Author's Note: Well, ten reviews equals a chapter, so here it is. It's a little shorter than I have been rooting for but if I continued on I would have had to get through the "Another Day" scene and, quite honestly, I'm pooped. Add that to the fact that Rutgers, who had been undefeated all season, is having their butts handed to them by Cincinnati (grumble), and I still have not written a word for my novel today, and I hope you can see why I ended it where I did.
But, can I just say that I had way too much fun with writing the strip scenes? Woot. I always enjoyed the Benny/Mimi scenes from the musical (there definitely should have been more) and I definitely think that comes across in the way that I portray Spot and Jess's wacked out relationship. These are always my favorite parts so, I guess you really can't blame me for prolonging these scenes. Right? Mwahahaha… I hope you guys enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from Newsies – they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, RENT, is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson.
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How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?
Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...
November 18, 2006
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What's the time?
Well it's gotta be close to midnight…
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Come on feel the noise…
Girls rock your boys…
We'll get wild, wild, wild!
Wild, wild, wild!
The music was pumping so loud that it was quite hard to concentrate. Not that Jess needed to concentrate, really. It was her fourth dance of her shift and, besides, how hard was it to take off her clothes seductively and then wiggle about in order to convince a bunch of drunken idiots to stick money in her exposed g-string?
So you think my singing's out of time, it makes me money…
I don't know why…
I don't know why, anymore…
Oh, no…
She removed the cropped leather jacket she had on and purposely bent over, presenting her ass to the crowd, to place it neatly on the stage. The men who had seats close to the stage cheered at the sight and she stood up quickly. She spun around and brought her fingers up to her mouth in a sign of faux surprise at their excitement. She did not hold the pose very long. When Kevin DuBrow hit his note on 'Oh, no', she dropped her hand, smiled wickedly and thrust her hips towards the crowd.
The matching black leather mini-skirt she was wearing was the next to go. She had it made especially for this number; the skirt was nothing more than a wrap-around that velcroed at the back. She ripped the velcro and let it fall to the side. She was down to her silver sequined black underwear, her black bustier and the thigh high boots she wore. Almost done…
For the next few stanzas of the 80's glam rock anthem she chose as her last song of the night, Jess did the standard stripper tricks: spin on the pole, crawl on her hands and knees towards the edge of the stage, present some of the clients with a close up and personal view of her tits.
Come on (come on) feel it…
Girls rock your boys (girls rock it)…
We'll get wild, wild, wild…
We're gonna get wild (wild,wild,wild)…
One man up front, middle-aged and balding with a double chin, thought it would be amusing to put a bill in his mouth and lean into the stage to offer it to her. Jess was tempted to ignore him – or even to signal to one of the bouncers to get him out of her face for being lewd – but that was before she saw that it was Ben Franklin that was winking up at her from that bill. As disgusted with herself as she was for doing it, Jess squatted down, resting flat on her heels and leaned in. She got the bill in her teeth and pulled her head back before the man could try to kiss her or anything.
Now, the man may not have had the chance to reach in and plant his drunken lips against her cheek but he did take the opportunity to grab at her chest with one of his large hands. He got one cheap feel off her left breast before she backed out of his reach. She removed the one hundred dollar bill out of her mouth and tried not to make an annoyed face; it was a struggle but she was able to bring a fake smile to her face. She stood up and made a 'no-no' gesture with her fingers as she backed away.
Rock it tonight (girls rock your boys)… OH YEAH!!
We'll get wild, wild, wild…
Jess was at the part in her routine – her big finish, one could say – where she removes her bustier and gives the crowd what they were there to see. She refused to do it except once a night and it usually came during her last number before her shift ended at midnight. However, just as the song was ending, and she was trying not to look back at the man who groped her, her eyes lowered of their own accord to where that disgusting man was.
He was not looking up at her, though. His attention was occupied by a somewhat short man with fair hair who, she could barely see from her position on the stage below the lights, was heatedly arguing with him. The balding man was holding up his hands defensively but, when the short man pointed at his chest and then turned and gestured towards her, Jess recognized him.
Spot was at the club.
Shit. What is he doing here?
