Little Dog

The way she saw it she had to dance. She had no other choice. At least that was her excuse. Aaron was out of work. Her chihuahua, Punch, needed a new toy, and the bills were piling up on the table.

She wore the tightest skirt she had and headed out the door. Aaron was sitting on the porch three hours into his new job which was watching the neighbors and taking blurry notes on their comings and goings.

“How’s work, Aaron?” she asked, her perfume heavy and drifting towards Barstow.

“Slow,” he slurred, a pint of vodka in his hand. “Not much action going on. The Addams family is arguing. Something about the cat shitting all over the living room. Doesn’t look good for the cat. So, I take it you’re serious about stripping.”

“Exotic dancer.”

“Stripper.”

“Asshole.”

Brenda pulled into Spanky’s. She was nervous, her stomach tumbling like dice. A thin girl wearing thick make-up was outside smoking a cigarette. She stared at Brenda and blew a hit of smoke out of the side of her mouth like Popeye.

Brenda did a jagged awkward dance in front of Max the club owner. She was green, didn’t know how to move her body. In time, he thought. He liked her tits. He was a tit man. That and whiskey.

“You can start tonight,” he said, staring at her dark nipples. “Do you have a man?”

“Yeah. Punch.”

“Punch?”

“Chihuahua. Six months old.”

“You’re gonna like it here,” he said, closing his eyes, seeing the bottle tilt. “It’s all here.”