Read Online Peep Show by Joshua Braff - Free Book Online Page B

there.”
    â€œMick the quick,” Ira says, and my father glances at me, embarrassed.
    Tiki leans over the end of the stage and points at Harvey. He laughs, reaching for his wallet. Four singles land at her feet and she pulls the nightgown over her head and hurls it. It lands on Harvey’s shoulder.
    â€œWhere are the pictures?” Ira yells as Tiki swings over us, gripping the gold pole.
    â€œShe’s wonderful!” says Harvey. He searches for more cash and this time finds a five. Tiki sits on the end of thestage, legs spread. Suddenly Brandi isn’t interested anymore. She dramatically turns her back to Tiki and her very open legs, wanting all of us to know she’s not impressed. The stripteaser versus the stripper. Brandi looks at my dad, who’s leaning to his right, trying to hear Ira.
    â€œThis girl’s a stupid whore,” Brandi says, reaching for her cigarettes. “Nine bucks on the stage and she’s showing off her cervix.”
    Leo arrives with drinks and brings me a beer.
    â€œDavid,” my father says. “Run upstairs to my office and grab the pictures of Ira in Acapulco. They’ve gotta be in one of the boxes.”
    â€œI’ll go,” Brandi says.
    â€œNo, no, it’s okay,” I say, as Tiki goes down on all fours for Harvey, aiming her ass cheeks at the rafters. I head for the stairs, where the music is lower, and pass two other girls watching Tiki do her thing. In my father’s office, on the wall to the right of the door, are about fifty or more signed photographs of various burlesquers and some men too, like Lou Goldstein, the Simon Says King of Grossinger’s. Some are black and white and nearly all are posed shots, the women in frilly feathered garb, their heads back, shoulders exposed.
    The boxes are in the closet, just where we left them. To find Ira in here might be impossible. I lift a pile and thumb through them: Debra with pail on beach, Debra in yellow bathing suit with kitten on the front. My mother asleep, someone at a pumpkin patch, my dad in high school, awoman I don’t know, more Deb on the beach. A woman in silhouette, another woman kneeling, lifting money from a stage—she’s in a headdress and the pieces, the feathers are lit at the tips with a distant blue light. The woman has my mother’s face, the profile too, and it’s in these seconds that it all becomes clear to me. The veins behind my knees start tingling as I lift the picture up to my face.
    It’s her. It is. She’s got a thick, shiny layer of makeup on, cartoonish eyelashes. Her breasts look huge and her legs are way longer than they are. “It’s her,” I say, to no one in the room. “It’s you.” Of course. My first thought is to confront her. To find her and hand the Polaroid to her. I stuff the picture in the front of my pants and turn out of the office. The very moment I put my foot on the staircase, my ankle turns and I’m falling and rolling and trying to stop myself but can’t. Whew, when I finally settle, I have my back up against the wall and I’m not quite at the bottom. My mother was a stripper. Jesus Christ. The two girls from before are there and helping me stand.
    â€œYou okay?” one says as I make my way down to my father. Tiki is sitting on Harvey’s lap. On stage is a black woman in a Cleopatra outfit and the music is “Boogie Shoes.” Ira is whispering into Brandi’s ear and my father has his drink tipped to his mouth.
    â€œI couldn’t find it,” I say, close to his ear.
    â€œNot one of Ira?” he asks.
    â€œI need to borrow your car.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI need to go get my things from home, some clothes and my cameras. I don’t have anything.”
    He nods and puts his hand on my cheek. “I’ll get you some clothes. You should probably stay away from Jersey for a while. Aside from school. I’ll take you to