The Space In Between (5 page)

I didn’t care about the damn money. There was a time when
I’d taken photographs out of pure love for it. Kyle should have known that—he
had known me since we were kids. “It's not about the money. That's not why I do
it. Well, that's why I did it before with Iris, but that's not why I want to do
it now.”

Kyle smirked. “Did Jesus tell you to say that?”

I couldn’t get him to understand where I was coming from,
but I was determined to try. “Shut up, I do it for…” I gestured to the front
window. “Look.” We stared out the window and watched the life experience from
the restaurant. There was a couple running, holding hands to get into a taxi.
There was a man hollering at someone, probably a poor intern, on his cell
phone. Three extremely attractive girls in high end fashion walked by, laughing
with each other. An overwhelming level of excitement filled my gut as I
realized that now Kyle would be able to understand what I was trying to get at.

“See? Everyone has a story. The couple holding the taxi, the
angry man on the phone, the happy fashion girls. The guy…” I stared out the
window with a glimpse of disgust as I looked at a guy by the stop sign. “The
guy licking the stop sign. Emotion. All kinds. Not just the happy 'wedding day'
kind. That's what I want to capture on film. Real life. It's not all cake and
first dances.”

Kyle nodded. “Iris really fucked you up.”

“Why can't I want to do something different?”

“Because different makes you the guy raping the stop sign.
Listen, I get it. You and Iris were a duo team. Husband and wife. Iris, a top
notch wedding planner. You, a top notch photographer. Your own show. So what?”
Kyle picked up his phone and started scrolling through his emails, once again
only half-paying attention.

“You’re not listening, Ky.”

He wasn’t.

Kyle kept staring at his cell phone and shook his head. He
went to text someone. “It's my fuckin’ job to listen to you, Coop. And okay,
you ended up in the funny farm for a few weeks. Big deal. What famous person
hasn't taken a va-ca to the world of crazy? Look. The magazines are going mad.
Neither you nor Iris is doing any interviews, and if you get out there first,
POW! It will be spun in your favor. You know she's cooking up some nasty story.
She always was a media whore.”

“Are you deaf?”

Kyle put down his phone and looked to me. His demeanor grew
serious, something that didn’t happen often. “I know you’ve been through a lot
this year. And I heard about the kid…”

“Don't.”

“Coop, I'm sorry. I know how long y’all had been trying, and
for her to pull that kind of shit…”

I shifted my eyes to my plate and went about eating my food.
I didn’t want to think about Iris or anything dealing with her.

Kyle’s phone went off as he received a text message. After
he viewed it, he shifted from serious to extremely giddy. He turned back to me
and I could tell by the smirk in his eyes that he was about to say something
stupid. “Guess what you’re doing tonight?” I patiently waited to hear my crazy
manager’s plans. Kyle moved around with excitement as if it was Christmas
morning. “You’re going to a strip club!”My friend sat at the table, trying to
force feed his ‘brilliant’ idea to me. It wasn’t working. “Don't you see? This
is what you need. A good lap dance, and maybe a nice one-night stand if you’re
lucky.”

I wasn’t as interested. “Of course, and some nice herpes on
the side.”

Kyle sat back in his seat; he appeared fucking shocked by my
statement. Really? Was it
that
shocking that I didn’t want herpes?

“You're so judgmental it’s sick. It really is, Cooper.
Jasmine is a very pleasant girl.”

“So let me get this straight. You want me to have sex with a
prostitute that you’ve slept with? No thanks.”

“Stop it, stop it.” Kyle was outraged. Growing extremely
protective of this Jasmine chick, he snapped at me. “She's not a prostitute,
jerk. She's a stripper, and I don't appreciate how you are talking about her.
My God. When did you become so disrespectful? It’s disgusting. Besides, it’s
her friend who you are meeting up with.”

“You're serious? I thought you wanted me to lay low?”My
fingers ran across my eyebrows, trying to figure out if he were serious or not.

