The Last Time I Met Clara

Written for the

The 2022 "Hammered: an Ode to Mickey Spillane" Author Challenge

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This story contains graphic violence

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The first time I met Clara Moody we were in the back of a Suffolk county sheriff's car on our way to Women's Correctional.

I didn't pay much attention when they put her in. It wasn't my first trip and I had learned to keep my head down and my mouth shut. But then she nudged my knee with hers.

"You ever watch that show, The Gilmore Girls?" she asked.

I considered ignoring her but I was curious why she had asked. I nodded and said, "Yeah."

"That was supposed to be in a small New England town, right?"

"Connecticut, I think."

I looked at her for the first time. She was cute. Somehow she managed to look girlish and hard ass at the same time.

"Okay, so where's the fuckin' meth lab? Every little town in New England has a fuckin' meth lab."

"Good point. Where's the diner where the old fuckers sit around and bellyache about how this was a great country before the queers and the coloreds showed up?"

"Why don't you bitches pipe down?" the deputy barked over his shoulder.

"Whoa. Mister grumpy," Clara laughed.

I shrugged. "Who can figure cops? They always get their way but they are still pissed off all the time."

"True that," she nodded. "I'm Clara, by the way."

She reached her shackled hand as close as she could to mine. I could just hook her pinkie finger with my own.

"I'm Janice."

"How much you get?"

"A year. Guy I was with got pulled over for speeding. He stuffed three grams of coke and an unregistered handgun in my purse. Told the cops they were mine."

"What did he get?"

"Probation."

"Fuckers."

"You bitches are always innocent ain't you?" The deputy growled. "Always blaming the husband or the boyfriend."

"Not me," Clara said, "I'm guilty as fuck." She turned to me and said, "You know how in cartoons and shit people are always bashing each other in the head with frying pans?"

"Yeah."

"That shit really works."

"Who did you bash?"

"Bitch that was fucking my ex. Busted her jaw. Put her ass in a coma, but only for about a week."

"If he was your ex, why did you care if she was fucking him?"

"I don't know, just general principles, I guess."

"What did you get?"

"Three year bid."

"Damn, that's a pisser."

"Yeah, well, she coulda died. On the bright side, she ain't gonna be sucking his dick for a while."

The deputy grumbled unintelligibly.

Clara leaned forward. "Hey, you like getting your dick sucked, don't ya?"

He didn't reply.

"Listen," she said, "If you stop someplace and get us Chinese food, I'll suck your dick."

"It will be a while before you get Chinese again," he said.

Clara looked at me. "Maybe if we both sucked his dick?"

"I wouldn't mind getting a couple of egg rolls," I said.

"You think he ever had his dick sucked by two girls?"

"You mean at the same time or in his life?"

Clara laughed, but the deputy hit the brakes and shouted. "One more word and I'll pull over and you can both suck on my fucking taser."

We were both veterans of the system. We knew when to shut up.

We arrived at the WC without getting any Chinese food or electric shocks.

As the deputy was signing the paperwork remanding us to the Department of Corrections, Clara muttered, "Next time you see some bitch biting into an egg roll, you're going to think of us."

He glowered at her, then left as we were checked in for processing.

We were assigned to different units and went our separate ways.

A week later, I saw her again.

I was assigned to kitchen duty, and spent the first week in the dish room. But the different jobs were on a rotation, and in the second week I was put on the service line.

I was standing behind the steam tables, slopping out powdered eggs. I heard a voice call out,"Yo, bitch! You got any egg rolls?"

I looked up and saw Clara, four or five spots down the line. She laughed and waved. She had a sexy little dimple on the left side of her mouth when she laughed.

She reached my station and asked, "How come I'm sweating my tits off in the fucking laundry, while you got this nice kitchen job?"

"I don't know," I said, "Maybe they didn't want you getting your hands on a frying pan."

"You are one funny bitch," she snickered. "Stay cool."

We flirted like that every morning for the rest of the week. At least, I thought it was flirting. Maybe she saw it differently. A few weeks later, I drew serving duty again. But now, she was coming through the line every morning with a tough looking little redhead.

She still said hey when she saw me, but she had a bitch now, so there was no more banter between us.

