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Part Two

See Part One <a href=http://errlwayne.livejournal.com/567686.html>Here</a>.

To protect the innocent and the guilty alike, some of the names in part two have been changed. Many of the exact circumstances are cloudy and hard to remember at this point after all the late nights, drinking, drugs and paranoia I went through. From here out, it’d be wise to second guess everything you read and distrust your humble narrator, who went back to his original name spelling “Earl” after a short bout of calling himself “The Artist Formally Known as Errl”.

In December 2006, Robin would visit Michigan for the last and most glorious time. I took two weeks off at the bookstore and at Pizza to enjoy the holidays with her. A few weeks before she arrived, I had gone to the mall to buy a small, but perfect ring for her made of white gold and several tiny diamonds. I knew it’d be perfect on her tiny left ring finger.
I picked her up the afternoon of the eighteenth—it was a Monday—after a night of getting dances at the Déjà vu next door with my high school buddy KC. It would be my last trip there as a customer. I don’t remember much about that night, beyond being so ill-at-ease that I spilled my coke on my Kamels. KC and I spent a good piece of the evening drinking and playing Tony Hawk on PS2 before we went to get out dicks grinded.
Once I had Robin back in my apartment, we didn’t get right in to bed. We might’ve cuddled and kissed, but we didn’t get down to ******** until about six or so. I remember Christine calling me to tell me she and Rusty were at the Bar waiting for us. I told her to give me twenty minutes. Once we wrapped, I gave her the ring. It was too big, so I told her we’d take it in tomorrow. She didn’t call her mother.
Rusty and I drank while Robin and Christine caught up. Left felt normal and good like things were falling in to place for once and maybe, just maybe everything was going to be okay after all.
The holidays came and went. My mom was happy to see me so happy and she and Robin made a stocking in the style my Great Grandma made one back in the day. It felt like she was part of the family. We were engaged—it still seems weird to think that at one point I was engaged to someone, especially after everything since then that’s happened.
Before she went home, I think it was the twenty-ninth, Robin could tell I was sick of working at the Book store and laid some advice on me: why don’t you go apply at the Vu?
The thought had occurred to me, but I never wanted to actually do it, much less act on it. But she was right—I needed two jobs to live and if I didn’t want to sell books any more, I’d have to try selling something else. I put on a nice shirt and walked over to apply. I handed in my app to a girl I recognized from an English class in college. We shot the breeze for a second and then I went home. I felt dirty.
Robin left—with her, she took my fingerless skeleton gloves, a Leonard Cohen CD, a copy of “The Dark Knight Returns” and the ring we’d sized to fit her but she still wouldn’t wear. I drove home and cried. I knew I’d miss her, but I never knew how much I’d miss her.
Winter book rush came and went with even fewer people on staff than ever. Once it had all boiled down, I lost my cool and one day got mouthy with Susan and sort of quit, sort of got fired. I walked home feeling terrific, inhaling deeply the crisp January air. I think it was the twentieth.
I called Pizza and told them I was down to one gig and could use more hours. Aimee told me that shouldn’t be a problem. I also called the Vu and asked where my application was. The manager who took the call, I think it was Krista, told me she just promoted a guy from vest (a term assigned to doormen and bartenders) to DJ and she had a spot and I should go in for an interview on the twenty-fifth. I remember being bummed that I’d miss watching the Royal Rumble with Hardcore.
The interview wasn’t so much a get-to-know-you-and-see-if-you’re-right-for-the-job sort of thing as much as it was a “here, sign these forty contracts and see you Wednesday”. I guess knowing that girl from English class got my foot in the door. The contracts were the usual kind of thing for any job, tax stuff and all that and then there were the unusual stuff, the legal-eze for the worker bees of the adult industry. An acknowledgement that I’d be around nudity, dirty language, stimulated sex acts, pornography; a release stating that I might be photographed, as if in the background of a picture, and wind up in a magazine or a web-site. No telling. But the Corporation had left nothing to chance. I think I had to sign a contract stating I wouldn’t sue them if my sex drive went to nothing after being around non-stop-naked girls. I was given a vest and told to turn up Wednesday the thirty-first to get trained. My head spun.
I called my mom, Robin and Veronica. I told them I was taking the job. I didn’t want to offend them with it. Veronica didn’t care. Robin’s reaction was her usual quiet and supportive one. Mom asked me if I’d told Dad yet—I hadn’t. I figured he’d either be thrilled I was getting away from the pinkos and their NPR radio at the book store and diving in to some red-blooded Americana or mortified I’d be going from academia and in to perverted hedonism. When I finally called, he was supportive but not nuts about the idea.
Training was no big deal. Pout drinks. Clap your hands. Repeat.

<a href=http://errlwayne.livejournal.com/2007/01/29/>Click here to read an entry from Janaury 29, 2007</a>

<a href=http://errlwayne.livejournal.com/2007/02/02/>Click here to read an entry from February 2, 2007</a>