“Look, Coop. Think of this as a renewing of your life. I’ll
get you through the back entrance. No one will ever know. Jasmine just texted
me the girl’s number. You got your new phone? Type it in. I'll tell you what. If
it works, you do one of the many magazine interviews that are coming in. You
deal with your issues with Iris. You at least consider the other television
offers I have been getting. And you do what you do best, and make us a shitload
of money.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” I questioned.

Kyle lowered his eyebrows and rubbed his fingers across the
bridge of his nose. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll look into your ‘indie
photographer’ mumbo jumbo.”

“Really?” That sparked my interest enough.

“Really. Jesus would agree. Listen, just don’t get
all…weird. Okay? Like, don’t tell anyone about this ‘I met Jesus and he changed
my life in a psych ward’ type crap. Get a lap dance. Maybe have a little sex.
Just try to act like the guy you were before you found out your wife…” Kyle’s
sentence faded off and I was quick to chime in.

“Found out my wife was a cheating, pregnant whore?”

Kyle nodded as he picked up his bread roll and took a bite
out of it. “Exactly.”

PROMISES. PROMISES TO love one
another. To pick up the milk on the way home. To not raise your children like
your parents raised you. To follow each other’s dreams. Promises to fight at
least once a month over some mediocre crap—and follow it up with some killer
make-up sex. To be with one another forever and always. Til death do us part.
Til
death do us part…

Screw promises.

I just got a promotion.

It smelled like crap in this place—a miniature dressing room
with too much hairspray, too many perfumes, and an overload of glitter. I stood
in front of the full-length mirror that had a feathery boa lying across it and
studied my body. I was wearing nothing more than a safari hat, a black trench
coat, and five-inch-high stiletto heels. I hadn’t even noticed I was digging my
fake nails into the palms of my hands until Ladasha came over and placed her
hands on my shoulders.

“You don’t have to do this, Andrea,” she said. I guessed she
could see the fear in my eyes. I shook my head. Our rent was falling behind and
she had already stretched herself thin to make me comfortable in New York City.
Plus, I was the one who ran off our other roommate with my issues. I wasn’t
going to let Ladasha down again.

“Don’t worry, Shot Girl. I got you a good one tonight.”
Jasmine grinned as she sat at her cramped makeup table. She was the best dancer
in this whole place, and our boss, Roger, made sure to always give her the
closing number on stage. Jasmine made more money in a week than some people
working in Hollywood, but she also had a side job that helped up her profit.
Her thick Brooklyn accent and hoarse voice filled the air as she applied more
mascara onto her outrageously fake lashes. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get him to
take you to his place afterwards. You’ll be eatin’ off that money for the whole
month.”

My stomach bubbled up as I shot a dirty look her way. “I
don’t sleep with guys.” The thought alone made me think of Derrick, and instant
guilt hit me.

Jasmine stood up from her seat and chuckled as she walked to
me with her jet black hair falling down to her waist. “Wasn’t it just yesterday
you didn’t even strip, Shot Girl? What you waiting for? You waiting for God to
pay your bills? I don’t know about you but I’m gonna get mine right now, and I
suggest you do the same.”

With that, she left me standing there, filled with an
overwhelming feeling of vomit trying to escape from my gut. Ladasha rolled her
eyes and told me not to listen to Jasmine, but how could I not? She was right—
just yesterday I wasn’t a stripper.

I looked at myself and watched my bottom lip quiver. Ladasha
tried to convince me there was another way to get the money for rent and I
shouldn’t worry about such things. But I wasn’t ready to back down. I could do
it. I just needed her to give me a few of her comforting words to ease the
freak out that was about to be released into the world.

Ladasha could tell how seriously I was in need of a pep talk
so she delivered her best one. “
Pretty Woman
,” she said.

“What?”