It was just as well. There were plenty of gay for the stay chicks inside, but I wasn't interested in the drama that comes with them. As long as a girl's got fingers, she can get by.

I got early release after eight months. I tried to stay clean and keep out of trouble.I was mostly successful. I still drank too much and did a little coke once in a while, but I kept away from pills and avoided most of my former friends. I figured all either would do is drag me down.

The Club Venus was hiring dancers, and they took me on. The money was pretty good. I didn't play it one hundred percent legit, but I was careful. When a couple of handjobs a week can cover the note on a decent used car, it's hard to be a stickler on the rules.

I ran into Joshua, a guy I dated for a while in high school. We started hooking up. He was working construction with his uncle. After a while we got an apartment together, a nice one on Grand Street with a view of the park.

Things were good for a while, but he started getting high more often and missing days of work. I would come home from the club and find him passed out. He told me he was just drinking and smoking weed. But I knew a pillpopper when I saw one.

When he got jammed up on an impaired driving rap and lost his license, I told him I had seen enough. I only agreed to stay with him because he promised to start going to the methadone clinic.

Of course, that meant that after a long shift at the club that didn't end until two in the morning I had to drive him to the clinic every day before he went to work. In the first couple of months, he backslid a half dozen times.

One morning I sat in the car, watching the rain run down the windshield, waiting while he dosed. I felt so weary and burnt out that I started thinking I could use a few pills myself just to be able to get through this daily routine.

When he got back in the car I looked at him long and hard. He wasn't worth it. I wasn't even into dick that much.

On the way home I told him that I wanted him to move out. He didn't argue. He packed his clothes and his video games and went to stay with his mother. As far as I know, he is still there.

Without Josh, money was a little tight. I didn't want to risk my job with more rule bending at the club, so I started doing a little bit of sugaring. I let a few of my loyal regulars know I might be available for after hours socializing.

They knew the score. A twenty eight year old stripper wasn't giving pussy to their middle aged asses for free. But I never asked for cash. Sometimes they would leave some on the table when they went home. Usually they brought me gifts. Nice clothes, jewelry, expensive liquor. Jewelry was best. I'd wear it the next few times they came over, then I'd take it to the pawn shop.

I told one of my sugar daddies that we could hang out and watch some movies together, but I had a shitty TV. Two days later, a 45 inch flat screen was delivered to my apartment.

Things were going pretty well. Not only was I able to pay all my bills each month, I was building up a little nest egg in my savings account. On my days off from the club, I would spend hours browsing real estate sites. I dreamed of the day when I could buy my own house. Or maybe one of those luxury apartments downtown.

That's when I met Clara for the second time.

I didn't recognize her at first. When we were inside together, she had dark hair, cut short, a sort of soft butch look. When she came into the club that night, it was streaked blonde and past her shoulders.

I had never seen her dressed up before. She looked better in a black cocktail dress than she did in prison orange. But who doesn't?

The guy with her was the business type. Brooks Brothers suit. Receding hairline. Square frame glasses.

It was slow for a Friday night. There was some big basketball game on TV. I had a couple of Lookie Lous watching me and a table of frat boys who seemed more interested in busting each other's balls then they were in my tits and ass. Other than that, it was dead. So the new couple snagged my attention.

Mr. Brooks Brothers went to the bar, while his chick crossed the room toward me. She stopped and stood next to the closest table. I did a few slow twirls on the poll. Each time around, I took a glance at her. She seemed familiar, but the light was dim. I still did not place her.

The man brought a pitcher of beer and a couple of glasses to table. She nudged him and held out her hand. He put the beer down, fished in his pocket and handed her a bill.

She stepped toward the stage. I slid down the poll to the floor and crawled toward her on my hands and knees. I tossed my hair back over my shoulders and looked up at her.

She shouted over the music. "Hey, bitch, you want an egg roll?"

I smiled when I realized it was her.

"Who do I have to blow?" I shouted back.

"We can work that out later."

I raised up and sat back on my heels. She reached out her hand. She was holding a twenty. She grazed it across my belly, just under my navel. I hooked my thumbs in my thong and pulled it away from my body.

She glanced down and her mouth bent in a wicked smile. There was that dimple. She slid the bill, and her fingers, down over my mound. She squeezed it, then withdrew her hand and left the twenty.

