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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue of cc&d (v225) (the October 2011 Issue, You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:						This is also in this 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback “Up In Smoke” Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book:

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Lost & Found

Amy Dunn Caldwell

    Padded black leather studded with gold pins covered the front door. She went in because of the hour she’d spent driving there, because she’d found a parking space, and because nothing had scared her too badly between the car and the door. There was no reason to turn around.
    A tall wooden podium, sinuous Art Nouveau vines carved down each leg, was planted on the marble tile floor in the foyer. Behind it stood a young girl wearing only a red lace bikini and knee-high boots. Seeing her made Lisbeth hunch deeper into her heavy coat.
    As she paid the $40 cover, Lisbeth could feel the bikini girl trying to add her up. Shoulder length straight hair, glossy leather Coach purse, double breasted forest green wool coat, black pumps with a delicate kitten heel; Lisbeth knew she didn’t fit. She squared her shoulders and lifted her head and gave the girl a polite smile, then turned and gave a little hop when she saw a large black man sitting on a stool in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest and with his fists tucked in to make his biceps bulge. She managed to meet his grin with an echo of the smile she’d given the girl as she went through the arched doorway into the club.
    She grabbed the first chair she saw. The room was elegant, the wood tables with inlaid Beidermier-style scrollwork, the chairs and banquets upholstered in dark blue. It smelled like a bar though, the boggy mix of old beer and cigarettes that Lisbeth knew would stay in her hair and clothing.
    The room was dominated by the stage. It formed a cross, with the north end hidden behind dark velvet curtains, the east, south and west ends thrusting out into the tabled and pinned in place by brass poles. There were three women dancing to a generic thumping bass line, one on each pole. The women were dressed solely in thongs and very high heels.

    Ten years before, after high school graduation, Kara had moved to the city to be a dancer while Lisbeth had gone to Stanford. They kept in touch at first, but time and circumstance moved them away from each other. Now Kara was working a pole in a strip club. Lisbeth watched, ignoring her nudity because other Karas were layered over the one in front of her. She saw Kara at the lake in her new black swimsuit, giggling because Teddy Danvers was there, Kara with one leg on the barr, stretching sideways, torn knit leg warmers scrunched down over the laces of her toe shoes, Kara shifting into fourth gear and letting the Mustang run up the highway to a party in the hills. The woman grabbed the pole and bent from the waist, arching her back and leaning out over the cluster of customers who circled her end of the stage, but Lisbeth only saw the other Kara, the one she used to know, her best friend.
    At some cue Lisbeth didn’t see, the three women stopped dancing and moved to the center of the stage, their high heels giving them the rolling strut of catwalk models. Kara was there first, and she grabbed the next dancer, kissing her. The third woman rubbed up against the other two, then all three strode behind the red curtain, holding hands as they went.
    Three other dancers came out to take their places. The customers, almost all men, paid close attention for a moment, then went back to their mix of ogling and arguing and drinking. No one noticed Lisbeth. No waitress came to take her order. The stereo pumped along, playing faceless electronic dance music that had been recorded by uncredited musicians at some anonymous studio. Lisbeth sat alone.
    Lisbeth had lost Kara after high school. Her life at Stanford was overwhelming, then law school in LA had taken her further from home. She’d always missed Kara, though, because Kara laughed. When Lisbeth took her young life too seriously, Kara poked her, grinned, and showed her the fun part.
    In the end Lisbeth married a guy from their rival high school who convinced her they should move back home. She’d hoped to find Kara when they got there, but Kara’s father was dead, her mother wasn’t living in their big old house, and her little brother might have moved to Las Vegas. None of their old friends from school knew what had happened to Kara.

