Is this what Amanda meant when she said I could find couples who wanted to play in the store? Where did these people usually go and why weren’t they already coming to Dreamz? Did we have a reputation that only solicited the sexually depraved? Did we even have a reputation at all? If we did, it was time to change it. Dreamz needed to be the go-to place for the sexually curious in Florida, and my event—whatever it will turn out to be—was going to make it the hot spot it deserved to be!
18
I was back to work a few nights later. There was still no word from Amanda. I’d been ghosted by guys before, hooking up with a few of them, then never hearing from them again, but I couldn’t have possibly imagined that Amanda would do that to me. Just goes to show, women can be just as cruel as men, which my gender-equality brain can’t decide is a good thing (yay, equal gender acts!) or a bad thing (but—I’m heartbroken).
It was 8:00 P.M. and I was ready for another ten hours of slinging dildos, recommending lube, renting jerk-off rooms, and anything and everything in between. Part of me kept thinking about possible events to do and part of me was too hurt to even think about it. I wanted to take Amanda’s stupid electrical wand and stick it inside my heart. Maybe that would numb the pain. I couldn’t even go near the strap-on selection in the store; every time I walked by it my eyes welled up with tears. I was an embarrassing mess. If Amanda saw me like this, she would never speak to me again. But since it didn’t look like she was ever going to speak to me again anyway, I may as well just keep wallowing in a sea of leather holsters and suction Cyberskin.
A few customers came in. I was being really snippy with them; I didn’t mean to, but my sour mood was controlling even my professionalism. A young couple about my age came in holding hands—the girl had cute freckles and red hair, the guy was tall and skinny, wearing corduroy pants and a striped top. They politely asked me to recommend the perfect adult movie for them to watch. I curtly interrupted their excitement for each other and replied that porn movies were mostly meant for men to watch alone and this was a pointless endeavor. The couple slunk away, but not before the guy whispered “bitch” under his breath, like it was my fault. It wasn’t my fault! How dare people come in my store and be infatuated with one another in front of me. They had no right! I was in an environment specifically meant to satisfy the sexual voids in people’s lives and nothing here was doing it for me. I really just wanted to go home and obsessively refresh the incoming text message screen on my iPhone.
Sometime around 10:00 P.M. an extremely large man came into the store. He wore a T-shirt that said “Fantasies” on it, with a stripper pole and a trucker silhouette of a busty girl with long hair. He looked around the store frantically.
“Is Sandy here?” he asked. “I tried calling her and she didn’t pick up.”
“No, she’s not here. She worked earlier today. She might be asleep by now. Can I help you?” Was this one of Sandy’s boy toys? The mental image of Sandy and this obese man engaging in sexual contact was too much for my already weak mental state at the moment. However, I did my best to feign a smile, since he was either some kind of acquaintance or perhaps even a lover of my boss.
“I got this porn star doing a feature show at my club. We’re having electrical problems, and the music won’t play. The club is packed with people, I need somewhere to put them—you guys have rooms here with a pole in it right?”
“Um, we do, but I don’t know if I can just give them to you. Have you done this sort of thing before? What’s your club?” I asked.
“Fantasies—it’s a gentleman’s club down the road. I’ve known Sandy for years. We go way back. I’ll split the entrance fee with the store and I’ll bus all the customers over here.”
“Um, I’ll say okay for now and try to get a hold of Sandy. If she says no, you guys will have to leave; is that all right? Do you want to see the room first?” I asked.
“Can I fit about 150 people in there?” he asked.
“No. Not even close, but I can open up the door maybe and people can kinda spill out in the hallway?”
He picked up his cell phone, a Motorola flip phone. I can’t believe those things still worked with any current phone plan. His palms were sweating and he had a bit of trouble holding on to it. He swiftly but carefully dialed a contact.
“Hey—I’m at Dreamz. Just bring the feature over here and she can start getting ready… Oh, I don’t know.” He put his hand on the phone and looked up at me.
“Do you guys have a dressing room?”
“I mean, we have a bathroom, but that’s it,” I answered.
“Is that the only bathroom?”
“Yes. It is, but I just peed, so I should be fine a while.”
He grumbled and didn’t seem to like my answer or care about my bladder’s schedule.
“We also have other smaller rooms—who needs a dressing room? Is this for you?” Was he going to change out of his sweatpants and strip-club T-shirt, and into some kind of superhero outfit?
He then yelled into his phone, “Yeah, they got rooms.”
He listened to the voice on the other end of the phone then looked back up at me, incredibly annoyed.
“Does it have an outlet?” he asked.
“Yes, it does. I can unplug the TV!” I said. “Or, I might actually have a power strip somewhere.”
“Yes, there’s a fucking outlet. Is that good enough for her?” he yelled back into the phone. I have to admit this stress that just came over the store was kind of exciting and keeping my mind away from the lack of activity on my cell phone. “Bring the feature over so she can get ready. Feed everyone some free booze in the meantime so we don’t lose them.” He hung up.
“So, what’s going to happen exactly?” I asked.
“The store is gonna be packed! Don’t worry about it. I got some of my security guys who will help you out. Sandy can thank me for this later,” he said, not really answering my question at all. I was still equally as confused, if not more. But I was anxious and excited to see what would happen.
“All right!” I nodded in agreement. Seemed like this was happening regardless of whether I consented to it or not.
About fifteen minutes later, a short girl with pink and black hair and a multitude of tattoos came into the store, escorted by another guy in sweatpants and the same strip-club T-shirt, but this guy was a lot smaller than the prior one.
The guy ran frantically right up to me while the pink-haired girl was engrossed in her cell phone and didn’t look up. “Dennis said he talked to you? Where can we get her set up?”
“Hey! Yes… yes… um… lemme show you guys the uh, dressing room.”
I grabbed the key and walked them both to one of our smaller ROOMZ. The guy was holding a giant suitcase, the girl was holding nothing but her cell phone that she didn’t look up from at all. I unlocked the door.
“Does this work for you?” the guy said to the woman, though she still wouldn’t look away from her screen.
“Yeah, I guess. Whatever. Where am I even dancing?” the girl asked.