Page 54 of The End of Summer

“Um, guys?” I said to Saffronand Indigo.

The girls looked up from Saffron’s phone, where a famous pole influencer was demonstrating an advanced move called the Broken Doll on TikTok. “What’s up?” Saffron asked.

“Look at this,” I said, passing them the laptop. I waited quietly while they read.

“Who’s Jennifer?” Indigo asked.

“Arrow’s sister, I’m guessing?” I replied. “I know she has a niece. That's the girl in the picture on the fridge."

“Jeez,” Saffron said. “That explains her vanishing act.”

“She didn't say anything to you guys? Haven’t you been working together for a long time?”

“Yeah, but she never gets personal. At least not with us,” Saffron added.

Indigo shrugged. “She’s only tight with Cherry.”

“She never even hangs out with us,” Saffron reminded me. “Arrow’s not about mixing business with pleasure.”

“But she always says ‘pole is a sisterhood,’” I argued. “I just assumed she was closed off with me but was friends with you guys.”

“Nope.” Saffron shook her head. “And I always thought the girl on the fridge was her daughter. That was why I figured she never did the beach days. I assumed she was doing grown-up parenting things.”

“No one ever thought to ask her?”

“She’s not exactly approachable, Summer.” Indigo laughed.

I nodded. “That’s true.”

“Anyway, I’m guessing she’ll be gone for at least a few days,” Saffron said. “Judging from that e-mail, it could be even longerthan that.”

I sighed. “I guess we better get to work, then.”

There were a bunch of Excel spreadsheets on the home screen. One was marked with today’s date, so I opened it.

“Check it out,” I said, and the girls huddled around me. “Looks like 17 people are coming tonight. Not bad; I think we can handle that on our own. The entertainment is a cowboy. Okay, so it’s a country theme, I’m guessing. That’s fine. There’s cowboy boots in here somewhere, right?” I scanned the wall of shoeboxes.

“Yeah,” Saffron said. “A few pairs in different sizes. They’re up top.” She pointed to an upper shelf way above the fridge.

“Cool. I would so much rather wear cowboy boots than regular pole heels,” I added.

“Just keep in mind you won’t be able to climb in them,” Indigo pointed out.

“That’s fine. I’ll stay mostly on the floor. I can take keys, run the shots and handle the front door, and I can teach the choreo in boots. Should be no sweat.”

“What should we do?” Saffron asked.

“If you can cover the music,” I said, “that would be great. And Indie, if you can be the hype person when they first get here, to get the party started, that would help too.”

“No sweat,” she agreed.

“We can all do the money stuff together at the end of the night. But I’ll collect the cowboy’s cash and put it in the envelope for him when it’s time for him to go.” I paused to think. “Is there anything I’m missing?”

They shook their heads. “I guess we’re lucky it’s Sunday,” Saffronoffered.

“Seriously,” Indigo echoed.

The evening was smooth and uneventful, minus a little mishap with Between The Lines (a crazy popular food truck that drove all the way out from Sandwich to cater this event). They got lost on the way to the studio and couldn’t find the barely-marked warehouse space, so I ended up jogging down to Route 6, where I waited at the turn for the truck, flagging them down like a lady of the night on the street corner, a human advertisement for The Village People in my little cowgirl vest, booty chaps and ten gallon hat.

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