StripperwithSpice (22 page)

He takes the tortillas out of the oven and transfers them to
the warmer. “I guess I need to figure out a new career sooner than I thought.”

We sit at the kitchen table and busy ourselves assembling
our fajitas, spooning steaming chicken and vegetables onto the tortillas,
sprinkling them with cheese and garnish and rolling them up. Then we eat in
silence for a while, savoring the food and chewing on our heavy thoughts.

Carlos spoons some homemade salsa I happened to whip up
yesterday onto his plate and stares at it. “I want what my brother has—the
wife, the kids, the whole nine yards.”

I set down my fork. I want that too, but I need financial
security more. I’m not sure the two would mix, especially with Carlos. What if
we married? What if I give up my career and he can’t find a new one? How would
we provide for any kids we might have?

He looks at me for my reaction, pinning me with dark, solemn
eyes I have to look away from.

“You’re talking about a lot of responsibility,” I say
quietly.

“I think you’re married to your career and always will be,
Janice.”

My fingers twist in the napkin on my lap. “I’m not going to
give it up for something less secure.”

“I promised you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

It’s a good thing we had sex already because I sense another
disagreement coming on.

I reach across the table for his hand. “I know you have the
best of intentions, but you just admitted how uncertain your future is. How
could you take care of me if you couldn’t even take care of yourself? And if we
had children…”

His skin grows cold under my touch. “Uncertain doesn’t mean
doomed. Have a little faith in me.”

“Can’t we just see how things go for a while?” I ask,
releasing his hand.

Am I insane? This gorgeous, caring man has done everything
but propose to me and I’m practically throwing him away.

He nods. “Just tell me one thing. How long do you think you
can handle your career before it destroys you?”

Irritation prickles across my arms. “Don’t be silly. It’s
not going to destroy me and the extra money helps me sleep at night.”

But just thinking about all the expectations, pressure and
being “on” all the time twists my stomach into a knot. Tiffin’s hostility
doesn’t help either. Damn him for shoving all my doubts in my face.

“I know you, Janice. It will, in time. Mentally,
emotionally, physically or all three. I don’t want to see that happen.”

I cross my arms. “What am I supposed to do? Quit my job and
be your barefoot housewife?”

He grins. “How about naked and barefoot? Seriously, I want
you to do what you love. Find your calling.”

“And where am I supposed to find that?” I ask, spreading my
hands on the table.

He pulls a tortilla out of the warmer and lays it on the
tops of my hands. “I think you already found it.”

“Cooking?”

“Think about it. I wish mine were as easy to figure out.”

Cooking? No, it’s too crazy. I’m too old to throw away an
established career for a brand new one. But I have to admit, this kitchen table
looks a lot better covered with fajitas than file folders and a laptop. The
irony of “working” overtime in my kitchen hits me. Is Carlos right? Have I
really been doing the wrong thing in the right room?

Next Thursday night, I’m at the Stallion Palace in my “club”
outfit at Carlos’ insistence. He told me he needs to have me nearby to give him
energy to boost his performance. To think I used to worry he’d leave me any
minute. I don’t even require Zena’s support tonight.

The serious conversation from Sunday evening has been
hanging in my mind all week. Carlos and I are both going through changes so big
they might tear us apart in the end. If he’s really ready to settle down, he
deserves to do it, even if it’s not with me.

All the same, I went to the doctor yesterday to begin a
birth-control regimen. I haven’t told him about it yet, but I wanted to lay
this stone on our path of commitment.

His dancing never fails to mesmerize me and he exudes extra
magnetism tonight on stage as Cool Hand Carlos. I sit in front and he catches
my eye a few times. For his solo act, he does the rich-man routine again.

After bringing a few women onstage, it’s my turn. While he
lies down, thrusting his pelvis, I lick champagne from his chest. To enhance
the act, I pretend I’m a club
virgin
, swooning on my heels and clapping
in delight.

While he gives lap dances, I’m proud to say I barely wince.
He’s made it more than clear I’m his only woman and I finally believe him with
all my heart. Occasionally his face resembles a mask, polite but bored. Maybe
he is losing his touch. I drum my fingers on the table, waiting for some
backstage time with him.

After the dances are over, the announcer struts on stage.
“Pack your bags, ladies, because the stallions are going on a road trip to
Paradise Island in the Bahamas!”

The room fills with cheers, stinging my ears. The Bahamas?
Surely I couldn’t have heard right.

As soon as I go behind the curtain, Carlos lifts me off my
feet and spins me around. His grin is so wide I can barely see the rest of his
face.

“You’re going to the Bahamas?” I ask. “Why didn’t you tell
me?”

He puts me down and takes my hands. “I just found out about
it. The money will be good and I’m going to invest it in my future…our future.”

Suddenly I remember the football party at his house when we
discussed road trips as a bridge we might cross someday. Well, here’s the
bridge. Back then all I could picture was the guys in a shared hotel room
having a group orgy with a bunch of young bimbos. Now I know better. Don’t I?

