T.W. Crone

Last Dance

Sheri entered the Starbucks and ran her red-nailed hand through her platinum blonde hair. As Billie Holliday sang “As Time Goes By” from speakers overhead, her pink heels snagged on the rubber entry mat, and she stumbled forward, catching her designer sunglasses before they fell on the beige floor tiles.

“Have a nice trip?” a familiar voice snarked.  Sheri looked up and found her bestie, Coco, a chocolate-skinned beauty with big hair wearing a tight red jumpsuit, beckoning her to the community table. “Yo, bitch, get over here!”

Removing her troublesome footwear, Sheri walked over and dumped them on the table. She looked up to a heavy-set barista with acne behind the counter. “Excuse me, sir?” She squinted cartoonishly. “Oh, ma’am, could I get a hot, tall white chocolate mocha with whipped cream, please?” she said, blinking her long lashes rapidly. The barista frowned and nodded. Sheri sat at the table across from her bestie, crossing her long, creamy legs to prevent giving anyone a free look up her short black mini-skirt.

“So bitch, how ya doin’?” Coco said once her friend settled.

“Just got another five hundie tip.”

“What? You little slut. You’d better hope they don’t find you’re doing more than private dances.” Coco shot her friend a wry smile and sipped her tall drink that had more in common with a milkshake than coffee.

“Hey, I don’t do anything extra.”

Coco’s eyes squinted with doubt.

“Seriously, I just whisper sweet nothings in their ear and imply something ‘special’ might happen if they put in a large tip and show me on the app.”

Coco finished a long sip as the barista arrived at the table and set down Sheri’s milky drink.

“Thank you, dear.” Sheri handed the server a fifty-dollar bill and then shooed them away. They smirked and headed back to the counter.

“You are so mean to her. That karma gonna get you,” Coco said, wagging a long finger.

Sheri rolled her eyes.

“So kiss and tell bitch,” Coco said, leaning forward. “How do you get the big tips without putting out and without getting complaints.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I also notice you don’t get no repeat business neither.”

Sheri’s smile cooled. “Life after Life” started playing. “I just pick the disgusting, reclusive ones with stalker vibes that no one else will service. They just appreciate me is all. Once they’ve seen my moves, those memories last them the rest of their lives.” She took a long sip from her drink.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Just fucking tell bitch.”

Sheri locked gazes with Coco.

“Welcome to Starbucks!” several baristas chimed as a new patron entered. The two working women didn’t move or blink.

Sheri placed her drink on the table, wiping some of the whiteness from her lips. “I do my research.” Her friend cocked her Q-tipped head like a confused dog. “They have health issues. I make sure my lap dance is their last.” Her phone buzzed. “Well, would you lookie there?” She showed the screen to her friend. “Another creep with a heart condition who doesn’t trust banks and has no friends to care what might have happened before he was found dead.” She put her glasses on, took a final sip from her drink, grabbed her shoes off the table, and strolled to the door.

Sheri glanced back to see Coco’s mouth still silently agape.

“Bye, bitch.”