Page 3 of Praying for Thunder

Moola was especially proud of her dancer’s name because she said money was the only reason she was in the profession, so why lie to the customers? Now the eldest of the female employees, she grazed her fingers over my forehead. When they got close to my cheek, my mouth attacked. As I sucked on her pinky, she sighed. “Or tiny due to starving.”

The cook, Ben, was already removing his apron. “I’ll run to the twenty-four-hour Walmart and grab some formula—”

From Anita’s side, “Wait,” said Stew. He tossed a plastic Walmart bag to the cook.

Ben rumpled through it. “Here’s a bottle and a can of some powder shit.”

Another dancer, Tiny Cherry, retrieved it in a hurry. “My nephew used to drink this crap. It smells bad but shuts them up.”

Moola said, “But he’s not crying—”

Just then, I let go of her finger and wailed for Tiny Cherry to hurry up.

Tiny ran to the bar, warning, “Knuckle-pacifiers only last so long.” Behind the bar, which was almost taller than her, her big hazel eyes peered over the counter. “And they’re like puppies. They shit soon after eating. Any diapers in the bag?”

Looking concerned about a possible unfortunate blowout, Ben held up a diaper. “Only one. And none of them wet-naps things.”

Tiny was already shaking a bottle while walking back to the group. “They’re wipes. And we will need a lot of them.” She handed Candy the bottle, who quickly shoved it into my mouth.

As my crying ceased and gulps echoed, Candy cooed, “You’re eating like a man, Little Guy.”

A stripper, the newcomer to the exotic dancing field at Sexy Myths, held up a hand as if still in school. “Umm, shouldn’t we just call the police?”

Everyone rolled their eyes, and the manager sarcastically said, “Oh sure, this won’t end up in the paper for those churchgoers to have one more reason to try and shut us down.”

Bringing a white cloth wrapped around a mound of ice, Stew shook his head. “Don’t you remember the story we told you about Tiny?”

The newcomer looked to Tiny Cherry and then back to Stew to nod. “That bad guy found her and…” She glanced at a dark corner of the club where the attack happened. “Whatever happened to that guy?”

“It doesn’t matter,” growled Stew.

Moola intervened, speaking to the newcomer. “The asshole who did this,” she pointed to Anita, “bullshit. Him thinking this girl is dead is her best bet for now.”

The newcomer stared at Anita on the table, being cared for by Stew and Harry. Then she finally said, “I’ll get some blankets.”

Moola smirked in approval. “Getting wiser.” She opened her arms to Candy. “Let me hold the Little Guy.” Being sure not to jar the bottle I was feasting on, she held me tight. “Aww, you’re soaking wet.”

I was wrapped in a blue baby blanket. Underneath, I was wearing the only onesie Anita still owned. Everything else? The reason my mother and Anita risked more time, which cost my mother her life?

All stolen.

Was this the worst to come in my life? Unfortunately, no, but I was given a chance… in embraces that most would judge.

⚡⚡⚡

Three years later

Straddling Moola’s lap in the dressing room, my little legs happily swinging, I studied her lips as she instructed, “Moo-la.”

The newcomer stripper was long gone and had been replaced by others who had also come and gone, but a certain core remained.

Excited, I bounced as if riding a lively horse. “Moo-Moo! Moo-Moo!”

“No!” she laughed. “Sexy-as-Hell Aunt Moola ain’t no damn moo-moo cow!”

Happy as any toddler could be, I laughed, falling forward to lean against her chest. “Moo cow!” I had no qualms that Moola was partially naked, in her stage get-up, waiting for her turn to dance. I had been in so many half-naked laps but here’s the thing: All these women were simply trying to survive the dish life had served them. When another appeared, beaten, and with an infant, they just found a new way to survive.

Life Warriors.