Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series) (6 page)

“Hi,” I mumble, trying to keep food from falling out of my mouth. I can feel the itchy blush instantly erupt again. Fantastic.

“I’m glad to see you,” he says, and he’s smiling so widely and genuinely his nose crinkles.

“Really?” I ask, turning my hot face down towards the table. I didn’t understand. I was pretty, and I was young, but there was a lot of pretty and young — and desperate — in Vegas. John was good-looking enough and appeared wealthy enough to help himself to any of it. Vegas was not where you went to meet a nice girl to bring home to New England. It was where you went to get your party on.

He sighed at me and laughed. “Yes Liberty,
really.
” He leaned his head down towards the table so he was gazing at me at eye level. I realized how ridiculous we must look, all hunched over, and I sat up. The last thing I wanted to be right now was ridiculous, and I was failing miserably.

John sat up too and looked at me levelly. It made me start to feel hot again. Like I had a fever. Maybe I did and this was a hallucination. He was like a gorgeous mirage springing out of the heat. He smiled again. “You seem embarrassed, but there are far worse things than being a stripper who enjoys fried food,” he said. “Though I expect you already know that.”

I felt my hot skin start to itch. I felt woozy. No one ever talked to me like this, like I was a real person with a history, thoughts and feelings. I never let my guard down long enough to give anyone a chance. I hadn’t let my guard down now, but John wasn’t waiting for me to feel comfortable. He wasn’t leaving it to chance. On top of all of this, he was so close, so handsome, clean and gleaming. It all made my head hurt.

He patted my hand. I desperately hoped it was clean. “Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?” he asked.

I looked at him blankly. My first thought was,
Where on earth was this coming from?
Why would he ask me something so random?
My second thought went towards his question.
Did everything happen for a reason?
I didn’t think so. A lot of what I had seen in life was the inexplicableness of people’s unfortunate choices and plain old bad luck. I remember being a little girl and calling 911 because my mother had convulsions after a binge and passed out. I remember what Ray did. I didn’t want to think about these things in front of John, or anyone, but his words brought them back and they hit me with the full force of a blow. If this were all for a reason, surely I was being singled out. I was being punished.

“Of course you don’t,” he said, taking in my expression. “You’re too young. I didn’t believe it either when I was your age. Once you get older, you can see how things play out. Then you can understand why they happened, what their purpose is.”

He leaned across the table and spoke to me in a low tone: “You need to know: I’m here for a reason. You’re going to have to trust me. You’re going to have to play it out.”

He sat back and watched me.

“
Huh
?” I asked, dumbfounded.

He chuckled, unruffled by my stupefied expression. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the few stray fries I had left on my plate.

Sure John, have a fry.
I pushed the plate towards his and wiped my hands off on my napkin. Seeing him there, eating my French fry in another impeccable suit, looking impossibly clean and gorgeous, and saying all this crazy stuff, I just couldn’t
fathom
him. I look over towards the bar and there is the group of young suited men who came with him yesterday. They’re standing casually together, studiously not looking at us.

Handsome though he was, and clean and friendly, I
didn’t
trust him. I knew enough about people and what they could say to you to get what they wanted. John obviously wanted something from me. Maybe he ran another club, in Phoenix, or one of the ones in North Dakota, where the oil towns were booming and the clubs were looking to hire. I’d heard there’d been recruiters coming around. They needed girls badly. The thought that John could be trying to enlist me for something like that made my stomach hurt.

Or maybe he was just one of those guys who was determined to play me. Alex had told him I wouldn’t do lap dances ... maybe John just thought I was pretty and wanted to be the first, so he was trying to ride in on a white horse, to make me feel special, and then break me. He would try to get me to dance for him and then get me to do Lord knows what else.

As all of this was running through my mind I said nothing, but when I snapped out of it I noticed that I was sitting at the table with my fists clenched, and that John was looking at me with a serious expression. No longer chewing the fry.

“Who are you?” I asked, and I was afraid for him to answer.

“I’m someone who cares about you,” he said, and my stomach twirled. As silly as it was, I almost believed him, with those clear blue eyes looking at me like that.

I took a deep breath. “Not gonna happen, John,” I said, and pushed my fake glasses up on my nose for emphasis. “I’m not that kind of girl.” I stood up and started walking. I was going to break whatever spell he was trying to put on me. Stripping in Vegas was bad enough — I’d heard the guys in North Dakota were rabid. No way, no how was I going up there and dealing with worse, getting pawed every minute and attacked in the parking lot.
Not me.

And as for him, if he was trying to play me? He should know now. Hot as he was, I wasn’t going to be anyone’s whore.

“What kind of girl, Liberty?” John asked, jumping up after me. I saw the group of suits follow his movements without seeming to watch us.

“The kind of girl who has people care about her? Or the kind that won’t give lap dances?”

“Both,” I say, over my shoulder. I’m trying to move fast and make it to the locker room before he can stop me. I don’t want him to try to break me down with any more of this crazy talk.

