Confessions of a Bitch

Macy's Strip Club

There are a number of things I’d do to get my own way, but stripping isn’t one of them. I have a banging body and would make a whole heap of cash from it, but stripping isn’t something I’m keen on doing. I drive slowly towards the club, trying not to think of how on earth I’m going to get a job there. To make matters worse, I’ve only been there once before, and that was by accident.

Macy’s Strip Club, from what I remember, is located at the heart of town, near the old pizza store and Uncle Joey’s Bar. Luckily for me, things haven’t changed in the past eight years, and I find the place with ease. I pack David’s car in the parking lot and turn off the ignition. I check myself over once again and mutter a quick prayer to Britney Spears and the gods of Vodka, before getting out of the car.

The club is dimly lit with pink lights and the song, Fever, lulls softly in the background. The club is nothing fancy. After all, Port Hedland is a rural town. The place is half full, because most people are at work. A couple of girls are on stage, shaking their bits and doing whatever it is strippers do. Fat, grimy men, dressed in plaid shirts and hats, leer at them, whilst seeping some beer, straight from the bottle. Luckily, I can’t spot any of the gang members here. But then again, they mostly flock here at night. My mouth becomes dry. I want a beer right now.

I stand by the toilet door, looking around for someone to talk to. That’s when my eyes land on her: Macy Simmons. She is standing at the bar, pouring drinks for a guy. It’s hard to miss her bright yellow hair and large plastic tits. I just hope she doesn’t recognize me. I’ve only met her twice before: when I mistakenly wandered into the bar, and when I saw her fucking dad between her filthy sheets. Yeah, we have a little bit of history.

I straighten my shoulders and walk towards her. She smirks when she sees me and places the bottle she’s holding on the table. “How may I help you, Sugar?” I hide a cringe. I definitely didn’t miss her fake southern accent.

“Hello,” I force a smile. “I was just wondering if you had any jobs available?”

She looks me top to bottom and raises an eyebrow. “What? You wanna strip or something?” I don’t reply. She chuckles and fixes her shirt to show more cleavage. Whore. “You don’t seem like the type who would want to take off her clothes in public.”

“You don’t know me,” is my reply.

Macy looks me in the eye for a moment and my skin prickles. If she realizes who I am, I’m fucked. She curls a lip and asks, “You Rose Tyler?”

“What?” As soon as the question flies from my mouth, I realize just how stupid it was.

“I said, ‘You Rose Tyler?’”

“Yes.”

She stretches out her hand. “Lemme see your I.D. just to make sure.” I take the card from my pocket and hand it to her. She snatches it and inspects it before handing it back to me. It stinks of beer now. “Rhys was right. You look prettier in person.” She flashes a smile, and I manage one.

Rhys had something to do with this? What exactly is the guy up to? A part of me feels thankful for what he did, because let’s face it; he just made my day easier. The other part of me wants to call him up and ask him what he’s up too. But then again, he’ll probably ignore me or change the conversation. He has a habit of doing that, when he wants to keep a secret. If I could only get in between his sheets, he’d give me answers.