For Your Eyes Only (Camren)

Seven

It was late and I was exhausted when I closed my apartment door. I'd had a grueling few weeks of classes and a higher number of dances than normal. But I didn't complain. I needed the cash.

I pulled my personal phone out of my pocket and realized I had forgot to turn it back on when I left my last gig. As it powered on, I grabbed a PowerBar and Diet Coke from the fridge. I kicked off my shoes just as the ding told me I had two missed calls and three messages. Two of the calls were from Dinah, the third from a number I didn't recognize. The messages were from the local pharmacy telling me my prescription was ready, my gynecologist's office reminding me it was that time of the year, and a woman I met in class last year.

I had struggled through years of college classes and was within weeks of receiving my degree in finance. I had managed to squeeze in an internship at a local company during the days, my full-time schedule at Home Depot, and stripping two or three times a weekend.Needless to say, I was walking a tightrope between exhaustion and collapse. I'd had a final interview for a job I really wanted last week and was waiting and praying that an offer would come through. I fought back another wave of disappointment when I realized none of the messages were from the recruiter.

I flopped on the couch and my work phone launched into the air. For obvious reasons, I had two phone numbers. I could always turn that one off and not miss anything important other than an opportunity to make some quick, non-taxable cash.

Picking the phone up from where it had landed on the coffee table, I saw that I had only one missed call and that caller hadn't left a message. I was grateful because I was booked for the next three weekends and I hated turning down a gig.

Most of my work was for birthdays. I'd had a few close calls with out-of-control women, but nothing I couldn't handle. My evenings at the Candy Store had taught me more than how to take off my clothes.

After finishing my dinner, I took a quick shower before opening my laptop to put the finishing touches on my last paper. I was so close I almost couldn't believe graduation day was in three weeks. Dinah had convinced me to attend the ceremony, and my cap and gown were on a hanger in my closet. I had been issued eight tickets, and along with Dinah and her husband,six other friends would cheer as I walked across the stage.

I was daydreaming when my dance phone rang.

"Hello, this is Karla." I waited several seconds before I repeated, "Hello?"

"Uh, yes. Sorry, hello," the voice said shakily.

"Is there something you needed?" I tried to encourage the caller to continue. Every call was money, and I needed it desperately.

"You, uh, danced at a party I was at a few weeks ago," the woman said.

"Okay."

"I'd like to book you for another, uh, event."

Event. I'd never heard my stripping described that way. "Tell me about it."

"What do you want to know?"

"How many people will be there? What's the occasion? Where?" I rattled off my standard questions, digging in my pocket for a pen. When the woman hesitated I added, "I don't dance with men in the room and I only dance." My voice was strong, my condition firm.

"No, no men," she said quickly.

"Okay." Good grief, was I going to have to drag everything out of this woman?

"Sorry, I'm a little nervous," she said.

I could understand that. "If you've seen me dance before, you know there is nothing to be nervous about." But then again, it wasn't every day that someone called for a stripper.

"It would just be one person and no special occasion."

"Who is the person?"

"Me."

It was an unusual request and it made me nervous. "I only dance," I repeated.

"That's all I want."

"Were did you see me?"

"At a birthday party for a friend of mine."

I couldn't help but laugh. Almost all of my gigs were birthday parties. "I do a lot of birthdays. Can you be a bit more specific? A name or maybe an address."

She rattled off an address I vaguely recognized, but the name Normani rang more than a bell.A collage of faces flashed through my mind, one standing out above the rest. Maybe. No, no way in hell could it be Lauren Jauregui.

"Okay," I said masking my disappointment. "Where and when?"

We finally settled on Tuesday of the following week. When she gave me the name of a hotel, I immediately said, "I only dance. I don't turn tricks. I don't care how much you offer me. And I tell two people where I'm going and call them the minute I'm done." It was my security system.

"Sounds like a smart plan," she said and I thought I detected a slight smile in her voice. "And all I want is a dance, nothing more," she reiterated.

I didn't say anything for a few moments, my mind whirling with images of the women at Normani's party. I was a good judge of people and none of them pinged my creep radar. Lauren, however, pinged something altogether different.

"Hello?" the woman said.

"I'm here. Okay. What's your name?" The silence on the other end of the line was so long I thought she'd hung up. How difficult was it to give me a name? Unless she was making one up. I heard an intake of breath.

"Lauren."

The name took my breath away, and before I could say anything, she hung up.