Reyna's Anniversary Part 3 (Patreon)

***

It was a strip club, and not the kind that could be generously described as “classy.” It was called the Gold Club, on the corner of Summer and Macon. It had cheap architecture in classic Greek style but was stained and run down. Half the time it’s cheap neon could only manage to flicker “God Club.” 

Why would she want to meet there? There were not a lot of places in the neighborhood that Grace couldn’t show herself. She was beloved. Perhaps it was tricky, her being white and most of the neighborhood being Hispanic, but everyone around here knew what she did and how hard she worked for these people. They knew she accepted chickens as payment though it wasn’t enough and she had no idea what to do with a chicken. They knew that she took payment in plans or in roof work or practically in “I owe freaking you”s. When she went to La Michoacana, they gave her free ice cream. Same thing for burritos at Los Picosos. She wasn’t quite a celebrity around here, but she was practically a guardian angel. Maybe it sounded vain to think that, but it was true whether she thought it or not. She was respected, even if she wasn’t well paid. 

And what would they think if they saw her going into the Gold Club? Of course, there shouldn’t be any former clients there. Most of the women she worked with wanted to be cooks or maids. Most of the men wanted to be landscapers or carpenters. Maybe some of the men would be there on their break. Surely, they would be too embarrassed to be caught at a strip club to confront her. Right? They could all pretend it didn’t happen. A kind of “I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me” thing. 

Besides, it’s not like she would be there long. 

Grace had a rough night that night. She didn’t toss and turn through her sleep or dream about anything (she never dreamed) but she felt the problem hovering in the back of her mind. Whenever she stilled herself, she went back to imagining walking into a strip club for the first time in her life. She didn’t even go to parties in college. Or dances. She couldn’t imagine the awkwardness of watching drunk women grind and twerk on their boyfriends in public. But sober women peeling off all their clothing and humping a pole? That would be … would be … 

Too much. 

And yet the other side of her mind couldn’t ignore the alternative. Guadalupe had paid her $10,000. She was one of the few paying customers Grace had all year. Of course, it wasn’t Guadalupe’s money. It was Reyna’s. But Grace had needed it and spent it. She couldn’t give it back. And if Reyna pushed and sued her for malpractice. She’d be done. Reyna could take everything. She could be disbarred. Her whole career would be over in an instant. 

What would the neighbors think of that? Grace Laurence, the people’s lawyer, disappears overnight because she’s not a real good lawyer. What other green cards that she filed could be rejected under the slightest scrutiny. Could anyone trust her? 

No. She couldn't handle that. 

Reyna said she wanted one small favor. Surely Grace could hear her out and decide for herself if it was worth risking her whole career. That’s it. She needed information. That’s all. Just a little bit more info. 

Even if it did come from a strip club. 

***

The Gold Club had two levels. The balcony level was a bit classier. There was more privacy, but you weren’t going to get to tuck bills into a girl’s thong from the balcony. However, you were more likely to get the attention of the mostly-nude waitresses as they brought you drinks. And lap dances. That seemed to be the premier commodity of the upstairs: lots of women grinding on men. 

Stairs from the balcony led directly onto the stage where performers danced. Surrounding that stage were seat with slight tables. Surrounding those seats were more tables. Somewhere back there was a bar. 

Honestly, Grace was trying to commit the layout to memory. She asked Gloria Steinem’s forgiveness and kept her eyes down. She didn’t want to see anything more than she absolutely had to. She called to tell Reyna she would show up, and Reyna told her where to sit: the balconies. She wanted some privacy. 

Thank goodness. 

Reyna was in a dark blue pantsuit with a long and straight leg and and loose white blouse. She looked like a CEO and a runway model mixed into one. Grace was more aware of her simple skirt, blue blouse, and cheap jacket. She was playing dress-up while Reyna looked like someone who could buy this club without a second thought. 

And yet she was here over $10,000 dollars? 

“You look comfortable,” said Reyna. She snapped at someone behind Grace and motioned for the redhead to sit. Grace obliged. “Do you want something to drink?” 

“No thank you.” 

“Grace?” 

Grace turned around. Standing in front of them, in nothing but a thong, was Esmerelda. She was one of Grace’s neighbors, lived two houses down, and one of the first cases Grace took when she opened the firm. Esmerelda was told she couldn’t get a job without a driver’s license, which wasn’t true. She was bullied by her employers and blackmailed because of her documentation status. Grace put an end to that. She thought she’d been setting Esmerelda on a path to success, a path to live the American Dream. 

She’d been wrong. 

Esmerelda’s beautiful black hair - silky and straight - was in pigtails. Along each tail was a strike of neon-red hair highlights. Her makeup was dramatic, a little over the tip with the eyeliner and eyeshadow. She was topless, and her body was one smooth line of muscle building on muscle. Dancing had done her good, and she wore a micro-skirt, one that barely covered her panties (thong). 

Grace tried to turn away, to blush in shame for both of them, but her eye caught the piercings all over Esmerelda’s body: both of her nipples had bars through them, her right eyebrow, several through each ear, her septum, her lip, her belly button, even as she turned, there were two piercings in her lower back, and as she talked, her tongue was pierced as well. She was a walking advertisement for it. 

***

How does Grace respond to Esmerelda?