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for health insurance and 401(k), they save
money." She tapped her fingernails on the table as she looked
through the categories.
    "Well, I'll keep my eyes open," Josalee
offered.
    "What's ETC?" Ingrid asked, frowning at the
last category. "Listen to these, Jo. Paid MRI study. Help couples
struggling with infertility... Dude." She giggled.
    "Speaking of," Josalee said. "Ingrid, I need to
tell you something."
    "Oh wow," Ingrid
said, "there's even an ad for strippers . I mean, they're calling
them 'dancers,' but that's not obvious or anything."
She shrugged and clicked on it, just to see.
    Josalee laughed. "Listen,
Ingrid..."
    Ingrid's eyes
flew across the screen. "Jo, I'm sorry. I've gotta go. I just found
something kind of promising. I'll call you tomorrow." She hung up
and turned back to the ad. She didn't really want to work at a strip club, but
the thought of making $300 in one night and catching up on her half
of the rent in less than a week was too tempting. She could do it
for a little while, keep her eyes open for a permanent
paraprofessional position, or even go back to school for nursing
like her mother kept suggesting. No one needed to know where she
worked in the meantime.
    * * * * *
    She applied a final layer of lip gloss, glanced
at her hair in the mirror on the driver's side visor, and opened
her car door. She winced as little jolts of pain flew up her calves
with each step, her heels clicking on the asphalt. She couldn't
remember the last time she'd worn heels; she'd quickly learned to
love flats while working as an aide.
    A bouncer the size of a linebacker stopped her
at the door. "Five for ladies," he said.
    "Oh," she said, digging into her purse. "I'm
just here about the bartending job."
    He glanced at her heels and smirked. "Right."
He moved aside. "Go on. Owner's at the bar."
    She squeezed by
him and pressed her lips together as the heavy bass in the music
assaulted her ears. She paused and watched, hypnotized, as two
topless girls swung around the pole, so close to each other that
they looked like they were having sex. Ingrid quickly looked away,
blushing. She glanced at the door. The bouncer stood with his arms
crossed, watching her. She rolled her eyes. I don't have anything to be embarrassed
about , she reminded herself, and marched
past the stage toward the bar. Plastic sea shells covered the walls
and changed color every thirty seconds or so. For some reason, they
reminded her of The Little
Mermaid . She wondered whether the girls
on stage felt like mermaids, or if they felt
humiliated.
    "What can I get ya, hon?" a short man with
yellow, saggy skin and bulging eyes shouted to her over the music.
He almost looked like a turtle, with his round head and the way his
shoulders hunched around his neck.
    She held out a hand to him. "I'm Ingrid. I'm
here about the bartending job?"
    He grinned. His teeth were nearly brown,
crooked. "Come on back," he said, motioning to the swinging door at
the side of the bar counter. She glanced toward the end of the bar.
A bartender with large breasts and skinny legs slid a beer across
the counter to a tall man wearing a too-small jacket. A group of
loud and scrawny, acne-bitten men strode up to the bar at the same
time as a group wearing University of New Haven sweatshirts
squeezed into a hole at the counter. She crossed her fingers,
hoping the owner would have her stay and start making drinks. A
group of men came inside from a small porch, the scent of
cigarettes barely masking the sharp scent of vodka rising off them
the way steam rises off a swamp. She followed the turtle man behind
the bar and into a dimly lit office area.
    He gave her a once over, his eyes hovering at
her breasts.
    She crossed her arms. "You're looking for a
bartender?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.
    "Yeah, yeah," he said, waving his hands. His
thin hair, combed over the bald spot on top of his head, flapped as
he moved. "We only put the ugly girls behind the bar." He put two
fingers to his chin and