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twenty-four f

The Art of the Deal

M ike stopped by the club that night but only for one set. He tucked a twenty-dollar bill into my garter, winked at me, and left. Inside the bill was enough coke to get me through the rest of the night and a note that simply read: More?

I wanted more, and he knew it.

But I also wondered where Mike was going on a Saturday night. Did he have a girlfriend? Several girlfriends? Why did I feel such intense jealousy? I’d only met him the night before, and I was married.

Saturday was considered “date night.” If a guy had a girlfriend or wife, he was expected to spend the evening with her, which meant our customers were on the prowl. I had no intention of going home with any of them, but that didn’t stop me from playing the game. I focused on making money. Thoughts of Mike would have to wait.

I woke Sunday around noon to the smell of bacon and eggs. I stumbled downstairs and found Jack cooking breakfast—a first.

“Morning, Ava, or is it afternoon? Did you miss me?” He gave me a peck on the cheek and went back to cooking.

“I did,” I lied.

“I got to thinking last night. I should’ve been home with my wife, not in some shitty cabin with a bunch of dudes.”

I needed to change the subject. “Catch any fish?”

“Threw most of them back. Like I was saying, from now on I’m spending my nights home with you.”

Of all times to be falling back in love with me—just as I’m falling in love with someone else.

“I’m even gonna get serious about finding a job.”

I knew he’d find another low-paying job, then leave as soon as something pissed him off . . . unless they fired him first. Today I shared his excitement. With Jack out of the house, I’d be free to see more of Mike.

Jack kept his word and found a warehouse job the next day. He proudly told me it paid $2.50 per hour, forty cents higher than minimum wage.

“That’s a hundred bucks a week before taxes. Add that to the bread I make dealing, and you won’t have to work as much,” he said.

I knew he meant well, but I also knew my husband. Best to enjoy my freedom for now and not get my hopes up.

I didn’t see Mike again until Wednesday. He planted the usual twenty-dollar bill in my garter and invited me to sit with him on my break.

“When can I see you again?” he asked.

“My husband got a job, so for now I have my daytime free.”

“I work, too, y’know. We’ll figure somethin’ out,” Mike said.

We went out for breakfast after the bar closed, but it wasn’t enough. A week later, I came up with a plan.

“As long as my husband’s working, I can cut back to four nights a week. Jack doesn’t have to know,” I said.

“I like how you think, doll,” Mike said.

While Jack held his job, I spent one evening a week at Mike’s apartment. The guy had money and taste. His living room was furnished in chrome, glass, and black leather. In his bedroom, he’d installed smoky mirrors on the wall behind his waterbed. A black lacquer dresser and nightstand with a lava lamp completed the decor. What impressed me most of all was Mike’s stereo system. Everything from his Sony TA-1150 integrated amplifier, JBL speakers, and Thorens TD-165 turntable screamed quality.

“No wonder you cringed when you saw my place,” I said.

“This is only the beginning. I’ve got big dreams.”

Mike was more than a dreamer. He was a doer.

“I’d love to live like you,” I said.

“Stick with me, doll. You’ll have this and more,” Mike promised.

“Jack got fired. He only lasted six weeks,” I told Mike. “I have to go back to dancing five nights.”

“Tell him business is off so you gotta work a coupla double shifts. Work two afternoon shifts and spend the nights with me.”

Mike had an invisible hold on me from the beginning. I’d do anything he said, including cutting my income and lying to my husband.

The lunch crowd picked up in the fall. I continued to make good tips, but I was exhausted.

“We’re going to have to figure out something else,” I said. “I can’t keep working these so-called double shifts.”

“I got just the thing.” Mike ruffled through his dresser drawer and handed me an Altoids tin.

“More coke? I’ll have nosebleeds from here to Sunday.”

“White crosses.”

“Speed?”

“Yup. But it’s prescription. Nothin’ like meth.”

“But not my prescription,” I countered.

“So what? They’re made in a real medical lab.”

I knew it was either white crosses or bail on Mike.

“Hand me that glass of water,” I said.

“This ain’t a permanent solution,” Mike said.

“What is?”

“Leavin’ that loser husband of yours. I’ll give you a beautiful life. You’ll never have to work again.”

How could I tell Mike that Jack had rescued me from the nightmare of my first marriage? That he’d stuck by me through the worst days of my life?

Mike laid back on the waterbed. “I know hubby’s a small-time dealer. I’m a bigger dealer, did you know?”

“I thought you might be. You can’t live like this on a mechanic’s salary.”

“How about you introduce me to Jack? Invite me to your house and tell him I’ve got connections for coke and grass. Everybody wins. Me ’n him’ll make more bread, you won’t have to support him, and we won’t have to sneak around.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Maybe, but it’ll sure as shit be fun.”

An image of Satan flashed in front of my eyes.