Author's Note
If you haven't read any of Amber and Dani's other stories, I highly recommend starting with 'Free Gravy' and 'Amber From Marketing, Social Justice Warrior' to get an idea of what you're in for. Each is a short and sweet little tale of only around 3000 words, as is this one.
Enjoy!
*
Amber From Marketing, Exotic Dancer
A: Dani, do you know how to install a stripper pole? Asking for a friend.
I snickered as I opened the fridge. Who else but Amber would text me about installing a stripper pole in the middle of a pandemic.
D: Never really tried.
I set the phone aside and scrounged around in the fridge, almost forgetting what I was in there for.
Juice, that's it. Grapefruit juice.
Except the store was out. Shelves upon shelves of pillowy soft toilet paper. Enough toilet paper to build a TP fort in my living room if I had the inclination, but no grapefruit juice.
My phone buzzed with another text just as I slid my omelet from the pan onto a plate.
A: Do you have a cordless drill?
I set the pan in the sink and poured myself a glass of water, because of the juice shortage and all.
By the time I was done, my phone rang. I knew from the ringtone, and the recent texts, it was Amber.
It was a FaceTime call, so I set my plate on the table before I tapped Accept. Last time we had a video call, Amber appeared on screen topless. I didn't want to be wearing my omelet.
"Daniii!"
Hmm, not topless Amber. More of a perplexed Amber, I would say.
"Dani, you're good with tools, right?"
"Umm, sure." I scanned Amber's face on my phone, from the red bandanna she had fashioned into a do rag, past the nerdy safety glasses that actually looked kind of cute on her—like everything else she wore—right down to the twisted grimace of frustration painted over her ruby red lips.
From the angle of the phone, it looked like she was down on her hands and knees with the scoop-neck collar of her plain white T-shirt gapping just a little.
Not that I'm trying to check out her boobs over the phone, because... okay, I was. You would too. Amber's got fabulous boobs.
"Dani, you've got to help me. I'm doing this thing for a friend at the shelter."
"The shelter?" I thought about the times we had volunteered there together, taking pictures of all the adoptable dogs and cats. "Amber, last I heard they didn't have any animals left. The news said people are lonely in isolation and cat and dog adoptions are way up. They might have a tortoise or a—"
"Dani?"
Amber's face was inches from the screen. Her forehead was scrunched up to match the grimace across her lips. Worst of all, I think I missed my chance to peek down her shirt.
"Dani, it's not that kind of shelter."
"Umm, okay." I glanced at my omelet, wondering if it would be rude to start chomping away during a video call.
Most probably, yes.
My tummy growled.
"Dani, do you need to eat? I don't want you getting hangry on me."
"Hangry?"
"Hungry plus angry. Hangry. From low blood sugar. It's okay, I get hangry too sometimes."
Actually, I'd never experienced hangry, from me or from anyone else. I certainly couldn't imagine Amber being hangry. She was just about the sweetest person in the world. A bit of a spaz sometimes, but never—
"Dani?"
"Huh?"
"Stay with me. Go ahead and eat your eggs, it's okay."
How did she know I was eating eggs? I swear sometimes that girl reads minds. Or maybe I'm just that predictable?
I took a bite of my omelet and struggled with the idea that I was predictable.
"Dani, I need help installing a stripper pole... for a friend. You're good with tools, right?"
"Stripper pole?"
"I know," she frowned. "It's not very politically correct is it? Exotic dancer accessory... is that more appropriate?"
I caught a glint of light off something long and shiny off to Amber's left. It looked to be maybe two inches in diameter, if my guess was right.
Either Amber's joined the fire department and needs to practice at home, or...
"It's for the shelter."
I pushed aside my breakfast plate, along with my visions of Amber working her way through college by undressing to music, and leaned in toward my phone. "How do stripper poles and animal shelters go together, exactly?"
"It's not the animal shelter, Dani. It's the domestic abuse shelter. Can you imagine what social isolation is like when you're trapped in the same confines as your abuser? Dani, it's horrible to even think—"
"Amber. Honey, I'll help you," I said against the lump in my throat. I caught a vision of what Amber was describing and it wasn't pretty.
"I may not have the whole picture yet," I said, "but I'm assuming with a stripper pole it involves you taking your clothes off."
"It's for a friend."
"Baby, I can see the pole on the floor next to you. Unless that's an industrial strength closet rod to hold your office casual collection..."
The girl did have a lot of clothes.
"Dani, are you—?"
"Hangry? No. Amber, doesn't that send the wrong message? Objectifying yourself to raise money for the shelter. I assume you're doing this for money."
"You're not upset?"
"Confused, mostly."
"Dani." Amber's face had taken on that scrunched up grimace again. "Have you heard of the Pussy Cat Club?"
I shook my head.
"It's a dance club that caters to women. It's a lesbian bar, Dani. It's in the town where I went to college."
Bingo! Amber did work her way through school as a stripper. I knew it. But why did the answer to that riddle not seem to give me any sort of satisfaction?
"The club is doing a strip-o-gram fundraiser, Dani. Any patron who donates one-hundred dollars or more to a women's shelter of their choice can send in a photo or screenshot of their transaction to get a free strip-o-gram as a little thank you present."
"Okay..."
"Dani, it's been so popular that the regular girls are overworked."
"So you're stepping up to do your part?"
I mulled that over in my mind for a minute, turning to poke at my omelet with my fork, while I thought about Amber getting naked for some horny lesbian with a checkbook.
"Amber?" I stood up.
"It's okay, Dani. It was a dumb idea, anyway. I mean—"
"We'll set it up at my place." I surveyed the living area of my condo, imagining the furniture cleared out. "You've got that textured ceiling. It'll never survive having a pole screwed into it. Besides, I've got hardwood floors, so no rug burns. I'm assuming there's some kind of rubber pad on the bottom on the thing so it won't damage my—"
"Dani."
"Amber?"
"Dani, you're the best!" Amber was leaning into the phone, bent far enough forward that her little white T-shirt was gapping again. She reached up, hands open and fingers spread across her glorious boobs. Right there in front of her phone's camera.
Yep, my girlfriend paid her way through college twirling around a pole, alright.
Amber squeezed her womanly flesh in her hands.
I let out a little involuntary squeak.
* * *
I set my cordless drill/driver next to the open box of four inch lag screws on the side table now taking up residence in my hallway. The only thing left in the living room was a single, shining chrome-plated steel pole right in the center.
I thought about the holes that were going to need patching in my ceiling. I thought about that for precisely one second, because that's how long it took before Amber emerged from my bathroom.
"Oh, good it's done," she said. "Did you test it?"
"Umm..."
Amber's three-inch blood red stilettos clacked on my hardwood floor as she sashayed over to me, touching the tip of her index finger to my fallen chin.