Read Online The Book of Stanley by Todd Babiak - Free Book Online Page A

sweatpants and a thin satin shirt. “Should we get started? Clock’s ticking.”
    â€œWe might as well.”
    The woman unbuttoned her shirt. “You’re a professional hockey player?”
    â€œI am.”
    â€œThe NHL ?”
    â€œThe AHL .”
    â€œYou like it?”
    Kal answered the way he always answered. “It’s what I wanted ever since I was a kid.”
    â€œThat’s terrific.” The woman dropped her shirt on the Persian rug–her stage. “This was my childhood dream too, to dance naked in front of slouching strangers.”
    â€œWe’re damn lucky people.”
    â€œGod should strike us down for our happiness.” The woman pulled her sweatpants down. Underneath, she wore a pair of pink thong panties. “You want me to take these off now or slowly, as part of the show?”
    â€œSlowly.”
    â€œGood choice. High heels on or off?”
    â€œDefinitely off.”
    â€œAnother good choice, and a rare one.” The woman pressed play on a small CD player that was also an alarm clock, and began to sway. It was contemporary R&B : a bass line, a drum machine, and a woman singing about someone’s baby. As the music was not very loud, Kal could hear the dancer breathing. Her exhalations were slightly raspy, due to an apparent cold or lung disorder. Kal could also hear the cartilage in her knees as she placed her hands on the arms of his chair and bent low. Her hair was so black in the dim light that it shone blue.
    â€œYou believe in God?” he said.
    The woman stood up and slipped her thumbs under the waist string of her thong as she moved her hips. “What do you mean?”
    â€œIt isn’t a trick question.”
    â€œI guess I do.”
    â€œWhat do you think of him?”
    The woman turned around, so her bare behind faced Kal. She bent over and looked up at him between her legs. “I think he feels sorry for us. He can see we’re suffering.”
    â€œUs?”
    â€œYou and me, everyone. Us. We’re pathetic, don’t you think?” The woman stood up and gestured with her arms as part of her dance, indicating here and now . “Exhibit A.”
    â€œRight.”
    The woman lowered herself backwards, limbo-like, until her palms hit the rug. Then she extended her pelvis upward. A yoga move, Kal figured. The woman’s hair brushed the floor. “For an extra fifty I’ll let you touch me.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œDo you want to?”
    â€œYou betcha, especially right now. But…”
    â€œBut what, hockey boy?”
    â€œI’m trying to change my life here. Paying to touch strippers doesn’t fit into my new plan.”
    The woman shifted so she was on her hands and knees, a classic. Even in the dim light Kal noticed her shaving rash. Her rash and her scratchy voice, her cavalier use of the phrase strike us down , it was all endearing. She moved with the song for a while, which had given way to a “guest performance” by a rapper. The dancer went flat on her front and shifted, with a small grunt, to her back. She opened her legs, signalling that the performance was nearly over. “So what are you doing at Showgirls?”
    â€œMy friend Gordon figured it would cheer me up.”
    â€œGordon Yang?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHe’s a sweet guy. He understands tuition costs these days. Gordon always pays the fifty bucks.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    The woman closed her legs and the song ended. It was silent in the room but for the distant thump of the sound system and the poppy consonants of the DJ . Kal stood up and extended a hand to help her up, and she took it. “You aren’t supposed to stand.”
    â€œAgain, sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
    â€œWho does?” The woman coughed and extended her hands toward the ceiling for a moment, turned her head from side to side. More yoga.
    They were only a few feet