Coldhearted Boss

by Grey, R. S.

I lean forward and ensure my words are enunciated. I want her to understand me and take my words to heart. “It’s not too early. I want to ensure that McKenna stays on track all four years. I want to ensure that she’s in the right extracurriculars and keeping her grades up. I want to make sure she’s taking as many advanced courses as she wants to take. When it’s time for her to take the SAT, I want you to look into free classes or guides she can use to boost her score. I’ll do my part too, but—”

  She waves her hand to cut me off. “I understand what you’re saying, and while I will happily help your sister in any way I can, I don’t think you have to worry. Just last week, she was in my office, pestering me about taking dual credit courses in her sophomore year so she can earn college credit early. Your sister seems to be far more focused on her schoolwork than you were at her age.”

  I try not to let her words dig at me. Even still, they hurt.

  “And what about you? What are you doing now?” she says, peering down at the sweatshirt I’m using to hide my maid’s uniform. I have to go straight to work from here, and unless Jeremy can extend his lunch break at the lumber mill, it looks like I’ll be walking there. “You’ve been out of high school for a while now.”

  I’m too embarrassed to answer, so I don’t.

  She still gets the message loud and clear. “There are still options for you.” She turns and grabs a pamphlet for a community college she keeps on a small stand behind her desk. The campus is a few hours away. I know because I’ve looked into it before, years ago.

  She unfolds the flaps and I’m confronted by the smiling faces of co-eds throwing frisbees and performing experiments in lab coats. It looks like a Gap ad and I’m not sure where the girl from the trailer park fits in. Oh, there I am—the custodian in the background taking out the trash.

  “They have online classes,” she says, sounding hopeful.

  I don’t have a computer.

  “And flexible course schedules in case the weekends work better for you.”

  It doesn’t really matter what days I’d have class because I still don’t have a car.

  Even so, I don’t want to be rude by rebuffing her kind suggestions, so I accept the pamphlet and stand, thanking her for her time and insisting she notify me if McKenna’s grades start to slip or she seems to be losing track of her studies.

  Then I walk out into the hall with that pamphlet burning a hole in my palm.

  What business do I have thinking about college? I don’t even know what I would want to be, if I could be something other than what I am in this moment.

  Just the idea of hope hurts.

  No. I put away that dream a long time ago.

  College isn’t in the cards for me. All I can do is focus on McKenna and make sure, out of the two of us, she’s the one to make it out of this town for good.

  * * *

  A week later, I’m sitting at the kitchen table in our trailer, counting my tips from my shift at the motel. I lucked out earlier. One of the women I work with clocked out at the same time I did and offered to give me a ride home. I had to pay her for the gas, but it was worth it considering I’ve had to walk home a few times now and my tennis shoes aren’t holding up all that well.

  “How’d you do today?” McKenna asks, dropping a small plate of spaghetti beside my pile of tips, and by tips, I mean garbage—literally. I think most people just reach into their pockets and leave behind anything they happen to grab. Surely the maid who’s had her face level with the shitter all week wants my lint-covered candy wrapper!

  Other than that, there’s a few dollars, some change, and one very pleasant note scrawled on the back of a receipt:

  Hey, saw you cleaning. Your hot. Call me if you want to grab a beer.

  - Mike from #113

  Mike from room 113 doesn’t know the proper usage of you’re, but I’d be okay with that if he hadn’t also left his room a complete wreck. Leftover pepperoni pizza under the pillows, Mike? Why? How?

  “Do we have enough to get the car out of the shop now?” McKenna asks, sounding hopeful. I can’t bear to look up at her. She’s all the things I didn’t get the chance to be: innocent, doe-eyed, sweet. I want to hold her against my bosom and keep her there forever. I want to squeeze her soft cheeks and tell her the world is a beautiful and happy place. I do not want to tell her that with the $14.50 in tips I got today, we’re not even remotely close to getting our car back. In fact, this money won’t even be going into the car fund. We need it for groceries.