I went to work. Went home. Changed out of my shirt and vest and in to my sweater and Domino’s shirt. I went over there and talked to the co-franchisee, Dave. He quizzed me on what to when something goes wrong. I got all the answers right and he gave me a little card thing that could win me an iPod (yeah, right). I started making deliveries at five and didn’t quit until twelve thirty, when closing started. I made twenty-one deliveries and cashed out with $77. Nick went to the Vault to get comics and I had him get mine too, but the Vault ******** up—they’re still pulling Jack of Fables for me. DC comics gave The Boys the axe for being too violent or whatever. Buncha goddamn pussies. I got home from Domino’s about two thirty last night after closing with Dan. I then typed this until three twenty while the day was still fresh in my mind. I’m now very tired. It was like any other day once the day got started. I think, or at least hope, I’ve found a new niche and another home away from home—and a new makeshift family. I doubt it’ll be weird to go from Nikki, Brandi and April to Mei Ling, Mick and Krista because it wasn’t at all difficult to make friends with Aimee, Dan and Parker. No matter what I try, (although I haven’t really tried much) I can’t make friends at the Ugly Mug—all the friends I have are at work. I must be a grown up. Or something.
The next day, Thursday, I bought a baggie of rubber bands and bought a neck tie. And learned how to tie the son of a b***h. And delivered nine orders. And made another thirty-ish dollars. Then I went home, called Robin and watched “Little Miss Sunshine”. Catching a break instead of catching hell for a change is kind of nice. Tomorrow I have to go to the ol’ book store to get my last pay check, get a haircut and check on my hours for next week at some point. Aimee just called ad gave me tonight off so I could go see Cradle of Filth. I might go with Libby.
And go with Libby, I did. On the way, Libby told me she and Matt had become boyfriend and girlfriend—which really made me happy. She’s a good girl and he’s a great guy and pretty perfect for each other. She already felt like she was girlfriend material when I hung out with the two of them once. Libby smoked frantically and sucked down her coke fast. She had to pee by the time we were in Romulus—which is on the far west side of the city and Harpos is on the east side. She was going to have to hold it because, goddammit, I was on a mission.
We managed to find it with out needing to ask for directions, which made me happy. In the vicinity of Harpos, I set about to find poor Libby a bathroom. Knowing she’d pee anywhere I took her to a White Castle, but no dice there. Then over to a KFC with bullet proof glass, like it was a bank. No one could find the key. Now getting desperate and annoyed, Libby and I took to a pretty sick looking Coney Island. I had to buy something to get the key. They were out of red bull so I turned to a lady behind me and asked if she wanted anything. She said she wanted a papaya juice. I gave her the two bucks for the dollar twenty-five bottle of juice. The bathroom door was buzzed open and Libby ran in. Relieved, we got back to the car and made our way to Harpos. I backed in to a spot so we could escape easily later on. We coated up and walked over to the line. There were these adorable little sixteen-year-old black metal kids from Holland who had dropped out of school and started a band. As cute as they were, they were pretty dumb. The girlfriend had on a tank top and it was one of those bona-fide February nights—ten degrees and dropping. I offered her my jacket after clearing it with the boyfriend. I knew I could handle it better than the poor girl. She eagerly took it and wrapped up.
Also in line near us was a guy who looked like Chris Farley’s slightly-thinner brother with a pony tail and a Dimmiu Borgir shirt, a much pierced spikey hair guy and a his girlfriend. Good people. The vibe going in to Harpos this time felt much friendlier. We got in, glanced at the merch table and decided to come back later for stuff. We found a table as an opening band did their show. I liked their stuff and would have bought a CD if they had one at merch, but nope. Libby and I smoked. I bought her a beer. Once the band was done there was about an hour of videos on screens. Type O Negative’s “Black no. 1”, Pantera’s “Cemetery Gates”, White Zombie’s “Black Sunshine”, Skid Row’s “18 and life”, Ministry’s “Jesus built my hotrod” and so on.
The next opening act was 3 inches of blood. I didn’t care for them at all. After that, I decided to get on down to the pit before The 69 eyes went to work. The 69 eyes were okay. The drummer was the coolest drummer I’d ever seen. I’d never seen anyone play like him. The bassist was the bassist from HIM, I think. They were all right, but I wasn’t sure if I was in love with them enough to buy their album. They wrapped and the techs went to work. It took a while, but people killed time by smoking several different kinds of weed—some smelled skunky and some smelled piney. I was offered joints but politely declined. Once the lights went down, a growling “CRAY-DUHL!” chant went up. I felt my pants shiver and at first it felt like someone was pissing on my jeans. I touched my leg to find my phone was vibrating. I took it out and checked the caller id: it was the Déjà vu office. ******** sake… I answered, barely able to hear Krista on the other end. I could hear she needed me to come in but that was it. I told her I was in Detroit, at a concert and the head liners were about to go on and I’d call her once I got out. The place went black, save for the Cradle of Filth logo on a screen behind the drums. The drummer appeared. Next, Paul Allender, the perpetually unhappy looking guitarist, then Dave Pybus, the Cousin It looking bassist and then Charles Hedger, the very Viking looking guitarist materialized. They opened with “Dredge Inferno” and Dani Filth started his screaming. The many kids in the crowd knew the lyrics. It was good to see so many kids having such a good time on a Friday night. I didn’t recognize every song, I know I heard “Born in a Burial Gown”, “Her Ghost and the Fog”, “The Rise of the Pentagram”, “I am the Thorn”, “Cruelty Brought Thee Orchids”, “Under a Huntress Moon”, “Temptation”, “Tonight in Flames”, and “Nymphetemine”. The Viking guitarist played to the crowd really well. Rosie Smith, The sexy keyboardist, played with so much subtitle style, I kept looking over to see what she was doing frequently. Sara Jezebel Deva, The back up female vocals, were really epic. There wasn’t too much between-song chatter. There was a “Greetings Detroit”, but he was doing this guttural thing with his voice and it was hard to understand. They did two encores, but Libby and I decided to split before the house lights went up. I snagged a $25 beanie and a $40 tour shirt (ouch). We left without any trouble with traffic. I called Krista back. Initially, I was going to have to go to work and cancel on Denny’s. But then she called me back and told me I was in the clear. We got gas, more cigarettes and then got something to eat. On the way back to Ypsi, I swung in to Domino’s to thank Aimee for the night off and to tell her I’d see her Sunday—Super Bowl Sunday.
I went from job to job for a while. If I wasn’t at one, I was at the other and with what little free time I had, I worked on the comic book I was trying to write or the video game I was chipping away at. The Vu was growing on me. I was making conversation and finding common ground with people-but the late nights and the constant neglect was chipping away at someone else. I wasn’t calling Robin and I could tell she was becoming less and less comfortable with the idea of me working at the Vu—even in a vest capacity.
After a short and terrible vacation to Florida—American’s limp d**k, I got back to Ypsi. I hadn’t talked to Robin in a week when she finally called me and told me she didn’t want to be engaged to me any more. The whole world went grey and in to slow motion. I cried two perfect tears and called Matt. I went to work at the club. Once I was out of there, I drove to Jackson to see Matt and Arnie and play video games and smoke cigarettes like in the old days.
I didn’t rebound the next day or anything. I just did my thing like I did before when she broke up with me before. I threw myself in to work hard and just tried to ignore how much I was hurting. I bought myself a few new hats and Libby, Matt and I scalped in to Wrestlemania XXIII when it came to Ford Field on April 1st. A few days later, I took Amanda, from way back when, out to see “Grindhouse”. We sat through the entire four hours of the movie and then went outside to smoke and let a couple of kids, who snuck in to the movie, bum off us for one. It might have been out of pity, but Amanda and I made out a little.
A few weeks later, Joan, her friend Lydia and I went to see Iggy & the Stooges. It turned in to a marathon of a night. After the show, where I inhaled a lot of pot smoke, we went to this party with a fire and this big slobbery dog. I drank beer and played fetch with the dog and then started to tell him all the things that were bothering me. Joan then scooped me and Lydia up and went to her boyfriend’s house. Joan’s boyfriend and I whipped our dicks out for some reason. We might’ve made out, I don’t remember. We listened to T-Rex and then Joan and the guy went to his room to ******** and sleep, leaving Lydia and I alone. She was too drunk for me to ******** and feel good about myself in the morning and I was too drunk and depressed to ******** anyway. I curled up on a strange couch under a Frankenstein sleeping bag and slept. I was 25 but felt barely 18.
Work at the club took another turn after that but not because of that. I started going to Necto, this club in Ann Arbor, on Monday nights which is Factory Mondays—Goth night, where the drama with the ******** and he-said-she-said is as thick and as shitty as the clove smoke in the place. I went with Joan and made her drive so I could get drunk. It was a night like that where I ran in to Jenna, a girl from the club with gentle features with mischievous smile. I was stumbling around and she saw me. The next day she shot me a grin that said “saw you drunk!” I told her not to look at me like that. When I walked her to her car, she told me I ought to go out some night and play Magic cards with her nerd friends. I hadn’t played Magic in a while, but I knew I needed new friends so I said why the hell not?
Why the hell not is because no one is supposed to hang out with the showgirls away from work. I dunno why that rule was put in to place because everyone does it anyways, even, (if not, especially) the corporate scumbags who put it in place. I decided to risk it. I was out until about 5 that night playing cards. I lent Jenna a sweater Robin had left here with me and considered silently how pissed she’d be if she said it now, lent by me to a girl I knew Robin would be jealous of and cling to me around.
Weird thing was about Jenna, and most of the girls at work, was that I knew they were hot, I just wasn’t attracted to many of them. I could never figure out why.
In May, I was robbed at gun point by pair of teenagers. They got my $20 cash bank, two pizzas, a two liter of Cherry Coke and my cell phone. It was surreal.
That summer, Amanda and I saw “Spider-man 3”, “Pirates of the Caribbean 3”, “Hostel 2”, “28 Weeks later” and “Shoot ‘em up”. We lived too far apart to ever make a relationship out of it and I could never tell if she was making out with me because she liked me or because she felt bad for me… or because she wanted me to keep taking her to the movies.
I was really starting to burn the candle at both ends by June, closing the club at 4:30 and opening Pizza at 9 until 4 and then back to the club at 7:45. I took to sleeping in my car. By July, I was starting to get really weird. Smoking and drinking energy drinks instead of eating and sleeping. I became the wild-eyed driver, eager to take stupid risks and speed in making money delivering food and getting the best times. I became some competitive to the point of being counter productive. One time, I was asked to deliver in a different area for a shift. I looked at the map and asked a few questions. When I got a response I didn’t like, I freaked out. They called Aimee and asked what was up with me anyway. Aimee responded that’s just me—touchy and weird. I was getting a reputation. Aimee started making me take days off.
About this time, I took to hanging out with Jenna at her house and telling her what had been going on with me. She was really sweet and responded with advice and a unique wisdom I’m convinced that only girls that young only a stripper could have.
In July, Christine moved away.
I was still writing a lot though and making a lot of progress on my comic book.