"Can you come sit with us?" she asked.

"Sure, as long as it stays slow like this."

I followed her back to the table.

"This is Bob," she said as we sat down. Bob said hi.

"This is Janice," Clara told him. She looked at me and winked. "We went to school together."

"Do me a favor. In here, call me Sarina, that's my club name."

"You want me to get a glass for you?" Bob asked, "Pour you a beer?"

I shook my head. "No thanks, not while I'm on my shift."

"So is this what you've been doing since we graduated, huh?" Clara asked with a smirk.

"Yeah."

"Money is good?"

"Not bad." I glanced quickly at Bob. "I got a couple side hustles going too."

"I hear ya," Clara said, "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

I figured Bob was what she had to do.

She turned to talk to Bob for a minute. I couldn't make out what they were saying over the music. She turned back and asked me, "They let you do couples dances here?"

"Yes," I said, "but in the VIP room. It's a fifty buck minimum."

"That's not a problem."

She spoke to Bob again. He nodded, then drained his beer and stood. Clara and I got up and I led them to the VIP room.

It was your typical private dance room. A single pole on a small square of wood floor. Purple lighting. Black leather sofa.

Bob started to sit down. I tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned toward me I held out my hand. He stared at me with a puzzled expression, then understood. He took a folded stack of bills out of his pocket and peeled off a fifty.

"So, who's first?" I asked.

"I am, of course," Clara said, flouncing down beside Bob.

I turned up the volume of the music. I stood in front of her and started out slowly. Just swaying my hips. Staring into her eyes. I turned around and showed her some twerking, then faced her again.

I moved in close.

She was sitting with her legs crossed. I leaned forward, and put my hands on the back of the couch. I hovered over her. My titss hung a few inches above her face. I ran my foot up the inside of her calf and hooked it under her knee. I pushed her legs apart and arched my back. My leg slid between her thighs. I could feel the warmth of her pussy when my knee pressed against it.

She nuzzled her face against my tits. I let her enjoy them for a couple minutes, then spun around and sat on her lap. I grinded against her. She ran her hands up and down my thighs.

I glanced at Bob. He was squeezing the bulge in his pants. I reached over and ran a single fingernail up the length of his forearm.

Clara kissed a line across my back. She reached up and grabbed my hair and gently pulled me backward. I laid my head on her shoulder. She kissed my neck. Nibbled on my ear lobe.

I didn't usually like doing couples dances. A dancer needs to control the situation. It's a lot harder to control two horny people than one.

But I was getting into this one. Clara's hands roamed all over my body. I made no attempt to stop them. But, while I was enjoying her caresses, I kept in mind that she was the customer. I was the dancer. It was my job to please her.

I turned and faced her, leaned over her again. This time, though, when I felt her warm dampness on my thigh, I did not move it away, I ground it against her. She pushed back in response. I bent my head down so that my hair dangled on either side of her face. I swayed my head, brushing the tips across it.

We rocked against each other. She gripped my arms and squeezed them hard. I could see her chest rising and falling rapidly. She reached up, grabbed the back of my head and pulled it down toward her.

Our mouths met. My lips parted and her tongue pressed between them. She was breathing hard into my mouth.

Suddenly, she threw her head back. I could feel her body shudder beneath me. She let out a moan loud enough to be heard over the music.

She came down slowly, squeezing her thighs tightly around mine. Every few seconds, her body shivered. After a minute or so, she looked over to Bob and held out her hand, palm up.

He pulled another fifty out of his pocket. She gestured for more and he put a twenty with it. She tucked both bills in the side of my thong with the others.

I kissed her on the cheek, then moved over to Bob.

I glanced at the tent in the front of his trousers. This wouldn't take long.

I straddled his lap and showed him a few slow twerks, then slowly lowered my ass until it was rubbing against his erection.

He put his hands on my hips. I didn't want him to, but I let it go. His legs were trembling. He was shifting his feet. Coming soon, I thought.

I felt a tap on my arm and looked over at Clara. She gestured me to move out of her way.

I stood and turned, slow dancing, and watched. She opened the front of his pants and pulled out his dick. I have to admit, it was bigger than I expected.