“
Pretty Woman
. Name the rules. Before she was stupid
and went and fell in love and got rich and shit.” She was serious. Most of
Ladasha’s best pep talks were based off movies. She was addicted to all movies,
and it would be a shock if she didn’t know what was playing in the nearest
theater.

I nodded as I thought over the rules of
Pretty Woman
.
“No personal information. No kissing on the lips. No second meet up.”

“Unless it’s Richard Gere,” Ladasha tossed in.

“It’s not Richard Gere.”

“Listen. Just go in there and be your super sexy self. Shake
your booty. Collect the cash. If it’s a freak, have Frank handle him. And leave.
Easy!”

Right. Easy.
Pretty Woman
rules
. I thanked my
friend and left the dressing room. Walking through the strip club, I ignored
the howls from the hungry perverts coming my way. I felt like a piece of meat
about to be tossed into the ring with a pack of lions. As I approached the VIP
rooms that had Frank, the security guard, standing in front of the door, I let
out a halfway smile.

“You doing a VIP room, Andrea?” he questioned. I informed
him it was a test drive; he nodded and opened the door. “You got fifteen
minutes. After that, I grab you out.” I closed my eyes and did a quick prayer
to God that it wasn’t a creep.
Please, God. Don’t send me a motherfreakin’
creep.

I stepped into the room in my shiny heels and Frank closed
the door behind me. When I opened my eyes and stared at the man sitting across
from me, I gasped. He was beautiful. He wore a button-down black long-sleeved
shirt with charcoal slacks. Even with the clothing, I realized how perfectly
made his body was. He quickly rose to his feet and started speaking.

“Hi,” he said as he reached his hand out to me for a
handshake. I stood there, confused. Did strippers normally shake hands with
their ‘client’? How did I know? I was only a stripper-in-training after all.

“Right.” He pulled his arm back and placed both hands in his
slacks. Involuntarily, my eyes watched his hips start to rock back and forth.
“So, yeah. I don’t normally do this, but…yeah.” He murmured to himself and
cussed under his breath. “My manager thought it would be a good idea. A new
start, a fresh take…”

Did he not recognize me? He looked so different from the
last time I saw him in person. Sure, I was only thirteen, but his dimples
hadn’t changed. His crooked smile still remained the same.

Cooper Davidson had been sculpted by the gods. His tan,
smooth skin, his low-buzzed blond hair, and his green intense eyes were like
the ones of fairy tales. His lips were able to create a grin that made every
woman melt and every straight man jealous. And to top it off, the gods had
given him a voice box with a southern drawl that made all of the girls of my
hometown crazy when he would come visit his cousin during the summers.

“You don’t remember me?” I whispered as I stepped closer to
him. Sure, my hair was going through a strange gothic-black, short-cut phase,
which was much different than my usual blond, long waves. But still. I was
still me. What was I thinking? Of course he wouldn’t remember me…

Cooper stared at me and raised an eyebrow, his mind tracking
through his past. My eyes followed his mouth, watching him bite his bottom lip
and step closer. He stared into my blue eyes with such curiosity floating
around in his greens. I saw it happen—the moment he remembered who I was. And
then I remembered who I was. I was officially a stripper in training. A wave of
embarrassment washed over my face. My eyes shifted to the ground. I didn’t feel
worthy to look his way. I was so ashamed of the path I had traveled in the past
months.

Cooper took a finger, lifted my chin up, and grinned widely.
“Andie Evans.”

I cringed a bit, but I smiled. “Andrea. I go by Andrea now.”

He nodded. “Of course. Holy shit. How the hell are you?!” He
pulled me into a tight hug and held me close. It felt good to be held. It had
been so long since…

I pulled away and released a sad grin. A short gasp fell
from my lips at the touch of his soft fingers brushing away tears that started
falling from my eyes. My heart landed in my throat, filled with nerves and
worry. The idea of my mom and dad finding out about my job was terrifying, yet
Cooper quickly eased my fears. “I’ll never say a word. I promise. Holy crap.
Andrea Evans as I live and breathe. It’s been, what? Ten years?” We were both
in a state of shock. He took a seat and I sat across from him, removing my
stupid safari hat.

