Friday, May 18th, 2007

“Here you are ladies, early as usual.” Anton informed his six gorgeous passengers. “Same time again tonight?”

Anton had landed one hell of a gig this time. All he had to do was pick up six exotic dancers at the same place and time, then drive them 20 minutes down the road. Each girl gave him $20 to drop them off, and another $20 when he picked them back up.

He and his serial-cheating ex, Karin, had broken up three months ago for the millionth time. Hanging out with strippers was definitely helping him cope this time around. Despite her daily calls demanding shit, mostly cigarettes, Anton finally ignores her. Things were finally looking up.

Starla sat in the passenger seat. She gently massaged the back of his neck and asked, “So, handsome, are you actually coming in tonight?” She gave him a little smirk. “My friend Pyro is working tonight and I want you to see her dance. She’s amazing on the pole.”

“I bet she is,” Anton joked.

“Stop,” she said as she gently smacked him on the back of the head. “You know what I mean. She’s an amazing dancer.”

“I know, I know. I suppose I can come in for a few,” Anton agreed as a satisfied sound slipped from the neck rub. “You’re still going to be my favorite, though.”

“Of course I am! She’s good, but she’s not ‘Starla good’,” said Starla with a crooked, arrogant grin mirrored Anton’s.

Anton’s blue Tracfone started to ring. He pulled it from his pocket. His mother loved Karin so much she came up with that little nickname for her. Karin would love knowing where he was and who he was with right now. He went to answer, Starla gently grabbed his hand to stop him.

“No,” she reprimanded him, frustrated by his constant loyalty to someone clearly using him. “Leave it be. You’re ours tonight.”

“Yeah, Anton,” Ambrosia chimed in from the back seat of the old minivan. “I want to give you one of my special lap dances. I’ve been working on something special just for you, if that’s ok with you, Starla.”

“Of course, no problem!” Starla beamed through an obviously fake smile, trying to hide her possessiveness.

“Now that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Anton declared, failing to hide his excitement. “Karin only blows my shit up when she’s out of cigarettes,” Anton said dismissively. He hit the “fuck you” button, ignoring Karin’s call. It was immediately followed by a text message: “call me”. Then, a few seconds later: “ASAP”. Anton shook his head, chuckled, and put the phone back in his pocket. Again, Starla stopped him, her frustration no longer hidden.

“No, leave it here,” she insisted as her big, blue eyes begged for his undivided attention.

“You know I can’t say no to you,” Anton muttered shyly. “Damn you and those blue eyes.”

Anton put the phone in the glove box of the dark blue 1998 Dodge Caravan. No sooner had he shut the glove box than the phone began ringing again. He stood silently as the phone rang and his small harem of beautiful women piled out. He could hear the phone receive two more text messages. He looked at Starla as her eyes went from begging to demanding. He locked the doors and hesitated as the phone rang once more.

“Fuck her,” he finally commanded himself.

“Well, if you play your cards right, you’ll be fucking me tonight,” Starla teased.

“Since you put it that way,” his crooked little grin finally turning into a huge smile. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“Come on, I’ll even get you in free,” she commanded as she batted her beautiful blue eyes once more. “The bouncers like me, so they do what I say, most of the time.”

Old-school as he was, Anton offered the gorgeous brunette his arm to escort her to the door. “Shall we?”



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Anton leaned back into the cracked red leather of his booth, the rim of his glass catching the pulsing strobe. A half-melted ice cube swam in the last splash of Jack and Coke, made as strong as his father would make for himself. The club throbbed with anticipation; something was about to go down.

The DJ’s voice cracked over the speakers, all bass and bravado. “Alright, sinners and saints…turn your eyes to center stage…You’ve waited long enough. She’s fire, she’s fury, she’s flame in the flesh… Give it up for the one…the only… PYRO!”

The lights dimmed to near pitch black. From that void, a single piano note rang out; sharp, clean, deliberate. The opening chords of “Bring Me To Life” by Evanescence floated into the dark like a ghost waking from sleep. A blue spotlight cracked through the blackness, faint and cold, casting a shimmer over the velvet curtains at the back of the stage.

After one hell of an entrance to one of Anton’s favorite songs, there she stood, Pyro. Her silhouette seemed carved from smoke and starlight. She wore black leather boots that hugged her thighs like a second skin, and a tight crimson corset that gleamed like a drop of blood under full moonlight. A sheer, flowing cape billowed behind her, tattered like she’d walked through fire unscathed.

She moved with purpose, slow and hypnotic, rolling her hips to the tempo. Her body was a living instrument in tune with the music’s haunting pull. Every step felt deliberate, controlled, alive. The cape slipped from her shoulders like smoke fading in a breeze, revealing tattoos that slithered across her body like ancient runes.

