Chapter One
Elijah Bloom, Eli to most of his friends, sorted through the stack of bills on his measly desk, in his tiny room, in his dumpster apartment. For as sure he was at getting an excellent job after achieving his BA, he suddenly felt completely stupid.
He’d read the greats, Socrates, Plato, when he was just a kid, then went further to study the amazing John Locke, and using his quote to begin his senior thesis,“Reading furnishes the mind only with materials of knowledge; it is thinking that makes what we read ours.”
Not only had he gotten an A+ for that thesis, but it was also now published in several journals on philosophy. Published. He was published and still…no university wanted him.
“What’s going on, Plato?”
One of his four roommates, Sandy Patterson, sauntered into the room, perfectly calm and at peace with life. Of course, he was. Sandy’s philosophy was to never worry about a thing, including the girlfriends he had in abundance. “He’s not even my favorite philosopher.”
Sandy took one of the envelopes from the stack, the one that read, balance past due. “Oh, shit. Student loans. That sucks, man.”
“How would you know?”
Sandy had had an inheritance from his uncle. It wasn’t millions but it was enough that he hadn’t had to take out the loans most did. “Touché, Plato. Listen, if you need some help…”
“I’m not taking your money.”
“Pride goeth before being fucked over. Or whatever that quote is.”
Sandy had light brown hair and eyes, was tall, thin, and brooded around most women he tried to hook on his line. He was the classic philosopher persona, whereas Eli was muscled, baby faced, and looked more like a high school quarterback rather than anyone who’d have deep thoughts.
“Listen, Marsha’s gay friend, he was talking about this club last night. Gay club.”
Ready to faceplant onto the table, he gritted his teeth to listen.
“They’re needing go-go dancers. He didn’t make the cut, but they’re still looking. You’re hot. You should check it out. It’s a popular club. He’s dragged us in there a few times, and it’s always packed. I’m guessing the dancers make a ton of tips.”
“I never thought I’d go through all this schooling just to shake my ass to overly horny men in a club.”
“It’s money. You can’t turn up your nose to it and then lament on your need of it.”
That was possibly the most profound thing Sandy had ever said. “I guess you’re right.”
Sandy wrote down the address and that afternoon, Eli stood in front of the long mirror on the bathroom door during what was a lull in the use of the room. He stripped his shirt off, looking over his chest, arms, and abs in the reflection while running a hand over each.
He worked hard for his body, after growing up getting bullied for the weight he’d worn since birth. Then there was his face. It was nothing out of the ordinarily handsome, but he was good looking enough, his best feature his dark blue eyes.
“Here goes nothing.”
He took his bike, needing to feel the air move over him, like it would wash away his shame that he couldn’t land his dream job. Shaking his ass…
The club wasn’t quiet even though it was closed. People behind the bar loading new bottles onto the shelves, the clink, clink of them like the drum of a band. That was lending rhythm to the voices speaking low to one another, two yelling for the lighting to be checked.
A man was sitting at the bar, surrounded by papers and a laptop opened to a graph. He was supposed to ask for Gary Allen, the owner. That looked like the owner.
“Gary?”
He was balding and had a nice gut that lay over his lap as he sat on the stool. Eli was presented with a finger pointing up, indicating for him to wait as another column was added and the total punched onto the graph.
Finally, he turned, ruddy face screwed up like he was annoyed, but that didn’t last. He took one look from head to knees and grinned lasciviously. “Well, well, I really hope you’re applying for the dancer position.”
Another surge of regret had Eli ready to run, but the stack of bills awaiting him back at home flashed through his mind and he affirmed to the owner, “Yes. I am.”
“Well, sit right down here and let’s talk.”
After a long interview, he was hired, and he already had a schedule in his hand. The choice nights, Thursday through Sunday.