Chapter Two

I always wake up before noon, but as my heavy eyes finally react to the sunlight, the red numbers on my bedside digital clock cause me to blink severally.

2 pm? It's 2 pm?! 

I sit up in shock as I stare at the clock a little longer before I notice Tyler's note next to it. 

HEY, SLEEPY. THIS IS BECOMING EXPECTED BUT I'LL STILL SAY IT ANYWAY. WASH UP, EAT UP, REST UP...AND SINCE YOU MISSED SEEING DAD, MAYBE YOU CAN FIND TIME TO GO THERE BEFORE YOU LEAVE. STAY SAFE. TEXT ME. I LOVE YOU.

Sighing, I slowly get up, just to feel a sharp pain at the left side of my head. I sit down back on my bed abruptly as I grasp my head with a groan. Dammit, how long did I stay up crying last night? 

My entire body feels sore and my eyelids weigh a ton, my hair is in a messy knot somehow atop my head and I can sense my energy draining but I get up anyway, avoiding the small mirror on my wall as I make my way out of my room to the bathroom down the hall.

Shower, eat and leave. I have two more hours before visiting hours at the nursing home and 4 more hours before work.  My movements are slow but calculated and I'm done with bathing and brushing in 30minutes.

I slip on a pair of jeans and a top as I pack some old pictures and an old vintage pocket watch I had bought into my purse. It's almost 3 by the time I'm ready and I decide to have a hasty breakfast/lunch, but as I swing the fridge door open, the sight of the nearly empty fridge tears at me as I stare at the plate of Ty's leftover pizza, except there is no pizza in it, just an empty plate. Tyler must have eaten the rest for breakfast. Then below it, is a half-full milk container. 

This is bad. 

I'll have to get groceries between my stops at the Nursing home and the club. Without further thought, I lock up the apartment and leave.

******

I never like it here.

The Nursing home always looks like the last level before death, and the thought of spending it with people that are too old to live for long is just disheartening. I keep my head down and make my way straight to the receptionist where the normal, slightly chubby brunette is sitting. She is on the phone but I've been here every week so she is more than familiar with my face and points out to the back door where it's open and I can see the slightly graying golden-brown hair that belongs to dad.

I nod a hasty thanks to her and scurry to the back. 

Then I stop. I always do this. Pause behind him for as long as my wits would let me. Waiting and wondering. Will he sense my presence? Will he hear me this time? Will he mistake me yet again? 

Most importantly, will he remember my name?

He has his back to me, sitting on a white chair with a round table in front of him. The other two chairs are empty and I hesitate a little longer. Please. Give me a sign. Something...anything.

I don't know how long I stand behind him before I give up and sit down on the chair directly on the opposite side of the table. I had scraped the chair loudly for him to notice but he still has his gaze raised well above me, staring at the garden trees and hedges blankly.

Taking a deep breath, I smile at him even though he hasn't noticed me yet and drop my purse on the table.

"Hey, dad. How are you feeling?" I ask, but his blue eyes don't dart to me but maintain their focus above me. They look bored and blank but I maintain my smile nonetheless. 

"Tyler says hi. He had lectures and couldn't come, but you met him yesterday, yeah?"

Silence. I should be used to this by now but I always hoped for a difference each time I came. Hoped that the medications were at least working. Hoped that he wouldn't call me--

"Amelia?" Dad's voice bores into my thoughts and I realize he is staring at me pleasantly.

"No. No, dad, it's not Amelia. It's me. Marcella, your daughter." I say, almost like a rehearsed line because I can't count how many times I've had to say that sentence.

"Oh, Amelia. I've missed you." He says and his shaky hands move slowly across the table to grasp my hands. I look down to see how unsteady his pale hands are and I swallow back my tears and hold him back.

"Where have you been? I waited forever for you." He says and I just squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to burst into tears and crying out that this IS ME. Marcella Jensen. Your daughter.

He always did this, every time and it was almost normal. But why does it endlessly tear me apart to see him this way? To see him vulnerable and still waiting. Waiting on Amelia.

"It hasn't been the same without you, Mia. You should come back, come and stay here with me." He says and I look at him.

"Daddy, it's me. Marcy."

"The trees here are beautiful and the sunrise hits the perfect spot on the porch every morning, just the way you always liked it." He carries on like he barely heard me.

I shake my head and try to speak again but he beats me to it.

"Marcy picked the perfect place, don't you think?" He says and I blink up at him.

"W-What?" I stutter in shock. He had never mentioned me whenever he spoke to Amelia. 

"Marcy, our daughter. She pays for everything and I'm so proud of who she has become. You should see her, Mia. So grown up and strong and independent. I just wished she came here more."

"No, daddy. I AM here. It's me, Marcy." I say with more emphasis but he keeps on talking.

"Sometimes I feel like I sense her presence, you know? But mostly anger."

"What?" I mutter with shock in a hushed tone.

"Yes. Angry at me, angry at you, angry at herself. Angry at the world even. I just hope she doesn't lose track of how priceless she is."

Then the tears fall, silently but endlessly. Priceless. Of course. That's what he always called me. Not that I was deserving of it anymore, because in less than three hours I'll be half-naked dancing with a pole or on a man's lap.

"If she could just see you now, I bet you two would talk it out." he says and I realize that I just can't deal with this conversation right now, it was everything I feared.

The truth. The past. The reason.

I slowly pull my hands away from his hold and dig it into my purse, searching for the old pictures as I wipe at my tears. 