Amy Lee’s voice pierced through the air, raising goosebumps along Anton’s arm. Her movement and Amy Lee’s voice fused into something spellbinding. Pyro dropped low, arching her spine, her fingertips grazing the stage floor. Her hair, a cascade of blonde with ruby red roots, fell over her face like a velvet curtain before she whipped her head back, eyes locking with Anton’s across the room.

“God damn!” Anton exclaimed under his breath. “Who the hell is this woman?”

He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. Pyro…this is why Starla wanted him to see this. She’s gorgeous! Depending on how well she dances, she has the potential to become Anton’s new favorite. She was perfect in every way, except one. She wasn’t his.

She crawled forward, panther-like, then climbed the pole with a sudden burst of energy as the drums kicked in. Spinning with her arms out and eyes closed, she caught the beat like a flame catching air, then wrapped her legs around the pole in a twisting descent, every muscle a flexed whisper of strength. His body responded on instinct.

The lighting changed with flashes of red and orange casting dancing shadows like flickers of fire licking the walls. She wasn’t just dancing. She was becoming. She was one with the song. By the chorus, Pyro had Anton hooked, twirling with reckless grace, one glove already torn from her hand with her teeth, tossed into the crowd like a lit match. She rode the line between control and chaos, beauty and danger; never vulgar, always electric. Her final spin ended on her knees, bathed in white-hot light, eyes locked with Anton’s once again. As the last note echoed like a soul being pulled back from the brink, Pyro stood with her gaze still locked with Anton’s.

Anton watched as she slowly descended from the stage to make her rounds, asking men for tips, the whole time keeping her eyes on Anton. He had to get close to her. He had to meet her, had to have her. As the two approached each other, Pyro gave him a not-so-innocent smile that instantly turned Anton into melted butter. When he looked into her eyes up close, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw. She had a sort of confident pain, like she’d been hurt badly but turned it into strength. These were eyes he could get lost in. She placed her hand upon his tanned, muscular shoulder, pulled him closer, and raised her tattooed right leg, showing her garter for tips. Damn, she even smelled phenomenal.

“You know, I’m never going to hear that song the same,” he joked nervously as he placed a crisp new $20 bill in her garter. “That was fuckin amazing!”

“Thanks,” she beamed with pride. “You should see me do a lap dance. It will blow your mind.”

“Really?”

“You have no idea,” she continued. “What do ya think?”

“Abso-fricken-lutely! Let me step outside and do a bump real quick and then hell yeah,” Anton blurted.

“Hmm,” she purred. “Why don’t you bring some in for me, too?”

“It may piss off Starla, but I’m guessing you’re well worth it,” he confessed.

“Don’t you worry about Starla. She and I have a mutual understanding,” she reassured him. “I’ll talk to her and yes. I am.”

As he made his way toward the exit, he kept thinking about Pyro. She seemed like someone who could be a life changer. Her soft voice still echoed in his mind, and he wondered if he could ever pull off this miracle and end up with that woman some day.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Starla glaring his way. They made eye contact, and her beautiful smile quickly turned into pursed lips with a scowl. She saw him walking toward the exit and immediately walked briskly to cut him off. She thought he was already leaving.

“Stop that man!” she commanded the bouncer in a booming voice Anton had never heard from her before. It was almost intimidating, if he hadn’t already known it was coming from her.

“Stop right there, buddy!” the bouncer barked as his large muscular body tensed for a potential confrontation with this short brick shithouse that was Anton.

“Where do you think you’re going? You promised I could give you that dance,” she whined.

“Really, Starla?” scolded the bouncer in disbelief as he loosened his stance.

“Shut it, Tiny. A promise is a promise. Right, Anton?”

“Of course, I was just stepping out to the van to do a line and sober up a little,” Anton reassured her.

“Dance first. I don’t want that whore ex of yours talking you into leaving because she’s jealous of me,” Starla rationalized with him.

“Girl,” Anton scoffed. “She doesn’t even know you exist, no offense. Besides, I ain’t going nowhere until I get a dance from Pyro.”

“Whatever,” Starla huffed, turning away to signal her displeasure. “Don’t forget you also promised Ambrosia.”

“I’m just going to do a bump. I’ll be right back,” he reiterated. “I promise.”

“Look, buddy,” interrupted the bouncer. “I’m getting tired of pretending I don’t hear you. Go do your shit so these girls can do their jobs.”

Anton exited the club a little tipsy. He just needed one little bump to level out, then he’d head back in for those lap dances. Although the girls were helping to repair his self-esteem that had been shattered from years of infidelity and emotional abuse, he assumed they were just trying to get their money back that they had paid him for the ride. Now Pyro, on the other hand… yeah, that woman was something else.

As he opened the door to his blue Dodge Caravan, the pungent aroma of six different perfumes smacked him in the face. He wondered what she had wanted.