I also didn’t want to look at him. Even though I wanted to get away, being this close to him and being riled up was making me feel out of my mind. Looking into his eyes wouldn’t help. The fact the he was practically running after me was making my breath come fast and ragged. Part of me wanted to hurl myself at him, into his arms. That same part — a very primal, confused, not-to-be-trusted-part that existed in between my legs — wanted him to catch me. I had never felt the sensation I was feeling there before, the overwhelming ache, and it made me feel out of control. John clearly wanted something from me. I needed to get away from him before I went crazy and had to find out what it was or even worse, offered to give it to him.

“The glasses look great,” he called to my back.

I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder, warily marking the distance between us. “Are they from you?” I asked, breathing hard. I was suddenly afraid that they were.

“How ... how did you know where I live?” I asked, and I felt myself start to shake. Crazy talk about everything happening for a reason was one thing. Stalking me was something else.

John’s sun-kissed, lined face twisted all of a sudden. He winced.
He hadn’t meant to scare me.
That’s what his face said, anyway. He hurried over to me and almost put his hand on me, but looked at my face and thought better of it.

“Liberty, I am so sorry. I don’t know where you live. I promise. I asked Alex to have them delivered to you. I swear,” he said. “I thought the glasses would compliment your outfit, that’s all. I just wanted to help. I’m sure it’s not easy making a living the way you’re trying to do it, but I admire you for it.”

This was all too much to take in. I had to get away from him and get ready for my next shift. I let out a deep breath and willed myself to stop shaking from adrenaline based on the combination of fear, confusion and lust. “John,” I said, as calmly as I could muster. I took a step back. He looked slightly hurt at that, but not at all surprised. “You seem like a nice guy. Mostly. But I don’t need your help. I’m fine taking care of myself.”

I turn on my pink suede spike heel and head to the safety of the locker room. “It was nice to meet you,” I call out and wave, but I don’t look back.

I woke up mad the next morning. The one guy I meet who I think is cute is either (a) trying to recruit me as his escort, (b) trying to drag me to North Dakota to strip for sex-deprived oil workers, or (c) is just plain old crazy. His timing sucked, too. I had finally been in Vegas long enough, been alone long enough, that I had stopped hurting a little. I was getting used to being alone. Then John had to come here and look me in the eye and start trying to get in my business.

I didn’t like the fact that I liked him. He made my heart race. That was exciting to me, and I didn’t want to be excited. I wanted to be alone and not get hurt. Because that’s what people did, I had learned, they worked really hard at disappointing you. They got creative about it. That’s what John had just done to me. He had let me down. Telling me he cared about me, acting like he knew I was a good person, sending me the glasses to help — he was trying to see inside of me, get a piece of me, connect with me, make me depend on him or want him or need him or think about him. Him and his expensive suit and his entourage.

It was a disappointment — his presumed familiarity. He could have just asked me to dinner like someone normal. But no. There might be normal in Vegas somewhere, but I was never going to find it. There was no normal for me. It had always been like that. That’s why I’d never had a boyfriend and was still, ridiculously, a total virgin at twenty one. (When I say total virgin, I mean it. It was embarrassing.) Strippers can’t blush and they sure as hell couldn’t be virgins, but here I was.

My mother said I was a chicken, and she was right. Maybe I’d seen too much of what Ray and a host of other suitors did to her, and how it sounded in our small apartment. I couldn’t want that for myself.

But out of nowhere, John had made me rethink that. Actually, there was very little thinking involved. There was just a lot of throbbing in a part of my body that had been long dormant. Along with calling me chicken, my mother had always told me I was a late bloomer. I was beginning to see what she meant. Sasha had lost her virginity to her boyfriend in high school and she was always raving about how hot Jose was, how she loved being with him. I listened to her but I never understood the inclination. Physically, I just did not get it. I pretended when I danced that I knew what sexy was, what it meant. But I didn’t have a clue.

John had made me feel a pang, a deep empty ache in between my legs, that I had never felt before. Now I couldn’t feel anything but. Damn him. Why couldn’t he just have asked me to dinner? Why couldn’t I have met him
anywhere
but here?

I had convinced Alex that I only needed a few hours sleep and that I would be back for the early, quiet shift. I planned on begging to stay again, but there were always tons of girls on Saturday night. I promised myself I’d be extra nice. Maybe it was time for me to go out on the floor, to start making more money and saving towards that bus ticket. I could do it, I told myself. Maybe.

There was a knock on the door as I was brushing my teeth. I looked through my peephole to see what I assumed could only be a bike courier, complete with a messenger bag and a mohawk, staring back at me. “Package,” he said. “I’ll leave it out here.” He rapped on the door one more time and then trotted out of sight in his weird shoes and biking shorts. I made sure he wasn’t coming back before I opened the door and grabbed the small package off the ground.

I locked the door, put my toothbrush on the kitchen counter and rinsed my mouth. Then I sat down. I knew who it was from, but I had no idea what was inside today.

I opened the package with shaking hands and pulled out a wooden ruler and a note.

Good morning Liberty,

I am very sorry about our meeting yesterday. It was worse than bad manners for me to speak to you like that. It must have been overwhelming and it was unnecessary. So, does making a mistake like that refute my theory that everything happens for a reason? No! It underscores my belief in humanity’s perfect imperfection. And it has given me the opportunity to send you another gift to apologize. The ruler should be a hit with the bachelor party crowd ... feel free to use it on anyone who misbehaves....Including me.