by Traci Finlay
“Mother of Christ, Nikka!” Jack’s eyes are panning the room in a crazed frenzy, from the food on the floor, to the blood smears, to me, huddled in the corner with ice on my eye and leg. “It’s one thing if you don’t have any respect for yourself, but can you at least have some respect for your friend?”
I’m about to come to Nikka’s defense when she breaks down crying again. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. He’s right. I had no business bringing clients into my house when you’re staying here.”
Jack smirks at the word client, and mutters, “They’re sick perverts. Bastards.”
Before I can respond, Jack pipes up. “Charlotte, go. You don’t need to be in the middle of this mess. Go lie down. And if you want to call in sick for your shift tonight, I understand.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m okay. I can help clean up.”
“Charlotte,” Nikka warns.
“No, you’re not,” he says firmly. “Go to your room.”
I look at him, shocked, because I’m pretty sure he just sent me to my room like a child. No, that can’t be right…
He looks just as shocked as I do, and I think he realized what he said because his shoulders drop and his voice softens. “You didn’t ask for any of this. Nikka brought all this on herself, and now you’re hurt because of it. Please, leave this mess to us. Please? Just go rest, okay?”
I don’t answer, and Nikka grabs my hand and leads me out of the kitchen. “He doesn’t mean it that way,” she whispers once we’re out of earshot. “He’s mad at me. Not you. He just doesn’t know how to talk to people.” She looks at me sadly and walks out of the room, shutting the door. I realize I’m sitting on my bed, and I’ll be damned if Jack succeeded in sending me to my room.
To maintain a little dignity, I decide to take a shower. I still don’t know what the hell just happened, but I’ve no desire to figure it out now, because it doesn’t matter. It’s not Spencer I’m scared of; his little altercation just reminds me that Ian will eventually show up and spill my blood all over Phineas the fun-chair. And Gerald the futon. And Craig and Brewster and Miguel and Jared and Boris…
And Nikka and her little knife trick won’t work on Ian. I let cold water hit the burns on my shin and realize I really need to leave soon, so it’s pointless fighting with Jack or befriending Nikka. All this will be gone because Ian will find me.
I end up taking a nap because I don’t want to face Nikka. I don’t want to talk about any of that, and I end up going into work, despite Jack’s excusing me for the night. I hold a strong façade throughout my shift, even though I want to burst out crying every time the hostess seats another one of my tables. By the time I’m closing up, I’m too exhausted to cry. I just want to sleep.
I made sixty dollars in tips tonight, my grand total coming to a hundred and forty bucks. I owe Nikka fifty that I’ll leave on Brewster when I sneak out in a few days, leaving me ninety dollars, plus my pitiful paychecks and whatever I make the next few nights.
“Charlotte?” Jack scares the living piss out of me again; this time I drop the economy-size box of salt, covering the floor with salt mountains.
I heave a sigh as Jack chuckles at my expense. “Glad this is fun for you,” I snap as I reach for the broom.
He snatches the dustpan from me, kneeling down as I sweep up the mess, and I’m surprised at his attempt to assist me. He’s never lifted a finger when I manually sterilize the restaurant by myself every night.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, looking up at me from the floor.
“I’m good.”
He stands and surveys my cheek, gently running his fingertips along the bruise. My breath catches; the way he’s looking at me—without the hatred—changes his face altogether. The way he assesses the mark on my cheek like he’s concerned, his fingers on my skin. He’s never even come close to touching me before, and now his hands are on my face, and I don’t know what to do.
I finally pull away because I can’t breathe, and I know it comes off rudely but I can’t help it. I grab the dustpan from him and head for the wastebasket.
“I’m really sorry about Nikka. She’s such an ass sometimes. You can take the rest of the night off, if you want.”
I return to the tables to finish wiping them down. “Who’s gonna finish cleaning?”
“I’ll do it for you,” he answers, like he’s doing me some sort of favor.
I smirk. “You? Whatever will your calculator do if you’re not playing on it?”