Since the night at the gym, he’s been completely open about
his social life. In the context of our daily routine, I trust him not to cheat
on me. The Bahamas are so far away, though, and he’ll probably be exposed to
more temptation there. How do people with spouses in the military handle it?

Trust. Even though mine has already been stretched to the
limit, it will have to grow even more to keep up with this relationship. I
suppose if loving Carlos were too easy, it wouldn’t be worth as much.

His face grows serious. “Come with me. We’re flying down on
Sunday and doing three nights of shows. I’m going to launch my new routine.”

I shake my head. “I just got promoted. I can’t run off to
the Bahamas right now.”

“Janice, I need you. Please come. Tell them one of your
relatives died or something.”

Uneasiness prickles across my forehead. “I can’t lie to
them. If I’m found out, I could get fired.”

“Then tell them the truth.”

I cross my arms. “Yeah, right. I’ll tell them I’m attending
a stripper road show. Can’t you skip this one?”

He shakes his head. “I need the money and I need you. My
career is in trouble. Your energy will keep me going while I find a new one.”

Damn him for taking my life and turning it upside down. I
touch his shoulder.

“Let me think about it.”

He nods and kisses me. “The club will pay for an extra room.
I have to know tomorrow morning so I can make the arrangements.”

The time has come. I have to choose.

* * * * *

At work the next morning, I take a seat in the conference room
for the Friday staff meeting. Earlier I emailed my boss to request some days
off next week to care for a sick relative. Although she approved it in her
reply, I’m not looking forward to seeing her face-to-face. To fortify myself, I
grab a sugary donut from the box and gulp it down. It’s better than staring at
the reflection of my tense face in the conference table’s glass overlay.

“Are there any other announcements?” Harriet asks toward the
end of the meeting.

Pens tapping against the table broadcast everyone’s
eagerness to get the meeting over with.

“We just got our first assignment from that new client,”
Dave says. “A quick turnaround is essential.”

“I agree,” Harriet replies. “Unfortunately Janice will be
out Monday through Wednesday.”

I drink some coffee for more strength. “My aunt is having
surgery and I need to help her afterward.”

“Oh, that’s too bad and bad timing too,” Dave exclaims.
“Will you have to travel?”

My nails dig holes into my palms. “Y-yes. The Bahamas.”

Should I name a specific island? No, not unless they ask.
My gaze drifts from the suburban landscape through the window to the large
paintings of modern art. I guess everyone has lied at one point or another, but
I’ve never told such a whopper. What if I lose my job over it?

“Dave, I’ll get a jump start on that project today,” I
promise. “Once I specify the reporting structure, it will just be a matter of
plugging in the data.”

“That will be a big help,” he replies.

Tiffin arches a skeptical brow. “Wait a minute. I thought
you didn’t have any family, Janice.”

Harriet shoots her a stern look for speaking out of turn.
Meanwhile, I suppress a groan of dismay, remembering a recent conversation in
the break room about the upcoming holidays. Why did I have to mention I had no
real family?

“We’re distant, but I feel I should go.”

People’s eyes shift a bit as they stare at the conference
table. Most of them are probably wondering if I’m lying. Who has aunts living
in the Bahamas? Nobody. Why couldn’t the road show go someplace believable
instead like Minnesota?

Promising to take my laptop and remain in contact, I finally
sag in relief as the meeting ends.

After the meeting, I retreat to my small but cozy office,
admiring the simple whiteboard, a picture of a ship the last person left on the
wall and even my jacket hanging on a hook. Everyone accepted the lie and I’ll
never do it again. For good measure, I spin around in my high-backed executive
chair.

I’m safe.

Without bothering to knock first, Tiffin comes in and plops
down in one of the guest chairs with a big grin on her face.
Uh-oh.
This
can’t be good. I thought she’d be sullen about taking up the slack while I’m
gone, not elated.

She makes a big production out of slapping her folder on my
wide desk and opening it in front of me.

My stomach lurches into my throat when I see a printout page
of me licking Carlos’ chest.

Oh, my freaking God.
She was at the club last
night…with a camera. Why hadn’t I made a point to see if she was there? I
shouldn’t even have gone. If only I’d had a better choice of job offers when
taking this job. I was so desperate to work I’d signed that stupid agreement without
realizing how it might curtail my personal activities. Of course, back then I
practically lived the life of a nun, so I didn’t think it would be a big deal.

“Who else have you shown this to?” I croak while my fingers
and toes sting with shock.

“Just you…so far.” Her grin widens. “Are you sure about that
trip to the Bahamas? I mean, will you really have time to help your aunt with
the male revue going on?”

“You wouldn’t,” I hiss.

But I know she would. She’s wanted me gone since the day she
met me.

When I grab the page and rip it up, she just laughs.

“I have a digital copy, of course,” she says.

“Of course you do,” I mutter. “You realize taking the
picture also places you at the Stallion Palace.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’ll just say I got it off Facebook.”

Muffled conversation filters in from next door. I can’t
decipher the words, but I bet they aren’t half as shocking as the ones flying
around in here.

