G-Men: The Series (18 page)

Over the next three days, Slate summoned me each day to come by. Each day I texted back that I was unavailable.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him. I missed the hell out of him. I was still smarting from that whole “this isn’t what we’re about, Sunny” speech. He was actually right. Knowing that, I needed to distance myself just a little bit, so that I wasn’t left picking up the pieces of my heart.

On the fourth day, I got a phone call, not a text message this time from Slate.

“What’s up, Diamond?” he asked. His voice was terse.

“Hey Slate,” I said, “Just doing some domestic shit here, you know? Gotta keep my hubby happy.”

I could almost feel his scowl over the phone.

“Well, you’re not doing shit to make me happy, babe,” he said flatly. “Maybe I need to do some trolling to see what I can do about that.”

I wasn’t going to play this game with Mr. Twenty-Six-Year-Old Biker Hottie. That was for damn sure.

“Do what you’ve got to do, I guess,” I sighed.

“I will,
babe
,” he said, doing his best to enunciate the word “babe.” I heard the silence of his ended call.

I guess that was that. It was over. In Slate’s words: we appeared to be no longer active. I wasn’t going to piss and moan about it. I’d promised myself that from the get-go.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d miss the great sex and the mind-blowing orgasms, but I had to face the reality that this was all that he was willing to give me. And I wanted more. I wanted it from Slate, but I’d likely be old and gray before that ever happened. He’d made that perfectly clear to me on more than one occasion.

If nothing else, I now knew that I was capable of enjoying great sex. I knew that I yearned for intimacy and closeness. That was something that neither Jack nor Slate was willing to give me. I certainly wasn’t going to act like some over-the-hill matron that was all dried up. At least Slate had given me the self-assurance that I still had some good years ahead of me in that arena. He’d made me feel sexy and attractive. Plus, he had taught me so much. I needed to take my mind off of him because already I felt an emptiness knowing it was over and that I’d never had a choice in that.

I decided to go back to work. I wanted to dance. There were other clubs in Indy; clubs where I’d never have to worry about running into Slate or any of those fucking OMC club members. I was going to start looking immediately.

I’d started back with my Pilates and kick-boxing classes at Foxy’s. Vonda was tickled to see me again.

“You look fantastic, girlie! My sister was flipping out when you quit Jewels, you know? She said you were one of the best. What was up with that?”

“Oh, you know, just got tired of living a secret. I was afraid my hubby would get wind of it eventually and then I’d have hell to pay.”

“I hear that,” she remarked, nodding her head. “Well anyway, sweetie, it’s good to see you back here.”

I worked out extra hard all afternoon. I had tons of frustration and conflicting emotions gnawing me up inside. I needed to deal with them constructively. I was exhausted by the time I pulled into my driveway.

It had been over a week since my last conversation with Slate. I checked my cell phone and a wave of disappointment swept over me when I saw that I had no text messages or voicemails. I suppose that he’d moved on to someone else. Perhaps it was Garnet.

I erased his text messages and voicemails. I changed the name on his contact number from Slate to “Asshole.” It somehow made me feel a bit more in control.

I shoved all thoughts of Slate and Garnet from my mind as I grabbed clean underwear and pajamas from my dresser and hit the shower. I took a nice, long, cold one.

Later, as I sat in front of the television munching on a salad and sipping a glass of wine, the local news ran a story about several secret indictments being handed down by a federal grand jury which may implicate several members of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club in racketeering and conspiracy.

The news reporter was doing a live telecast standing on some corner in Fort Wayne, Indiana, which, apparently, was that chapter’s clubhouse.

My mind went back briefly to the big-mouthed, asshole biker from Fort Wayne, that had been in the club the night I’d tried to dance for Slate. Slate had been royally pissed at me for still working at Jewels.

It had been the night that he’d thrown a one-dollar bill on the floor for me to pick up. It was the first night we had fucked; the night of my first orgasm. If truth be told, it was the night that I started falling in love with Slate, a road to nowhere.

