Ladies Night (17 page)

Dr. Feelgood, El Fuego, Casanova, Amp, and Babyface all sold the calendars and promoted the upcoming auction at Club Eden by passing out flyers during the day. None of them minded taking time out of their schedules outside of club hours to do so. Madam wasn't just their boss; she had been there for the each of them at one time and in one way or another. Even though Madam wasn't usually all up in her feelings, everyone knew she cared about her dancers, and they all appreciated it.

When her dancers said they'd do whatever they needed to in order to save the club, Madam believed them, and not just because they were worried about losing their jobs. As fine as the each of them were and with their faithful customer fan base, they could make money anywhere doing what they did. But they had chosen her, and stuck with her even as things got rough. The loyalty went both ways. They were a family.

Even though Amp hadn't been part of the family for long, he still fit right in, and was just as determined as the others to help save Club Eden. He'd been out with Dime for three hours straight, handing out flyers in the hot Cali sun.

“You been kind of quiet today. You all right?” Dime asked Amp as they pulled up to a red light.

He answered with one syllable: “Yeah.”

She turned to look at him. “That's it? Just ‘yeah'? What's going on with you, Amp?”

He hesitated for a moment, but then dug out his wallet, pulled a piece of paper from it, and said, “I need a favor. I need you to take me here, please.” Amp handed Dime the paper, where he'd written an address. He'd been quiet all day because he was trying to gather his courage to go there and do what he'd been meaning to do for so long. So far, he hadn't been able to bring himself to go, but in this instant, something told him that if he didn't do it now, he might never follow through.

Dime looked down at the address. “You mind if I ask what this is about?”

“Look, you help me do this first; I'll tell you anything you want to know after.”

Dime gave him the side-eye.

“I promise,” Amp told her. “But we have to do this today, now, before I change my mind.” If he talked to Dime about this any further, Amp could just as easily talk himself right out of it. He appreciated her doing this for him and he owed her an explanation, but right now he just wanted to do it before his nerves got the best of him.

Dime looked at the piece of paper, then back at Amp. “Okay.” She didn't press.

Twenty minutes later, Dime spotted the address just as she was passing it. She pulled over and parked her car in front of the neighboring house.

“I'll be back,” Amp said, opening the car door.

“Who lives here?” Dime asked, looking back over her shoulder at the house.

“I'll tell you everything when I get back,” Amp reiterated.

Making his way up the walkway, Amp knocked on the front door of the small, modest-looking but nicely kept house. No one answered for a few seconds, so he raised his fist to knock again. He heard someone call out from the other side of the door.

“Come in.”

Amp apprehensively opened the door and walked in, stopping a few feet inside the house. He didn't see anybody around. Clearing his throat, he announced, “I'm looking for Mrs. Patrice Ellis.”

A short, happy-looking older woman came bouncing around the corner. She was wearing an apron and drying her hands with a dishtowel, as if she'd been busy in the kitchen. “I'm Patrice Ellis. How can I . . .” Patrice's words trailed off and she froze in her tracks. Her smile was instantly replaced by a look of anger and hurt.

“Mrs. Ellis, I—” Amp couldn't even get his words out before the woman's hand connected sharply with his face, leaving a stinging aftermath on his cheek. Amp's eyes began to water, not because he was in pain. His eyes watered with shame and regret.

“No!” Patrice whispered, horrified.

“Wanted to say I'm sor—” Once again, Patrice stopped his sentence by slapping him. Amp didn't budge.

“No!” she repeated.

“For what happened to Shannon.” Amp insisted on getting out what he'd come there to say, and Patrice continued her efforts to slap the words out of Amp's mouth, literally, as once again she hit him, even harder this time. Amp still did not budge, but his tears were flowing freely now. As far as he was concerned, she had every right to inflict pain on him after the turmoil he'd caused in her life. He could see it in her eyes. He could feel her pain. That's why his tears fell: for the hurt he'd caused.