He steps closer to me, and suddenly the six inches he has on me seems like six feet, and I really regret saying that. “Charlotte, you don’t have to like me, but I am your boss.”
I swallow hard and turn my back to him to finish cleaning the table. “I can’t take the night off, I need the money,” I say meekly. How dare he put his hands on my face and then bust out the authority card in the same breath? This guy is all kinds of screwed up.
His phone dings and I exhale, thankful for the distraction. He pecks at it for a while before clearing his throat. “I just got this email. Who is Frank Waters?”
I twirl a one-eighty and gawk at him, feeling like I’ve been caught having an affair. “He, um, he’s someone that I … I interviewed with today. It’s like a café down the street. He asked for references. I … I didn’t know he would contact you.”
He blinks at me. “Are you planning on quitting?”
I want to knock that tattletale of a phone out of his hand. “Well, I’m kind of looking for a second job … and just seeing what other options I have,” I finish boldly. Even if it’s just a half-lie, I dream of quitting every night. But I have a feeling that dream will be short-lived because he’s about to fire me on the spot.
He eyes me for a moment before marching to a nearby table and pulling out a chair. “Sit down. We need to talk.” Then he moves to the other side of the table and takes a seat.
Tears spill onto my cheeks as I sit, because he’s going to fire me. As if being burned, hit, and sent to my room wasn’t enough today. As if escaping my murderous brother wasn’t cutting it. I have no humility left. I just do my ugly cry in front of him because I don’t care anymore.
He places his hands on the table. “Charlotte, you need to talk about what happened today. I mean, look at you. You’re a mess over something that wasn’t your fault.”
“What?” I hiccup. “I thought you were firing me.”
He exhales a puff of air, and I think it might’ve been a type of laugh because the corner of his mouth stretches a bit. “I’m not going to fire you. Wow. That’d be a real dick move after what you’ve been through today. I’m seriously sorry about Nikka. This is all her fault.”
“No, it’s not. Nikka saved my life. That guy was mad at me. He already had a beef with me that had nothing to do with her. It was my fault, and I’m sorry.”
Jack sits back. “Oh, yeah? What was his beef with you?”
I turn my eyes down to the table and poke at a grain of salt. “I wouldn’t give him a blowjob,” I say softly.
“Do you hear yourself? So none of this would’ve happened if you would’ve just sucked this guy off? You’re apologizing for not giving this fucker a blowjob, and I thought you had more self-respect than that.”
I’m crying harder now for the sheer fact that Jack is disappointed in me, and what have I become? He’s right. But I can’t fathom blaming Nikka for anything. Not after all she’s done for me. “Listen,” I say when I finally get control of my tears. “This was an unfortunate event. You’re right, I shouldn’t blame myself. But Nikka’s done so much for me, and this is Spencer’s fault.”
Jack drops his forehead into his hands. “My sister is a prostitute.” He looks up at me like he’s awaiting my reaction. Suddenly he slams his fists on the table. “Do you know how that makes me feel?”
I swallow.
“Do you have a brother, Charlotte?”
Oh, god. “Yes.”
“What would your brother do if you were a prostitute? Whor
ing yourself out to men night after night? If he had to hear about your … your sexual fetishes from all the guys that’ve fucked you every way ‘til Sunday, over and over?”
“He would kill me,” I whisper. It’s the goddamned truth.
“Now you know how I feel when my sister does this shit.” Jack’s arms are splayed on the table, his head dropped, and he’s staring at his thumbs.
I don’t know what makes me do it, but I reach out and place my hand on his. He looks at our conjoined hands and exhales, his thumb rubbing across my fingers before he retracts both hands into his lap.
My hand is abandoned on the table, and I leave it there for a moment before pulling it into my own lap. Finally, he looks up at me. “Thank you for helping her.”
“I—Huh?”
“For being a good influence on her. You don’t bend when she tries to talk you into doing these things with her. She feels so bad about what happened today, she won’t be having these douchebags coming into her house now. Not with you there. And … thank you. She needs a friend like you.”
