Dirty Dancer

He remembered the day he first met her. They lived in a fancy neighborhood that she didn't quite fit in with. His wealthy, golfing dad, and country-club mom had sent him over to tell her to stop dressing like a whore in this neighborhood and to clean up her yard. Her yard. It bothered almost everyone in this neighborhood, mainly because they were all neat freaks. Her yard wasn't even remotely messy. It was a junkyard. It had lots of crap piled up in it, so much that you could barely even see the dead yellow grass. Most of it wasn't even hers, but stuff that the people who'd lived there before had left when they got evicted.

Her status also made their "bones chill", as his mother had put it. She was an eighteen year old teen mom; her baby’s daddy was a twenty-five year old man that she wasn't even married to. She had a job as a late-night stripper at various nightclubs and the neighbors on their early-morning jogs often scorned her as she returned from work, her makeup smeared and her tube top and miniskirt disheveled. The point was that she didn't belong in their high-society neighborhood. And here he was, standing on her front porch on behalf of the neighbors to tell her that. He knocked once. Twice. Suddenly the door flung open and she stood there, in a red tube top, a very short black miniskirt, 5-inch hooker heels, carrying her two-year old son, Andre.

When she saw him standing there, she immediately scowled and shifted Andre to her other hip. As she did, her tube top slipped down, showing off a black lace bra. She glanced down, and then pulled the tube top up, meeting his eyes shamelessly like nothing had happened.
"So whaddaya want? I gotta get to work soon and drop Andre off at his dad's," she frowned at him.

Her tone was annoyed, but her voice was softer and innocent, ironic when you glanced at what she was wearing.

He just couldn't flat out ask this girl to leave the neighborhood. She had every right to be here. It just wasn't right.

He nervously ran his hands through his wavy, sandy blond hair and shoved his hands in the pockets of his True Religion jeans. "Well, umm, I'm here to deliver a message from the neighbors—"

She abruptly cut him off. "Oh, so I'M not one of the neighbors? I live here, yet everybody here is considered a neighbor besides me."

He sighed. "I didn't mean that. What I'm trying to say is that it bothers most of us of how messy your yard is. It puts a bad impression about this community. So we're asking you to please clean it."

She sighed. "Okay, we haven't even been introduced yet and you’re telling me to clean my yard. I'm Estella," she said.

"And I'm Connor," he told her. She smoothed down the short, dark curls on Andre's hair, and he glanced at her. She was his age, but looked much older. She had dark, messy, long black hair that looked sort of like Amy Winehouse's, minus the disheveled beehive. She had light skin and bluish-green eyes. She wore bright red lipstick and lots of eye makeup, dark eyeshadow and heavy eyeliner. She also had a lot of cleavage, and judging from what he saw earlier, she was wearing a very padded push-up bra. She was thin, but not in a sick way. She was probably a size two or four. And maybe about 5'5", not counting the hooker heels. All those things made her look older, but the most was the tired, weary look in her eyes. As if she'd been trying a long time for something she needed but hadn't gotten it yet.

He, on the other hand, had sandy, messy wavy blond hair, a lean body, and was wearing True Religion jeans and an Izod blue button-down shirt left untucked.

"Great, nice to meet you," she mumbled, closing the door. But Connor blocked it, reaching out and jamming his foot in the middle.

"You still haven't told me you'd clean your yard," he sighed.

"Look, Connor," she sneered his name, "I don't have TIME. So come back when you found somebody to help me clean it." She started to close the door again, but he yet again jammed it with his foot.

"I'll help. The weekend," he offered, not knowing where the words came from.

She paused. "Fine. 9:00 Saturday morning. Be there," and then she closed the door. And this time he didn't object. He was too numb, startled by what he'd gotten himself into.

9:00 Saturday Morning

He knocked on the door, dressed in a pair of name-brand jeans and a white-T shirt.

She answered it, without Andre this time, dressed in a pair of skintight jeans and a low-cut tank top. There was no makeup except some eyeliner though. She actually was pretty. Beautiful, even. She sighed. "Where should we start?"

"Well, how about breakfast?" he asked.

She opened the door, ushering him in. The house looked normal, a few toys scattered places, dirty dishes, but mostly clean.

"What do you want? I have toast and cereal," she offered.

"Wow, what a variety," he joked, and glanced up boxes of cereal. Cheerios and Lucky Charms.

He paused. "Ummmm, I'll have Cheerios," he told her. She set out two bowls, milk, and Cheerios. They sat silently through breakfast, the only sound clinking of spoons against the bowls.

"Wanna head out?" she asked him.

"Sure." He placed his bowl in the sink and they headed outside. They made two piles, Stuff to Keep and Stuff to Throw.

"So, how's life?" he asked her.

"Horrible. How about you?"

"Ehh, pretty good. I doubt your life's that bad, though."

"Wanna bet? I've been living in foster care homes until I was thirteen, and getting pregnant with Andre wasn't my idea either," she burst out.

He was surprised, more in the fact that this was the most she'd ever said than the information.
"Wow, that's bad. If you don't mind me asking, then how did you get pregnant?" he asked her.