“No. You don't get to apologize!” Patrice said, nothing but rage in her eyes. There were no tears. She'd cried enough over the years. She wasn't about to shed any more due to the actions of the man standing in front of her.

Amp stood there silently. He'd said what he went there to say. There was nothing else that needed to be said, or that Patrice would even allow him to say, for that matter.

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait. You're not getting off that easy. You're going to hear this.”

Amp stood facing Patrice. He felt he owed it to her to hear whatever words she had to say to him.

“My daughter was an athlete all her life. The happiest I ever saw her was when she was out on the court or on the track competing. She said sports made her feel alive. Girl could run like the wind. She had a full scholarship to run track at any university of her choice, and you took that away from her when you decided to drink and drive.” Patrice had to take a moment to regain her composure. “How much time did you serve? What, four years?”

“Four and a half, ma'am,” Amp said quietly.

Patrice shook her head in disapproval of what the courts considered justice. She turned her head to look at Shannon's high school sports pictures, ribbons, and medals, which were hanging in the foyer where they stood. “Four and a half years. What'd she get? Multiple surgeries, two years of rehab on that shattered leg, and a lifetime of dealing with those broken dreams. Sure, she can walk now, thank God. Even jog. But she'll never be the same. And you come in here with ‘Sorry.' ” The way she glared at Amp . . . if looks could kill.

“Did the judge make you come here?” she asked.

Amp paused for a moment, not sure that she wouldn't slap him if he tried to speak again. “No, ma'am. I wanted to come here,” he said after realizing that she was, indeed, waiting for him to reply.

“For what?”

“To apologize. I'm out of jail and I'm working now. And because I was the reason she lost her scholarship, I wanted to help pay for some of her college classes.”

Patrice looked down, then looked at her daughter's pictures on the wall. Amp looked at them as well. He knew no amount of money could change the heartache he'd caused her family. “Is the court making you do this as part of some restitution or something?” she asked.

Amp shook his head. “No, ma'am.”

Patrice said nothing for a while, but the lines of anger on her forehead softened a little. Amp was hopeful that she was actually considering his offer. Finally she said, “I need to talk this over with Shannon. It's her decision.”

She turned around and went to a small writing desk, where she retrieved a piece of paper and a pen. Handing it to Amp, she said, “Write down your number. One of us will contact you.”

Amp wrote his information, handed it to her, and then left. He exhaled upon hitting the fresh air. For so long he'd been suffocated by those words trapped in his mind, weighed down with so much guilt, shame, and regret. Although he knew it didn't compare to the pain, loss, and hurt the Ellises had gone through and would have to deal with for the rest of their lives, it was difficult for him nonetheless.

The hardest part was now over. He'd said the words “I'm sorry.” It was over, but now, as he walked to the car, he realized that he'd have to relive it just one more time as he kept his promise to Dime and told her everything.

Amp got inside Dime's car, closed the door, and sat back looking straight ahead. He was still visibly shaken from his episode with Patrice, and his face was still stinging. He rubbed his cheek and opened and closed his mouth a couple times, making sure his jawbone wasn't out of whack or anything due to the triple blow he'd received.

“Are you okay?” Dime asked. The keys were in the ignition, but the car wasn't running.

“You drive; I'll talk,” Amp replied. He knew it would be easier to tell the story if she was focused on the road and not peering at him.

Dime drove past several houses before Amp started to talk.

“About five years ago, I was at a party one night. I had a couple drinks.”

Amp had barely started telling his story, and the anguish could already be heard in his voice.

“I wasn't drunk,” he continued, “but I was definitely buzzed. After the party was over, I thought I was okay to drive home. Biggest mistake of my life.” Amp paused for a moment, and Dime remained silent, allowing him to continue. “I was coming up on this light as it turned yellow. I thought I could make it, so instead of slowing down, I sped up and went faster. I ended up running the red light and broadsiding this car.”