“Ten years. You went to become a famous photographer and I
went to become…” I laughed at myself. The red velvet walls in the room with the
dimmed sex lighting told him exactly what I’d become.

“You look beautiful.” He praised me. He hadn’t changed a
bit; he was as charmingly sweet as he’d been when he delivered me my first kiss
on the cheek at the age of seven. “Last time I saw you, you were falling in
love with a guy that wasn’t me.” He smirked.

I nodded my head. “Derrick Stevens.”

“Ah! That’s the jerk’s name! How is Derrick Stevens doing
nowadays? Fat? Unemployed? Gay?” He laughed in a joking manner.

I shook my head, resting my hands in my lap. “Dead.”

Cooper’s eyes widened in horror as Frank knocked on the door
and opened it to inform us that our nice ‘lap dance’ was over. I looked to
Frank and then over to Cooper. He was frozen with a distressed look. I sighed,
knowing I couldn’t leave him like that. I didn’t know why, but something inside
of me felt like he deserved my attention. Something wanted me to stay in the
room. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was an urge that I didn’t want to
walk away from. Even if my mind hoped to run for the hills, my body was content
with its whereabouts.

I turned to the security guard and gave him my fakest grin
and a wink. “We’re gonna need a little bit more time, Frank.”

Frank closed the strip club VIP door and my eyes stayed on
Cooper. The poor guy looked as if he killed Derrick himself. I almost laughed,
but knew it would be inappropriate. Only a girl who was emotionally damaged to
the core would laugh at such a situation.

“I’m sorry, what’s funny?” Cooper’s eyes filled with
concern. I arched an eyebrow and touched my fingertips to my mouth. It was
curved into a grin where uncontrollable giggles were escaping. I shook myself
and stopped laughing. Nothing was funny. It wasn’t long until the silence grew
haunting and Cooper replaced the dead air with questions.

“When? What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

Six months ago. A car accident. No, never.

I nudged him in the knee, needing a change in subject. “So
what have you been up to?”

His lips parted as if he wanted to speak but they shut fast.
He was handsome, but the twitch in his eyebrow showed me he was also in need of
repair on the inside. An overwhelming need to know more washed over me. Could
it be that someone was as messed up emotionally as me? Did he have a story,
too? I wanted to know. No, I
needed
to know. I needed to not feel so
alone for a moment in my life. My eyes pleaded for him to continue his thoughts.
He cleared his throat and bit the tip of his thumb.

“I left my wife.”

I watched as his face deepened into a shade of red. It was a
somewhat new hurt inside of him, I could tell. His beautiful eyes told a story
of sorrows and regrets—something I understood. It was my turn to ask the
questions. “When? What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

Five months ago. Tom Reed. No, never.

I glanced down to my hand resting against his leg; it must
have landed there when I tried to give him some comfort after hearing that he
was going through a divorce. I moved it away fast, feeling as if I had somehow
cheated on my nonexistent relationship.

Frank pounded on the door to the VIP room and reopened it.
“Andrea. Times up! Seriously!” He was probably getting heat from Roger. I could
tell because Frank would never raise his voice to anyone unless his boss was
raising his voice to him. Cooper stood up, pulled out his wallet, and handed
Frank a stack of bills. The guard looked down and counted the bills quickly
with his eyes before slowly closing the door.

“So you moved to New York?” he asked me, reclaiming his
seat. I nodded and explained how I needed to get away from the small town. He
understood, remembering what a gossiping place I grew up in. There was a
silence filling the room. For the longest time it felt as if we were staring at
each other and a part of me was strangely all right with that idea.

“You wanna get out of here?” Cooper asked.

I laughed, nodding. He must have been able to see the need
for escapism in my eyes. I sure as heck saw it in his. “Absolutely.”