Mi insoportable esposo

Chiara

In my humble opinion, there is nothing worse than a slow song when you’re a stripper like me.

Pair that up with a young obviously inexperienced man wanting a lap dance and that's basically my hell loop. Pretending to enjoy it as the song dragged on. Slapping greedy sweaty hands away from my thighs. Getting paid cheap for arching my back all night.

All packaged in an awful tune.

The blue and pink neon lights flash on my blonde wig as I push my young client onto a chair, sliding the twenty euros that he just paid into the hem of my lingerie. I flash him a polite smile as he tries to touch my butt, waiting for the damn song to finish.

It just has to be another jazz number. The owner of this club Monamour, a portly woman named Heidi, claims that she loves to make things feel classy. Sophisticated. That’s why she prided her club as some kind of gentleman's cove, a tasteful place to explore desires.

I have to call bullshit on that. There’s nothing classy about bored women trying to tolerate awkward men of all ages who are out here having simultaneous turn-ons.

It's not a bad place, exactly. Sometimes it's fun, especially when the clients are actually the tasteful men that Heidi is targeting specifically. They know their boundaries and they know that this is all just business. I earn enough to make a decent living, even in a rundown part of Sicily. But the thing is, this is just an escape route for me, to avoid living with my deadbeat dad.

I like to think that Dad only became a trigger-happy alcoholic, gambling addict when Mom died, but I actually do believe that Mom died when I was five because he's a pain in the butt and he stressed her out too much. He's never been much of a provider or a protector. He's nothing much, really. That's exactly why I had to drop out of college and run away from him. I was afraid I would be involved in his mess somehow.

I didn't completely block him out of my life, though. I still have this belief that maybe, someday, he would do something right--

"Oh, god . . . there, please. . . ."

The soft moan that came from my client brought me back to reality.

I turn around, trying to make the whole move look sexy when in reality, I’m alarmed. And just as I guessed, my client now has his hard length in his hand, stroking it violently while staring at me.

Is this new? No. Is it still disgusting? Very much, yes.

“HEY!” I yell at his face, slamming the switch for the music with my heels. “You’re not supposed to be doing that!”

“I can do whatever I want,” he says, still going at it.

“Oh, my god,” I spit out in disgust, walking out of the booth.

But then, he grabs my arm and says, “Stay here and watch me. I will pay you a hundred.”

I give him a fake smile. “Sir, I'm not interested in watching what looks like a naked mole rat.”

“You bitch,” he mutters, hiding his little pet and attempting to drag me by the hair, but just then, Heidi appears at the door.

The pervert backs off.

“Hey!” Heidi shrieks at him in her raspy, smoker voice. “What are you doing to my girl? We have rules here, and you’re not allowed to do that to the dancers.”

“Whores, you mean,” he sputters with a smirk, zipping up his pants. With that, he gets up and saunters over to us like some sort of a gangster.

Heidi and I watch him closely, and on his way out, he pushes past both of us. But he doesn’t go through the door until he tells me, “I’m going to fucking get you.”

A part of me is scared of him. He looks like the type who could and would mess me up in the streets if he ever saw me. But another part of me is actually laughing at this threat. Like, come on. I’ve seen his junk and I was not impressed.

“Bitch,” he spits out, and Heidi and I both recoil.

“Leave or I will call the guards on you,” Heidi tells him squarely, and with one last dirty look aimed at both of us, he leaves.

I let go of the nervous breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Thank you, Heidi.”

She smiles and touches my shoulder. “No problem, darling. Now go get changed and call back your daddy.”

I freeze in my spot. “My what?”

“Oh.” She lets out a laugh and taps my nose. “Your father called. Lazaro, is it?”

“Well . . . yeah.” My hands start to shake. This is worse than getting violated by a strange man with a tiny package. “What did he say? How did he know I work here?”

“Oh, relax.” Heidi waves me off. “I heard your phone ringing and I answered it. I told him you’re still on your shift as a waitress.”

That was close. I thought she told him I work in a strip club. 

But why the hell did he suddenly call me? Was thinking about him enough to somehow summon his presence?

“What did he want?” I ask tentatively. “Did he say something? Was he in trouble?”

“My dear, he just wants you to come home. He says he has a surprise for you?”

My heart constricts. Did I hear that right?

Wordlessly, I head to the lockers, where a couple of other dancers are changing and talking. I pay them no mind and head straight for my locker, already hearing my phone vibrating inside.

Sure enough, when I go check, I see that it’s Dad.

I take a deep breath and answer his call. “Hello?”

“Chiara!” He sounds relieved and happy. “My darling, how are you doing?”

I pause. I don’t know what to say. It’s so strange hearing his voice after three months of never knowing anything from his end. Since I packed up my stuff, moved into my small apartment, and decided to support myself by stripping, he hasn't initiated any kind of conversation even though I left the line open.

He didn’t say anything then. He didn’t try to talk me out of leaving either. He just let it happen.

For a while I just stand there thinking hard, then it occurs to me. What has always been the reason he would call, even before I moved out?

“Are you in trouble again?” I ask with a sigh. “Because I will not bail you this time, Dad. You should--”

“My darling, no,” he interjected with urgency. “You have to come home, Chiara.”

“Dad.” I massage my temple. “What is it this time then? Because I know you won't call unless your ass is getting beat somewhere. So what happened?”

“No problem at all, nothing at all.” Dad laughs gently from the other end, and I can sense his excitement. “I need you to come home because I did something for you.”

“And what did you do?”

“I got you a scholarship.”