowed to give my number out? You’re cute, but I’m not trying to get fired.

He laughed again, “You are really funny.”

Then I lost my patience.

--Look, you seem sweet and I’m sure it’s hard ‘being on the road’ or whatever, but I don’t know what you think this is. This is a strip club. I am a stripper. I dance on your dick for money. I’m not going to suck your dick and I’m not going to fuck you. That won’t change if I go home with you and you pay me a million dollars—”

“Yo, you think this is about money??”, his voice was full of hurt pride and bravado.

“Baby, I make 150 thousand as soon as I step on the court. Money is nothing to me—'ey, don’t walk away from me!”

-I really have no time to argue. Either you want to pay me, or you don’t.

“What’s on your phone.”

-Excuse me?

“Your playlist, what’s on your phone?”

I rolled my eyes and scanned the room. Still dead.

-I made a playlist of Disney/Pixar/DreamWorks songs.

“Oh.”

-The next one is ‘Deliver Us’.

“...”

-You know, from the Prince of Egypt?

“I know what you mean. We used to watch it all the time in Hebrew school...you listen to that here?”

-It pumps me up.

“Okay,” then he took out a small black notebook with an unblemished leather cover.

“We can’t exchange numbers, but I’ll give you this. It’s the code to my crypto wallet. Text this number and I’ll deposit $20,000 in your bank account.”

--Why?

“Because I like you and because I can.”

-What do you want for this?

“This? This is nothing. But if you’d like to meet up, it’d be crazy to take you out sometime.”

-Mr. Always On The Road wants to take me out?

“It’d be nice.”

--I’m leaving now.

He called after me, “Meet me at the Civil Lounge this Thursday at 8 o’clock. Ask for Max.”

On my way up the stairs my manager said, “Give me that notebook. You know you’re not supposed to exchange numbers.”

To be a smart ass I took a lighter that was on his desk and lit the little black book on fire. He stared at me like I was insane.

-Don’t worry. I have a pretty good memory.

On the way home I tried the code. It worked almost instantaneously and I was surprised by how un-surprised I was.

Now what? I’ve dated guys like this before. Max thinks he’s different but he’s not.

Even though I try to be quiet, my roommate mumbles as I open the door.

“Yooo,” she mumbles, “how did you do?”

--I made 20,000 dollars.

“Fucking liar,” she grumbles and tosses a pillow at me. Just like that she’s dozing again.

I pay my bills. Send some money to my mom...decide against buying a new handbag, and suddenly my head is against my pillow. I hold it the way I used to hold Sean, and fall asleep.