“Blaze.” She fills in the blank.
“Yep.” I nod.
“Alright, Blaze. I’ll be back with some beer in a second.” Ayla’s face relaxes, and she gives me another quick head-to-toe before walking away.
Rookie shakes his head. “I thought that chick was gonna tell you to get fucked. I don’t know how you do that.”
“Confidence.” I don’t look at him until Ayla is completely out of sight. “Listen, all girls want three things. Most of ‘em want all three, but usually they’ll settle for at least one.” I hold up three fingers and start ticking them off. “A good time. Some good love. Or good dick.”
I feel like a college professor imparting my wisdom to the next generation, except Rookie is only a few years younger than me.
“If you wanna keep the good times rolling, you need cash flow. Unless you’re a trust fund baby, no college guy has enough bills in the bank for that. You’re way too fucking young to settle down with that good love. That leaves one option… you gotta learn to work that dick.”
Rookie shakes his head and looks around a bit, like he thinks the guys over on perv alley give a fuck about his struggles. They do not. “Sure, but how is this the place to figure any of that stuff out?”
“You can’t give good dick if it never leaves your pants. Listen, if you’re fucking up your crossovers or you can’t get the flick on the wrist shot, what do you do?”
“Go to a training camp?”
“Exactly. You go to the professionals. I’ve got you kid. After a couple of drinks tonight, you’ll have all the girls grabbing at your hockey stick. I brought you where women work the poles so you can get a woman to, you know, work your pole.”
Rookie still looks skeptical, but Ayla comes back to our booth with two glasses of beer on a tray and her more genuine-looking smile.
“Thanks, Ayla.” She doesn’t look like she’s in the same rush to get away from talking to me. She kind of hangs back by the edge of the table for a second. “What are you doing when you get off work? Got plans?” I ask her and take a drink.
“Why do you want to know?” She gives me a bit of tough-girl attitude, but I know it’s for show.
“Because, I think you need to cancel them.”
“Really. And why would I cancel my plans?”
“Because I don't share.”
She smiles but tries to hide it. Ayla glances at Rookie and then back at me.
“We’ll see.” She walks away, knowing full well I’m watching her go.
Rookie laughs. “Ok, man, you proved your point. Teach me your wise ways.” He slides his drink across the table to me. “But I’m still not drinking.”
“Fine. More for me.”
2
Becky Ball-Buster Blaze
The light in the bathroom burns my retinas like an interrogation spotlight after sitting in the club. I finish pissing two beers into the urinal, shake a couple times and head back out. The dimness of the bar is a warm blanket over your head on a Saturday morning when you’ve got nowhere special to be.
Up the hall is the next girl about to go on. She’s heading from the changing room, which is idiotically located near the men’s toilet.
“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”
“Fuck off, creep.” She tilts her head back slightly to yell over her shoulder at me.
I mean, fair enough.
“I’m not a creep. Promise. I want to pay you.” Yeah, those words have done nothing to help me.
“What are you saying?” She turns around, and her anger is fire in her eyes. I don’t think I was what she was expecting because she looks me over, and that fire seems to douse down a notch - like from inferno to moderate blaze.
“Sorry.” I shake my head. “That sounded bad, right?”
“Well, it didn’t sound good.” Her tone softens, but nothing else about her does. She stands tall, shoulders back, and looks me straight in the eyes.
“I’m Blaze.” I hold out my hand.
“Bambi.” She accepts my handshake but narrows her eyes…like she’s trying to figure me out. Given her usual Wednesday-night crowd, I’m not surprised. Rookie was right, we stand out here.
“I’m here with a friend. His girl just broke his heart.” I’m not about to spill Rookie’s secret. “I’m trying to get him out of his funk. I was wondering if you could dance for him?”
“Which one’s your friend?” She nods to the group on the other side of the stage. All the options are equally depressing. The current clients reek of bitter divorce and alcoholism.
“None of them. Look, he’s at the booth, back there.” I point, and she smiles when she sees him.
The smile stays on her lips, but it’s not in her eyes. This girl is a fucking professional. She’s not impressed just because we’re in college. She knows our divorces and alcoholism are waiting for us in the future. The reason she sees me as a transaction is because she’s a smart businesswoman. I’ve seen that same look in the eyes of way too many bunnies.
Those girls who only really wanted to sleep with me to say they felt the flame, they’re really not all that different from collectors. Instead of teacups or comic books, they collect cock-tales to share with their friends over cocktails.
“You want a lap dance for him?” She nods a little as she says it.
“Yeah, how much would that—"
“Three songs for a hundred.” She cuts me off. Her smile is gone. It’s all business now. I respect that.
I’m sure a hundred bucks is a fair wage, but I’m still a college student. That’s a lot of beer and omelets. My fucking staples. Still, it’s not like Foxies is overflowing with options, and she knows it.
“Yeah, you’ve got a deal.” I pull out my wallet and hand over five bills. She rolls them up and tucks them down the side of her knee-high boot. Rookie
