SATURDAY

"I know!" he shouted back. I crossed my arms tightly around my body, turning away from him to stare at the imposing tower looming beyond the neon lights of the strip club. The night air carried the faint thrum of bass from inside. "I understand you, and I know you really work hard for this club and I do appreciate that—"

"I don't think you appreciate my efforts at all," I cut him off, my voice sharp in the darkness. "People show appreciation with real salary increases and better promotions in this kind of business. No raise means no appreciation." The words 'I quit' burned on my tongue, but my anger made them impossible to form properly.

"You're damn too strong-headed," he sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Like a goat, right?" I agreed, my lips twisting into a bitter smile.

"I believe you don't know how expensive it is to run a business in this area, do you know?"

"Oh, I do know," I shot back, my frustration building with each word. "You've been wasting business money buying Jell-O shots—how many people actually order those in a month? I don't think there are even four. Quit selling those pathetic cooked shrimp cocktails that clients never touch. Focus on what they actually want—lobster tail and fried calamari. These are what patrons request. You need to switch all the lights to LED bulbs—that alone could help the business save serious money every month. If my salary increased by just two hundred dollars, I wouldn't have to spend every month choosing between paying my electricity bills or buying groceries."

I paused, remembering how just a month ago, I'd started keeping detailed records of the business payroll account. My hands had trembled when I saw the stark difference between the strippers' earnings and my own pitiful salary. Those spreadsheets told the whole story—how much Jon raked in from the dancers while I kept his whole operation running, day in and damn day out.

The memories of our shared past rose unbidden. Jon and I had grown up together in that dreary orphanage home, though I was a year older. Even now, I still saw him as that scrappy younger brother. As children, he'd always been there for me, standing up when I couldn't find my voice, even while other kids bullied him mercilessly.

Most prospective parents who visited the orphanage were looking to adopt newborns, but I was damaged goods from the start—born sick, already addicted to drugs. No parents want to take on that kind of plague. So I bounced from one orphanage to another until I finally aged out at eighteen. That's when Jon found me again, helping me land a string of jobs—waitress, cleaner, barista. Until he opened this strip club four years ago.

"Let's talk about this situation later, you know how busy weekends are in the club—" he said, his voice trailing off as music pulsed through the walls.

"Cerci!" Before he could finish, a figure appeared at the window—one of the dancers, her pink shining star embellishment hanging askew on her right breast. "Cerci, I'm so glad you haven't gone home yet! The clasp on my bra is broken and now my breasts look completely lopsided. Please come help me fix it."

"Go wear another one!" Jon barked. The stripper planted her hands on her hips, rolled her eyes dramatically, and popped her gum with deliberate defiance.

"I have another bra but Silver loves the Wonder Woman costume. If she gets mad at me for changing it, I'll tell her you made me do it."

"Wonder Woman?" He asked, confusion clouding his features. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his cluelessness.

"Have you forgotten it's Heroes night?" I reminded him, disbelief coloring my voice. "I'm shocked you forgot your own ridiculous idea."

"Hold on for a second—" he started, but was cut off again.

"I have to be on stage in five minutes! Cerci, please help me," the stripper pleaded, desperation evident in her voice.

"Cerci... please help her," Jon joined in begging, already retreating toward the back door of the club. "We'll talk about this tomorrow. Please, we need you to do your job, it's Saturday—"

"Cerci!" Silver's voice echoed from inside. "Come on, pleaseeeeeeeeee!"

"Fine then!" I shouted, exasperation flooding through me. They were all acting like demanding children—so incredibly annoying. I spun toward Jon, jabbing my finger at his forehead. "Listen up—if you don't increase my salary tomorrow, I'm done working for you."

He raised his hands in surrender, and I gave in to the inevitable. Clutching my purse tightly, I followed the desperate dancer inside. I already knew exactly who Jon was—he'd forgotten our salary discussion the moment it ended, retreating back into his own irritating little world of denial.

The dancers' dressing room was a chaos of sequins, perfume, and nervous energy when I entered. I pulled out my emergency kit—my saving grace—from my oversized purse. "Okay ladies, what do you need? I've got a hot glue applicator, sewing kits, padding for your bras, and sparkle powder. Who's going first?" I asked as they all turned to me with identical grateful smiles stretching across their faces.

Just call me Mary Poppins of the strip club scene. The thought was almost enough to make me laugh.

Sunday:

The club was nearly empty when I walked in, just a few regulars nursing their drinks in the shadows. "Oh, you're here," Jon said, not quite meeting my eyes. Beauty was working her usual Sunday shift—she was more mature than the other dancers, and honestly better at her job. Her pole work was unmatched. She always started her Sunday performances in pure white, switching to blue for the evening show, complete with those signature blue devil horns perched on her head.

"Jon, yes I'm here. We didn't finish our discussion, and you promised to talk about my raise." I made my way to the bar, dropping my bag on the polished counter before pulling up a seat. "So here I am. Let's talk about it now."

"Cercita—" he began, using that awful nickname.

"Stop calling me Cercita, Jon. You promised me an increase—"

"Was the promise a contract? Was it written down?" His lips curled into a devious smile that made my stomach turn. "Look here Cercita, the business can't afford to increase your pay—"

"Fuck that bullshit, Jon! Why are you treating me like this? Aren't we supposed to be family anymore?"

"We don't have any money in the business account, Cerci! It's gone. All we have is losses." The words exploded from him, and I could see instant regret flash across his face. He tried to avoid my gaze by moving to the other side of the bar, busying himself with wiping down the already clean counter.

"Jon, I don't understand what you're saying. What do you mean the business is running at a loss?"

He remained silent, bowing his head and exhaling heavily as he propped his hand under his jaw. "I invested in something."

"Jon, stop fucking around. How did the business run out of money?"

"Did you ever wonder how I managed to start this business at twenty-one?"