"I was at my job, late at night. I was walking home when Andre's father, Miguel, stopped me on the street and offered me $1,000 for sex. I did it for the money. When he gave me his number and said to call him if I needed a good time, I went home like nothing had happened. Anyway, weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. I hadn't been having sex with anyone besides Miguel that one time, so I called him and met up. Very fortunately, he's a good guy and he promised to spend time with Andre and support him, whether we stayed together or not. I lived with him and we dated for six months. Me and Miguel don't have a relationship anymore, it never worked out. But we're still sorta friends, I guess. That's where Andre is now, his father's," she finished up and then sighed, glancing at him. "God, I can't believe I just told you that." She shook her head.

“Wow,” was all he could say.

She nodded, rubbing at her eyes. “Everybody thinks I’m nothing but a worthless whore. That’s true, but there’s a reason why I do it. I need the money. I actually care. I can’t get another job and take care of Andre. I have two jobs already. This wasn’t how I thought I’d spend my life. I dreamed that after I got out of foster care, I would become a nurse in a children’s’ hospital. Unfortunately, I’m far from it,” she sighed.

He stopped, putting down the rusty tricycle that he’d just picked up. She was crying, her hands over her face. He hugged Estella, pulling her in close to his chest. They stood there for awhile, in view of the whole neighborhood, Connor hugging Estella to his chest. She glanced up at him, scared for a second, and their eyes met. Before Connor knew what he was doing, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Estella’s, kissing her. He didn’t know how long they stood in her front yard, his hands traveling up her tank top, making out in full view of the neighborhood.
She pulled away from him, taking his hands and pulling them away from her. She gave him a half smile, absentmindedly tucking her hair behind her ears.

“I’m sorry,” he started, but she smiled.

He raised his eyebrows, and wordlessly kissed her again. And again. And again. They didn’t even notice the BMW driving by, slowing down, and the people in it gasping.

Hours later, he left, pleased. They’d finished cleaning up, and done some things on the couch, along with drinking a few beers. He wanted to see her again. And he decided to come by Monday night to surprise her.

Monday Night

He drove over to her house, hoping to pick her up and go down to the boardwalk or something. Instead, he saw her talking on a cellphone, dressed up again. In club wear. A tube top and short-shorts. She got into her car and backed out of the driveway, beginning to drive away.
He lowered his head, feeling stupid. This was her working time! Oh well. He’d follow her to work and surprise her there. Maybe after work they could lay on the beach and kiss some more. He followed her old, junky car down the road, thinking that she wasn’t what she seemed like. On the outside, she was a whore. But once Estella has let him inside her heart to understand her, she was much more. Much, much more. He really liked her.

He pulled into a parking spot and walked into the club a few minutes after her.
He was startled by what he saw. She was stripping, onstage, in front of a bunch of guys with drinks, dancing seductively. She stopped, and grabbed the guy in the front, giving him a long, lingering kiss. He grinned, handing her a stash of dollar bills and telling her, “You’re coming home with me for more of this,” he said, waving a stack of hundred-dollar bills teasingly in front of her. Estella smiled and said, “I’ll be there.” The other guys hooted. Connor’s mouth dropped open.

She finished up and walked off the stage, stopping in her tracks once she saw him. She froze. “What are you doing here?” she gasped.

“Watching you,” he took a swig of the Corona Extra he’d picked up at the bar.

“I’m sorry. But I have to do this. To make money—” she started to say. Just then the song “Dirty Dancer” by Enrique Iglesias came on.

She’s a dirty dirty dancer, dirty dirty dancer, never ever lonely. She’d a dirty dirty dancer, dirty dirty dancer, you’ll never be her only. Never be her only.

The words were like a wake up call to Connor. He’d never be her only. He shook his head, and shouted over the music. “It doesn’t matter. We’re over. I can’t be with someone like this. Someone who has lots of others.”

Estella’s mouth dropped open. “Connor…I really like you, though. I...I love you.”

He just shook his head. “It’s no use. I can’t be with you like this anymore.”

Her face hardened, and then she dropped her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I still haven't figured out how to love. I'm just a dirty dancer," she locked eyes with him, spun on her heel, and then was gone. And he just stared.

He returned home in a daze, and his father stared at him angrily. “Connor, we need to talk to you about something.”

“What?” he asked.

“Your mother and I….drove by the… whore’s house, and we saw you and her outside. Kissing.”

Connor sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re over. I’m not gonna be talking to her anymore. We don’t need to bring this up.” He shook his head. Before, he would have angrily corrected his dad, saying her name was ‘Estella’ and not ‘the whore’. It didn’t matter anymore.

His mother pursed her red lips, tucking her platinum blonde hair behind her ear and adjusting her Ralph Lauren golfing dress. “Alright, sweetie. We just want the best for you. And she’s not it.”

He nodded and walked up the stairs, into his room.

Yeah right. All they wanted was for their family to be perfect, without people gossiping about Connor and Estella. And he was perfectly fine with that.