Iron Rods: 1 (Strip Club) (13 page)

Bennett’s disinterest in the renovation plans couldn’t shake
the mantle of excitement Tatum had wrapped herself in. He could be as pissy as
he liked, but in the end she’d show him just how wrong he was. Iron Rods would
be huge. It had to be.

She folded her arms, feigning complete indifference to
Bennett’s snarky comments. “I don’t think you’re needed for anything else,
Bennett. You’ve been so incredibly helpful already.”

Yes, she was playing passive-aggressive tit-for-tat with her
lover, but she couldn’t help herself. If she didn’t put him in his place and
call to attention what a dick he was being as she had on more than one
occasion, he’d continue to be a pain in the butt or worse throughout the whole
renovation process. He wasn’t an unreasonable man, just incredibly stubborn.

“Heather and I would like to do a walk-through with Dan in
the dancer dressing room and get some of his thoughts on what should be done in
there.” Tatum rolled up the plans. “Having input from someone who actually used
that room will help with its functionality.”

“I like your thinking, young lady.” Lyle dropped down from a
barstool and straightened his outrageous Hawaiian shirt. “If you don’t mind, I
might want to add my two cents to that room too. I have a little dancer
experience my damn self.”

Tatum caught Bennett rolling his eyes.

Mr. Perfect evidently didn’t like the fact his father had
been a stripper.

Her own father had left school at the age of sixteen to
start driving a truck for the oil companies. The pay wasn’t much, but it was a
good, honest job and he worked hard for every dime he ever made. She couldn’t
be more proud of her daddy if she tried. Lyle’s work as a stripper had been
honest work too. And the old man clearly worked his tail off. How Bennett could
find fault with what his father did for a living was beyond her understanding.

“Okay, Bennett,” Lyle said, twisting his mustache between
two fingers. “Let’s head to the manager’s office and talk about the Bastrop
property. Time is money.”

Once again, the cleaning fairies let her down. When Tatum
walked into the dressing room with Dan and Heather, the disgusting smell of
funky old gym clothes hit her as though she’d been struck with a used jock
strap. She fought the urge to slap a hand over her nose and mouth. She tried
not to breathe.

Heather waved a manicured hand in front of her face. “What
did those men do in this place that makes it smell so bad?” she choked out.
“Can we at least open that door and let in some fresh air? I think I might get
sick.”

Dan stepped around the trash and ancient furnishings, making
his way to the back door. He pushed the emergency crossbar and the large metal
door opened to the wet sidewalk leading to the far end of the parking lot. In
the time they’d been in the club, the rain had come and gone, but a light wind
still blew. Fresh, cool air blew in, chasing away some of the sour odor. The
pleasant draft at least made the room tolerable.

Note to self, add ventilation system to the dressing
room.

Dan stopped on his way back and picked up something from
under one of the large metal storage shelves. “Well, what do you know.”

From where Tatum stood, the thing in Dan’s hand looked like
a thin gray stick no longer than a ruler. Dan drew the object across his
T-shirt, leaving a long streak of thick dirt on the fabric. Once dusted, the
stick was shiny and black, with silver tips on both ends.

“I can’t be positive, but this looks just like the old
magician’s wand Bennett used to play with when he stayed here.” Dan twirled the
stick over and around his fingers as though it were a miniature baton.

“Bennett Truitt used to play in the dressing room of Iron
Rods?” Heather asked, her voice giving away her disbelief.

“Oh yeah. All the time.” Dan tossed the wand high in the air
where it spun end over end before falling and landing in his large hand. “When
I was a strapping young buck and started working here as a stripper, Bennett
was already hanging out in this back room every night. If I remember correctly,
this was around the time Lyle started his holdings company and handed the
management reins over to Cotton. Lyle spent most of his free time here though.
From what the other strippers told me, Lyle’s son had spent every summer
hanging out in the dressing room since he was six while Lyle did his thing up
front.”