The following week, I heard about another opening for a pole-dancer at a club nowhere near Jewels. I’d seen something posted on the bulletin board at Foxy’s. There was no way that I was going to let Vonda know that I was going to apply for it. I wasn’t sure how close she and Janine were, but probably close enough that it would get back to the girls at Jewels and I couldn’t risk that happening.

The name of the club was Sharkey’s and it offered the lower class clientele, though it was purported to be biker-free. That was good enough for me.

I was only able to pull two shifts per week for the hours I wanted. It was enough. I worked both Thursday and Friday from 5:00 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. It was on a bus route, so that would work out fine.

The dancers there also had stage names, so I simply stuck with Diamond. I’d called Becky to let her know I was back in the work force. I knew she wasn’t pleased about it, only because she worried about me, but she didn’t voice her opinion other than to say, “Whatever makes you happy, Sam. I know you’ve been kind of down lately.”

She knew that Slate and I were no longer fuck buddies. She hadn’t hid her relief about that from me at all.

I showered and waxed Thursday afternoon in preparation for my debut at Sharkey’s. I’d taken my wig out of mothballs, shampooing and styling it at home.

This club didn’t offer any help with hair and make-up, so I brought my case of cosmetics from home to store in my locker there. I was fairly certain I could handle my own make-up, having watched Margo go through the paces many times.

I selected one of my dance costumes from the trunk of my car where I kept them in a wardrobe bag, and headed to the bus stop from the Park and Drive.

Sharkey’s offered private dancing rooms for customers willing to pay the high dollar amounts. There was a glass partition that allowed the customer to see the dancer; however, the dancer could not see the customer.

I wasn’t particularly thrilled about that part of it, but Juanita, the manager, had assured me that no customer requests for stripping or fondling by the dancer should be tolerated. Plus, there was no way that some pervert could get to the dancer, because of the glass-enclosed compartment. There was just enough room to do some simple glides, and then climb and twirl the pole in the center.

I asked Juanita if the customers who bought this individualized service pleasured themselves while watching. Her response was simply, “Don’t think about it. Just dance.”

Oh yuck!

My first evening on the job, I had three private dance requests. The customer would pick the song and, as the music started, a black velvet curtain would open so that whatever customer was on the other side of the glass could see me on the lighted mini-stage take the pole.

The private dances cost eighty bucks. The dancers received a flat rate of fifty dollars for each dance; the club got thirty. The customer could then put an additional tip in the slide-in drawer at the end of the dance, if he (or she) so chose.

I received a total of eighty dollars in tips for those three requested dances. It wasn’t so bad by the third dance. In some ways, it was almost better than having to dance in front of horny, sweaty men that you could see.

By the end of my shift my first day, I’d collected about three hundred dollars total. Definitely not as good as what I’d netted at Jewels, but I was new, and needed to build a following. Juanita assured me that I had what it took. She expected my Friday cache to be much larger. It really wasn’t about the money with me. I didn’t need to share that with her, though.

As predicted, Juanita was correct. My haul for Friday was over five hundred dollars. I was starting to get into the groove there. I liked the other dancers as well.

Most of them were college girls, just barely past twenty-one, which was different than those who danced at Jewels. They didn’t make me feel ancient, though. They were sweet and looked to me more as if I was their big sister.

The second week working at Sharkey’s, I’d received a call from Jack. The minute I picked up the phone, I could hear the cold anger in his tone.

“Why did you change the password on our savings account, Sammie?”

I immediately froze, my throat constricted by fear, but then I realized there was nothing Jack could do to me over the phone.

“I think you need to answer that question first, Jack. What are
you
trying to hide?”

“I have multiple business dealings going, Sammie. I simply needed to ensure that I was the only one having access until I finalized them. I didn’t want you thinking that the money was at your disposal for bills or other expenditures, until I had an opportunity to see how my investments were panning out.”

So much freaking bullshit.

Jack obviously had me pegged as an idiot. Maybe for now, that was safest for me.

