Portia returned her attention to her own hectic life without losing a stride. After all, as everyone kept reminding her, it was Phoebe’s problem, not hers.
Portia’s weekend was devoted to work, but as Monday morning rolled around, she called Ms. Jaygo.
“You never called me about the new hearing date.”
“Oh, God,” exclaimed Ms. Jaygo, “I forgot.”
“The hearing’s tomorrow and I didn’t even call that lawyer friend of yours.”
“Don’t worry, I got it rescheduled to the middle of February. You can call my attorney friend right now.”
This time, Portia made the call.
“Unger and Gasaway, Attorneys-at-law,” greeted the secretary.
“I’m looking for Mr. Unger.”
“He’s in court. May I take a message?”
“I have an adoption hearing scheduled for February 17th. and was referred to Mr. Unger by Aldene Jaygo, a county social worker.”
“Let me take a message.”
Portia left her number with the secretary and went to school.
Meanwhile, Phoebe returned to the Executive Club late in the afternoon and sat across the bar from Tracie. Violet and Staci came up and joined her. Tracie poured a drink for Phoebe, but Phoebe refused it.
“My head’s pounding.”
“Come on, a little hair of the dog.”
“I just came for some advice.”
“About?”
“This church thing.”
“I think it’s stupid. You said you don’t make any money and you don’t like the people there.”
“I think you should stick it out,” said Violet.
Violet, who was just ten years older than Phoebe, was by far the oldest dancer at the club. Her mere existence was a cautionary tale for the others. Although she successfully avoided police arrests or drug addictions, unlike the rest, she still had her own laundry list of problems. She had two children from two fathers and an abusive ex-boyfriend on a restraining order.
After a dozen years as a stripper, she finally had enough. She had taken courses for bartending, nail technician, and massage therapy certificates. She dropped out from each program, exhausting all higher education options but one. Now, she was attending paralegal school part-time.
“But I don’t like it,” said Phoebe.
“Eventually, you’ll be too old for this job and the tips are harder to come by every summer when a new crop of eighteen year olds comes through that door.”
“I’ll find something before that.”
“Save your pennies or one day you’ll regret it.”
Violet’s words, though, went in one ear and out the other. Phoebe finished off her glass of ice water and chased it with a bottle of beer. She drank until it was time for choir practice, around seven o’clock.
“This round’s on me!” she announced to the bar. A collective cheer came from girls and boys alike. She turned to Tracie and gave a nod.
“Gimme the hair of the dog!” ordered Phoebe. Tracie mixed a round of White Russians, Tracie-Strong, using only Kahlua and Bailey’s Irish Cream. The sweet candy taste went down smoothly while the alcohol went straight to her head.
She snuck into the changing room and peeled off her pants and panty hose. She used her hose as a hair tie and fixed her hair into a ponytail as she went to Violet’s locker. It was stocked with a variety of micro-minis. Phoebe plucked out the hot pink one and pulled it over her hips. She undid the buttons on her blouse, tied it around her waist and strutted out to the pool table in the center of the floor.
As one of the girl’s bent over to take her shot, Phoebe moved to the opposite side of the table and turned away from the pool table. She propped her ass on the leather pocket, bent at the hips, and placed her hands on her knees. She gave her hair a flick and blew a kiss to the girl behind the cue stick.
Phoebe did not even know this girl. It didn’t matter to her, though. She was just another nobody. Phoebe strutted to the stage and carefully scaled the steps. She made her way to center stage, sharing it with the current performer. As soon as Phoebe swung on one of the poles, the featured girl got off the stage and went to Danny’s office.
Danny came out and motioned to the DeeJay. The music stopped instantly.
“Come on, Danny Boy,” said Phoebe as she rolled onto her rump and raised her legs up into a Vee.
“Get off the stage, Porsche.”
“I’m giving the boys what they want, right?”
Phoebe looked around the room. There was a shocked silence in the room as all eyes were on her. Danny stood there, his arms crossed. Phoebe rolled to her knees and began crawling towards him. He glanced to the bodyguard, who walked towards Phoebe.
“Come on, hon,” he said gently.
“But we’re having fun here, right?”
“I think we’d better go,” said the bodyguard. He gently grabbed Phoebe by the triceps. She jerked away. He stood motionless. Danny lifted his nose and nodded to Tracie. Tracie picked up the phone.
“Oh, come on,” said Phoebe.
Tracie shook her head.
Phoebe reluctantly got up, collecting dollar bills scattered on the dance floor.
“Leave those,” said Danny.
Phoebe gathered a few more handfuls, carefully climbed off the stage with the bodyguard’s help, and strutted towards Danny.