Come on, feel the noise… Ah, ah, ah…
Girls rock your boys…
We'll get wild, wild, wild…
Ah, ah, ah…
The song ended with Jess standing on stage, watching the dispute between Spot and the bald man, while still wearing her buster and her g-string. With the last note, she struck a provocative pose, before hurrying off the stage and into the back room. Now that she knew that Spot was there, she wanted nothing more than to put on some other clothes, pocket her earnings and get the hell out of the Kit Kat Club.
"Hey, Chance? Where's the fire?"
Jess was so worried about making it out of the club without running into Spot (seriously, what the hell is he doing here?) that she did not notice the other girl who was changing in the back room.
"Oh, hey Shoe," she replied quietly, her thoughts elsewhere. She made her way to her locker and opened it up. She began to remove all of the crumpled and sweat-damped bills from out of her skimpy clothes, oblivious to Shoe's questioning gaze.
"Is everything alright? You look a little pale," the blonde girl asked, wearing her street clothes – red and black stockings and a baby doll dress, black with white polka dots. She was done for the night, too; her last dance was the second one before Jess's.
Nothing a good fix and a night out on the town won't cure… "Yeah. I'm fine. Just a little flushed from my last performance. I'll be fine."
Shoe patted her bobbed hair and fluffed her bangs while staring in the mirror hanging inside of her locker. Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she slammed her locker closed and walked over to where Jess was currently exchanging her bustier for her wonder bra. She punched her lightly on her bare shoulder. "I got a message for you."
"Let me guess. You saw Spot."
Shoe actually had the nerve to look surprised that Jess knew he was there. "Yup. I did a quick tour of the floor after my dance in order to catch a few more bucks. He snagged my elbow just past the bar. Asked me if I could get you to talk to him. Gave me a ten so I said I'd try."
"I ain't going out there to see his cheating ass," Jess proclaimed quite defiantly. She rolled her green eyes as she slipped her spaghetti-strapped white tank over her head. She lifted her light brown curls out from under the shirt and turned to Shoe. "Besides, what does that prick want? He was gone for three months and now he's stalking me?"
"Hell if I know. He wanted to talk to you and, hey, I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, Chance. Or should I say Jessie," Shoe said with a wicked grin. She knew that the girl's name was really Jessica but if she wanted to go by Shoe, she would call her colleague by her nickname, too. It was just weird for Spot Conlon to be calling her such a juvenile name; it amused her and she could not help but toss that out.
Jess snorted. "How about no?"
Shoe laughed. "Whatever. Anyway, I have to be going. Got a hot date tonight," she said, biting down on her lip while nodding.
No wonder she's all dolled up. Lucky. The guy I want totally ignored my advances yesterday. She adjusted the straps on her tank, glad that Shoe was leaving her be in the back room. She just wanted to be alone right then."Hey, Shoe? What's the time?"
Shoe shrugged her shoulders as she reached for her purse and her coat (she was smart enough to wear one that night; she spent all Christmas Day sniffling for her neglect on Friday). "I don't know. It's gotta be close to midnight, I guess. The club'll be closing soon so, if you don't want to see Conlon, I'd suggest you get out of here before he comes in here."
Neither of the women would put it past him. When Jess and Spot had been dating, he had found his way into the stripper's back room more than once. Of course, then he was showering her with presents and flowers. God only knew what he wanted now.
Probably a quickie, Jess thought to herself, turning away from Shoe and making a face. I guess I'm not much good for anything else.
Shoe held her hand up as a parting gesture, even thought Jess did not see it. "Tomorrow night, Chance?"
"As always," Jess called over her shoulder, a little less enthusiastically than normal.
As soon as Shoe left, Jess reached in her locker and pulled out the blue jeans she had stowed in the back. They were there as a last resort, whenever she forgot to bring a change of clothing, or she spilled something on her other clothes. She hated the feel of the coarse fabric against her thighs and refused to wear jeans if she could help it. Which, of course, was why she pulled them on over her underwear. Spot would never expect her to leave the club in jeans.
She turned her leopard print coat inside out so that the black lining was showing and pulled it on. She checked the insides of the pockets real quick – her nightly earnings and her little white baggy were tucked safely inside – and shut her locker. She was ready to go.