  I force a smile and nod. “We’re getting there. Have you finished your homework?”

  She rolls her eyes halfheartedly and sits back down at the table across from me. Her biology textbook is open and she continues her reading assignment while she eats her dinner. Seeing her there, looking so much like I did at her age, makes it hard to get a full breath. It’s like seeing what could have been in another life.

  A pounding on the trailer’s door jolts me out of my thoughts and I turn, frowning, wondering who could be coming by here at this time of night. My mom’s still working her shift at the grocery store and not due back for another hour at least. My brain immediately thinks of Lonny, but then I quickly cast that thought aside. He’s moved on. He has no reason to come snooping around here.

  Still, I tell McKenna to stay put and then I peer tentatively through the faded curtains over our couch. I heave a sigh of relief when I spot Jeremy’s truck parked in the grass beyond our front door.

  “You could have called first,” I joke as I tug the door open.

  He holds up his phone, an annoyed expression across his face. In his other hand, he holds a plastic grocery bag knotted at the top. “I have—three times.”

  I blush. Cell reception isn’t the best out here. “Sorry. What’s up?”

  His eyes immediately home in on my plate of spaghetti on the table as he pushes through the door, dropping his bag and kicking off his dirty work boots. “I’m starving. You have any more?”

  McKenna holds up her bowl. “You can have mine.”

  Jeremy and I both say “No” at the same time then I head over to our small kitchenette to grab a spare bowl so I can split my portion with him. This is unusual. He doesn’t show up at our trailer out of the blue much these days, especially now that he’s dating Khloe. If he’s not at work, he’s usually with her. A year into their relationship, they still have stars in their eyes. I’m happy for him, but I refuse to say so because then he’ll start rambling on about her for an hour and I’m tired and I need a shower and I don’t have all night to hear about how he’s saving up money to buy an engagement ring.

  I let him eat a few bites of spaghetti before I question him again. “So…to what do we owe this pleasure?”

  He finishes chewing, wipes his mouth, and then levels me with a toothy grin. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.

  “I have a solution for our money problems, cuz.”

  Uh huh. Not likely.

  “Jeremy, please tell me Nick didn’t convince you to start dealing.” I immediately point a finger toward McKenna. “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

  She makes a motion like she’s zipping her lips then pretends to go back to reading.

  “Not even close,” Jeremy says before he proceeds to eat three more bites of spaghetti, leaving me sitting there, impatiently waiting for him to continue.

  Eventually, I yank the bowl out from in front of him and hold it far enough away that he’s forced to look up at me.

  “Tell me.”

  He chews slowly, swallows slowly, sits back slowly. I’m going to kill him.

  “You remember when some big-time developer snatched up the old summer camp out that way, heading toward Louisiana?”

  I nod. “Yeah. We all thought they were going to do something with it, but nothing’s happened.”

  He leans forward, his green eyes aglow. “Well they are doing something with it. Apparently, they’re going to turn it into some fancy resort. Massive hotel, golf course, pool
s—the works.”

  My heart drops. This isn’t the first time this town has gotten its hopes up like this. A few years back, Walmart was planning on building a distribution center out here. It never happened. Then a few oil companies wanted to set up some speculative drill sites. They promised Oak Dale and its residents would have so much money pouring in, we wouldn’t know what to do with it. That was right before the boom happened over in West Texas. I’ve learned my lesson.

  “And when is this ‘fancy’ resort supposed to get built? Next year? Year after?”

  He shakes his head, his toothy grin staying in place. “Tomorrow, Lockwood Construction is having a recruitment day over in the grocery store parking lot. Line’s supposed to be long so I’ll be getting there around 8 AM.”

  I’m struck silent.

  He leans forward, yanking his bowl of spaghetti out of my hand. “They’re paying $25 an hour, more if you can prove you’ve been around a construction site before.”

  $25 an hour?! I can’t even imagine. To me, that’s movie star money. That’s tossing dollars in the air at a nightclub money.

