Page 8 of Thirst

Snapping back to reality, I quickly drop my arms, tucking them close to my body. A strong feeling of insecurity floods my veins and I stand up.

“Oh. I didn't mean to offend you,” Stanley says, and I have to recover fast.

“Uhh, it’s not you. Song’s over, so our time is up. I’d offer another dance, but I have to go to another booth first.”

“Oh, well okay. That’s fine. I should probably get out of here anyway.” Stanley stands up, adjusts himself, then reaches into his pocket, pulling out a white card and handing it to me. “Listen, if you ever get enough pieces to really put on a show, give me a call. It’s not every day a painter meets an art dealer. Maybe the universe is talking to you. You may want to listen.”

I take the card. “Maybe I will. Thanks, Stanley. I’ll see you next time.”

“I'm very much looking forward to it.”

I spin on my heel and speed walk out of the booth and through the main floor. Once I make it to the back, I go to my locker and toss the card inside. When I close the door, Von is standing right there, smelling of strong cologne in his plum-colored suit.

“Damn,” I say as I jump. “You scared me.”

Von holds out his hand. I know the drill, so I don't hesitate to put Stanley’s money into his palm. I watch him count out the eighty dollars, then shove half of it into his pocket like he somehow helped me grind on top of Stanley Moore. When I sigh, his eyes go wide.

“What? You're lucky I don't take more, because you probably would've made twice as much if you weren't half-assin’ it out there. Stanley is rich as hell, but you're over there lookin’ like a statue instead of puttin’ in work. You could really clean up, Aaliyah, both on the main floor and upstairs.”

I take my money and put it away. “You know I'm not going upstairs. I'm doing fine.”

“Are you, though?” he asks, looking me directly in the eyes. I nod, and we both know this conversation isn't going to go any further. “Yeah, alright. Well, you're up next on the main stage. So don't be in here bullshittin’. Get back to work.”

Von turns around and walks away, and before I make my way to the stage, I steal another glance inside my locker. Through the holes in the door, I see Stanley’s card lying face up. Maybe he's right. Maybe the universe is talking to me.

Maybe I should listen.

Six

“Hey, girl.”

“Hey. Come on in. I’ve got an empty wine glass over here with your name on it.”

My best friend, Janae Jackson, steps over the threshold of my apartment wearing all-green sweats with a loose, black robe over the top. Her beautiful bubble braids look brand new, but the confidence she wears is as old as she is. She's had it her whole life, and I wish I could borrow some every now and then. Then again, Nae has always had it together. We may live in the same apartment complex, but our lives have been different from the jump.

Janae and I grew up on the same block in Philly, and we moved into this complex a month apart from each other. We were just kids thinking we were ready to grow up, when we really should've stayed in our parents’ house. But while I struggled to make ends meet, Nae went to college with the support of her father, who’s a big lawyer in Center City. He paid her way through college, and even offered her a job at his firm as a paralegal with the agreement that she would have to pay her own way through law school, and that she’d take the bar exam within a year of graduating. Janae is a hustler who thrives on hard work, so she accepted. She's stressed out just like me, but her stress isn't financial like mine. Nonetheless, she's the homie, and life would be much more miserable without her.

The two of us walk over to the couch in my living room, sidestep the wood coffee table covered in unused paint brushes, and sit down. I fill her glass with wine to match mine, and we sit back at the same time, staring up at the blank canvas in front of my TV. I see her take a sip out of my peripheral, then she stares at me, taking in my faded Eagles tee and gray sweats with old paint stains all over them. My hair is a mess and I'm still wearing the stress from my shift at Fantasies, so I'm sure I look wild to Janae, but she doesn't know how to say it.

“I know,” I say, my eyes still on the canvas. “I look terrible, don't I?”

Nae giggles. “Well, you said it first, so now I'm just agreeing with you. Yes girl, you look tore up. What's the matter? Bad day at the office again?”

“The office,” I say behind a laugh. I sip my wine and try to gather my thoughts. “You wanna know how I know my life isn't giving me anything? I can always tell I don’t have it together when I try to paint and draw a blank. Not a single idea hits me. I feel no inspiration whatsoever. When I was younger, I could come up with something beautiful out of the blue. Now, I just dance for old, nasty men and sit on this couch reliving each interaction. I try to come home and do what I love, but my brain is too tired, stressed out, and fed up for it. I've been staring at this canvas for far too long for it to still be blank.”

“Wow,” Nae says, shaking her head. “Been looking at it all night, huh?”

“All year,” I reply.

She gasps. “Damn … I'm sorry. That was rude. I'm just surprised.”

“Nah, it’s cool. That’s a valid reaction. I used to get down on a canvas, but I just don't seem to have it anymore. And what’s crazier is that I found out one of the regulars at Fantasies is an art dealer. Have I ever told you about Stanley?”

“The rich creeper?”

“Yeah, well apparently he got rich selling art and hosting exhibits. He said he could put me on if I got enough pieces together, yet I still can't come up with anything to paint. I could be this close to my big break, and I'm over here stuck.”

“Maybe you're just trying too hard,” Janae says in her soft voice that’s meant to disarm me. “Maybe you shouldn't be thinking beforehand. You just gotta feel it.”