Tatum took in the large, filthy room with its dressing
tables, weight bench and barbell, and corner shower. What would this place be
like filled with half-dressed strippers rushing in and out while music boomed
in through the thin wall separating this space from the main room? The dancers
most likely used the shower to wash off between sets and before leaving for the
night, so they were naked at various times in the evening. The beer cans and
empty bottles of whiskey littering the floor and piled up by the trash can
suggested at least some of the dancers drank while working.

A bitter lump caught in Tatum’s throat. This was no place
for a young child, not even for a few minutes. How could Lyle have done such a
thing?

“Why didn’t Bennett just stay home with his mom?” The
solution to Lyle’s childcare situation seemed so obvious. Surely having his son
at home was better than keeping him in a strip joint.

“From what I understand, Lyle and Gwen, Bennett’s mom, were
divorced, and Lyle got custody of Bennett for part of the summers.” Dan gave
the wand a final twirl before tucking it in his back pocket. “If the stories
are true, it was a pretty nasty divorce for one reason or another. The guys who
worked here before I came along seemed to think some kind of payola happened
during the proceedings to get Lyle to back off. Right after the divorce went
through, he suddenly had enough money to start buying up real estate around
Austin.”

Dan’s attention shifted to the walls and ceiling in the
large room. He meandered around, poking at holes and checking outlets. His mind
seemed to be more focused on the work needed in the space than the
conversation.

Tatum had never heard the specifics about Lyle’s family life
or his rise in fame, particularly how he found the money to acquire his
properties. She’d known he was an Austin native who had climbed his way up from
being a stripper to a big-time businessman. She’d always assumed he’d done well
as a dancer and the club’s manager, and had invested his money wisely.

“So you think Lyle was paid off?” Heather asked the question
sitting on the tip of Tatum’s tongue.

“Makes a bit of sense, don’t you think? I mean, come on.
Gwen was an Ashton before she married Lyle.” The big man’s forehead scrunched
and his eyebrows knitted as he stopped from his tour of the room long enough to
take in Heather and Tatum. “You all never heard of Ashton Paper Products?”

“Whoa.” Heather glanced at Tatum. Big brown eyes wide, she
looked like a deer caught in a set of high beams. “I guess that does make some
sense.”

Tatum’s equilibrium tilted precariously as the information sunk
in. Ashton Paper Products, one of the oldest paper manufacturers in the United
States, had its roots deep in American history. The family name was as
synonymous with their product as other biggies such as Rockefeller’s Standard
Oil and Carnegie Steel.

How in the world did the daughter of an Ashton ever get
involved with a stripper from Austin? The likelihood of Lyle Truitt and an
Ashton getting married seemed as improbable as the Kardashian sisters staying
out of the news for more than a week.

And just as improbable as a simple country girl from West
Texas having anything serious to do with Bennett Truitt.

Suddenly dizzy and feeling overheated, Tatum clutched at the
collar of her shirt and pumped the fabric several times to create a breeze on
her warm skin. Good God. What was she thinking by carrying on with Bennett? She
had stubbornly refused to believe he was better than her. She’d even hoped
there might be a chance for them to be more than sex partners who enjoyed each
other’s company. And why not? Bennett might be a very rich and important man,
but he was the son of Lyle Truitt, a sweet old man who seemed like the salt of
the earth. Lyle was made of the same stuff as her own parents. She and Bennett
had that in common.

But Bennett was more than just Lyle’s son. He was the heir
to the Ashton Paper fortune.

Bennett. The poor little rich boy who spent his summers in a
strip club with his father and a dozen strippers.

Tatum shook her head, reeling from her naïveté and the
information overload.

“I still don’t understand why Lyle had Bennett stay in the
club with him,” Heather continued. “Why not hire a babysitter while he worked?”

“Then he’d never get a chance to see his son.” Dan opened an
electrical box and fidgeted with switches. “Not that he saw much of Bennett
anyway. Lyle’s one of those type-A personalities. He’s always doing something,
whether it’s working, biking, ranching, whatever. I always kinda felt sorry for
the kid. He tried so hard to get his father’s attention, like with the magic
tricks some of the fellas who worked here taught him how to do. As hard as
Bennett tried to get Lyle to watch him perform, his dad seemed too busy doing
other things to notice. When Lyle married Annie, the poor kid finally had a
mother figure to help care for him and keep him out of Iron Rods.”