Inside Amp's head, he could see the nightmare that had been so vividly haunting him in his sleep. He could see his hands gripping the steering wheel. He could feel the fracture of his ankle after slamming down on and holding the brakes for dear life. He could hear the crashing sound of the cars colliding. He could taste the blood on his tongue. He could smell the burnt rubber and the smoke coming from under the hood of his car.

“The whole driver's side door was caved in. They had to cut the driver out of the car.” Amp put his head down and swallowed.

“Did the driver die?” Dime asked hesitantly.

“She lived, but her leg was broken up really bad. They thought she might not walk again. I spent six months in jail waiting on a trial. They gave me four more years in prison. It would have been more, but it was my first offense.”

Dime kept her eyes on the road. If she was stunned by what Amp was telling her, she did not show it on her face. “So that's why you don't drink?”

“Yep.”

“You could have told me.”

“I thought that when you found out what I'd done, you wouldn't want anything to do with me.”

She shook her head and told him, “You are not the sum of all your mistakes. You can't let that define you. Besides, who am I to judge you? We all got our shit.”

Amp looked over at Dime, wondering what story she was carrying inside her.
We all got our shit.
She sounded like Paul.

“Yeah, we sure do,” he said sincerely.

Dime pointed upward. “If He can forgive you, then you can forgive you.”

Amp gave her a small, thankful smile.

Later on that night, Club Eden was lit up from the outside, buzzing with patrons walking into the club and cars pulling into the practically filled parking lot. The music could be heard outside as the new security guard, who had replaced Amp, checked IDs at the door.

Inside the club it was loud, and the women were full of energy and having a good time as Dr. Feelgood started his show. Casanova walked by with two women, on his way to give them a private dance since he'd just finished his set. Madam was selling shirts, hats, stickers, towels, calendars, and more.

El Fuego hit the stage next and killed it as usual, so much so that women were lined up with calendars for him to autograph. Babyface showed out when he brought not one, not two, but three women on stage during his routine and still managed to make each one feel as if she were the only one there.

It was an epic night for the club; hopefully it would be successful enough to put a huge dent in the money Madam owed. Otherwise, it might be the last epic night for the club ever.

 

 

Amp waved good-bye to Dime after she'd dropped him off, and he went inside the house. It was almost three in the morning, and Paul was sitting in a chair with his records and headphones, as usual. Amp decided not to even bother intruding on his moment this time.

“Second degree murder.”

Amp stopped in his tracks when he heard Paul speak.

“That's what I did time for.”

Amp walked over and sat across from Paul without saying a word. Paul took off the headphones and put them around his neck with the music still playing.

“I was twelve years old,” Paul said. “Wanted to be in this gang so bad. Wanted to belong to something. They jumped me in. Beat my ass. Then I had to prove myself. The gang that we were beefing with had just shot up half our neighborhood. So, one night we went driving through their neighborhood. We came across a group of them.”

Amp just listened. He was reaping what he had sown. He'd finally decided to share his story with Dime; now Paul had decided to open up and do the same with him. It made Amp feel good that Paul thought enough of him to open up like this.

“They gave me a gun and told me to start shooting. I did. I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger three times. It was just supposed to scare them.

“First two shots didn't hit anything. Third shot . . . hit a boy my age in the head. He died immediately. Soon as the police came around asking questions, the same gang that was supposed to be my new family blamed it all on me. Threatened my life if I said anything, and turned their backs on me.

“I wasn't an adult, so they couldn't give me life. I spent age twelve to eighteen in juvenile detention. At eighteen, they moved me to prison, where I spent the next fifteen years.

“When I got out five years ago, my parole officer wasn't an asshole like Mr. Barrett, but really wanted to keep us cats out of jail and off the streets. He told me they were looking to train someone to do this job. Said they wanted someone that knew how to interact with felons. Who better than a convict? So, he hooked up the interview, I was offered the job, I took it, and here I am.”

