Page 53 of Nine

“A couple hundred? No. How about a couple thousand? No. Still not good enough. Take it all.”

He scoops up a bunch of cash and throws it down at my feet.

“I guess it’s true, you can’t turn a hoe into a housewife,” he ends with the final jab. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and puts it up to his lips.

It feels like someone just lit a match inside me.

“Fuck you, Trig. I don’t need your money.”

I grab my purse and dash for the door. I’m running down the hotel hallway. Those words stung like venom. Why does it hurt the way it does? I take my shoes off once I get outside. I take a minute to catch my breath, and then I jog toward the beach. My feet are on the sand and the cold water is hitting against my ankles before I know it. Trig’s words circle in my head, and I’m filled with hate. I keep walking, and with each step, I just become angrier and angrier. I’ve probably already walked about a mile when I run into a young group of guys drinking.

“Where’s the party scene around here?” I ask.

A few of the guys rush me. “If you keep walking you’ll run into a strip of bars at the end of the beach.”

“Any suggestions?” I force a smile.

“Hit them all up,” one guy slurs.

“Thank you,” I say, as I turn to leave.

“Don’t leave us yet,” another guy yells. “The party can be right here, baby.”

I ignore them and head toward the party zone. It doesn’t take too long to get there. I walk across the sand and toward the street. I can see plenty of bars and restaurants. I slide back into my black heels. I randomly choose one bar that has music blaring out of its door. I step inside and the place is crowded. I immediately weave in and out of people and work my way over to buy a drink.

“What can I get you, honey?” the tattooed bartender asks.

“Corona is fine,” I reply.

I watch as he pulls out a cold beer and slides it to me.

“That will be two-fifty.”

I reach inside my purse and groan. All the money is back at the hotel.

“I forgot my money. I’ll have to—”

“I got you.”

A man slides over and hands the bartender twenty dollars. I look up to see an older attractive gentleman, maybe forty-five years old. He’s dressed in black slacks and a blue long sleeve collared shirt. It takes all but five seconds for me to dissect him. He’s money, for sure. I can just smell it.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

I’m not sure what to say for a second. Storm, Angelina or…

“Nine,” I reply.

“As in the number nine?”

I nod and smile. I can feel her coming out to play.

“That’s a very unusual name.”

“I’m a very unusual girl.” I slide my hand over his.

“I’m Frank. It’s nice to meet you.”

We shake hands and then he stands up and nods to the corner of the bar. A black light is the only thing that’s keeping that area lit up. He holds my hand and leads the way. We both sit down at the same time.

---