“Tiffin, look. I’ll work twice as hard when I come back.”

“Will you now?”

Maybe I could cut the trip short too. What am I doing,
trying to negotiate with a blackmailer? Think, Janice. There must be some way
to reason with this little twit. I clasp my hands on the desk to keep them from
shaking.

“It’s in your best interest to stay on my good side, Tiffin.
As I climb the ladder I can either take you with me or leave you behind.”

But it’s no use. She smells blood and she’s going to go for
the kill.

She glances at her polished nails. “Now why would I go to
all that trouble when I can have your job right now?”

I’ve reread the agreement so many times since dating Carlos,
I’ve almost memorized it.

“Hold on,” I say, glaring at her. “I’m sure blackmail is not
acceptable conduct either. Do you really want to risk your job?”

She hesitates for only a second. “That’s a chance I’ll
take.”

Something inside me snaps. After years of fighting the
corporate battles and living in fear of losing my livelihood, I’m sick of it.
Maybe all the nonsense Carlos has been filling my head with lately has finally
transformed some of my brain cells.

“Well, Tiffin, if you want to live your life as a cutthroat
shark, you’re off to a great start, but you won’t succeed that way in the end.
Every nasty thing you do will come back to bite you.”

She just blinks at me. “So you’re still going?”

“I’m going to work all weekend and cut the trip short but,
yes, I’m still going.”

“Then I’ll send the picture to Harriet and the CEO too.”

I stand up. “Knock yourself out.”

As soon as she leaves, I close the door and put my head on
my desk. Am I out of my mind? Am I really going to risk my job over a man?
Groping for my personal phone, I dash out a brief message to Carlos.

So sorry. Can’t get away from work. Dance for me though.
Love you, Janice

Then I email Tiffin from my computer.
You win. I’m
staying.

* * * * *

On Monday evening, I step out of the airport at Nassau on
New Providence Island of the Bahamas and board the shuttle to Paradise Island
where Carlos will perform. I frown at my watch as I take a bite out of the
sloppy chicken salad sandwich that will be tonight’s dinner. The flight was
delayed so I barely have enough time to check into my hotel room and change
before the show.

Go. Stay. No, go. No, stay.
I must have changed my
mind a hundred times today. People at the office acted surprised to see me at
work today and Tiffin stared daggers at me. I plan to watch the show tonight,
fly back tomorrow morning and work in the afternoon.

It’s the best compromise I could come up with.

I stare at the palm trees passing by with wistful regret.
It’s hardly the three-day vacation Carlos envisioned but at least I’m here to
give him moral support. Someday we’ll take a real vacation together where
neither of us has to work.

He has no idea I’m coming. I didn’t want to disappoint him
in case I changed my mind again so I decided to just show up. Luckily the club
posted the show schedule and all the details I needed on its website.

I hope Carlos enjoys the surprise. I can’t wait to see the
look on his face when he finds out I’m here. His spontaneity has definitely
rubbed off on me. Not only am I comfortable with it, I think I even like it.

When I arrive at the waterfront hotel, I consider asking
what room he’s in, but I don’t want him to see me looking so bedraggled from
traveling. I’ll just catch up with him after the show.

Walking outside in the balmy air from the bus to the hotel
infuses my fatigue with romance. The cadences of native accents and tropical
birds remind me to slow down and relax.

I’ve done the right thing coming here. Our relationship has
continually grown. It’s hard to believe that first two hours in his hotel room
at the romance convention. All I could handle then was a one-night stand. Now
we love each other and he wants a future with me.

When I step into the lobby, the potted palms remind me of
the décor of Crave-a-thon where I first fell for him. It’s as if I’m reliving
the growth of our relationship. The sensuous coconut scent of sunscreen makes
my core ache to be filled. I hope he has condoms with him because my birth
control hasn’t kicked in yet and I need him.

I need him under a tree and in the sand with the ocean
breeze blowing through our hair. The moment I’ll feel his lips on mine is so
close I can almost taste it.

* * * * *

An hour later, I’m seated near the back of a large atrium
studded with palm trees. I miss my front row seat at the Stallion Palace, but
it serves me right for not making concrete plans, I suppose.

The men explode across the stage in a sea of brilliantly
colored lights. Seeing Carlos in a new setting injects excitement into my blood.
Even the cheering, amplified by the glass walls, fuels my adrenaline. Because
he doesn’t know I’m here, it’s almost as if the clock has gone back to the time
before he knew me. Despite the warm air, a strange chill walks down my spine.

It’s as if I’ve already lost him.

But how can that be? The different setting must be throwing
me. At home everything is cool and crisp with fall, signaling everyone to
settle down with a mate and hibernate. Here it’s summery, full of cues to
cruise and explore. Focusing on his tattoos eventually calms the tension in my
limbs. They prove the man up there is Carlos—my Carlos.

Even though he doesn’t know I’m here, he seems to have
plenty of energy already. With amazement, I watch his flexing body doing high
jumps in the air. This must be the new routine he’s been working on. Mercy.
This is not a man who needs moral support.