“You mean that some of that massive amount of money in our savings isn’t really ours?”

“Correct. I deposited some cash that I received as a result of some independent loans, promissory notes that I signed. So those funds are strictly for re-investment opportunities to cover the repayment of the notes with interest, plus profits made from the investments targeted.”

Yeah right…lying bastard.

“Oh, okay. I guess I understand,” I replied. “You know me when it comes to being as well-versed as you are with financial matters. I was just trying to see if we had enough funds for paying off the rest of Lindsey’s tuition this year, since it was after the end of the semester.”

“Yes, Sammie, that’s fine. I transferred funds from the savings into the checking account that will more than cover that so you can go ahead and pay that to the registrar. You will find all of that information in the file marked “Cornell” in the desk drawer.”

“Okay, will do. What’s your schedule look like?” I asked.

“I’ll be traveling for another four weeks, then I’ll be back in Indy for Lindsey’s spring break.”

“Fantastic,” I said, genuinely relieved for the additional reprieve.

“So, don’t worry honey,” he said. “I’ll continue to handle any necessary transfers from our savings to checking, okay? You don’t have to worry about that part of it.”

“Okay, Jack,” I said cheerily. “That’s fine with me.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, mainly small talk. Jack wanted to see if I’d bought his story on the savings account issue. I gave him no reason to think that I hadn’t.

I knew without checking that he’d changed the password, and come up with new security questions that I, in no way, would ever be able to answer.

What Jack didn’t know, was that I’d downloaded all of the activity on both the savings account and checking accounts for the past two years into an Excel file which I then zipped and e-mailed to Becky. I’d asked her to save it to her hard drive for me. She did so without question.

I needed to take an afternoon or two and sit down and analyze the activity of both accounts and try and figure out what type of a shell game Jack was playing. Becky could be a huge help with that. I made sure that I cleared all of the cookies and deleted my activities in case Jack was monitoring me on our home computer.

The following Thursday, I was putting make-up on in the dressing room when Juanita informed us that a new dancer was starting this evening and would be here any minute. She asked that one of us show her the ropes, commenting on her way out, “She better already damn well know the poles.”

Several minutes later, I nearly dropped my lipstick when I saw the cute, tiny, dark-skinned, Emerald walk in to the dressing room.

“Oh, my God,
Diamond?
” she shrieked, running over to me for a hug.

“Emerald, what the hell? You left Jewels? Why?”

“Probably for the same reason you did. I was getting way too much heat from Ivan about those bikers being in there all of the time. It worried him sick, even though he knew that I was just all about making money for the family. Ivan doesn’t make the money he made in Detroit. He hates that I even have to work, but dancing, it’s just a thing with his pride, you know?”

In a way, I did understand what she meant. I knew that Slate hadn’t wanted me to dance there, or anywhere. It just wasn’t for the same reason, though, as Ivan’s. He truly loved Emerald. They were a perfect example of a team.

“Hey, what about you?” she asked. “Is that why you left?”

“More or less,” I replied.

“I don’t mean to be nosy, girl, but was it because of Slate? You can tell me it’s none of my business.”

“It was, in a way,” I said. “It’s kind of complicated.”

“I know you don’t see him anymore,” she remarked softly. “All of us could tell that he’d had his heart broken. He can be a real ass in that place. There were a couple of brawls in there this past month. That was the final straw for Ivan, even though it didn’t involve me. Ivan said something wasn’t right there…not with those bikers.”

I thought about what Emerald said. How in the world had she come to the unlikely conclusion that Slate had a broken heart?

“Emerald,” I said quietly, “can I ask you two questions?”

“Sure girl, ask away.”

“Have you seen Slate with any other women since I left?”

“Not a one,” she replied, “but then, I only worked the three nights.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief. That was something I guess.

“Emerald, would you please not tell anyone else that I’m working here? It’s important.”

“Not a problem,” she assured me. “Is it okay if I tell Ivan, though? It might make him feel a little better about me being here if he knows I have a friend like you. He knew you always had my back at Jewels.”