Sail Cat Road, the sequel to No Good End, continues below. It is being posted tweet-by-tweet daily on Twitter (http://twitter.com/ttaylordude). I will post each chapter here (in chronological order). Thank you for your time.
Mama Jean let Jolene stay in the small apartment above the dressing room of the strip joint in trade for back room work.
For mopping, sweeping, vacuuming and cleaning toilets, Jolene received free room and board and medical attention. A doctor was a regular.
He was a widow in his 60’s who didn’t so much want to see pole dances as to have someone to talk with at night. He had seen naked for years.
He came to check on Jolene. Mama saw him trying to pay at the front door. Jimbo would have no part of his money. He just waved him in.
Dr. Barrow had saved Jimbo’s life three times: a fight, a disease and something else Jimbo never talked about. Doc never paid a cover.
“Dr. Barrow is one of the finest people I know,” said Mama. “He is certainly the most unusual customer we have. Every girl here owes him.”
“How’s that?” said Jolene. “He doesn’t strike me as a freak. I’ve seen my share of them. He’s like somebody’s grandpaw.”
“That’s why he’s so unusual. He pays the girls not to do lap dances. Just buys them coffee and tell old jokes. Laughter has replaced sex in his life.”
“Maybe he’s found the secret to happiness,” Jolene said, laughing. “Probably gets laid more than anybody we know.”
Mama did not acknowledge Jolene’s comment as she watched the old man make his way through the darkened room, pulsing to heavy metal.
“He saved my life; breast cancer, four years ago,” said Mama, wiping the edge of her eyes, not looking like the tough bitch she portrayed.
A girl slithered across the floor. Men leaned toward the runway, mesmerized. Dr. Barrow smiled and nodded at her. He knew it was business.
“I’m sorry for my callousness,” said Jolene, feeling uncomfortable for making the joke. Mama had more than respect for the old man.
“He caught the cancer early,” she said. “I’d be dead by now if not for him. He’ll help you if you take his advice. If not, he’s cold.”
Dr. Barrow came in four nights a week and always checked the girls for illness or disease. He was harsh with the ones who refused his logic.
“Dancing naked for men to make money for your kids is not a sin,” he told one. “Having sex with them for money will take your soul.”
Jolene listened to his advice for the girl. “Doc, you are right,” she interrupted. “I think mine is gone. It’s been gone most of my life.”
“Don’t give up your soul so fast,” said the girl. She adjusted a skimpy top and poked at her lips with gloss. “You might need it later.”
Doctor Barrow examined Jolene’s wounds. “Your soul is not gone,” he said. “It’s just beat to hell along with the rest of you.”
When he left, Jolene took out the trash. Trash cans in a strip joint are filled with things not even strippers want to see.
After a week of cleaning and doing chores in the back end of the business, Jolene was restless. Mama knew it too.
“Back room ain’t your kind of work, Jolene,” said Mama. “You’re a front end girl, but you got to heal before you go back out there.”
“I appreciate your help, ma’am, but I am not a janitor,” said Jolene. “I’ve been a stripper and a hooker and worse. This is just not me.”
“How about you work the bar?” said Mama. “Bartenders get a free pass in the looks department. Your bruises just might stir up more drinks.”
“How do you figure that?” said Jolene. “Most of these boys have seen a woman beat up before. They probably did it. I won’t be an oddity.”
“You won’t take their mouthing,” said Mama. “You’re not exactly the shit-taking kind. That’s how you end up in situations like this.”
“Yeah, I’m not much for being pushed around,” said Jolene. “Tried it for a while. Grew allergic to it. I bow up like a Jack Russell.”
“I know your type,” said Mama. “I am your type. When I first started, I was beautiful. Now I’m just a pissed caretaker of wayward girls.”
“You are still beautiful,” said Jolene. “You’re just trying to find a way to help me. Thank you for that. I’m not used to it.”
“Love is harder to take than hate when you’ve been hated for so long,” said Mama. “You got more bruises on the inside than the outside.”
Jolene smiled. “I better be heading east. Got unfinished business. My real dad is shot up and in the hospital. I should check on him.”
“Runs in the family, does it,” said Mama. She sipped coffee with a half-shot of bourbon. “Where is he?” She waited. How’d he get shot up?”
“He’s in Alabama,” said Jolene. “My grandfather is a –“ she paused, “well, he’s a hit man. No other way to say it.”
Mama furrowed her brow. This was the part of the story Jolene had left out a week ago. “What’s your daddy’s name?” asked Mama.
“Gus Gantt,” said Jolene. “My grandpaw is –” she paused again. A flush of recognition fell over Mama’s face. Jolene held her next sentence.
“Your grandpaw is Jimmy Gantt,” said Mama. “I know him. Should have seen it in your eyes. I’ll be damned. Jimmy Gantt.” She shook her head.
“Yes ma’am,” said Jolene. “He is my grandpaw. Or so he says.”
“He may be a ruthless son-of-a-bitch, but he ain’t no liar,” said Mama. “If he told you that, it’s the truth, straight up with no chaser.”
“I’ve been pondering it for a while, since he told me down in Florida a while back,” said Jolene. “He is a no-bullshit type. That is true.”
“Like somebody else I know,” said Mama with a grin. “You’re right. You might ought to go. Jimmy attracts a rough crowd. I don’t need one.”
Jolene had already begun to do just that, gathering her few things and tucking it all in the bag with her $1,863. “Are we even?” she asked.
“Hell no we’re not even,” glared Mama. “What kind of person do you think I am. What kind of place do you think I run? Think you just leave?”
Mama Jean was a tough woman, but the harshness of her response surprised Jolene. Awkward silence drifted through the hallway.
Jolene stepped back. Mama shook her head, walking into the tiny office. One of the girls walked past. Music thumped the opposite wall.
A wall safe was tucked behind a black and white photograph of a formerly beautiful and completely naked Jean before she was called Mama.
She spun the tumbler between red-tipped fingers and took out $1,000. “Here. This should get you home,” said Mama. “Tell Jimmy I said hi.”
“You don’t owe me that,” said Jolene. “Janitors damned sure don’t make a thousand a week in a place like this.”
You saying this ain’t a nice place?” said Mama. “Used to be pretty classy, like me.” She laid ten $100 bills on the edge of the old desk.
Jolene saw Mama glance at the 1970’s photograph and wipe her eyes. “Take it,” said Mama. “I’d like to stay on your grandpaw’s good side.”
“You are a good woman,” said Jolene.
“Not really,” said Mama Jean.
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