Free The Garden of Last Days by Andre Dubus III

thought she had to give it to them, lie down on her back and do a spread, then hump the air, her face pointed up at the lights, her eyes closed, probably praying for the DJ to speed up the song. A man in a white cap stood where he could seeeverything. He held a bill out to her like bait for a porpoise to jump for in those shows down in Miami, and now the new girl was smiling at him between her knees, reaching down to open herself up. The man leaned right over her with the bill. April was surprised they were letting him get that close.
    She pushed herself from the wall and moved back into the smoke and darkness of the crowded main floor. More than half the tables were occupied and set with electric candles in a Puma glass. Up above the stage lights, close to the ceiling in the far wall, was the red glow of Louis’s office window, him standing there, a black shadow watching them all make him money.
    Men looked up at her as she passed, but more were watching the act than before. Watching this new girl raise the bar higher for all of them. Something she’d get talked to about by Tina. Or Marianne. If Wendy or Retro knew what this one was up to, they’d threaten her with a beating if she tried it again. Lonnie was coming down the steps from the Amazon Bar, his eyes on the man at the stage still waving his bill over the girl.
    April’s legs felt heavy, her upper body stiff. She shouldn’t’ve stopped at all. Shouldn’t’ve brought Franny. Should’ve taken her chances and taken the loss and called in sick; now she was moving just to move, to move back into Spring, and there, a few tables ahead, was one of Wendy’s regulars smiling up at her. A tall man with big hands and a sweet face. Her nightsmile smiled and she brushed her hair back off her shoulder and sidestepped between two tables. There was still time to do this one and maybe even get him for a double before she had to change for her act. He looked back at the stage and craned his neck to see better. She’d have to work harder to hook him now and, because he was a regular, he knew he wouldn’t get any pink in the VIP.
    “Meese?”
    A finger pressed her arm, then pulled away. A short man stood there, the amber light of the stage on his face. Young, her age probably, with deep eyes, and he was smiling at her, nodding his head. She glanced over at Wendy’s regular but he’d forgotten her and shelooked down at this short foreigner, Greek or Italian, and leaned close. “Want a private?”
    “Yes, yes.” An accent there, the smell of onions and cigarettes on his breath, and he was wearing a knockoff polo shirt and khakis. She led him through the tables to the VIP, walking fast to catch at least the last half of the number. She smiled at whoever looked up, though she hoped to nail this one for a double. The country singer’s voice sang on and on and over it came the crash of something. It was behind April and she knew what it was and didn’t want to take the time to see and maybe distract her customer, slow his momentum in following her, but in the blue light of the entry to the VIP, she turned and saw Lonnie standing with his back to the stage and the new girl, her legs together now, watching Scaggs and Larry T lift a man up off the floor, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open.
    She turned and led this foreign boy past the bar into the smells of cigar smoke and the dried glass rings on the tables of highballs and blender drinks and bottles of beer. She headed straight for an easy chair, Retro on the other side sitting on the cocktail table listening to her regular talk. Most of the other girls already had their tops off, dancing for their one-on-ones, running their hands over their hips, some turning around and bending over to watch the interruption on the main floor.
    At the cocktail table in front of an empty easy chair, April let go of the man’s hand and smiled at him to have a seat, her hips already moving, her fingers on her blouse button.
    “No,