<a href=http://errlwayne.livejournal.com/2007/07/16/>Click here to read an entry from July 16, 2007</a>

Sometime during the month, my brother told me I smell like the gas chamber, sick old pizza and used up p***y. Barry Bonds beat Henry Aaron’s Home run record. My dad and I went to a Tigers game. I started doing Open to close shifts at whatever job I was at. The miserable summer had set in on me and all I wanted to do was pretend everything was okay by pretending I had no feelings at all and drowning the ones I had with 7 and 7, Jack and Coke or Captain Morgan and Dr. Pepper. It was a terrible way to live and things were going to get worse before they got better.
The only significant thing I remember about August was when Melonfest came to the club and when a boob-jobbed, tanned and tattooed girl from Saginaw called Tiara licked her hand and shoved in to her panties. That freaked me out for some reason.
In September I quit Pizza. I had gotten too weird to keep doing it.
For most of the month, I partied harder than I ever had before and I get destructive. I start doing really mean-spirited things, like calling the number on missing pet flyers and telling people I garroted their kitty or putting porno in church mail boxes or making missing person flyers for myself with the bookstore’s phone number on the bottom or advertising to people that I could repair video games which one time caused a conversation like this to happen.

Earl: Hillo
Guy: Hey is this the guy who can fix video games?
Earl: ....
Guy: You there?
Earl: yeah, yeah man. I can fix video games. What’s up?
Guy: okay, I know it's late and all but my Xbox isn't working and I--
Earl: what's wrong with it?
Guy: I dunno.
Earl: y'smoke around it? is it covered in dust?
Guy: yeah! what do I do?
Earl: okay, what you do is you unhook it from the TV and take it over to the kitchen and put it in the fridge and turn it on.
Guy: ...what?
Earl: yeah, you let it run in the cold moist fridge for an hour or so. Doing that will clear off any dust that's on it or in it.
Guy: that doesn’t make a lot of sense.
Earl: Hey man, I know what I’m talking about. The longer you leave it in there, the cleaner it'll be. I gotta go.