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It was cold outside but Jess was surprised to learn that her coat was much warmer turned inside out; the faux fur kept her body warm while the black lining protected against the wind. She had lifted the hood up so that she could hide her face and was rewarded when she finally made it outside and managed to evade Spot. She saw his car, his Mercedes, parked haphazardly on the street in front of the club but she did not see him waiting inside.
Her nerves more settled now that she knew that she was safe from having to encounter Spot again – Friday night was enough for quite some time – Jess was able to make it back to her apartment in record time. Her body was crying out for some of the drug; her very spirit wanted to go out for the night and just be free.
Christmas had been depressing. She spent the morning alone; she had called her mother at home but got no response. None of her family lived in the City and she could not bring herself to visit any of her friends – they were all strippers, too, and were doing their own thing.
It was still early when she decided to give that handsome man from upstairs another chance. It had been an interesting first (real) meeting and she was quite anxious to get to actually know him. She wrote out a note for him with the intent to slide it under his door. However, once she got upstairs, she was surprised to see that nice drag queen, the one who usually did performance art just off Avenue B, waiting outside his door. She asked her if she would give it to Jack. The queen agreed and Jess went back to her apartment to wait.
She waited for a couple of hours before she realized that Jack was not coming. That depressed her so much that she did not even bother shooting up. She just climbed into her bed, grateful that the electricity had come back on. She had her plug in heater running at full blast right next to her small bed and she had fallen asleep before long.
In fact, she did not wake up until two o'clock the next afternoon. She had just enough time to shower, get a quick fix (to wake her up) and get ready to report for her four o'clock shift down at the Kit Kat Club.
Now, however, it had been nearly two whole days since she had the opportunity to go out and actually have a really good time. She needed to go out tonight. The question was: with who?
Jess knew that she could have gone to see what Spot Conlon was doing at the club. If he was that desperate to see her – he was the type of men, she knew now, who needed as many women as possible and it irked him when one turned him down – then it would have been no problem to get him to ditch his wife for the night to go out. But she was not that desperate.
No. The one that she wanted to go out with was the one who was ignoring her.
She knew what Spot was feeling like in that respect but, apart from that, the main difference between their situations was huge: Jess was ignoring Spot because he was married; she had no idea as to why Jack was ignoring her.
By the time Jess had made it up the five flights to her apartment, she had made a choice. She did not know why Jack was ignoring her but maybe it was because she was not up front about being attracted to him as she could be. Maybe she needed to be more assertive to get his attention. And that was just what she was going to do.
She stopped at her apartment first, though. It took her a few minutes to get the busted door open – one day she would have to get that fixed – but, when she did, she flicked the light switch on. She was mildly concerned that maybe Spot had decided to cut the power again so, when the small room was illuminated, she breathed a sigh of relief. It may not have been as cold as Friday night, when she had to use three blankets to keep warm and it still did not do the job sufficiently, but it was cold enough that she did not want to be without her heater.
If she was home to sleep in her own bed, that was.
Jess reached her hand inside her coat pocket and took out both the cash she had made and her little white bag of happiness. She shoved the cash in the back pocket of her jeans and palmed the baggy. She then shed the coat and tossed it on the floor.
She ran her fingers through her hair and stopped to grab a breath mint out of the bowl in her cramped kitchen. If she was going to try to seduce that man, she could not do it with strip club breath.
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It was quiet in the apartment. Well, not entirely. David's soft snuffles and wheezes were a constant reminder of the silence but Jack did not mind the minor sounds. In fact, though he would never admit it to David, the sound of his snoring comforted him when he was staying up late to work on his writing. There was something about the quiet that midnight brings that got his literary juices flowing.
Because that creepy dream of his from that morning had nothing to do with his inability to go to sleep. Nope, not at all.
Jack was sitting on the edge of the old floral print couch, leaning in so that he could use the coffee table as something to write on. He had finally been able to start the short story he had tried to begin on Christmas Eve; he was four pages into it and feeling pretty good about it.
He picked up his pen and lifted it to his lips. He nibbled on the cap of it for a second while trying to figure out how to start his next paragraph.
David snorted in his sleep in the far part of the loft and Jack lifted his head up to smile. One of these days he would have to tell David about all of the funny sounds he made while he was sleeping.