On the Other Side(33)

“Supposedly?”

“Yeah, with you marrying that rich husband of yours, a lot of people around here didn’t expect you to come back, even before you called and said you had been in an accident.”

“I don’t simply work for the money. I’d go crazy if I stopped doing this. I love it. Even if I weren’t doing this, specifically, I definitely wouldn’t become a housewife. That ain’t me.”

“I would kill to be in your shoes. I would give this up in a heartbeat,” Wendy said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

• • •

After work, Tina, Wendy and Damita stopped for a drink at Fitzpatrick’s. Damita was fascinated with Tina and the number of men she attracted without half trying.

“How do you do that?” Damita asked.

“Do what?” Tina responded.

“Every man that comes in here hones in on you immediately. Even the gay ones can’t help but stare at you. Is it a pheromones thing or what?”

Tina laughed. “No, it’s not a pheromones thing. As a female there are two approaches most women take when interacting with men; the direct or the indirect approach. I prefer the direct approach. I don’t lower my head or flutter my eyes. I don’t shy away. That doesn’t mean that I chase men. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. In my experience, most men don’t like to be chased. What I do is dare them to approach me, with a look or with body language. I’ve been doing it so long, it’s now a part of me. I attract men this way without even trying. It’s like fishing. Within minutes I’ve got a fish on my hook and he doesn’t even know how he was caught.”

Wendy came back from the bathroom in time to hear the tail end of the conversation. “So why haven’t you used this valuable tool to net you a rich husband?”

“Despite what everyone believes, I’m not on the hunt for a sugar daddy. I’m actually good at what I do and I’ve worked very hard to cultivate my career. Just because I look the way that I do, everyone assumes I’m some brainless twit. It used to bother me a great deal, but it doesn’t anymore. I finally realize that everyone else’s misconception could actually be my secret weapon.”

“So, in other words, you’re crazy like a fox?” Damita added.

“Precisely.”

After spending a couple of hours at Fitzpatrick’s, Tina suggested they go someplace else.

“Where are we going?” Damita asked.

“As much fun as I’ve had downing drinks with you ladies tonight at Underhill, Simpson and Whitehall’s home away from home, Fitzpatrick’s Pub, I’m anxious to see something a bit more stimulating than bowls of peanuts and buffalo wings, and a television screen with sports playing.”

“So, where to?” Wendy asked.

“The West Side Highway! Wendy, can you drive or should we get a cab?”

“I haven’t had that much to drink. I’ll drive.”

“Then, let’s pay the tab and go have some real fun.”

“I’ve got the bill,” Wendy said.

“No, Wendy, we can split it,” said Damita.

“I never got a chance to give you a wedding shower.”

“That was my fault. There was never enough time with work.”

“Well, consider this your belated shower.”

While Wendy paid the bill, Tina was already headed toward the exit door at Fitzpatrick’s.

Wendy raised her eyebrows, motioning in Tina’s direction, to which Damita laughed.

“I mean, really, she didn’t even try to offer to pay the bill.”

Damita laughed again and shrugged.

Wendy retrieved her car from the parking garage and the three women got in. It didn’t take long to get to the West Side Highway area. Wendy let both Tina and Damita out of the car while she searched for a parking garage.

Damita stood with Tina in front of a club named Gung Ho, wondering what she was in for. Within minutes, Wendy was back.

“I got lucky and found a parking spot on the street,” Wendy said.

Wendy looked at the people exiting the club. There was an interesting combination of both women and gay men leaving the club.

“This should be interesting,” Wendy said.

Once inside, the ladies senses were overwhelmed with loud music and the constant flow of alcohol. There were flashing lights, artificial smoke, to lend effect to the performances and there were even cages of dancing men hanging from the ceiling. The place was full of half-dressed middle-aged women in a frenzied state and men dancing, who wore even less clothing. As far as Damita was concerned, Gung Ho was as cliché as a strip club could be.

Cocktails in hand, Damita, Wendy and Tina sat transfixed as the greased, sweaty bodies of scantily clad men, gyrated to music. They had been there an hour, when Damita was sure she saw someone she recognized. Not only that, he seemed to recognize her as well. He was watching her intently. Suddenly, she realized who it was. He was the driver that Neal had paid for the use of his vehicle overnight. Damita wondered if he had been watching that night. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving. She wondered if he worked there. After all, what reason would a straight man have to come to a strip joint full of half-naked men? Given the way he was staring at her, she was relatively certain he wasn’t gay.