I kept going to Necto and kept running in to the girls from work. I had changed my approach to girls in general and some of them started responding to me. One night, I got a girl to let me make out with her really public and smack on her on the a** really hard. I don’t even know why now I wanted to do that to someone at all.
Half way through October, I got a call from Jeffery, the club’s GM
"Hello, is this Earl?" I knew it was him.
"Yes, and this must be Jeff. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I said, sounding more than a lot snotty over the phone.
"Well, what are you doing right now?"
"I'm entertaining a young lady. What's up?" At this, Lydia took the phone and started talking to my boss and being all Lydia on him.
I got the phone back and asked what I could do for him.
"I was going to have you come in and talk to me, but you seem busy."
I unplugged my computer "No no. I got a little time. I'm on my way in, Jeff."
I drove the three blocks back downtown from Lyd's and parked the car. I went in thinking I was about to get s**t-canned or something—like making out with showgirls at Necto or something. Inside, I asked Cam, one of the guys in the boutique where Jeff was. He, like he tends to do, gesturing instead of actually speaking, pointed toward the club. I strode over and found Jeff. We walked to the office. He didn't close the door behind us. Tension lightened.
"Do you find me attractive?" He asked, goofing around.
"No."
"Okay, then we're done."
"Okay." I turned to leave, knowing we weren’t done.
"I wanted to ask you how you'd feel about going in to the M.I.T. [Manager in Training] program." Jeff said, matter-of-factly.
I had to think for a second. It'd mean a lot of changes, really. I'd have to rock a suit, commit lots of time to the club and I'd be responsible for s**t. But I figured I'd have some kind of stability--more hours and more money.
"I'm all about it."
Jeff went in to how he and Aaron discussed it earlier that day and decided I have a good work ethic and all. I was happy.
We talked about bonuses, perks, duties and other stuff. The term "as soon as possible" came up.
I started to clean up my act. I cut back my drinking and stopped smoking pot. I wasn’t smoking much to begin with but it was something I needed to do. I bought some suits and started learning how to do things a little bit at a time.
There was a girl called Bambi, who was a sociopath. She’d stir the s**t up because that’s just how she was. She’d laugh at me while I was working and make a pest of herself. My first full night of M.I.T.-ing she decided she was going to try and ******** me over by doing like eight shots before work. She came in and was all: "I love you. We should hang out. I’ll work so good for you. My name is really Brandy and I’m a good girl while I’m here but not when I’m not." I rolled my eyes and had the bartender get her a drink of water.
Later on, another girl came up to me and told me she was on the floor of the locker room. I asked where she was. They pointed--she was planted on her butt, legs spread and knees up—wearing only braclets. She was on her phone and laughing. I got her another water.
A few more minutes later, someone came up and told me she had gone to the basement to lie down. I got her another water. I went back down stairs once more to check on her. She was in the bathroom down there. I couldn't see her because she was in the stall.
"How you doin', hon?"
"Puking."
"You gonna be able to get back to work tonight?"
"I'll try. Get me another water."
One night, I was cruisin' until historically tough-as-nails Bambi had a mini-break down. She said she didn't want to do it any more. She said she hates her life and she hates how she ******** it up and how ******** up she is. Perched on the counter in the locker room, she cried and said she's hated working there for so long but at least she got to go on and rock out to whatever music she wanted, but now people are stealing her songs. It was nuts when some brutal truth like that comes out and you see someone you thought was bulletproof crumble and you like her so it's all you can do to try and cheer her up. I told her this is just a little piece of her life. I told her she's in charge. She said she wishes it was all a dream and someday she'd just wake up and it's all be over with. I understood. Later on, we talked about suicide scars and how we both wished we had it in us to go through with it.
Later on, someone told me someone was on the floor of the locker room and not responding. I rolled my eyes and went to take care of it. While walking from one end to the other, I glanced and saw a girl peeing--the locker room doesn’t have a stall like a normal bathroom. I felt so guilty and dirty. I got Bambi off the floor and she actually worked most of the rest of the night.
Later, I ran in to the girl I saw peeing and said I was sorry. She looked at me like I was nuts and said what. I said I saw her peeing and I was sorry. She was all oh whatever. Weird. She didn't care.
Shortly after that, Bambi moved to New Orleans.
Bambi was not a bad girl. She made work interesting. There’d be more Bambis in the future.
On December 18th, a year after Robin had promised to marry me, I was in bed with a girl named Jessica I’d met at Necto earlier that evening. She was 19 and I was 26. The Relationship we had was short, miserable, emotionless but we had pretty great sex and when that’s all it is, that’s all that counts. I would work the Christmas Eve shift at the club. It was very twilight zone being there surrounded by girls in Santa hats and not much else.

Taken from a [Private] Journal Entry written December 27th, 2007

The last bits of decency--the good person I was last year--seem eclipsed and forgotten about as if put in a shoe box and put in a closet. for all her short comings, Robin kept me grounded and together and now, not only is she gone from the Ypsi scene, but she seems to have abounded the internet or at least covered her tracks well enough that I can't find her--but then again, it's not like I’m trying too hard to find her.
I’ve turned in to some Hyde version of the Jekyll version I was a year ago. I don't regret anything or wish I did anything differently. I’ve learned a lot and grown so much, but I’m not sure if I’ve learned worth while things or grown in to a good person. My pants size has gone down, my hair keeps falling out, but I feel more attractive than I’ve ever felt. Maybe I’m just become more confidant.
I don't really talk to anyone from the old scene or listen to the same music (except for the Ramones, I doubt I’ll ever outgrow the Ramones). I’ve gotten in to going to clubs, talking to girls, buying drinks, wearing tight jeans and Tigers hats that match my outfits.
Losing Robin was a catalyst that made the rest of the year amazing--and somber at the same time. I feel happier than ever and more bummed than I can ever recall at the same time. I’m having fun or at least desperately trying to seem like I’m having fun so I don't seem depressed so as to not ruin the party. But at least I know I’m not the only one. It’s hard to seem happy when you're so broken up inside even after all this time... maybe especially after all this time.
The job almost got to me Christmas Eve. I was marking a dance and I looked at the button: "$7 nude" and realized... holy s**t, this is how I make my money. I’ve known all along, but all of a sudden, and it might've been because of my lack of sleep, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I went over to Jarrett and told him how I felt, all guilty and dirty. He told me I should never work in a slaughter house--which made me laugh hard and long and made me feel better. But I still feel like this fortress I’ve tried to make myself in to is turning in to a house of Usher. Being another man in a love triangle, a friend to a handsome junkie and a source of morale for some seriously ******** up people isn't helping. Fortunately, the handsome junkie seems to be moving away, the love triangle isn't that bad for me at least and I can usually be a pretty positive person for a few hours at work. I’m unsinkable, but not bulletproof.