“This isn’t even your fucking money,” she said as she tossed it in his face. The bodyguard stepped between her and Danny.
“I’m fine,” said Phoebe as she strutted out the door.
It was yet another one of Phoebe’s classic scenes. Strip club employees and patrons lined the sidewalk as Phoebe went to her car.
“Danny,” interrupted Violet, “I’m going to take her home.”
“If you do, this is the last time I want to see your face here, too.”
“Danny…”
“I mean it.”
Violet stood there, unable to move. She had not yet committed herself to her new game plan. Leaving the strip club before she’d made the necessary arrangements would leave her in the lurch. She stood and watched, like everyone else, as Phoebe stumbled with her keys and clumsily got into her car.
As the car squealed out of the parking lot, Danny reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. He immediately dialed the Pittsburgh Police.
Phoebe swerved off the service road and drove through the grass as she turned onto the adjacent thoroughfare. The streetlight changed from green to yellow to red. Drivers laid on their horns as Phoebe stepped on the gas and sped through the traffic light. She shouted a couple of F-bombs and flipped them the bird.
“Hello, this is Daniel Wallen, of The Executive Club in the Warehouse District. One of my ex-employees just left here completely intoxicated and just turned onto freeway.”
“Do you have a description of the car?”
“Yeah, it’s an old blue Pontiac.”
“Do you know the driver’s name?”
“Hold on a second.”
Danny covered the mouthpiece and looked around.
“What’s Porsche’s name?”
Everyone remained silent. Danny motioned to Tracie.
“You…don’t you live with her?’
Tracie shook her head.
“But you know her name.”
Tracie shrugged.
“Violet?”
“I just know her as Porsche.”
Every single one of the girls remained as thick as thieves with Phoebe, not divulging the slightest clue as to her real identity. Unfortunately for Danny, he never took or kept applications and kept most of the girl’s names, including Phoebe’s, off the books to avoid paying taxes.
“I don’t know,” Danny said to the operator.
“We’ll do what we can.”
“Thanks,” said Danny as he hung up his phone.
“Alright, let’s get back inside.”
Everyone filed into the strip club and returned to business as usual.
Phoebe raced along the freeway at break-neck speeds. Within two minutes, she caught the offramp towards her apartment. The tires rolled over the wet pavement, skidding slightly before catching on the gravel berm. Phoebe braked hard and the car skidded sideways, rumbling over the grass at the side of the road. The car plowed through the snow and crashed into the fence at the side of the road, straightening along the fence line.
Phoebe pulled back onto the road and turned onto a side street. She drove carefully through the side streets, mostly because she was in a school zone, complete with school bumps.
Finally, she arrived safely at home. She staggered up the driveway, slipping on the ice and falling into a snow bank at one point. Somehow, she managed to get up the steps and into her house. She flung her keys and purse on the floor as she passed out on the living room couch.
About two hours later, both Violet and Tracie left the club and headed for the apartment. Phoebe had not parked the car successfully at all. It’s right-hand wheels were on the curb, set at an angle. A jagged line of footsteps and body prints marked Phoebe’s path from car to house. It wasn’t pretty, either.
Inside, Phoebe was strewn on the couch.
“What a mess,” said Violet as she picked up the keys.
Although Phoebe had not remembered it, she had stumbled into the front room. As she leaned on the end table to catch her balance, she knocked over the end table, the lamp, and a stack of mail sitting on top of it.
In fact, the evidence of Phoebe’s night was strewn across the living room floor. While Tracie worked on the mess inside, Violet fixed the mess outside.
“Let me re-park the car.”
There were drool spots on the couch and a spilled beer bottle next to it. Phoebe had also spilled something in the middle of the floor. It was brown and sticky and smelled putrid. Tracie wiped it up with a washcloth and immediately threw it away.
“You should go to the restroom if you’re going to throw up.”
Phoebe just grumbled and turned over. As Violet returned from outside, Tracie went to her bedroom.
“Aw, hell no you didn’t!” came a shout from the back of the apartment.
“What is it?” asked Violet.
“Come here!”
The scene inside Tracie’s bedroom was much worse than anything Phoebe could’ve done to the living room or front lawn. She had somehow pulled Tracie’s flat panel television off the dresser, knocking it to the floor. When Tracie turned it on, it popped and went black.
“I’m gonna kill her!”
Violet braced herself against the door and and tried to restrain Tracie. Tracie broke out of Violet’s grasp and stormed into the living room.
“Phoebe!”
Phoebe opened a single eyelid.
“”I want you out of this house by midnight!”
“You can’t just up and throw her out.”
“Watch me, said Tracie.”