  “Why are they hiring people out here?”

  He gives me an isn’t-it-obvious glare. “Think about it: it’s cheaper than carting in a boatload of guys from across the state. The subs will be their guys, of course, but they still need a crew—unskilled labor for the grunt work.”

  I’m so jealous I can hardly breathe. Jeremy will be hired in an instant. He’s young and in shape from his work at the mill. He’s worked construction in the past and has a clean record. Getting paid $25 an hour, he’ll have Khloe’s ring in no time.

  “I’m happy for you,” I say, impressed that I’m able to sound remotely sincere. Inside, I’m a bitter Betty. I rise from the table and take my untouched plate of spaghetti over to the counter to store it for later. I’ve lost my appetite.

  “I want you to come with me and apply,” Jeremy says suddenly.

  I laugh and glance at him over my shoulder. “You think they need maids on the construction site? Cleaning out porta-potties—now there’s every girl’s dream job.”

  “I talked to my buddy and he said they’re desperate. They’ll take any and all help they can get. If you’re an able-bodied guy, you’ll get hired.”

  I smirk. “I know you prefer not to notice seeing as we’re family and all, but I’m afraid I don’t fit that ‘guy’ requirement. I’ve had boobs since middle school.”

  He screws his face up like it grosses him out to acknowledge my female body then he rises to his feet so he can retrieve the grocery bag he left by the door.

  “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?”

  He unties the knot and dumps out the contents onto the floor. There’s a faded blue baseball hat, two old flannel work shirts, a pair of jeans, and tan work boots that have seen better days. In fact, I’m not sure they’ve got any days left in them.

  “The shirts are mine. The boots and jeans I bought off a friend at work. He’s a lot smaller than me, so they should fit you okay.”

  He can’t be serious.

  I hold up one of the boots and tug at the rubber heel, which is no longer fully connected to the rest of the shoe. “I hope you didn’t pay much.”

  He grunts in annoyance and yanks it out of my hand.

  “Jeremy, it’s not the shoes or the clothes. It’s the idea. You think if I dress up like a guy they’ll be willing to hire me? Just like that?”

  He glances at me, narrows one eye, and tilts his head as if imagining the possibility. “Well, you’ll have to tuck your hair up under the hat, and maybe add a fake mustache.”

  McKenna cracks up at that. I shoot her a glare over my shoulder and she whips her attention right back to her textbook. She’s not supposed to be listening to any of this absurd plan.

  “It won’t work,” I say definitively.

  His shoulders sag in defeat. “So you don’t even want to try?”

  “Pfft.” I reach down for the jeans and hold them up against my waist. I’ll have to tighten them with a rope or something, but they should stay up. “I didn’t say that—of course I’ll try. Just don’t be shocked when they send me packing.”

  Chapter 5

  Taylor

  The decision to dress like a guy was impulsive and half-baked. I passed on the fake mustache and any other over-the-top disguise, but I still look completely ridiculous, like I’ve stolen my big brother’s clothes for a Halloween costume. My jeans are rolled up twice at the ankles and cinched at the waist with a thin piece of rope. On top, I layered one of Jeremy’s flannel shirts over a plain white t-shirt. Even with the sleeves pushed up to my elbows, it shrouds my body like a blanket. There was no other option, though; with it tucked in, it revealed too much of my figure. Even though it looks rather absurd, it has to stay untucked and baggy.

  McKenna helped me spin my hair into a bun and pin it down underneath the baseball hat. Last night, as we discussed the plan, Jeremy grabbed a pair of scissors from our junk drawer and suggested I just chop it off. McKenna and I both screamed at him to put the scissors down. Needless to say, my long hair is staying put underneath the hat.

  Fortunately, the only-slightly-too-big work boots have held up as we’ve stood in line, shuffling forward slowly over the last hour. Jeremy was right to get here early, but other guys still beat us to the punch. There has to be a hundred of them, all ready to sign their life away for the hope of earning triple what most jobs around here pay an hour.