2008 began and business went over like a led zeppelin. The economy sucked and morale was low. Jessica and I quit talking to each other and I developed a little crush on a waitress. She was attracted to me too, but we never went anywhere with it. She wound up going to jail when her Parole Office dropped by and found her boyfriend’s shotgun in the house. She lost her job.
Every night turned in to a story that what used to be shocking or exciting turned bland and boring. So when something awful happened, it was almost refreshing.
At two thirty one night, I was closing out the club and in to the office walks one of the girls.
"My car won't start." And there began a night of thoroughly ******** up s**t.
"I'll take a look at it." I said. Tony and I finished up and after about twenty minutes of looking and a failed attempt at a jump, her car won't start. We quickly exhausted all options--she called her mother. Her mom's boyfriend was on his way to get her at twenty after three.
I invited her in to my apartment to wait for him to arrive. She came in and I changed out of my suit and in to my jammies--green and blue flannel bottoms, a black long sleeve thermal and black socks. I got on the computer and goofed around while she napped on my bean bag. About four thirty, her ride arrived. I walked her outside in the clothes I had on my back--leaving behind my wallet, keys and cell phone. I left my door unlocked and my computer and lamp on--I’d be gone for just a minute, no need for any of that stuff. I wouldn't even need my shoes.
She gets outside and before I realize it, the door behind me closed and locked--I can't get back in.
"SSSSShit," I spat. She realized I was in a sudden heap of trouble, but I knew she had problems of her own and I tell myself I can figure this out. I tell her to take off with out thinking. I try to open the thoroughly locked door. Defeated, I leaned against the wall and sat down in my sock feet--quickly getting cold. All that was between me and nine degree weather was a pane of glass. I assessed the situation--a rock and a hard place. I could’ve waited it out for someone to wake up and find me or I could take my chances out on the deserted streets of Ypsilanti with only the clothes I had on me and my wits.
I tried banging on the door, hoping someone would hear me, but once I stoped banging, I listened and heard nothing but the buzz of neon and realized I was on my own. I though about sitting there for a while, but it hit me fast that I was already going out of my mind and knew I couldn’t do it. I thought about just curling up and dying and how it'd be wonderful and easy, but I hate the cold so much I knew I couldn’t let it win. I get up and I look outside. I can see my car and it's frosted windows. I pushed the door open and cold bit my skin. I walked out on to the side walk with shards of crystallized salt poking my toes and soles of my feet. I let the door close behind me and there was no going back. It was the Double Eagle, the 24 hour Coney Island four blocks away, or bust. There, I’d have friends. There, I’d have warmth. There, I’d have smokes and coffee. I could make it. I had to.
I walked, confidently at first. The first two blocks weren't bad, the last two were awful. I began to worry about getting rolled in not by my clothes and losing even them and having to walk in naked. Thankfully, I didn't run in to a soul on the street.
I get in to the Double Eagle about five to five. Pat, Christov, Jerry, C-roc, Ricky, Em, Fid and Ryan are in there. There I was, barefoot, shivering and obviously in need of friends. Thankfully--if not mercifully, I had them. All those years of eating there regularly was about to pay off. I was given a few sweaters, free coffee and a BLT. C-roc called O'Shea, the guy who works there who got stabbed there trying to stop a robbery and lives in my building, so he could let me in, he didn't answer. I sat down and relayed my tale of woe to them. They took care of me. I ate. Drank. Warmed up and waited. O'Shea would be in at eight when at which time, I could get in to my building. At seven, we called O'Shea again. He answered. He said he'd let me in. C-Roc walked back with me. I jogged, my feet suffering every step of the way back. I thought about hypothermia and frost bite, but I think all I caught was a hell of a cough. We got there back at twenty after seven. O'shea let me in and C-Roc took off. I went to my still unlocked apartment to find my computer still on, Magic Online still on the screen and my lamp still burning with daylight coming in through the blinds.
I run my feet under a warm tap and feel the temperature--my nerves, seemed undamaged. I walked back in to my apartment and thanked my lucky stars I’d made connections with good people who look out for their own and don't s**t where they eat.
I'm sure there's a lesson in this greater than never leave your apartment without your keys and one day I’ll look back and laugh but at the moment, I can't see any great significance in these twisted events that transpired that night.
After or maybe before that was the annual Showgirl Spectacular competition. It was delayed several times because of the weather. I’m really not interested in going in to the whole spectacle of the show, but Jeff’s team won and I was on Jeff’s team. That meant, He, Mikey (who was a DJ at the time) and a crew of about a half dozen showgirls would go to Kalamazoo to compete in finals.
At this point, there had been a significant amount of drama surrounding Jeff and one of the girls. There was a lot of hate going around that our team won because Jeff rigged the show or something like that. Whatever the case was, it would have been very difficult to rig the contest and I gave Jeff the benefit of the doubt—I never gave much of a s**t as to who was ******** who anyways.
A few weeks later, after running a day shift, I grabbed a few changes of clothes and a few other bits and took off for Kalamazoo. I was first to arrive at the hotel. I set up my computer, turned on the hockey game and smoked Kamels until everyone else arrived. The girls set about getting smashed and once the hockey game was over, Jeff asked me if I wanted to go over to the club to check it out. Why not?
We coated up and told Mike to keep the girls under control.
We made our way over there and walked in like big shots. Jeff shot the breeze with the GM Traci and I sat alone and uncomfortable with a coke and a smoke. I watched the staged and felt bored. Eventually, a girl made her way over to me and asked if I wanted a dance. She looked like Jacke O with red streaks in her hair, a lot of tattoos and not but a bra and panties on. I wanted to say yes, but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed so I said no. Her name was Virginia and she’d turn up again later.
We got back about two thirty with a four o’ clock practice to anticipate and found the girls annihilated and Mike not much better. We had practice, but it was incredibly unproductive. We got home about five and asleep about six.
Jeff woke me about one and asked if I wanted to get comics. I got dressed and we ran out. We grabbed something to eat and then got back to the hotel. We chilled until whenever we had to pack up and split. We go to the club and set up. We did the show and took third place. I didn’t watch much of the other team’s shows. I wasn’t that interested. I was starting to get wore out on the whole scene. But I was making good money and I could deal with it.
My mom and dad were getting used to me venting about work. I reckon they knew I didn’t have anyone else to talk to since I worked so much and didn’t have many friends away from work any more.
In April, a girl was hired in the boutique that was undeniably cute. Tattooed and pale, I noticed her but couldn’t find the time to learn too much about her. She always seemed perky and sunny, but I was usually too busy running around and fussing over what ever to get to know her right away. Her name was Maggie.
About a month in to Maggie working at the boutique, she recruited her friend as a showgirl. She never did that good. She was moody and she didn’t last. Even though she wasn’t a stellar showgirl, Maggie saw she was able to make at least a little money and when she noticed some of the girls going back to boutique to make stacks of singles in to solid twenties, fifties or hundies, the thoughts started to cross her mind: could she do it?
Maggie was always one of those “I-could-never-do-it” kind of girls until she grew some guts and did an amateur night and won and became eligible to compete in a contest. Maggie then asked me and her friend to go with her to another club to compete at their amateur night. Short, pale, tattooed and a definite amateur, she took on a pair of unremarkable girls and won another one. She was on a roll and making money and having a blast getting naked to Tool and A Perfect Circle on stage. I knew it was just a matter of time—but something about that rubbed me the wrong way. Maggie was a sweet girl and a decent human being—it didn’t feel right to encourage her to get on stage, but it was my job. I felt very un-catcher in the rye and that bothered me. If a younger me met me then, the younger me would be impressed and disgusted at the same time. We kissed.
We drank a little soda and finished the movie.
Eventually, we decided it was time for bed. I offered to sleep on the couch; she snarled her lips at the idea and told me to follow her.
I watched her change out of her clothes and in to her pajamas.
She didn’t tell me to look away, but I thought nothing of it.
We were adult entertainers and I’d seen her naked a few times.
She lay down and gestured to the other side of the little bed.
I didn’t have anything to sleep in, so I lay down in my black jeans and “Nightmare on Elm Street” t-shirt.
“You can take your pants off, you know.”
I did. I had on tight black boxer briefs.
I looked at her in the dark. She had turned on some gentle music and the soft glow from the iPod made her eyes shine. She had this cherubic grin on her face.
“I like you a lot,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say other than the truth.
“I like you too,” she said with a voice so small and gentle.
I moved over and kissed her.
She pulled me closer and we kissed.
Our legs tangled and we kissed.
Sigur Ros played and we kissed.

Maggie and I never could quite decide what to call one another—were we boyfriend and girlfriend or were we friends with benefits or something else or did it not ******** matter? We didn’t think too much about it. We made one another happy and that was pretty great for a pair of depressed people with ******** up jobs. Whatever else there was, we stayed friends with an incredible level of comfort with one another.

