Fight in Campaign Mode

Author's notes: Reed Poletti is a supporting character here, whose story with Hana can be found in Incompatible. GTA stands for Greater Toronto Area, and DnD for you non-nerds is Dungeons and Dragons. Premiers are the heads of Canadian provinces, and ridings are voting districts. The physical locations mentioned in this story are all real, while names of businesses are all fictional.

Also, jealousy, low self-esteem, and pride are all themes in this story. I like slow-burn romances, historically marginalised points of view, and redemption arcs--as a caveat for those who prefer more conservative-flavoured writing.

"It's a strip club. You're going to pitch that at the morning meeting?" Marlene Knight looked skeptically at her desk partner, Dawn Littlestone. "I know you're young and full of piss and vinegar, but you should aim for a hit instead of a big, sexy idea that could miss and embarrass you in front of the whole newsroom."

"It's not just a strip club," Dawn explained to her mentor, who was about 25 years her senior and had worked at the paper for almost as long. "It's the only club in town--in a town of 2.7 million people, might I add--where the strippers own the place and there's no boss. It's a strip co-op, if you will."

"You're going to have to justify why that's important," Marlene pointed out.

"Why that's important?" Dawn exclaimed, almost in disbelief. "Marlene, I'm 24. I understand your generation has stuck to one or two jobs their entire careers, but my generation is in the middle of quitting shitty jobs--and shitty employers--left, right, and center. They didn't call it The Great Resignation for nothing.

"Workers want the full profits that are generated from their labour," she went on. "They know what their work is worth, and they're not going to tolerate being paid a fraction of the business they create, while some guy in an office gets 80 percent of it because he owns the place. They're also not going to put up with no paid time off, no pension plan, and no work-life balance."

"Okay, fine, you've convinced me, but that doesn't mean you're going to convince the old farts in this office," Marlene conceded. "It's revolutionary but I get the feeling some of these guys prefer their strippers clamouring for tips, not owning the joint."

"Look, if there's one thing I am, it's revolutionary," Dawn winked at her friend. She checked her makeup in her compact to prep for standing up in front of the room. She stood at only 5'3" but she knew her spirit was massive. Her tan skin that covered high cheekbones and a delicate nose, her dark eyes, and her straight black hair were a constant reminder of her roots.

You are a strong, Cree woman, she told herself. You do this not only for the sisters who have been found at the bottom of a creek or undiscovered forever, you do this to assert that women are not to be underestimated.

Dawn knew what the middle-aged white dudes whispered about her. She knew she was a long way from the Indigenous reservation where her parents grew up in southern Saskatchewan, and she knew she was the only person in her family to have ever worked in Toronto.

She had just come back from a visit home where she hung a red dress on a tree in memory of her mother, who was just one of thousands and thousands missing and murdered Indigenous women. Her grandparents were residential school survivors, and she almost lost her father to alcoholism. It had been a long, hard road against all odds for her to end up as a reporter at a daily as big as the Toronto Dispatch.

If they want to keep calling me a diversity hire, let 'em, she mentally psyched herself up, I'm not only going to scoop their asses; I'm going to scoop those guys at the Examiner too.

Minutes later, she was raising her hand and making eye contact with Bob the news editor to call on her, then stood up to explain her pitch.

"The women at Jezebel's Lounge were all workers at other gentlemen's clubs where they fought for the best hours and clients," Dawn told the room, sure as hell her colleagues could hear her heartbeat in her voice.

"When they found the location in Roncesvalles was up for sale, about 10 of them pooled their savings in equal proportions and bought it. Anyone who wants to work there has to buy in as an equal owner and pay a monthly fee for regular upkeep, maintenance and staff. Hiring and firing comes down to a vote. There's a task chart to make sure their division of labour is equal."

"Holy shit, this is what stripping must be like in North Korea," Jerry, a seasoned reporter in his mid-50s, joked. A few titters circulated among the crowd, mainly among Jerry's friends who were about his age.

"If you're likening it to communism, Jerry," Dawn replied calmly, "I can't think of a system in any workplace I know that sounds more fair. There's no one at this place who's just spinning around in their office chair all day--every owner works the floor."