She marched into Phoebe’s bedroom and ripped the top dresser drawer out of place. She lugged it through the living room and dumped it out on the front lawn. This went on for about a half hour. Tracie had only managed to toss Phoebe’s clothes and personal items out of the house. The furniture and personal items, however, remained intact.
Finally, Tracie quit throwing Phoebe’s stuff outside, only to get in her car to leave.
“Tell her I want her out by the time I get back.”
“Where are you going?” asked Violet.
“I don’t know. I can’t take any more of this.”
Tracie sped off, leaving Violet with Phoebe’s mess. Violet packed Phoebe’s clothes back into the dresser drawers and returned every to its rightful place in Phoebe’s bedroom. By the time she finished, Phoebe had roused herself from sleep.
“What’s this?”
“Tracie threw a fit. She said she’s kicking you out.”
“It’s no big deal. She does this all the time.”
“Really?”
Phoebe nodded affirmatively.
“I just lay low and she comes back to earth. Is there any chance I can stay at your place today?”
Violet nodded.
“Just let me pack a bag.”
Most of Pittsburgh was still sleeping and they were still in the earliest hours of Tuesday when Phoebe prepared to go to Violet’s until Tracie cooled down, Meanwhile, Portia was fulfilling a promise she made to Wendy.
An eclectic mix of old junkers, luxury cars and SUVs lined the small street on the outskirts of the Carnegie-Mellon campus. Each of the cars blew white clouds of exhaust into the bitter winter air, keeping their inhabitants toasty and warm.
This part of Pittsburgh had very few undeveloped areas. It was only through a reclamation project that Habitat for Humanity had the rare opportunity to build in affluent Squirrel Hill.
Just after six o’clock and just before the sun rose, the project leader arrived. When she did, everyone got out of their cars, bundled in three and four layers of heavy clothes. Portia had five layers; a little too much for the day’s work. As the work would progress, however, she would surely do her own striptease. This one would be far more industrious and far less provocative than her sister’s infamous night moves.
“Hey, Marsha. This is my friend, Portia.”
“We can always use another helping hand. Here’s a hammer.”
“I don’t know how to building anything.”
“Nonsense! Were you ever a kid?’
“Of course.”
“Even a two-year old becomes an expert at hammering in no time at all. Just give them something to pound against something else.”
Portia nodded.
“Don’t worry,” whispered Wendy, “You can stick with me.”
Within minutes, the worksite literally buzzed to life. The girls climbed to the stairwell leading to the attic and nailed treads into place. Meanwhile, there were two stations outside. One was equipped with pair of sawhorses. A pair of girls worked in tandem. One fed 2x6s into the end of the miter box and held it while the other sawed the ends off each piece, creating a pointed end. Workers towed the pieces upstairs and used them to help build the roof supports.
Meanwhile, a flat bed truck formed the other station. Volunteers, like worker ants, peeled sheets of plywood off the truck and took them inside. There, other workers nailed the plywood into place, finishing the second floor.
After the girls’ finished the stairs, they went outside.
“Great,” exclaimed the assistant site foreman, “now we can really get to work on the roof.”
Portia and Wendy joined the second crew, nailing sub-flooring into place in the attic. After a while, Wendy stood up and looked around. She tugged on Portia’s elbow and held Portia by her side.
“Isn’t that just beautiful?”
Portia nodded. Carnegie-Mellon’s building’s stood just beyond the row houses of the surrounding streets. It’s sprawling campus led to the river’s edge, barren Maple trees waiting for the return of spring. In fact, the entire city seemed alive but dormant. The occasional passersby didn’t even stop to watch Wendy’s habitat home, itself springing to life.
While Portia and Wendy constructed their friendship, Violet and Phoebe were picking up the pieces of a relationship long forgotten. Violet went to the same grade school as Alex and they shared childhood friends. It made it easier for Violet to take Phoebe in, regardless of her reckless behavior.
Phoebe had missed one day of choir practice on Monday and was about to miss Tuesday’s practice, too. Violet, however, took Phoebe to church and left her there.
Phoebe stood outside in the cold for a short while, staring down the church. An old institution like the church, however, would not bat an eye, let alone blink. Phoebe walked along the shoveled and salted sidewalk that cut across the church’s front lawn. She tugged on the door and headed to Rev. Paulson’s office.
She undid the waistband on her jacket and peeled it off her body. She folded it over her arm and approached the hallway door. She peeked into the back office. Rev. Paulson sat at his desk, reading. She stood there for a moment, watching him. Finally, as she decided to sneak away, he glanced up at her.
"Well, hello Miss Gatteau. Come in, come in."
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