She bent over and took it in her mouth.

Bob was still watching me. I tried to maintain eye contact with him, but I could not keep myself from glancing down and watching Clara as she sucked his cock.

It didn't take much more than a minute. He laid his head back. His eyes squeezed tight. His hips rose and fell three or four times, then Clara sat up and looked at me with that wicked grin.

She wiped her fingers across her lips.

There was a box of tissues on the stand next to the couch. I pulled a couple out and handed them to her. Bob stuffed his cock back inside his pants.

Clara stood and hugged me. She raised her lips to my ear. "I want to come see you again," she said, "Just me."

"I want you to," I replied.

"I'd like that."

Bob composed himself and stood up. Clara spoke to him. I couldn't make out what she said, but he reached into his pocket and took out a roll of bills. He handed me another fifty.

I thanked him and opened the door. I think he thought he would get a hug, too. He didn't.

I walked them back out into the club. Clara started to climb up on a barstool, but Bob shook his head. He was ready to go. She hugged me again and said "See you soon."

It was almost a year before I met her again.

The funny thing is, the next time Clara showed up, I had been thinking about quitting the club

I thought I'd try to find a clothes on, hands off gig somewhere. But the economy was in a bad mood, and there were a lot of folks with legit resumes looking for work. If I had found a job at WalMart or the IHOP, all of the shit to come could have been avoided.

I didn't see her come in. I was in the VIP with one of my regulars, a trucker everybody called Big Boy Earl. It was an honest nickname. He was about six two and had a beer belly he could use for a card table. He came through town twice a week, and if I was working, he always asked me for a lap dance, not that he had much of a lap. Nice guy, good tipper. Didn't exppect anything extra.

We had just finished. I walked over to the bar with him.

There was Clara, sitting at the end. Earl offered to buy me a drink, but I shook him off.

"I'm going to go talk to my friend," I told him. I stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you next week."

Clara was sipping something pink through a straw from a tall, frosty glass. She was wearing an oversized leather jacket. I walked over to her and she looked up. She kept sipping.

"Long time, no see," I told her, leaning on the bar next to her.

"Yeah, sorry about that," she said, "I had a little probation situation."

"You got kicked back in?"

"Yeah."

"Were there any kitchen utensils involved?"

She snorted. "No, just a bottle of Percocets I didn't have a prescription for."

She took another long sip.

"What are you drinking?" I asked.

"Singapore Sling. You want one?"

"No, I'm a grown-up. And anyway, I got to get back on the pole."

"You work till closing?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing after?"

I shrugged. "I got no plans."

"Do you want to hang out?"

"Sure."

I could see Roy, the shift boss, giving me the stink eye from the other end of the bar. "Got to go dance," I told Clara.

"All right baby, see you in a bit." She winked at me and I felt a familiar tingle.

I went back to the stage but it was scarcely worth it. Some nights you get a rush on private dances in the last hour, but that was one of the nights when all you have left is the Lookie Lous and the guys who spent all their money on drinks and chintzy one dollar tips and don't have enough dough left for a one on one.

But I knew Clara was watching me dance. That excited me. I kept hoping she would come up and sit at the rail, but she stayed at the bar. Still, for that hour, I was dancing for her.

It was ten minutes till closing, bar time. The joint was nearly empty, so I hopped off the stage and headed to the dressing room.

I knew it always pissed Roy off when we finished early, but I was a good earner. He wasn't gonna say shit.

I changed into jeans and a t-shirt and came back to the bar. I cashed out and tipped the bartender. He drew a beer from the tap and handed it to me. I thanked him and joined Clara at the end of the bar.

She was slurping up the last of her pink swill. I wondered how many she'd had.

"So, what is there to do around her at two in the morning?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "Drink. Get high. Fuck."

"That sounds like a plan."

I laughed, not sure if she was messing with me or not.

"So...you got your own place?" she asked.

I hesitated for a second. I didn't know why, but I wasn't sure I wanted her to know where I lived. Instinct, I guess. Gut feelings. They say you should trust them. They say a lot of things I don't listen to.

"Yeah," I said, "I got an apartment over in Riverside."

"Isn't it mostly Mexicans that live over there?"