She shifted her weight as she scanned the group of journalists, satisfied at more than a few faces looking back at her and each other with curious nods.

"Fine," her editor said. "Sounds like a good feature, Dawn. Great work. Mike, do you want to take this one?"

Dawn turned slightly and smirked at Marlene, and Marlene immediately knew she owed the younger woman a coffee. She'd been certain their editor would stick to the ol' boys' club rule of giving the meatiest stories to one of their own while minimizing those--usually women and minorities--who'd done the legwork.

"Actually, Bob, that won't work," Dawn stated, fully prepared for what she'd predicted. "All the information I've just told you was from a friend of mine who's an owner-worker for Jezebel's Lounge." A murmur broke out in the room with several raised eyebrows.

"I already asked her if she'd be on board if the Dispatch did a story on them, but she said only if I wrote the story." Mike was visibly displeased and Bob looked torn.

Do not tell me you're going to throw away something timely, sexy, and politically charged because you can't hand it to your buddy, you asshole, Dawn thought, holding her breath while she waited for Bob to call her bluff. Finally, he sighed.

"Then I guess we don't have much choice, do we," he smiled in a way that didn't even reach his cheeks, let alone his eyes. "That's fine, Littlestone, if you have a contact, you're on the story. Give me a draft by 8 p.m. tonight and we'll see if it warrants more space after that."

As planned, Marlene met Dawn in front of the building about 10 minutes later, each woman on her way to start her assignment. But first, there was a matter of that coffee Dawn was owed.

"I gotta hand it to you, kid," Marlene told her as she passed her a takeaway latté cup. "What's your secret?"

"Assume the worst from guys like Jerry, Bob, and Mike. Also, be on your own side as hard as those jack-offs are going to be on each other's side." She grinned at Marlene and made her way across the street to catch a streetcar headed to the Roncesvalles neighbourhood on the west end of Toronto.

Also, she silently told herself, lie out your ass about having a contact, if it means someone you despise might be given what's yours.

***********

"Sorry, honey, we're closed," the striking brunette with blue eyeshadow and blood-red lips told Ellis Vu as she peeked at him from the slightly ajar front door of Jezebel's Lounge. "For you, I sure wish we weren't, though."

"Ah, that's... that's flattering," he said, taking a tiny step back onto the sidewalk. "But I'm not here for, uh, personal reasons," he tried. "My name's Ellis Vu and I'm from the Toronto Examiner to do a profile on your club and its unique business model, Miss, uh--"

"Champagne," she purred, as she opened the door a bit further. Ellis caught his breath at the sparkling black corset she wore that made her breasts practically spill over top. "Tell me... Ellis, was it? Have you ever had a hummer when her mouth was full of champagne? The bubbles make it next-level."

"Easy, Charlie," a voice from inside the club called, before a petite blonde with a messy bun and no makeup pulled the first woman back.

"I'm just practicing, Celia," Ellis's original host defended herself. "If I can turn on Clark Kent here, I know I'm on my game. Besides," she ran her eyes up and down his lean body, "I wouldn't mind finding out what his answer was, anyway."

Ellis wasn't sure whether he should be offended, excited, or nervous. In truth, he was all three, but he reminded himself that profiling the first stripper co-op in Toronto would be a massive scoop for the Examiner if he could get it. Not that he'd really wanted it to begin with.

"Come on, man, you don't want this story?" he'd argued with his colleague, Reed Poletti, earlier that morning. "Isn't this the exact thing a guy like you would want to cover?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Reed looked offended. Then he dropped the look and shrugged. "Okay, I know exactly what that means," he admitted. "Maybe if this was a year ago, sure. But you know I... I met someone."

"And you said it wasn't serious. Please, dude, I traded stories with you to be cool before, but I am not good around beautiful women. Especially not a tonne of them all in one place like that."

"It's not supposed to be serious," Reed finally said after some hesitation, "but that doesn't mean I want to shut down the possibility that it ever could be. I just don't want to take the risk of going to a strip club, even for work, and then having her read about it in tomorrow's paper."

They were at a stalemate, with Ellis inwardly laughing at the irony that two straight guys in their 20s were arguing over which one of them had to spend time with strippers for work.