"Here, dad. See?" I push a picture of the two of us to his front.

"That's us, at the carnival. Me and you." I say and wait, chewing on my lip as I watch him squint at the picture for what seemed like forever before he finally smiles.

"Ah. I remember this day. She wanted ice cream but without the cone, and when she couldn't have it that way, she threw a fit." He says and I smile. 

He remembers. 

He holds the small picture in his palm like a cradle and I dig out the pocket watch I had bought for him. 

"Here. I want you to have it. I know how much you loved the old one you had." I say and I hand it over to him. His smile resembles that of a baby as he takes the watch and pets it delicately with his other hand. 

"Thank you, Amelia." He says and I don't mind that he is calling me Amelia still. So far as he is happy, then that was all that mattered.

When I look at my watch, I realize it's already 4 pm. 

"I have to go now, dad. I'll see you next week. I love you." I say as I grab my bag and get up. I plant a kiss on his forehead before I turn to leave.

******

"You're late." Fred barks at me immediately I slip in through the back door of the club.

"I'm so sorry. I had to stop to see my dad, he isn't--" 

"Spare me the crap, Jensen. Whatever personal crisis you're going through is never an excuse here. Everyone has some bullshit they're trying to solve. So strap on a pair, get in line and keep your damn job before I cut you off."

He says and storms off, earning me a handful of awkward stares from other strippers. I hide the urge to scream at them and hurry to my side of the dress-up table where I quickly change to the over-revealing strapless bra, thigh-high net socks with straps, and a 6-inch pair of sandal heels.

I don't know why, but I get that brief safe feeling that I always do when I slip on the mask and red wig. 

Maybe because it brought a whole new identity of a stripper who was not Marcy Jensen.

So somehow I felt comfort that it was another girl dancing half-naked.

Or maybe because I could be a disappointment separately, and Marcy Jensen would be safe, being an innocent college dropout helping her father and brother.

"Jensen, you're next. Get up there." Fred says in a brisk walk in-and-out and I follow behind and climb on the empty stage as the song starts.

It doesn't take much effort for me to put on the act, making every move and stunt like I'm enjoying every bit of it.

Even though my mind is a billion miles away....reminding me of how much dad would be disappointed in me if he were ever to see me here.

His priceless little girl.

Losing every bit of her dignity for the sake of her brother.

For the sake of their well-being.

For the sake of his health.

Then there were also the bills. Rent, phone bills, groceries, and Ty's college funds. Half of the things I thought I could handle are dangling by a thin thread.

Dad's accommodation and medication bills would be due in a few days and I haven't even saved enough for our upcoming rent--

"Ow!" My yell of pain is louder than I expect as I trip over my heels and land hard and flat on my stomach.

The music doesn't stop but I can feel the shocked stares from practically everyone in the room, just as I can already sense that I've lost my job.

Slowly, I get up with whatever dignity I have left and exit the podium.

The minute I walk into the dressing room at the back, Fred barges in after me.

"What the hell was that?" He demands to my face and I don't even have the guts to apologize or explain, so I clam shut and wait for the worst possible news ever.

"Answer me, Jensen!" He tells and I flinch a little but he doesn't stop yelling,

"I gave you one last fucking opportunity and you go up there and make me lose 8 customers at a stretch! You show up late, you're distracted half of the time and now you just ruined this club's image. Do you know what that cost you? You're damn job! You're fired! Get out of here." He yells and he doesn't have to tell me twice because more than anything, I just want to leave this place and crawl into a hole where I can feel miserable for myself.

I grab my bag, ready to change when one of the guards that I recognize from the V.I.P section walks in and whispers to Fred.

Fred's face is intense at first then moves to shock as his eyes dart to me.

He frowns at the guard.

"Her?" He says in disbelief and I get an uncomfortable feeling at the bottom of my stomach as the guard nods.

Oh, no. What did I do now?

The guard whispers something else and then simply stands still, eyes fixed on me. Fred turns to me with a confused expression, then nods at the bag I'm carrying.

"Drop it, Jensen. You're needed. If you screw this up, you're done." He says in a final tone.

The sudden change has me searching for words to form a question but I'm not fast enough and Fred leaves the room.

"Wait--Fred--" 

"Come with me." The guard says and exits the room immediately. My uneasy feeling increases by the second as I follow the guard out of the room, past the podiums, and up a staircase at the back of the V.I.P room.

I've worked in this place for a year but I've never seen or heard that a place like this existed. 

The staircase leads straight to a black door and the guard taps it twice then turns and starts leaving. 

"Wait, what am I supposed to--" I begin but he is already gone and without a word.

What the hell is happening? 

The door unlocks from the inside and swings open.

I let out a gasp at the sight of the huge, hefty man dressed in all black standing on the other side of the door.

"Come in." He says in a deep voice and I step into the room which is partially dark, apart from the flashing blue and red lights in the corner.

I nearly didn't see him.

Not until he moved his hand and adjusted his tie, not until he cleared his throat.

The man dressed in a complete suit, hair neatly and perfectly combed back, sitting in the shadows. I can't exactly make out his face due to the darkness but I can feel a piercing gaze.

I haven't the slightest idea who he is, or why he has his private room, or why I'm here.

But I can already feel a sense of fear.

Like his shadowed presence alone demands it.

Like I'm being put in front of a diety for scrutiny. 

Like my job, Ty's funds, and our entire welfare rested in the hands of this man in suit.