Page 91 of Devoured
“All of that aside,” I said, grabbing her fingers, running my thumb over the back of her hand, “I thought about it, and I want to stay. If you want help at the Dahlia District, I’m here. As long as you need me.”
“And what if I don’t want you to leave?” she asked.
Those words stopped me. “Then I’m not going anywhere,” I said. I squeezed her hand. “I love you, you know.”
“I know,” she said. “And I love you.”
She reached over the bed and held my face. I kissed her softly on the lips and she melted to my touch. I brushed my fingers against her cheeks, careful not to do anything that might hurt her.
When we broke apart, after a few seconds passed, she said, “But you’vegotto stop getting high.”
“Agreed. Grown-ups don’t do drugs,” I said sarcastically.
“I’m serious, Roland.”
“And I am too.” Hell, dealing with knife wounds without even ibuprofen was torture, but I knew it was for the best. “Already threw them out. Still going to profit off of them though.”
She tilted her head, thinking it over. “As long as it’s business, and not pleasure too,” she said.
“Gotta keep that separate, huh?” I winked, then straightened. “Speaking of which, we’ve got to get to work on the Dahlia District.”
“What do you mean?”
“You want to have a grand reopening, don’t you?” I smiled. “It’s yours, but I believe the previous owner left a large chunk of change behind for renovations. But he’s gone. In New York or something.” I winked. “So you could use it however you wanted.”
“And if I want to keep it the same?”
“Then go for it,” I said. “But bottom line, that stage needs an upgrade.”
“Fine by me.”
***
We spent the next three months doing renovations, and I swear that for that short time, the rain stopped. I admit that I was still searching for my next nightclub location, but with the caveat that Iris would come with me as a consultant, and as my girlfriend. I wanted to take her to shows, feed her expensive food, and fuck her all over the world, checking off one place at a time.
But first, the Dahlia District needed some work. Iris had always said that she didn’t want to renovate the place, but once she truly considered it, she agreed that the Terrariums and the main floor needed upgrades. The black walls were swapped for a navy blue wall with tiny lights spread throughout, making it look like a night sky. Then we replaced the velvet furniture in the Terrariums with leather. The security cameras in the private rooms were removed too, on Iris’s insistence to respect privacy. But the silent alert smart system stayed.
Some of the servers changed over to waitressing and bartending jobs, or even joined the security team, and a few went to reception and booking, but many of the servers left and never looked back. Iris clutched her chest each time one of them said their goodbyes, but she knew they were doing something better, something theywantedto be doing. Everyone had to leave the nest eventually.
But the others? They could grow with it.
Of course, the server position was still an option, but the job title was changed to ‘entertainer,’ so that the submissive aspect of the position was taken out. If an entertainer wanted to submit in the private rooms, then that was her decision, not the club’s.
I got Iris in front of a state legislator I knew too, a good woman, a local who had been friends with my parents. But the important part was that the woman was already on board with fighting for women’s rights, and since Iris was an actual sex worker, speaking about sex workers’ experiences, Iris could speak out for what would benefit sex trafficking victims and voluntary sex workers: decriminalization. With decriminalization, whether or not a person was trafficked or a willing worker, they could go to the police without fear of prosecution. My friend, the state legislator, was impressed by Iris’s candor and agreed to work with her on proposing a bill for state-level law.
In the government building’s lobby, Iris’s modest heels clicked on the tile floor.
“I can’t believe I had to rely on a man to get my voice heard,” Iris moaned. “You’d think that since she’s a woman, she’d want to talk to me.”
“You know how many emails and phone calls politicians get a day? Even local ones.” I gave Iris side-eyes. “It’s unreal.”
“It’s nothing against you,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Just your penis. I hate, hate,haterelying on men. No offense.”
“But I didn’t talk to her,” I made her face me, looking me in the eyes. The lobby was tall, filled with government workers, citizens, and lobbyists, but at that moment, it was just us. “I got you the appointment with her, butyouwere the one who talked. I wasn’t in the room.” I shrugged. “You did the work.Youimpressed her.”
Iris bit her lip. After a moment, she said, “I know.” She sighed, then added, “Thank you.”
“It sucks that I have to use my connections,” I shrugged again, “but at least I have them.”