"And you're a good-looking guy!" Reed added, making Ellis roll his eyes that this was the tactic his friend was now taking. He was about 5'9" and clean-cut with a lean build and jet-black hair, but Ellis could not deny his idea of a fun Saturday night was building his Minecraft world instead of picking up women at a club.

"Besides, didn't your mom want you to settle down?" Reed added.

"Seriously, Poletti, you need to reverse course right now," Ellis ordered. "I'm sure my traditional, Vietnamese mother would love it if I brought home a stripper to be her daughter-in-law." He sighed. "But I'll help you out." Reed grinned, triumphant. "Not because I want to," Ellis continued, "but because my next assignment is for the weekend and I have a DnD tournament all Saturday."

"Bless your nerdy ass, Vu," Reed had told him. Ellis rued this assignment all the way over to Roncesvalles where the club was, practicing in his head how he was going to approach the management. I can't believe I'm wishing there was a fat, bald guy I could talk to for once.

But Celia, the little blonde, seemed unintimidating enough, especially bare-faced and clad in a sweatshirt and jeans.

"Ellis Vu, right?" she nodded at him. "This isn't exactly the entertainment district all the way out by St. Joe's hospital, and we could use all the publicity we can get. But..." Celia wrinkled her nose, "... we're having some plumbing repaired right now and some of the other girls, like Charlie who you just met, are rehearsing their routines."

"Can I come back in an hour or two?" Ellis asked.

"I'm really sorry but the best I can do is tomorrow," she said. "Or maybe even when one of us has a break tonight. If you want to come by to see the show, we open at six." Ellis nodded and thanked her before heading back down the street, wondering whether he could log overtime if he did, in fact, come back that night for the show.

Nah, can't even do that, he shook his head to himself. I have to file at least a few hundred words on this before 5 p.m. today.

"Um, hi, I couldn't help but overhear," a musical voice said in front of him. Ellis looked up to a short but stunningly gorgeous young woman. "I'm Dawn," she smiled, crinkling her black-lined eyes at him. "I work at Jezebel's. I was on my way to rehearse but you seem like you need some help."

Ellis was back to being as flabbergasted as he'd been at the suggestion of getting blown by a stripper with champagne in her mouth. But this was somewhat worse. This girl wasn't just sexy; she was almost regal.

"It's okay if you want to wait until tomorrow to do a proper interview, but if you need at least one source..."

"Yes," Ellis jumped at the opportunity to get this job done without ever having to set foot inside the club. He scrambled to get his digital recorder out and gestured toward a parkette a few metres up the street. About 10 minutes later, he was confident he'd had enough quotes to go back to the office with.

"Thank you so much, Dawn," he smiled at her before heading up the street to catch the next streetcar back to the office.

Nope, thank you, Dawn thought with a little smile. Then, she knocked on Jezebel's door, asked if it was okay to talk to a few of the staff when they were on breaks that evening, and spent the rest of the morning taking pictures around Roncesvalles.

***********

"Vu, in my office, please," the Examiner's news editor ordered Ellis after their morning meeting two days later. Once the door was closed, he was less charitable. "What in the hell did you print yesterday?" he demanded.

"What?" Ellis asked, genuinely confused. "Reed and I switched assignments if that's what you mean, Grant," he offered.

"That's not what I mean," Grant said, picking up the previous day's paper and folding it to his story. "In red are all the inaccuracies. It's a goddamn bloodbath, Vu! What the hell were you thinking handing this in?"

Ellis peered at his story, not understanding what his editor was telling him. How could so many basic facts be wrong when he'd actually spoken to an employee of the club?

"Grant, I have the tape," he said, digging into his shoulder bag for his recorder. He played back the parts of the direct quotations Dawn had given him to prove to his editor he hadn't, in fact, made up the story. Finally, Grant sighed.

"Okay, Vu," he said. "To be honest, I couldn't believe it either when the girls at the club called me yesterday to complain. There's never been a problem with your work before. Maybe this girl, Dawn, just didn't know what she was talking about."

Ellis nodded, thankful he was in the habit of keeping all his interview recordings for at least a month after publication. Grant told him the paper would print a retraction, then told him to head to Cabbagetown to cover an announcement by the local city councillor for the district. All the way over, Ellis kept turning over what had happened in his head.