  A lot of the men are from surrounding towns and counties, guys who were willing to drive quite a distance to be here today. I’m glad for their presence, though, because they don’t know me, which means they’re less likely to see past my disguise. Unfortunately, there are still quite a few guys I do know, some I went to high school with. One, I used to date.

  I really don’t stand a chance with Max. He works with Jeremy at the lumber mill so when he sees us waiting in line, he comes over to say hi right away. I try to keep my head down, seemingly very interested in the parking lot—Huh, is that concrete? Cool stuff—but that doesn’t help.

  “Taylor?” Max asks, leaning down to peer under the brim of my hat.

  I act deeply shocked to see him there. “Max?! No way. What are you doing here?”

  His brows furrow in confusion.

  Max was the “it” guy at my high school. Universally attractive with his boy band haircut and winning smile, no girl was immune to his charms. He also happened to be slightly more well-off than the rest of us thanks to his mom’s job as the middle school’s principal. He was the one with the cool new shoes at the start of every school year while all the rest of us were rocking hand-me-downs that had someone else’s feet imprinted on the soles. He and I only dated for a few months our sophomore year, but I’ve always had the impression that Max would change that if I gave him the chance.

  His confusion gives way to intrigue. His dimples pop.

  “I’m applying for a job. What are you doing here?”

  Jeremy grunts loudly. Max looks toward him, and I barely notice my cousin shake his head in warning. The guys around us in line are starting to take notice. I don’t blame them. It’s been pretty boring so far, and I’d be curious about the man-child drowning in adult clothing too.

  “Taylor and I are both applying,” Jeremy says simply as we all shuffle up one place in line.

  A few of the guys behind us observe Max and the fact that he’s lingering. “Hey bud,” one of them says gruffly, “we’ve all been waiting here for an hour. If you want to get in line, get in the back.”

  Max holds up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right, I’m going.” Then he aims one last smirk my way and adds a wink. “I’ll catch you guys in a little bit.”

  Jeremy and I exchange a glance but otherwise keep silent. It’s obvious we’re both having second thoughts about going through with this. It’s going to be so embarrassing when we get to the front of the line and the recruitment team calls me out in front of everyon
e.

  She’s a woman! Get her!

  I’ve spent my time carefully assessing the situation so I can limit my chances of failure. Ahead of us, there’s a large white portable construction trailer, which Lockwood Construction staff has been filtering in and out of all day. In front of the trailer, there are three tables, each manned by a recruiter. When an applicant reaches the front of the line, he (or in my case, she) steps up to an available table, hands over his completed paperwork with his ID, answers a few questions, and if all goes well, he’s then given a small sterile cup for a urine sample. Ah yes, drug testing. I’m actually glad they’re doing it because a handful of guys awkwardly shuffled away and headed home once they realized that was the case, which shortened our wait time by a little bit.

  To the left of the tables, there’s one of those fancy porta-potties—the kind with a mirror and sink inside. A man in scrubs stands at the door, allowing one person in at a time and subsequently collecting their urine samples after they’re finished.

  That’s all I’ve got to get through. There’s nothing that should call undue attention to me. They’re not forcing us to perform daring feats of strength or prove our skill with a hammer. You there! Flip over that human-sized tire with one hand!

  Nothing will call attention to my gender unless a great gust of wind whips my hat off and my hair goes tumbling down my back.

  Just the thought makes me pull the brim down so it sits a little more snuggly on my head. Any lower and I’ll be blind.

  The line moves forward and dread fills my stomach. It feels like I’m doing something wrong, but nowhere on the application does it specify that women aren’t allowed to apply for jobs today. It’s just heavily implied. When’s the last time you pulled up to a construction site and saw a bunch of ladies rockin’ hard hats? Oh right, never.

  To be clear, I’m not pretending to be a man. I’m just trying to blend in like a chameleon. Yup, don’t mind me, just your average red-blooded American construction worker with a heart-shaped face, button nose, and pouty mouth.