He shut the driver side door and put the keys in the ignition. As he opened the glove box, the bittersweet numbness of the last line drained down the back of his throat, sending shivers down his spine. Curious, and slightly concerned, he decided to check his messages to make sure Karin was okay. Although he REALLY looked forward to his promised encounter with Starla, he still loved Karin. He wished things didn’t have to be this way, but her infidelity left him little to no choice.

“‘Call me’, ‘ASAP’, ‘call me’, ‘fuck you’,” Anton began reading the messages aloud. “‘You’re just like the others, you asshole’. And how’s that? Not putting up with your bullsh…What the fuck?”

The next two messages left Anton speechless. He couldn’t believe what he read. This wasn’t even possible. It couldn’t be. She was lying. This could really fuck up his night.

He stared at his generic Tracfone for what felt like an eternity. If this was true, Anton’s life would be forever changed. He was filled with a mixture of fear, doubt, anxiety, joy and the fog of being drunk and high. She won again, he was calling her back.

The phone only rang once before Karin answered, sobbing like a widow at her husband’s funeral. Anton had heard her cry before, but never like this. She cried when she didn’t get her way, but this time it seemed deeper than that. This better not be over any fucking cigarettes, though it likely was.

“Are you serious right now?” he interrogated Karin.

“Yes, and I’ve got no clue what to do,” she sobbed.

“This isn’t just another attempt to get cigarettes from me again, is it?”

“No, why? Do you have any?” she perked up a little.

“Jesus fuckin Christ, I fuckin knew it!” he barked as he hung up and slammed his phone down on the passenger seat.

Before he could even get to his coke, the phone was ringing again. He knew it would. She was going to persist until he shut off his phone or gave in to her demands. Maybe if he was honest with her about where he was, Karin would leave him alone. Hell, she may even get jealous and ask him to come home.

“What, Karin?! Yes! I have cigarettes! No! I’m not bringing you any! I’m actually hanging out with six gorgeous women at the moment. Your cigarettes are the least of my concern! Do you know how much fun one man can have with six bi…”

Karin didn’t let him go any further. “Fuck you and your fuckin cigarettes, you faggot motherfucker!” Karin hollered back. “Go ahead and fuck your nasty whores! I’m going to the doctor tomorrow for an abortion!”

“You’re really pregnant?” Anton asked in disbelief.

“Yes, you son of a bitch, and you’re being an asshole like the other two!” She accused Anton before hanging up.

“The other two!? What other two!? God damn it!”

Anton immediately called back, but got no answer. He called again… and again…Still nothing. Of course she would say some shit like that and disappear.

“Stupid fuckin bi-”

RING!!

“Hello!?” he snapped into the phone.

“Sorry, had to grab a cigarette from the neighbor since you’re being an asshole again,” she shot back.

“Fuck the damn cigarettes,” he ignored her insult. “How many possible fathers are there?”

“You and two others. They were assholes about it too, just like you,” her barrage of insults continued.

“Look, Karin, I’m sorry,” he said, softening his tone. “This is just a lot to take in. What did the other two say?”

“They said not to call them back until I have a paternity test ready for them. Then they changed their numbers. That’s why I’m getting an abortion,” she went on through a cascade of tears.

“If this baby is mine, please don’t abort,” he begged.

“I’m not doing this alone,” she pointed out.

“I’ll take your ass to court if I have to,” Anton bluffed.

“Fine. I’ll put it up for adoption,” she bluffed back.

“What if I came back home,” he tried convincing her. “to help you through the pregnancy.”

“You would do that?”

“Definitely,” he reiterated. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why would you?” Karin implored. “You’re one of three possible fathers. What if it’s not yours? You know the shit you’ll get from my parents.”

“I’m built different than most, and I damn sure ain’t worried about your parents. Besides, if I stick with you through the pregnancy and the baby’s not mine, then at least I did the right thing. If I turn my back on you and the baby turns out to be mine, then I’m a loser like the other two assholes.”

Karin couldn’t believe Anton would actually do that for her. It’s not the kind of things people did, let alone for her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be home soon.”

“Anton, would you really have taken me to court if I had an abortion?” she implored.

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing I could do if you chose to abort, but please don’t,” he begged.

“Anton, no matter what, that’s still my baby and I would never do that. I just needed to get your attention.”

“Well, you fuckin got it,” he laughed.

As Anton hung up the phone he was blasted with the realization that he was bringing another life into this world, another child. The death of his biological father at the age of eight, followed by the almost immediate introduction of the man he now considers his father left Anton with a chaotic version of reality when it comes to fatherhood.

He tried so hard to be a part of Anton Jr’s life despite losing custody of him to his parents. He fought almost every weekend with his father about it. Now he may be getting the chance to do right by at least one of his kids, barring any interference from Karin or her family. Anton had no idea the damage Karin and her family would cause.