That July, my Dad and I went to New York City to see a baseball game at Shea Stadium and Yankee Stadium. We wanted to see a game at those places before they were retired and replaced. We drove there and went through Ohio, Pennsylvania and New Jersey. The thought occurred to me to call Robin, but I’d gone that long without hearing from her, I could go the rest of my life. If she wanted to talk to me, I’d talk to her, but I decided a long time ago that I was done hoping she’d turn around and re-think things.

a href=http://errlwayne.livejournal.com/2008/07/17/>Click here to read an entry from July 17, 2008</a>

An interesting series of events happened one time that I think happened about this time. I really can’t be sure because after a while, it all became a faded mess—like a Jackson Pollack painting someone left in the sun for six years. I think the Red Bull, booze and late nights were scrambling my brain.
Anyways.
A pair of detectives—not uniform beat cops, mind you (we got those guys a few times a night, just to “check on things”) but for real detectives with bags under their eyes, mustaches and pistols and badges on their belt. They were there to talk to a girl whose dumb a** boyfriend was involved in a murder or a robbery or a robbery that turned in to a murder. All I can remember for sure was someone got shot in the chest with a shotgun and there was something to do with a safe and girls going home with customers and trick turning.
One of the cops produced a picture of a girl.
“Do you know her? Does she work here?”
I looked at the picture. It was of a girl called Amazing. She was topless and bored looking in the picture.
“Yes.”
I was told to call her in. She arrived pretty fast and the detectives took her in to the office and told me to stay out—which I didn’t much care for.
That story really has no ending because I don’t remember how it ended. Weird s**t like that happened all the time and usually went away like a fart in the wind.
On August 7, 2008, my Great Grandma died.
I worked the day shift and went home. I hadn’t heard yet and I was tired. I turned off the phone and went to sleep. I woke up at midnight and turned the phone one. There was a text from Maggie and a voice mail from my Dad. He told me Grandma had died and Maggie told me she was thinking about me.
I had the night off and spent it at the bar drinking Jack and Cokes. Bliss, a tall and hardened showgirl, and Orchid, the token Asian, showed up on their breaks. They bought me a drink because they could tell something was bothering me. I told them. They hugged me.
I staggered home later and called Maggie and how upset I was. I told her there was one less person in the world who loved me.
“There’s one more though,” she said.
That made me feel a lot better.
The next night I had to work, I cried in the office most of the night. Jeff took me aside at one point and talked to me. He told me she was done suffering. We went outside for a cigarette together.
The funeral was a few days later. I showed up in my smoke-smelling suit and had two cigarette breaks. I had to walk to the nearby park to smoke. I wasn’t doing too well. I wished I had Maggie with me, but she hadn’t even met my Mom yet and meeting the whole family at the funeral of the matriarch would be too much for anyone.
I did my best to shake it off the best way I knew how—working.

