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on Bambi legs. He sat down
at the stage and dug the ones out of his pocket, then set them on
the stage.
    A girl with curly dark hair slithered over to
him on her hands and knees. She smiled and her green eyes fixed on
his. "Hey," she said in a voice distilled in whiskey and
cigarettes. She sat on her knees in front of him, fully clothed
compared to the other girls, then glanced down at the money. "I
don't dance for three dollars." She turned.
    "Wait." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket
and peered inside. "All's I got are twenties," he said.
    She shrugged and examined the first button on
her shirt. "Oh well," she said.
    He scowled. "Women. They either ignore you or
want your money." He half-slammed the twenty on the stage; she
pinned it with the palm of her hand before his fingers fully
slipped away, sliding it and the ones out of his reach.
    She shook her curls out, then brought her
fingers back to the button on her shirt. As she unbuttoned it, she
rose to her feet and swayed to the synthetic drums. She locked her
eyes on his, smiled, and dropped her shirt to the stage, exposing a
bikini top. He noticed that her breasts were normal sized and
weren't pushed up all the way to her chin. He took another sip of
his drink and watched as she dipped her hips, her skirt flapping.
As he ducked his head to get a peek, she spun on her stilettos and
closed her legs, wagging her finger at him. He rolled his eyes and
sat back in his chair. "Come on," he said.
    She rose an eyebrow at him and lowered herself
to the floor, bringing her cleavage to his eye level. He nodded.
"That's better." The music changed to heavy rock. Still smiling,
her eyes shining, she shook her hips and curls, her body loosening
with each drum beat. She rolled onto her back and slid toward him
until he sat looking directly up her skirt. She shook her legs in
the air and when he leaned forward, laughed and rolled
away.
    "This is bullshit," he called to her as she
stood and strutted toward the pole. She turned and looked at him,
touching her lower lip with one finger and raising an eyebrow at
him, eyes wide. "You're a cocktease."
    She laughed again, got down on her hands and
knees, and crawled toward him until she was nose to nose with him.
"And?" she laughed.
    "I gave you a twenty." He leaned in to kiss
her, but she moved her head to the side.
    "Would you like a lap dance?" she whispered in
his ear.
    "I want my money's worth," he
growled.
    She slid away from him. "When I come back on
stage," she said, picking up her shirt and the small pile of money,
"make sure you have your money ready." The song ended. She stood
and walked off the stage.
    * * * * *
    He unlocked the front door and stumbled into
the house around three in the morning. Even he could smell the rum
on himself. He took the stairs slowly, and when he got to the
bedroom, pushed open the door and went straight to the bed. He
crawled toward the lump that he thought was Ingrid. "Hey," he said.
"Wake up, babe." He pulled back the comforter and found only her
body pillow.

Chapter 9
    Ingrid skimmed through the description of a
paraprofessional job listing. "Temporary," she muttered. "What else
is new?" Her phone rang and she snatched it off the table. Her
shoulders sagged as she read the name on the display. "Hey Jo," she
sighed.
    "Hey," Josalee said. "You okay?"
    Ingrid exhaled into the phone. "No offense, but
I was really hoping you were someone calling for an
interview."
    She practically heard Josalee frown. "An
interview? Why? What happened?"
    Ingrid scrolled through the rest of the
education job listings and, finding nothing, went back to the main
page with all of the job categories. "I got laid off. The position
was only temporary, and I knew that going in, but they told me they
might keep me. I wasn't even there long enough to be able to
collect unemployment, Jo. They screwed me!"
    "Why only temporary? Aren't aides important?"
Josalee asked.
    "We are, but let's face it: if the school
doesn't have to pay