Page 28 of Copper

“Coral for the stage,” she replies.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Why are you talking to us? Aren’t you a narc?” the other stripper asks. I think her real name is Cheryl, but she goes by Bang on the stage. Like the guys will believe that’s her real name. Her bright red hair is in pigtails, and she pulls her yoga pants off to step into her dance clothes for the evening. She kicks off her Pumas and sighs a little as she fishes her heels out of her duffle bag.

“A narc? Is that what you think of me?”

“Your boyfriend’s the sheriff,” Coral says.

“Why does everyone think he’s my boyfriend?”

“Oh, honey, you’ve been doing this for three or four months, right?” I nod. “We’ve been here four times that. We know the look of the men that come in here and watch their girl dance. There’s a look, and that man has it for you, doll.”

“A look? You think he’s my boyfriend because of the way he looks at me?”

“Boyfriend. Husband. Who cares? I don’t know how you’re involved, but that man is in love with you. He watches some of the other girls on the pole while he’s working up the nerve to talk to you. His eyes rain hellfire when he comes in and you’re dancing for another man. That hot sheriff squeezes his glass so hard when you dance for another guy, I think the glass will shatter. We’re lucky to get a glance. He only has eyes for you. Now you’re going to pretend he’s not yours?”

I know Aaron still has feelings for me, but hearing other people describe it is surreal. They see. They hear. Something about that makes it more real. My heart flutters, and I’m not sure if it’s nerves or because even my organs want Aaron Dwyer.

Holy shit. I want Aaron Dwyer. I’ve wanted that man since I was fifteen. I wanted to hold him at the class reunion. I want to hold him now. If I didn’t feel so damn unworthy of a great man like him, I’d flip off my heels and head over there now.

I shake my head. “It’s not like that. It’s complicated. Have you seen Sheri around?”

“Nah. Haven’t seen her. She’s working tonight,” Cheryl says. I refuse to call her Bang. “Why?”

“Just wondering if she’s OK. I saw that creeper guy sniffing around her on my last shift. She looked scared.” I’m totally making up bullshit and fiddle with my lipstick in my mirror so I don’t meet their eyes.

“Are you talking about Murphy?” Cheryl asks, earning a nudge in the ribs from Coral.

Bingo. Obviously, Coral doesn’t want Cheryl talking about Murphy.

I clear my throat. “I know Murphy’s running drugs through here.”

“Total narc,” Cheryl whispers to Coral.

I set my lipstick down a little harder than necessary. This is backstage at a strip club. Going for most friendly can only get me so far. These women are hard, often traumatized people that can smell bullshit a mile away and have very little loyalty to people that aren’t family or close friends they trust.

“You know what? You’re right.”

Both ladies stiffen.

“I’m not a narc, but Murphy burns my balls when he comes in. It pisses me off. Don’t think I don’t know he makes ya’ll suck his dick without paying. I’ve seen him push Candy up against the wall and whisper something that made her lip tremble, but excuse the fuck out of me for being concerned. I also don’t want him to pull that shit on me. So sorry to have asked for info. But I guess you want to take his shit, huh? Well, good for you, but I’m not going to do it.”

Cheryl gives Coral a pleading look, and Coral shakes her head. “Nuh-uh,” Coral practically grunts. “I’m not doing this. Too much at stake.”

Once Coral stomps off to the bathroom, Cheryl stands in place, shuffling her feet and looking at the floor. “I don’t want to get hurt. We’re all just scared.”

“Me too,” I admit. “There seems to be a lot of guys around here that think they can do whatever they want to women and girls, and they use us for more than a good time.”

“Murphy makes me sell drugs. Well, I don’t sell them. I just hand them off and collect the money.”

“Does he cut you on the profit?”

She shakes her head, and her pigtails swing against her face. “He says that my payment is living in peace because he can make it so that I have a rough time.”

“What kind of rough time?”

She shrugs and sits at her own vanity seat. She stares at herself in the mirror for a bit but doesn’t pick up her makeup or hairbrush. “He says he knows my landlord and can get me evicted. Says he knows people that can hurt my kids. I have twin boys. Third grade.”

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