“Mother figure?” The words flew from Tatum’s mouth the
moment Dan’s comment made sense. “What about Gwen Ashton? She’s Bennett’s
mother, right?”

Dan paused from his inspection and turned his formidable
body toward Tatum, his face grim. “She committed suicide a few years after
divorcing Lyle. I’m not sure of the specifics, but I think Gwen’s father, a
tough old cuss by the name of Montgomery Ashton, somehow gained custody of
Bennett.”

“Oh my God,” Heather gasped, fingers fluttering over her
chest. “I didn’t know Bennett’s mother killed herself.”

“Neither did I.” Tatum felt for a chair near one of the
dressing tables, then fell into the seat. A deep heaviness weighed on her
chest.

Too much. This was all too much to process at once. She was
in over her head with Bennett, believing there could be something between them
when he clearly should be with someone who was more than a down-and-out dancer
who managed a strip club.

And then there was Bennett. Poor man. He had endured so much
as a child. More than she ever could have imagined.

If what Dan had said was true, it helped make sense of the
strained relationship between Bennett and Lyle. No wonder Bennett wanted to
demolish the building so badly. The place most likely held memories he’d rather
forget.

“Forgive me, ladies,” Dan apologized. “I sometimes run my
mouth more than I should. And I don’t want you thinking Lyle Truitt is a bad
man. He’s not. Quite the opposite. He’s helped more folks than he’ll ever admit
to. He’s probably given away more money than I’ll make in a lifetime.”

“I know,” Tatum said on an uneven exhale. “I know. I really
like him. He’s been wonderful to me.”

As if speaking his name aloud had conjured the man, Lyle
stepped into the dressing room.

“How are things going in here?” The old man looked around
and did a double take at Tatum. “What just happened? You look like a fox done
run off with your prize hen.”

Tatum cut her gaze to Dan, whose formidable body had
stiffened. The news the contractor had shared would not be repeated, at least
not by her.

Despite the ache in her heart, she forced a smile on her
lips. No need to give the old man any reason to think anything was wrong.

“I was just trying to figure out where I can have Steele and
Gangsta G practice the dance routine I’ve choreographed for their auditions,”
she lied, although she had actually wondered about this situation. “Once the
construction starts here, I won’t have a place to work with them. I’ve only
used the dance studios at the university to practice in, but I was a student at
the time. I doubt they’ll let me use them now that I’ve graduated.”

“Tell me what you need. Maybe I have a place that will work
for you.” Lyle took off his Western hat and placed it on a dressing table. He
shook his head, allowing the long, white locks to free themselves from the
shape created by the hat.

Tatum tried to imagine the club owner thirty years younger.
No doubt he had been a good-looking man. He still was, as well as extremely
charming and hardworking. She could see why a socialite from New York might
fall for him. Yet despite his attractiveness, his bright personality and his
work ethic, something between him and his first wife had gone wrong. Very
wrong.

The same thing will happen to me and Bennett. We might
share the same planet, but we are in very different worlds. And he also wants
to close down Iron Rods, taking away my shot at redemption. How did I allow
myself to get involved with him? I need to stop this nonsense before I end up
getting hurt.

“I need a good-sized room, preferably air-conditioned,” she
said, struggling to focus on her answer instead of the chaos currently storming
in her mind. “Hardwood floors would be a plus. Mirrors on the wall are a must.
And, I’m not sure if this is even possible, but if I could get a stripper pole
for the guys to practice on, that would be good too.”

Lyle hiked a booted foot onto one of the chairs and stroked
his mustache. After several seconds, he snapped his fingers. “I think I just
bought a place that might work. It’s on the East Side. A former warehouse. You
remember me talking about the place, don’t you, Dan?”

“The building you want to convert into a community center?”
Dan asked, leaving the electrical box and coming closer to the group.

“Yep, that’s the one.” Lyle leaned forward and rested an
elbow on his raised knee. “The place has hardwood floors and A/C. I can’t
imagine it would take much to put up some mirrors.”