The Girl in the Road

Welcome to the Red Light

Aspen

I think I hurt Cam's feelings by refusing to teach or even show him the songs I've written. But almost all those songs are about River, and Cam is one of the few people in my life who doesn’t know about River. And there’s something… nice about that. Something I’m not ready to change just yet.

He seemed to get over it pretty quickly, anyway, once I started singing. I have a decent voice, I guess—pretty deep for a girl, but strong. He certainly seemed to think so—even told me so at least three times.

He wasn't half bad himself. A little rusty, as anyone would be after taking several years off from practicing, but all the right rock and roll instincts.

“What are you guys up to now?” he asks us when the practice session is over. “Should we play some Smash, or maybe go and grab a bite?”

I love Super Smash Brothers and find it interesting that it’s yet another thing we have in common, but I can’t. “Sorry—I’ve got to get to a job interview.”

“That was fast,” says Blue, raising his eyebrows. “Where at?”

I avoid eye contact with both of them. There’s no way I’m telling them I might be working at a strip club. “I’d rather not jinx it.”

“Oh, come on,” whines Blue. “You’re just worried we’re going to start showing up during your shifts like Meathead Josh, aren’t you?”

I really wish he hadn't said that. He’s right, of course—Josh and his stupid jock friends always loved showing up at the Pizza Hole and harassing me when I was on the clock—but I don’t need Cam knowing about my shitty ex-boyfriend.

“Who’s Meathead Josh?” Cam asks. Of course.

“Her asshole ex,” says Otto, who’s never had much of a filter. “His favorite band is Nickelback.”

Also true, unfortunately. Really, what did I ever see in him?

“Nickelback, huh?” Cam asks me, laughing. But his laugh sounds a bit strained. “Must be really good-looking.”

I shoot him a sarcastic look at that as Blue grumbles, “Unfortunately so. Quarterback of the football team, too. You’d probably get along swimmingly, Cam.”

That, I’m quite certain, isn’t true. I might not know Cam that well yet, but I know that he’s nothing like Josh Brian. “Enough already. I should get home and changed.”

“I’ll drive you,” Blue says immediately.

“Hang on.” Cam doesn’t look remotely ready to let this go. “You dated a quarterback?”

I can’t quite tell whether his shock is from excitement or horror. I guess I don’t really look or act the part these days, but is it really such a surprise?

“It was only natural,” says Blue, sounding smug that he knows more about me than Cam does. “She was a cheerleader, after all.”

Cam’s jaw actually drops at that, and I find myself wanting to be anywhere else but there. I glance at Otto. “Do you want to drive me?”

“Walked,” Otto grunts. Helpful as ever.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” Blue tells Cam as he reaches for his keys and guides us out of the garage. “I mean, sure, she’s punk rock and all, but she’s pretty enough to be a cheerleader.”

I consider pointing out the problematic nature of that statement, but Cam replies before I get the chance. “I mean—sure. Of course.” He glances at me, eyes wide. His cheeks are surprisingly red. “It’s just… what made you change your life like that? Do such a 180?”

This time, it’s my cheeks that turn red. I glance at Otto, who’s already Irish goodbye’d us and is walking away, and then at Blue, whose eyes have filled with sympathy, as they always do when the subject of River comes up.

I should tell Cam the truth. It’s only fair. He clearly wants to know more about me, and this isn’t exactly a big secret; my entire school knows, as do Blue and Otto.

I part my lips to answer him, but nothing comes out.

“She realized football is for t***s,” Blue tells Cam shortly as he hops into his convertible and gestures for us to do the same. “Now, are you coming or not?”

- - - - -

“Welcome to the Red Light,” a tall, balding, white man in a cheap suit tells me an hour later when Crystal brings me to him. “You must be Aspen.”

I nod, giving him my best attempt at a pretty smile. “I am. Thanks so much for taking the time to interview me.”

He glances at Crystal, then back at me. I look the part, I think—dressed the way she told me to, in a low-cut, skin-tight black shirt and a short skirt. I hate dressing this way, especially for the pleasure of men, but I really need the job.

"What's with the cast?" he asks, gesturing to my wrist.

"Just a little car accident. It'll be off in a few weeks. I can still carry trays and all that."

He nods, then says bluntly, “Well, you’re nice to look at. You’re sure you just want the waitressing gig? Dancing tips are much better.”

So I’ve heard, I think grimly as Crystal makes an I-told-you-so face at me. “Yeah—just waitressing,” I tell him politely. “I’ve done it before—I know the drill.”

“Ever done it at a gentleman’s club?”

I had almost forgotten that “gentleman’s club” was the PC term for “strip club.” Glancing around, I don’t see many gentleman. “No,” I admit. “Any advice?”

“Turn off your pride when you’re on shift,” he says. “And turn off your sensitivity. We tell our customers not to touch, and we’ll have your back if they go too far, but we also can’t go throwing out every guy who grabs a pretty girl’s ass. Know what I mean?”

I’m starting to feel sick to my stomach. Maybe I should have tried harder to find a less humiliating job. “Y… yeah,” I stammer, feigning a smile. “Of course.”

“I don’t like drama,” he says, “no matter how pretty you are. I want my girls happy, but I want my customers happier. That clear?”

I nod. My throat feels dry and scratchy. I know I can still back out, but I also know that I won’t. Crystal stuck her neck out to get me this interview, and anyway, I need the money.

“Right, then,” says the man. “You’ll start tomorrow. Make sure you wear heels.”

It’s just waitressing, I remind myself as the dancer closest to me removes her bikini top and the men around her go wild. It’s going to be fine.

But I can’t help feeling that if River were here, he’d think otherwise.