Over the next several weeks, I was more motivated to work than ever.  I wanted to be in her face as much as possible as a constant reminder of what a horrid thing she did.  I wanted to think of myself as the walking dead in her eyes.  

IcouldhavediedIcouldhavediedIcouldhavediedIcouldhavediedIcouldhavediedIcouldhavediedIcouldhavedied.  

But I didn’t, no thanks to you, bitch.  I was pissed and loving every minute of it.  Other dancers around me felt the same way.  She caught much attitude constantly and acclimating to her new position was not going well.  One night, she let her guard down again in front of me.  I jumped on it.

I was at the front door, waiting to tip out.  Jen was standing in the booth behind the door girl when I popped up.  I had my cash out to pay house but, lo and behold, Jen intervenes: don’t worry about her house, I’ll take care of it.  

Oh, really?  Yes.  My eyebrow was raised and my pinky touched the corner of my mouth.  Hmmmmm, I thought.  Interesting.  So there is such a thing as guilt in her mind.  And she’s going to try to bribe herself out of it.  Niiiiiice.

I worked every night Jen worked.  Sometimes I paid my house; sometimes Jen paid my house.  She’d ask me if I had a Champagne Room or a Spaceship.  If I hadn’t, she paid.  I didn’t offer her a smile, just a curt thank you every time she did this.  It was killing her.  The only way to put a dent in someone’s ego like Jen is to dent her wallet – even if it’s just a drop in the bucket.  Whether she was putting my house fees in from her pocket or just entering it as waived, it was coming out of her bottom line at the end of the night.  And I couldn’t have been happier.

I must admit there were even a few fantasies revolving around my head about her and I getting together again.  How sexy would that have been?  A hot female manager and one of her dancers as an out and proud couple – I saw it.  It could have happen, right?I was mesmerized by the thought.  And the nicer she tried to be to me, the more I could see it as a reality.

But when I found out that she was sleeping with and recently married to the tanning king himself, Nate the GM, my anger resurfaced ten-fold.  What a ho.  Yes, I called her a ho because that is how Jen works.  That is how Jen gets what she wants.  She uses what she has to get ahead.  What did I have to offer her?  Not much except honesty, loyalty, trust, companionship, love…but what girl in her right mind would want that when she could have her bills paid and fancy gifts thrown on her?

Every time I watched her canoodle around the club with her shiny ring and her sexy suits, my anger grew.  Or was that jealousy?  Probably both.  Who am I kidding?  I was incredibly jealous.

But I was feeling isolated in my surging anger all of a sudden.  The attitudes toward Jen started to change among my peers.  Jen was winning them over.  I’m not surprised, but I was pissed.  Where was the freaking loyalty?  Soon I was the only one still harboring a grudge from that night, which is to be expected, I guess.  I was the only one tossed out of a car into a vacant lot.  But I was hoping for a bit more solidarity.  No such luck.  My strip sisters were drinking the kool-aid.  The green kool-aid.  Money.

Jen can charm the pants off a gay man and he’d pay her for it.  She was beautiful, smart and ruthless.  A lethal combination.  Jen was an amazing, class A, certified hustler.  And probably still is.  I happen across her Facebook profile through a mutual friend last year.  She still looked hot, if it was a recent picture.  For shits and giggles, I sent her a friend request.  That bitch blocked me so fast, my laptop was smoking.  Our mutual friend also disappeared shortly after a brief general status of: wow, it’s such a small world.  In all the years I’ve been gone, I thought at least her and I were still okay, but I guess not.  Oh well.  No big whoop.

But watching my cohorts, they were interacting with her: laughing, smiling and being friendly.  I was pissed.  She was winning.  I had a tough decision: beat ’em or join ’em.  Team Jen all the way.  Ugh.  I was way too fucking stubborn for that.  I felt like the uncool kid at the party all of a sudden.  Like everyone was looking at me thinking, who invited her?  I was alone.  And it sucked.

Jen was good at making money for herself – no matter what.  She was great, it turns out, at making money for others.    She was extremely subtle, but because I had one eye on customers and one eye on her, I could tell who was benefiting the most.  One friend in particular seemed to have switched to the dark side on me, but I knew her reasoning.  When she was in the club, she got tunnel vision.  It was all about the money.  She didn’t step on the toes of her friends, but she’d step on anybody else’s to make sure she left with no less than a grand.  Every night.  I think her interacting with Jen hurt me the most, but she assured me it was business, nothing personal.

I became a real brat over the next couple of weeks.