He adjusted the headphones as if he was getting ready to put them back over his ears.

“You know you can't hide out in here forever, man,” Amp said before Paul could put them on. “You still got a lot of life left to live, if you want it. You could be out there making sure other kids don't make the same mistake you did. Catch them before they get into the system. Get your degree and teach or something.”

Paul just stared at him, so Amp kept talking.

“I'm gonna say this; then I'm gonna shut up.”

“Good,” Paul said.

“You got a second chance just like I did. I'm gonna do something with my second chance.” Amp got up and walked upstairs, leaving Paul sitting there in thought.

 

 

The next morning, Amp was in the kitchen scarfing down his breakfast when Paul came in.

“Where you off to this morning?” Paul asked him, as if last night's talk had never happened.

“Run some errands and then going to put a deposit down on my apartment.” With Paul's help, Amp had found a small one-bedroom apartment just north of the 10 freeway. It was about ten minutes from the halfway house, so he'd still be close to his job as well. “I'm out of here in a week.”

Amp had been averaging almost two thousand dollars a week since he'd started dancing at the club two months ago. He had just over fifteen thousand saved up between the bank account Dime had taken him to open up and the money he'd already stored in the safe at the halfway house. One could say he had placed his eggs in more than one basket.

“You know, it does me good to see one of you come through here and really do something with this opportunity,” Paul said.

“I wouldn't have had it if you hadn't approved me for it.” Amp began to gather up his dirty dishes. “I'll be back after work.”

Paul headed into the other room as Amp placed his dirty dishes in the sink. Before he could get out the door, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out and answered without checking the caller ID.

“Hello.” As Amp listened to the caller, his expression became solemn. “Thank you,” he said then ended the call and hurried out the door to catch the bus.

 

 

An hour later, Amp found himself cautiously walking back up to the same house that Dime had taken him to the other day. He could see a young woman, maybe a year or two younger than him, sitting on the porch. She had that same natural beauty like Dime, only she had that girl-next-door type of thing going on. When she saw Amp, she stood.

“Hi,” Amp greeted as he walked up on the porch.

“Hello,” she replied. “Amp?”

He nodded. Amp recognized the girl from the picture in the newspaper article that he kept near his bed. At long last, right in front of him stood Shannon, the daughter of Patrice Ellis and the victim of his drunk driving accident.

“Thank you for seeing me.” Amp looked at the front door nervously.

“My mother's not here,” Shannon said. “After hearing her replay of what had taken place between you and her, I figured you would be a little leery about coming back over and risking an ambush.”

“It's fine. I had it coming,” he said, even though relief at Patrice's absence was written across his face. Amp held his breath for a second, then blurted out, “I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what I did to you. I think about it every day. I always will.”

Shannon was silent for a moment; then she nodded. “I forgive you.”

Her words caught Amp off guard. After the way her mother had acted, he'd expected much of the same from Shannon. “How? I mean, why?” he asked quietly. Forgiveness seemed to have come so easy. He wanted it, but in the back of his mind, he wondered whether he really deserved it. He hadn't forgiven himself.

“I had to. Couldn't keep dragging that anger and resentment around. I prayed for you, and then I let it go.”

Amp was speechless.

“My mother told me about your offer to help me pay for school. If I needed it, I would accept it, but I'm on a full academic scholarship, so as long as I stay on these books, it's all taken care of.” She looked in Amp's eyes. “You know, it took a lot of guts for you to come here like you did. I appreciate that.”

“Took even more guts for you to forgive me—so thank you.”

Shannon gave Amp a small smile and a nod. Sensing that there was nothing more to be said between them, Amp nodded back, waved, and then walked away.

He couldn't help but notice that something felt different. It was as if he were a hundred pounds lighter. The weight of the guilt, shame, and regret that he had become accustomed to carrying was gone. This was a new start indeed, and although he'd never forget the consequences of his actions that night, he expected far fewer sleepless nights.