I shake my head as tears well in my eyes again. “Don’t, Jack. I can’t. I can’t stay here.”
“Why? Don’t worry about Spencer. He’ll never come near you again. Nothing bad is going to happen to you here, Charlotte. I promise.”
“It’s not Spencer, it’s someone else. I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I—I need to leave soon. Please don’t tell Nikka. I’ll tell her when I’m ready.” I let the tears fall again, because what the hell—I’ve cried more in front of Jack than I haven’t in front of Jack.
He sits back and bounces his leg. “Look, I’ve been trying to get Nikka to get her life together, and she doesn’t listen to me. She’s so smart and talented, she could go to college and do something great with her life. But she won’t listen. I’m scared for her. She’s gonna end up in huge trouble, and I don’t want that for my little sister.”
I can’t imagine Nikka—sweet, adorable Nikka—locked up in jail. Jack? I can see him in jail. Although I’ve seen the Red Pixie, and I’ve seen her stab a man.
“I’m sorry, Jack. You don’t understand. I have no choice. Nikka and I will never be friends because you guys will never see me again. It’s … it’s that bad. I have to go.” I stand to leave, but Jack grabs my arm and sits me back down.
“Please consider staying, Charlotte. I will help you with whatever it is you feel you need to run from. But please stay for Nikka. What if something happens to her? What if…”
Then I see that Jack’s fear runs deeper than Nikka ending up in prison. She could wind up dead.
I sigh. “I think you’re really mean. And maybe I don’t want your help. You treated me like crap because you thought I was a prostitute. No wonder Nikka has no self-esteem. You verbally beat it out of her.”
“Hold on, I can explain. It’s not an excuse, but please hear me out. Nikka’s a whore, right?”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh, my god! Is there a politically correct term for a hooker? Fine, she’s ethically challenged! Morally depraved! Whatever! Regardless, she’s a whore, and so are her friends. Where does that leave me, Charlotte?”
I start giggling. “Surrounded by whores.” And now I’m laughing so hard I’m doubled over.
He gives me a minute to get control, and when I don’t, he speaks anyway. “Okay, I don’t know why that’s funny, but yes. I’m surrounded by women who want to get in my pants. And guess what else? I’m a guy, and sometimes it’s tempting as hell. Now I don’t claim to have social etiquette, and I know I’m not the nicest person in the world, but I do have morals, despite my sister, and—”
I can’t stop laughing. I’m listening, I really am, but holy crap, this is funny.
“Forget it,” he says and stands to leave.
“No! Jack, I’m sorry. I can’t, it’s not … I just haven’t laughed like that in a long time, and it felt good. I’m sorry it was at your expense.” He sits back down, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing again. “And I’m sorry that so many girls want to get in your pants.” And damn it all if I’m laughing again.
He makes an irritated noise and stands again, marching to the door before I can stop him. I lunge after him—I’m getting control now, I promise—and wrap my hands around his waist. He finally stops and turns around, but he looks pissed and I immediately take my hands off him.
“You’re right. I was judging you for being mean when I didn’t even know your whole story. Turns out, I was the judgmental one. I’m sorry. Although you’re right, it doesn’t excuse your hatred toward people, but I understand better now where you’re coming from and why you are … the way that you are.” My eyes are dancing, I know it. Crap! I want to laugh so badly. I bite my lip and gaze up at him, but his eyes are so intense it wipes the smirk right off my face.
“I’m not like her. I have a big problem with sleeping around. She teases me and makes fun of me, but I don’t care. That’s how unwanted pregnancies happen, then there are babies in this world with parents who don’t love them, and they end up on the streets themselves … I want nothing to do with any of that. Meaningless sex is not worth that.”
I remember when I first met Nikka, and she called me a prude and teased me, saying I was like her brother. Now I get it. Apparently neither of us have enough sex. Which may also explain why Jack’s so pissed off all the time. I feel the laughter returning so I just start talking. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll stay for a while. But I need a couple things. And you have to promise not to ask questions.”
“I promise.”