The company put out these faxes informing us of this upcoming event that would involve all the clubs. We would have to enlist several girls and go from club to club across the state. Going in to the gruesome specifics are nothing I want to go in to and it’s nothing you want to read anyways. To be perfectly honest about it all, it was a night for a few of the girls to go work in another club and for the managers to sit around, drink all night and b***h and moan about their girls, the company, the city their club was set up in and whatever lame s**t the greedy and ******** up will go on about. Jeff would chip in with the conversation with the managers from Kalamazoo, Lansing, Saginaw and Toledo while I smoked and listened. Frequently, I’d go check on the girls and make sure they were doing okay.
It was one of these events where I had to go alone because Jeff was on vacation, Tony, the other manager, and Mikey had to work at the club.
George, one of the company’s managers, told me his father-in-law, the company’s owner, would be there, so look sharp.
I grabbed the keys to the van, some CDs, a change of clothes and drove to Kalamazoo. I arrived only a little late to find the girls doing their thing. I retreated to the topless, alcohol bar next door to hang out with the other managers and have a gin and tonic or a captain and coke or both. I sat next to Traci, the Kalamazoo club’s GM. She smoked Marlboro Lights and texted. I noticed a guy in a hat talking to Karen, the GM of Saginaw and asked her who it was. She looked up and said “Harry.”
The Henry Ford of strip clubs was sitting a table over from me. I was intimidated. I went back to the nude club where the girls were.
They were doing okay and earning a little money for themselves. I ran in to Virginia, whose real name I’d learned since I met her months before. We bullshitted and flirted back and fourth a little. While Maggie and I felt like we were together and loyal like exclusives, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to her. I stayed out of the way and let everyone work until it was time to get on home.
Once I finally could leave, I double timed it to Maggie’s. She was waiting for me outside and smoking a cigarette as the sun rose.
The rumors about us were starting though, despite us being annoyingly careful. Mikey had a pretty good idea what was going on when Maggie would dance to The Ramones and Danzig and Tony put the puzzle together when he noticed she and I would frequently smoke together at the same spot. But they weren’t two to go and tattle. Tony’s girlfriend used to be a showgirl but was forced to quit when the word got out about them after he ******** another girl and the two figured it out. The notches in Mikey’s belt when it came to showgirl ******** was apparently quite legendary for both quantity and quality. But the heat got to us and we called it off and decided to call it “just friends”. She moved on to some other idiot and I started to talk to Virginia.
I wanted Virginia to come to the Ypsi club to work just to mix it up. One Saturday night, she finally did. She looked great—all tattooed and dancing to The Stray Cats. She and Maggie became friends and everything was going great. She made some money for herself and when we closed, she told me her friend Kate was at Jeff’s.
Kate was also called Paris at Kalamazoo. She was a tall, thin, blonde specimen—like god’s own perfect showgirl. Weird thing about her was that I knew she was hot, I just never was attracted to her.
So I told Virginia, now that it was closing, she was going by her real name, Ashlee, that she could crash at my place. She was down with that, so we snagged some late night food at the Double Eagle. She loved it there, the greasy down-home-ness of the place. We then went to my place and tossed in “Labrynth”. We didn’t get far before we just were too tired to watch any more. We lay down, both fully clothed, and slept.
A few weeks later, on a Monday night, Jeff told me he was going to Grand Rapids to see Kate. I asked if Ashlee was going to be there. Apparently she was. I asked if I could go with him. He shrugged and said sure. I tossed on a different shirt and we took off in Jeff’s little orange Pontiac. Along the way, we shopped for action figures and Halloween stuff. The frequent stops made us fashionably late. When we finally got there, Kate and Ashlee were hanging out in on of those too-hip-for-earth type stores. Kate hugged Jeff hello. I tried to be all cool and quiet around Ashlee, but I probably came across as an idiot.
That’s how I am I guess around girls I actually like, uneasy and awkward. When I’m around a girl I don’t care about, I can be however I want to be. It sucks.
We all went some where and got something to eat and something to drink. The night went on for a few more hours. Kate gave Jeff this shirt that said “Main Man” or something printed across it. She made it for him. We did our hugs goodbye and took off. It was late before we got back but we stopped off for more toy shopping.
There was this one weekend when Kate came to town, with out Ashlee—which sucked. She wasn’t allowed to work in Ypsi if Jeff was around because they were dating, but Jeff was in California on business. She and ran around and had a good time drinking a lot. It was weird drinking with Kate. I was a pretty pathetic light-weight to begin with and after months of taking it easy, a beer and a half would have me pretty buzzed. But with Kate, I could drinking and drink and drink all night and feel fine. We went to The Elbow Room—the hipster hole-in-the-wall bar on Washington street—and listened to actually-not-that-bad-live-music. Andy, the owner, kept coming over to our table with big shots or mystery liquid. Kate, Andy and I would drink them and then she’d order us another round of Old Style. I was filled with more alcohol than I’d had in ages and felt great—instead of run down and shitty. Getting drunk at the Elbow Room, for some reason, takes longer and getting drunk with Kate took all night.
The next day, Kate asked me where she could find some sexy vampire comics. I took her to all my usual haunts where all the usual guys where there playing cards. They saw Kate like they hadn’t seen a girl ever. I felt like a big shot. She had me drive around her PT Cruiser for her and we jammed out to The Killers. She started calling me her B.B.F.F.—Best Boyfriend Forever. It felt kind of nice for someone to call me their best friend. At one point, a girl came by the table and gave us a free condom. We laughed.
And then Kate became Paris. I set her up in the downstairs changing room—the same Bambi and however many others passed out in. I hung out with her as she straightened her hair, put on her make up, picked out her outfits, got undressed and then re-dressed in stripper gear. We shot the breeze the whole time. I don’t remember what we talked about, but don’t remember once thinking there was a beautiful blonde taking off her clothes or anything remarkably special about it.
She went on stage twice—each time putting on a theme set. The first time, it was a school girl theme to the Jackson 5 and New Edition. Later, she did a three song kinky set with a girl called Bliss to Danzig’s “Mother”, “Twist of Cain” and “Dirty Black Summer”. Bliss—not to be out done, donned a nurse outfit and danced to Electric Hell Fire Club’s Cover of KISS’s “Callin’ Dr. Love”.
By the time September rolled around, I thought about the summer where I’d seen easily over three hundred naked girls, smoked dozens of packs of cigarettes, got back to drinking, had great sex with hot girls, partied with Kate and embraced the whole scene. All I could think was it was the dirtiest, blackest summer ever. I could tell I had sent my soul on a vacation and I didn’t care. I’d be up until 8 in the morning and sleep until 4 the next day. It was all about rock music, tonight and excess. It was all I cared about and all that mattered to me. While Grandma dying slow me down a little, the blur that was my life in the months before Clair’s death in 2005 seemed like a gentle Monet in comparison. Something had to give.
Halloween was the last great thing to happen. I bought Maggie the Princess Leia costume she wanted and got myself a Boba Fett costume. I wore the thing for a few days at work and then, unexplainably, one of the new hotties in the boutique, wearing a maid costume for Halloween, invited me to a party, got drunk as s**t, asked me to drive her home and then had sex with me. It was kind of cool ******** the girl everyone wanted in a slutty costume. We slept naked in her bed as the sun rose. She was so drunk, she didn’t have much trouble getting to sleep. I was mostly sober and all wound up. She was all cuddled on me with her tits on my side and her leg laying over mine. And then she started snoring really loudly. I reached over and pinched her nose, just for the hell of it. Once we woke up, we got dressed and she gave me a ride home and a kiss goodbye. We never talked about it again.
But it was pretty awkward, though, when Maggie, the other girl and I were all standing in the boutique. But whatever.
November came up fast and Maggie started to get more and more conspicuously unhappy dancing—and it also became obvious she was pregnant. It wasn’t mine, she assured me. She had her period between the last time we were together and the first time for him. She seemed so vulnerable because she was always one of those “I-could-never-get-an-abortion” type girls and the Spider-man I’d learned to be swung in. I said things she needed to hear and was all heroic for her.
The night before she would get the abortion, she and I talked over instant messenger for hours. She was scared. While I did my best to comfort her, I ordered sunflowers—her favorite flower—to be delivered to her that afternoon. About 8, she told me she had to go.
That afternoon, she called and woke me to tell me I was hero with the flowers. She then went in to the horrifying details of the abortion. I never knew all the specifics of it all and once she told me, I thought she’d never be the same again. It was hard to pretend I wasn’t a little responsible for that. I encouraged her to trade her innocence for money tossed to her on stage. I felt like I got her started on some shitty dirt road where she would hit every bump along the way.
I didn’t go back to sleep for a while.
As bad as things had gotten in my life, the spell where Maggie went through her abortion was one of the hardest. I figured I knew how to handle pretty much any crying spell a girl would or could throw at me. I was never ready for anything that heavy.
Things didn’t get much lighter. November came up and after a week of bad business, George came in to tell Jeff he was getting the axe. I was at the Double Eagle eating when George texted me and told me to come in for a meeting. He told Tony, Mikey and I that Jeff was gone. I felt sad. Jeff was the latest in a long line of big-brother-type figures to have come and now gone in my life. When the meeting broke, I felt small and lost.
Tony came back in the office. I was still leaning on the desk and staring blankly at the floor.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
“We can make friends or we can make money,” I sputtered, trying my best to be brave.
I drank heavily that night—scared that the next day, George would tell me he was going to put me in charge after all the talk he’d given me about one day running my own club.
I stepped up even more. I re-doubled my efforts with online promotions. I ran wild with ideas for special events and pulled a few off and was met with some pretty impressive success.
I was doing all I could to keep things together at work, but it wasn’t working. I was losing it. I was taking on too much and starting to text Ashlee, who had recently been termed at Kalamazoo, that I wasn’t sure how much longer I could do this. Seeing Maggie unravel and seeing Tony and Mike push the girls around rubbed me the wrong way. At one point, I went up to Tony it felt like we were bullying the girls.
“Yeah, you remember what it was like to be bullied, right?”
Vaguely “I guess so.”
“Now we get to do it,” he said with a sinister grin.
But I’d stopped drinking. After a few weeks of non-drinking, I started to feel clear-headed and better over all, but mostly when I wasn’t at work. Seeing Maggie hurt me. She wasn’t cut out for it. She thought too highly of herself and came from too a good family to go in that. It wasn’t right. Then, seeing these bright eyed little 19 year olds getting knocked up or beaten started to really eat away at me.
DJ Josh Bob, a drunk who pierced my right ear, and Mike one time went drinking after work. They knew I’d hung out with Ashlee and Kate and turned to me and said: “Yo, didja hit that?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You know, Virginia. Didja hit that?”
“No.”
“What about Paris? You had to’ve hit that.”
“No.”
“Unacceptable.”
Something about that exchange bothered me. Something about having sex with the boutique girl bothered me too. I didn’t love her. I never wanted that for me. I never saw myself as the kind of person to have a one night stand or the kind of guy to hit it and quit it. I always wanted to make sex at least a little sentimental and special. I had really changed. I barely recognized myself any more. I looked, felt and spoke differently. What was I becoming? Frankly, Robin not seeing me like this was okay. I was okay with her not seeing me as some bloodless corporate crony.
I was trying to have a social life, but between work and sleeping again to go to work, I only had enough time to get a new pack of smokes. I was losing track of everyone I valued. All the time I had in the world was going in to work. I was burning out. Seeing nothing but naked girls all day was getting to me. I was getting tired of the scene. Two years of keeping your mind in the gutter and taking your pay from a company that you know a shady thing or two about will take its toll on a decent human being.
The vibe around the office was changing too. It had become clear George had someone else in mind for the GM spot, which was fine with me, but more and more, it seemed I wasn’t being included in much of the planning. Any idiot could see what was coming down the pike, it was just going to take some kind of cataclysm for George to s**t-can me, and when it came, I started to wonder how I’d take it.
The insane nights kept coming and going. It was incredible the kind of s**t the cosmos could come up with to make life a little more difficult on Tony, Mike and I. One night, Tony and I were running shift and a cop came in. He was out of uniform, but everyone knew him, so we bullshitted with him and caught on very quickly that he was drunk as ********. He was staggering around and unable to stand. I let Tony handle him and I took off back out to the club to find this girl from church back home hanging out.
Her name was Sarah and she was a little buzzed so I flirted with her. I was bored, but having a blast. I decided to buy Sarah a dance from one of the younger showgirls called Sasha (who I insisted name herself after Sasha Grey, one of my favorite Porn Stars). I gave Sasha $30 and told Sarah to let the Sasha take her to her office. Sasha took Sarah’s hand and took her to a couch. I watched Sasha grind on Sarah. And then watched Sarah grind on Sasha. I bought the three of us a round of Red Bulls and lit up a cigarette.
Tony came up to me and told me he had to leave to give the cop a ride home, so keep an eye on things, okay?
“Sure thing!” I said, as Sarah did the drunk-girl-too-long-hug.
I thought about playing my cards right and taking Sarah home, but I didn’t feel like dealing with the guys who brought her or feeling guilty for ******** another drunk girl I didn’t love.

