Part Three

"So. What were you doing there?"

"Dancing. Obviously."

"Don't give me that shit. What were you thinking? A strip club is no place for you."

"Why? Because I don't have huge tits and an hourglass figure? I'm sorry, I didn't know there was a minimum bust size posted on the front door."

The young women, one blonde and busty, the other brunette and sporty, had drawn the attention of the few customers in the little coffee shop they had chosen as neutral ground. Of course, that attention had been drawn before they started shouting at one another. Between the plunging neckline of Stacy's dress and Heather's choice to wear a bikini top with jeans there was a lot to draw the eye.

"That's not- It's not a good place for you. It's not a good life."

"I wasn't there for life, I was there for amateur night. It was just a bit of fun."

"Fun? Taking your clothes off for strangers is fun?"

"Uhh, yeah? It's a lot of fun. If you don't have fun doing it then why are you a stripper?"

"The mo- Exotic dancer. Not stripper. And I don't have to explain myself to you."

"But I have to explain myself to you?"

"Yes."

A silence fell over the round little table that separated the estranged sisters. That a year had passed since they last saw or heard from one another wasn't apparent; neither had visibly changed in that time and their argument was going the same way countless others had before. It would end the same way as the others too if not for the recent changes made to Heather's mind. The compulsion for honesty did not extend to Stacy, but living with it had still made the eighteen year old a more straightforward and honest person in general.

"Fine. I was there because of you."

"Me? So this is my fault?"

"Yes! You and that bitch Amber. All my life I've been ignored. Every time I tried to dress myself up or look pretty one of you would walk past with your blonde hair and your blue eyes and your big tits and suddenly I'd be invisible. At least when I'm exposing myself to strangers I'm being seen as a woman."

"Well, having all the attention hasn't always been great."

"Because life is so hard when everything is just handed to you."

"I didn't get everything handed to me."

"Oh, so that's the problem. You didn't have enough?"

"It. Was. ****. On. Me."

Each word came through clenched teeth with its own hateful emphasis.

"I hate mom. I always have. And the attention she showered me with was unwanted. You had a freedom I never did."

"So you're jealous of me now?"

"Yes! Yes I'm fucking jealous! I was jealous when you got to have a social life mom never interfered with. I was jealous when you could just do what you wanted to do and go where you wanted to go. I was jealous that dad gave you all his attention and left me in that bitches care all the time."

"You wanted, dad?"

The minor shift in topic was enough to cool the blonde off.

"Yeah. You were pretty young so you probably don't remember, but you were an absolute daddy's girl. And I wanted, so much, to be his favorite. But it was always you with dad and me with mom. I don't know, maybe he knew…"

"Knew?"

"Heather. Dad… Dean. He's not my dad. You and I are half sisters and I think that's why he never really gave me much attention. I'm pretty sure he knew I wasn't his."

"He didn't know…"

"How could you kn-" The blonde stopped to consider what her little sister had said and how sure she had said it. "You've been talking to him, haven't you?"

Heather knew it wasn't time to reveal the full extent of her relationship with her father. All she could say was, "Yes."

"You know he abandoned us, right?"

"He didn't abandon us. Amber was lying-"

"Of course she was lying! She always lied! I told everyone I could that she was lying and that dad never hit us. Never abused us. But no one would listen."

"So that's not aban-"

"He could have kept fighting!" The anger, the fury, it had returned to the blonde bombshell. "He could have proved her wrong! He could have somehow gotten the truth out! But he didn't. He gave up and left."

"There was no winning. He had ****."

"You don't know that."

"I do, actually. I've, umm, done some research on their divorce..." An adequate cover for divinely granted knowledge. "...and he didn't stand a chance. Amber was fucking the judge on the down low, the whole court case was fixed. Nothing you or dad could have said or done would have changed anything."

"I- but he…"

Heather could feel it. Heartache and sorrow had built up a wall of bitter hatred within Stacy. But that wall was cracking.

"He never stopped loving us. Never stopped thinking about us. Within a month of my eighteenth birthday he was on our front step demanding to see me. And he wants to see you too."

The wall trembled.

"But, I'm not really his-"

"Doesn't matter. He loves you and wants to reconnect with you."

Bricks made of lies and doubts began to tumble within the blondes heart. Her eyes watered.

"This… This, um- we were supposed to be talking about you at the club…"

"Why were you all over that guy on perv row?"

The sudden shift in focus took Stacy off guard.

"Wait, Hank? What does-"

"He was old enough to be our father. Was that why?"

"No. He's just-"

"Because I get it; being attracted to older men. I have a lot of the same daddy issues you do."

"It's not daddy iss-"

"You fuck a lot of older guys?"

"No!" Stacy slammed her palms onto the table and stood. "I'm not a whore! I don't fuck for cash."

"I didn't ask if you fucked for cash, I asked if you fuck a lot of older guys."

Heathers divine ability to know her sisters general well-being wasn't mind reading, it was more like empathy, but it went a long way towards helping manipulate the buxom stripper. Still, if not for her mission Heather may not have kept her cool.

"Not- not a lot. No."

"You ever fuck Hank?"

"No. He's… we've groped each other. Shared some drinks. But no."

"Want to?"

The line of questioning was so unexpected, so bizarre, that Stacy struggled to maintain her anger. She returned to her seat with a huff.

"I mean, yeah. Hanks nice. Generous. Handsome. And yes, I know he's old enough to be our dad…"

"That's not an answer."

"Yes. Fine, yes. I want to fuck Hank. So?"

"What if I told you Hank wasn't his real name."

"No shit. Of course it isn't his-"

"What if I told you his real name was Dean Cassidy?"

Stacy froze, her blue eyes wide and searching.

"Stop fucking around."

"Would you still want to fuck him?"

Though she wouldn't admit it even in the privacy of her own mind the blonde knew her answer to the question. And that her sister was so direct in asking implied the question was more than just a hypothetical. There were other implications, too. Hank being on perv row. Heather being on stage. She knew what those details implied, but despite her best efforts she couldn't speak a word about it.