Page 51 of Angels Fall

So I change the subject and we talk a little more. Just details about when she’s leaving and so forth.

Tonight, she’s decided. She’s already packed.

Which makes it abundantly clear that she didn’t need my permission, she just wanted it. Which I appreciate in some disproportionately affecting way. It means… well, that I mean something to her. And that makes me feel good.

She tries to give me her portion of the rent because Caroline and Diane wouldn’t take it. But I refuse to take it too. I have money saved for Carlos. And since that’s a losing battle if ever there was one, I decide I’d rather use my money to help people I love. Carlos Castillo can fuck off.

Caroline, Diane, and I see her off a few hours later. We help pack up her car. She doles out things to us she won’t be taking with her. And it’s not hard to see the sadness on my other roommate’s faces when they accept her work clothes and shoes.

They don’t want this life anymore, either. They’re envious, but not in a mean way. Just… a longing kind of way.

We stand in the driveway and wave until her car disappears into the desert.

And then the three of us sigh and go back inside to the lives we have yet to leave behind. It also occurs to me that I have no car now. So I have to ask Diane for a favor. She agrees, of course. We work totally different hours, and that’s what friends are for, right?

But I hate asking. I hate it. I feel like I’m going backwards. Like I’m at the bottom of Mount Everest now, and I haven’t even taken one step up yet.

I sleep until my alarm goes off for work, and then I drag myself out of bed on Thanksgiving morning, ready to go out and be thankful for… absolutely nothing.

I don’t know if it’s surprising or not when I walk into work and find more than a dozen men already there eating breakfast.

I guess it’s not. I mean lots of people hate the holidays, right? Lots of people have no one and nothing to look forward to on these days, myself included. But lots of people also have the day off. Which means they can sit at home and feel sorry for themselves or go out to a strip club and pretend for a while.

These folks just seem to be pretending early. I’m betting most of them are broke or drunk by noon and sleep the rest of the day away.

I’ll be off by noon too… and then what?

Yup. My life is just as awesome as the customers at Pete’s on Thanksgiving morning.

My shift goes quickly because there’s a ton of girls in here today. Everyone wants to work a holiday, I remind myself. And the morning shift is popular for some reason. I tell myself it’s because I’m such a terrific manager. I’ve got five extra girls on the schedule and by ten o’clock, the place isn’t… full. But it’s filling up.

I don’t do any dances. I give my stage time to another girl who needs the money. I also need the money, but I don’t have kids, and I don’t have to take them to their grandparents this afternoon, and I don’t have to meet anyone’s expectations today at all.

So I just sit in the downstairs back office—Raven’s office, but mine when she’s not here—and do stupid things like check time cards over and over.

My phone rings just before I’m about to start cleaning up to go… home… and even though it’s my mother and I don’t feel like talking to her, I answer, because it’s a holiday and that’s what you do. Smile and be nice. Infamous words from Raquel the Friendly Stripper I have tried to live by ever since she handed them out.

In my most cheerful good-daughter voice I say, “Hey, Mom! Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Did you get my message last night?” she asks.

“Oh…” Whoops. “Yup! Sorry. I’m kinda busy.” Lies. Both statements. I didn’t listen to her message, but I don’t want to admit that. It just seems… heartless. “So can I call you back later, maybe?”

“Call me back? What time are you coming over?”

“Over?” Jesus Christ. What’s she talking about? “Sorry. Where are you?” I ask, trying to play this off.

“Honey… The Four Seasons,” she says, her high-pitched I’m-frustrated-with-you voice making me wince.

“The Four—? In Las Vegas?” I ask. Dumbly.

“Madison. Did you even listen to my message?”

“Yes, I just—” I insist. Once you lie, you kinda just have to go with it.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Dinner. Today. With us, your family. At four o’clock. But we want you to come over early. You know, so we can all catch up and talk before we eat. Your father is so excited to be here. And we can’t wait to see you.”

What. The actual. Fuck.