“I need to dye my hair.”
“Done. My sister has a whole cabinet full of hair dye.”
“I need a bodyguard.”
“Hello?” he huffs.
I laugh out loud. “You’re volunteering to be my bodyguard? I don’t know, I might have to interview you first.” I grab his clipboard off the counter. “So … your name’s Jack? And it says here you’re a very large douchebag?”
He cracks up as he tries swiping the clipboard from me, but I’m too quick. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re suited to be a bodyguard.”
He snatches my wrist and drags me close, his arm span reaching well past mine as he yanks the clipboard from me. “We’ll see about that.” He smirks as he tosses it behind the counter.
“Charlotte, I’ve been thinking,” Chrissy mused as we wandered out of school on a drizzly afternoon in April. “I feel like getting a job. I mean, I’m sixteen now, and you’ll be sixteen soon…” She flicked her eyes and canoed her lips so mischievously, I was surprised the boys didn’t come running with employee applications and W-2 forms.
“You want to get jobs together?” I buried my chin in a thick scarf—one of the many knitted by the elderly ladies after Fanny left two years earlier. I refused to wear them at first, insisting that I wasn’t a charity case and my mom would come back, and I wouldn’t need the church ladies cooking and sewing for us. Besides, these were the same women who years earlier would call the cops on Ian and me when we’d play Burken. But after a year with no word from Fanny, I slowly started sifting through boxes of sympathy gifts and returning Mrs. Flaggerton’s calls, asking if I could take her up on those cooking lessons.
Ian gave up his scholarship to the University of Michigan. I was a mess after she left, and he said there was no way he could leave me twelve days after our mom abandoned us. Part of me felt awful, but I was so glad he wasn’t leaving. He ended up doing two years at Central Michigan University—an hour commute—and was able to extend his U of M scholarship offer for two years and planned on heading to Ann Arbor this fall.
Chrissy shrugged. “I think it’d be fun to work together. Besides, who couldn’t use some extra cash? And I’d really, really like to get a car,” she whispered like she was plotting to rob a jewelry store.
I sighed. “I don’t know, Chris. It’s not that easy. I’ll have to talk to my dad. I mean, with school, and track, and trying to keep the house up … Dad’s working
full-time and Ian’s going to college and working, and … Hi, Jason,” I called as Chrissy waved to a guy from our algebra class.
“Charlotte, it’s not like you’re a housewife. It’d just be a part-time job, maybe on weekends. You can schedule around your track meets and whatever else you have going on. Besides, summer’s coming, then you won’t have all these other things. And I’ll help you around the house! Pleeaase?”
“Eh, I don’t know.”
“Come on, Char, please? It would be fun!” she blubbered, her excitement heightened to new levels, which was the antecedent to her slipping in a mud puddle. She would’ve fallen, had I not grasped onto her elbow just as she was going down.
She righted herself as gracefully as possible, and we looked around to catch any witnesses. We started giggling when we realized the whole incident went unnoticed, and then a persistent honking blared from the parking lot.
I rolled my eyes. “That’s Ian. Let’s go before he has a heart attack.”
We weaved through the cars, and when we reached Ian’s truck, Chrissy threw open the door and hoisted herself in, scooting into Ian and leaving me to sit by the window.
I balked; Chrissy claimed to get claustrophobic if she wasn’t by the window. But when Ian nudged her arm and said, “Nice fall. Graceful as a runway model,” and Chrissy giggled and blushed, I acquiesced and landed next to Chrissy, slamming the door.
Chrissy turned her achingly fluorescent greens to me. “Tell Ian our plan,” she said, poking her elbow into my ribs.
“Oh, wow. You two are hatching a plan? Are you planning on ruling the world? Because you know that’s my goal,” Ian said.
I huffed. “Don’t worry, E. No one’s planning on ousting your dream of world domination. Chrissy and I were thinking of getting jobs.”
Ian looked at me like a jack-in-the-box just boinged out of my skull. “Jobs? You don’t need a job, Charlotte.”