She had to have been new or something, he pondered. She was definitely hot enough to be a stripper. He barely remembered how he hopped the streetcars to Cabbagetown, as he'd been thinking of Dawn's almond eyes and tan complexion the entire time.

Getting off his tram, he found the spot of the scrum right away and put his headphones on while they waited for the councillor to arrive. Comfortable in his introversion, Ellis turned away from the reporters from other publications to listen to some music and check his equipment in peace. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Excuse me, do you know when--" Ellis spun around to come face to face with the woman he'd been thinking of all morning. They were both frozen until it finally hit Ellis what had happened two days ago.

"You're not a stripper at all!" he boomed, only to have three-quarters of the press corps at the announcement stare at the two of them in amusement. He cursed in his mind and grabbed Dawn's arm, dragging her several meters away.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing to me the other day?" he hissed, eyeing the Dispatch press lanyard that hung around her neck. "You could have cost me my job!"

"Ellis, I'm sorry," Dawn said, her face full of regret.

"No, you're not," Ellis shot back, making a mental note to look up the story she must have written the previous day to see exactly where she'd lied to him. "What did you think you were doing; scooping me?"

"Actually, yes," she said. "I realise I may have gone about it the wrong way bu--"

"The wrong way? The wrong way?" Ellis seethed in disbelief. "This is how you go about it if you want the worst fucking reputation in the tiny pond that is Canadian media. Look, do yourself a favour--is your name even really Dawn?" She gave the tiniest nod.

"Do yourself a favour," he went on. "Getting scooped is not the fucking be-all and end-all. We're all running the same stories every day. Just cover what you're sent to cover instead of thinking you're saving the world by getting your stuff in print before anyone else." He tried to ignore the way she attempted to still her jaw from shaking.

"I'm not going to tell my editor what happened," he went on, noticing the palpable relief on Dawn's face. "Because unlike you, I care that you not lose your job. Just please, never do this to anyone ever again because the next guy won't be so benevolent, I promise."

They stood on opposite sides of the scrum when the press conference started, Ellis throwing glances at Dawn now and then. The funereal expression that never left her face almost made him feel bad for blowing his top. Almost.

For her part, Dawn never looked back at Ellis. You were also a dumbass, he chided himself. You were so eager to get the hell outta there you made the rookie mistake of not getting at least two sources. And you just took her at her word that she worked there instead of checking. He paused, peering at his recorder to see that it was still running.

Agh, that's the lesson for today--not everyone with a stripper body is a stripper.

He thought about saying something to her to try to smooth things over once the announcement was done, but he lost her in the scattering crowd. When he entered the office the following morning, Reed was grinning at him like a madman.

"Look man, I don't want to know about how you got laid last night," Ellis intercepted.

"Good, great," Reed rushed on. "Because you're going to tell me about how you're gonna get laid." He pointed to Ellis's desk with a smirk, where a large arrangement of flowers sat.

"What the hell..." Ellis slowly walked over to his chair, suddenly self-conscious when he noticed his other colleagues also eagerly waiting for him to find out who the bouquet was from. "Show's over, everyone," he announced, picking up the card and shoving it in his pocket.

After the morning meeting was over and it looked like interest in his flowers had waned, Ellis observed the room before slowly taking the card out of his pocket and opening it on his lap.

Ellis, I am truly sorry for misleading you. I didn't think it through when I saw you at the club, and I didn't realise how harmful and lacking in integrity my actions were. If you can forgive me, please let me take you out to dinner to apologise in person. Dawn.

"I underestimated your level of game, my friend," Reed said as Ellis quickly shoved the note back in his pocket. "I've never had a girl send me flowers before."

"They're not from a girl," Ellis retorted, not sure where this lie was going even as he spoke it. Reed looked at him quizzically.

"They're from... a guy? Bro, that's an even bigger compliment," he said. Ellis sighed and looked at the ceiling before deciding he was too tired to go through the rigamarole of constructing a story.

"Okay, they're from a girl," he admitted, ignoring Reed's grin. "She made a mistake, I called her out, and I guess this is her way of apologising."