    Without a plan, Lisbeth sat clutching her purse, feeling invisible. A nasty-faced waitress leaned against the bar and Lisbeth wanted to ask her how to get backstage, but she’d run out of nerve. She’d feel too naked walking across the room. While Lisbeth was still assessing her options, Kara came out from behind the curtain.
    Kara waved at one customer and stopped to chat with another. She’d put on a little white tank top that was so tight it was nearly sheer. She stopped at the table of customers closest to where Lisbeth was sitting. The men laughed, one punched the other in the shoulder, the third waved some bills. Kara started to dance.

    Kara finished the dance, rubbed the thinning hair on the customer’s head, and walked towards Lisbeth. The motion of her swinging stride caught Lisbeth’s eye, turning her away from the stage. She watched her friend approach.
    “If that’s what you wear for a night on the town, you must look like a grandmother when you go to work,” Kara said. She dropped into the chair nearest Lisbeth and leaned forward, resting her arms on the table between them. Lisbeth could only see the half-moon curves at the top of her breasts, which helped her focus on Kara’s eyes.
    “Yeah, well, it’s not easy looking this respectable.”
    “I wouldn’t know,” Kara laughed.
    “Clearly.” They both laughed, then paused and looked at each other, uncertain. Lisbeth looked away first.
    “You look good, Lizzie,” Kara said. For a moment her eyes had a hungry look, though it was hard to see because the stark black eyeliner gave her a Cleopatra stare.
    “You look good, too,” Lisbeth responded, mostly because it was the polite thing to say.
    “You’re wearing a ring,” Kara pointed to Lisbeth’s left hand.
    “I got married a couple years ago. I sent you an invitation, to your Mom’s house.” Lisbeth fiddled with her purse, trying not to notice the bruise on Kara’s forearm, the scars and scabs that ran up the inside of her arms.
    “Yeah, I got it late or something.”
    “Oh.”
    “I was, um, pregnant, and not really into going places, you know.”
    “You have a baby? How old? That’s so cool. I’m pregnant, too.” Lisbeth smiled, relieved to find something in common.
    “She’s two. Jazzmyne. She lives with my Mom. That’s why I’ve been working here. It’s close, so I can see her. Some times.”
    “With these hours, it would be hard to manage a kid.”
    “Mom’s more stable than me right now. I’ve always got stuff, you know. Photo shoots and auditions, work every night. It’s good money, though.”
    “Of course. We should have lunch some time, when you’re not too busy.”
    Kara nodded. “Sure. Lunch sometime.”
    “Here’s my card. My cell phone number’s on the back.” Lisbeth handed Kara the crisp white rectangle. Kara took it, glanced back over at the bartender. He waved at her.
    “I need to go,” she said, sliding up out of the chair.
    “Call me, ok, if there’s anything I can do for you, if there’s anything you need.”
    “How ‘bout a $20 so I can get a hit later.” Her voice was bitter.
    “A what?”
    “Nothing. Shit, look, it’s not much, but this is a good gig for me. The crew keeps the crowd in line and the money’s great. I’m just trying to get my shit together so I can get Jazzy back, like, keep my nose clean.”
    “Oh, sure.”
    “Yeah, whatever.” Kara looked tougher than when she first walked over.
    “I might call your Mom. I’d like to go see Jazzmyne.” Lisbeth stood and faced Kara. She hadn’t planned to say it, but in that moment it was the only thing she could say.
    Kara thought for a moment, then nodded. “Mom would love to talk to you, anyway. She’s got an apartment here in Franklin. It’s in the book. I think the phone’s still in Dad’s name, though.” She turned towards the bar. “Thanks for coming in. I’ll call you.” Kara walked off, head high, hips swinging.
    Lisbeth walked out, past the bikini girl, past the clot of men who had gathered on the street outside. She locked herself into her BMW and did her best not to stop until she got to the highway, driving through stop signs when no other cars were around. She was pretty sure Kara wouldn’t call and that made her think about choices. She felt hollow, like maybe she’d missed something, but she wasn’t sure what. Her husband’s Thelonious Monk CD was in the car stereo. The angular jazz cleared away the disco as she swung onto the freeway.

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