I'd really lost touch with the decent person I'd wanted to be and turned in to some sleaze in some weird grey area. I wasn't feeling very good about myself. Some guys went to Iraq to have a "Welcome to the Jungle" experience, mine happened when this one customer came in who everyone called the mumbler because he never quit talking and went on and on about the dumbest s**t and took a girl called Roxy to the fantasy booth--a hideous contraption where the girl is on one side of the glass and the guy is on the other. Bliss and I followed to listen through the door. Mumbler kept Roxy in the booth for a half hour, right up until closing. At that point, I had to knock on her door to tell her to wrap it up and I could hear her say "you have to put your clothes on". She came out horrified. I felt like I we'd gone to the point in the river that Williard shot the girl in the boat in "Apocalypse Now". I felt beyond redemption.

Another intresting night came when I had to storm the locker room to get girls on the floor. They sat there, all as if they were holding in giggles. I asked them what was up and they said nothing. One girl, who was so fine with her job she was okay with being referred to by her real name came over and put her arm around me.
"Jen, what are you doing?" I asked her.
"He wants to see what's so funny. Show him."
"Okay okay," said this one knock out called Jenny, "but this is the last time!"
She got down on the floor with her knees up and her legs spread in front of me. She pushed her panties to the side and sort of lifted her tummy a little and then lowered it, expelling a burst of wind that made her p***y fart. It was funny but also sort of terrifying. I wasn't cut out for this. It wasn't for me.
It all boiled down. One Friday day shift, four girls left work suddenly and with out permission. The following Sunday, We had a meeting and George termed me. I walked home blank and stayed at my mom and dad's for a week. At first, it was all very scary, but it quickly felt glorious. it felt as though my soul was back from vacation and the good person I was might not be as gone as I thought.
Looking for a job was a tough thing to do and George had set up my termination so that I couldn't collect unemployment. It was six months before I'd have a job I like that I was making money at. Between the vu and the next solid gig, I drove a taxi (which sucked), managed a porn website (don't ask), waited tables at steak n' shake, DJing a Detroit Club and got so desperate that at one point, I interviewed to sell vaccums.
The weirdest thing about that piece of time was dating this spunky little 18 year old. Short, pale, petite and quiet behind her glasses, she reminded me a lot of Robin, just much sluttier. she used her webcam like the girls from the website for me a few times.
I think we went out on four or five dates. Our first night out, we went to see Friday the 13th remake and I got a base hit. I think it was a week later, I had her in bed and she was all for the tough stuff. Next, we watched hockey and I fingered her and then we went to see Street Fighter where she went down on me.
I don't remember much else about her. When she wasn't being a slut, she was being a b***h and quickly wasn't any fun to be around. I quit calling her.
It was July before I landed the gig I've had the longest this year--delivering food for Jimmy John's--which, really, is the job that's turned my life around with it's structure and whatnot, but i wound up losing my apartment anyways and moving in to a laid-off engineer's house to help with his mortgage.
I'd lost track of Maggie entirely but people from the club keep popping up. The Boutique girl quit shortly after I was fired and shortly after the fling with the 18 year old, she and I hooked up and made out and slept together. We talked a lot and she told me all this stuff I'd've never guessed about her. She never seemed that sharp at first glance, but after the talking we had, it was evadent she had been through it the same as many girls. Before we turned off the TV and turned in for the night, she took out her cell phone and brought up a number I recognized with "Sex" as the name. She indicated that at the Christmas party, her cell phone vanished and reappeared with that number in it--it was George's number. Up until then, I still respected him. After that, the shitty human being he was floated to the surface like turds in the toilet.
A girl who was always a top earner and quiet elegant beauty drifted back in to my life too. she was fired from the Vu for going after a customer with her shoe. The footage of it all was pretty hilarous on the security cameras. Her name was Heather. Sharp dressed in scarfs and tight jeans Heather. Well read and cultured. Red hair and white skin. Tragic and Romantic. Gorgeous and sad.
She needed rides to work and since I didn't have work at Jimmy John's until ten, I was happy to help. She's been a great friend these past few months.
I see Kate once in a while, but for the most part, everything has changed and everyone has moved on. Jeff and I have talked as much as Robin and I have since we parted ways. I still say hello to Tony and Mikey when I go to the club now to deliver food and see a few familiar faces whenI pass through and while I know more about that bullshit than the average joe, being part of it any more isn't something I want anymore for myself. I've become happier than I've been in a long time--undperessed for no reason and unbothered to not be in love with anyone. I've gone back to food delivery and having a

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