A Dollar Short (The Bottom Dollar Series Book 2)

by Karin Gillespie

  “I don’t need your handouts,” Chiffon mumbled.

  “Don’t you sass me, Chiffon.” Wanda opened her wallet, took out four twenty-dollar bills, and held them out to her daughter. “That’s all I can spare right now.”

  Chiffon wished she could turn her back on her mama’s money, but her maternal instincts were stronger than her pride. She took the cash and tucked it into her bra.

  “To think of all the money I wasted on your charm lessons!” Wanda said, the door thwacking behind her.

  After her mother left, Chiffon picked up the People magazine she’d brought over and pitched it across the room. She strode into the children’s room and accidentally stomped on a LEGO piece.

  “Dewitt, you need to keep your toys picked up or they’re all going in the trash.”

  She lifted her foot and saw a stream of blood coursing from a cut. Both Gabby and Dewitt were wailing, and Emily was tossing clothes out of her chest of drawers, saying, “Mama, I can’t find any clean panties.”

  Chiffon remembered the overflowing basket of dirty laundry in the trunk of her car. She’d meant to stop at the Laundromat on Sunday after she’d picked up Lonnie at the airport, but Sunday seemed like a million years ago. It had been one of the worst days of her life.

  Today didn’t look like it was going to be a heck of a lot better.

  Eight

  Welcome to Dumpsville: Population you.

  ~ Selection F-3 on the Tuff Luck Tavern jukebox

  “Two chicks on a raft! Wreck ’em,” Jewel Turner sang out to Mort Washington, the elderly black cook at the Chat ‘N’ Chew.

  Jewel, the owner, had spent the morning showing Chiffon the ins and outs of working at the diner. And what a morning it had been! The Marquis de Sade couldn’t have planned a more miserable few hours. As soon as Chiffon set foot into the diner, coffee cups stopped in mid-sip and mouths dropped open. Clearly there wasn’t a soul in the Chat ‘N’ Chew who hadn’t heard about Janie-Lynn Lauren and Lonnie.

  Jewel, a curvy redhead with big brown eyes, ushered Chiffon into her office, saying, “Don’t you mind them. You’ll be the star attraction for about two minutes, and then they’ll move on to who won last night’s turkey shoot.”

  Chiffon wasn’t so sure. This was the biggest thing to hit Cayboo Creek since DeEtta Jefferson had appeared on The Price Is Right and won the showcase featuring a Dodge Viper convertible. People in Cayboo Creek had been abuzz for weeks. Birdie Murdock did a three-part article on DeEtta’s win in the Cayboo Creek Crier, and the Jaycees organized a parade in her honor.

  “I’m so sorry, Chiffon,” Jewel said. “Sounds like Lonnie has one too many mares in his barn. But I’ve been in your shoes, and I know how much it hurts.”

  “What do you mean?” Chiffon asked.

  Jewel’s brown eyes looked pained. “Let’s just say I’m on a first-name basis with heartache. That’s why I’ve sworn off men. Now my business keeps me busy.”

  Chiffon couldn’t imagine a diner being any kind of substitute for a loving man. Jewel was in her thirties and as pretty as a bushel of strawberries. She shouldn’t give up on finding a fellow so easily.

  “Shoot, Jewel! No call to be all by your lonesome. I could introduce you to a few nice guys,” Chiffon said.

  “Nope,” Jewel said with a smile. “Maybe someday. But right now I’m content being unattached.”

  Chiffon didn’t believe a word coming out of Jewel’s mouth. What woman didn’t want the big, strong arms of a man wrapped around her? Why, it was the most natural thing in the world. Jewel had likely been brainwashed by the Oprah show, thinking a woman could be complete without a man.

  Chiffon had no intentions of living without a mate. When Lonnie got over this latest episode, she’d take him back just as she had in the past. He’d pay, Lordy yes, he’d pay, but she couldn’t turn out the father of her children.

  After all, every man has his flat side, and cheating happened to be Lonnie’s. It humiliated her that everyone in town knew about his hanky-panky, but Chiffon would hold her head up high amid the gossip. It was her marriage, and she intended to do everything within her power to preserve it.

  After Chiffon’s talk with Jewel, things went from bad to worse. For starters, Chiffon wasn’t familiar with the diner lingo at the Chat ‘N’ Chew and had a hard time catching on.

  “Bossy in a bowl and a Coke. Hold the hail,” Jewel called out to Mort, which, translated, meant an order of beef stew and a Coke with no ice.

  “Mort’s been a cook for over fifty years,” Jewel explained. “He’s the one who taught me diner talk. The customers like it. Gives them the feel of a real greasy spoon.”

  As far as Chiffon was concerned, the Chat ‘N’ Chew didn’t needed diner lingo to make it seem like a greasy spoon; the chipped coffee mugs and the flypaper dangling from the ceiling did the job just fine. But Chiffon wanted to please her employer, so she tried to master the unfamiliar slang.

  When a customer ordered two hamburgers with onions, no lettuce, Chiffon approached Mort. “Two cows. Make them sad. Mow the grass,” she said tentatively.

  “No, girlie,” Mort said. “It’s two cows, make ’em cry, and keep off the grass.”

  “Sorry,” Chiffon said, trying to keep it all straight.

  All day long she kept making mistakes and mixing up orders.

  And her tips reflected her incompetence. By the time the lunch rush was over, she’d pocketed only $25. She used to make three times that at the Wagon Wheel.

  When the diner finally emptied out, Chiffon relaxed at the lunch counter with a bowl of chicken soup and a slice of lemon meringue pie. Jewel stood at the cash register, checking her reflection in a pocket mirror.

  “I hope your first day wasn’t too rough,” she said, combing her auburn bangs with her fingers. “I’m sure it won’t take long to catch on.”

  Chiffon touched the thin roll of bills in the pocket of her uniform. If she didn’t catch on soon, she and the kids would be eating a steady diet of ramen noodles.

  The front bell jingled and Jewel closed her compact. “I’ll get this one, Chiffon. You sit tight.”

  “No,” Chiffon said, pushing aside the bowl of soup. “I’ll see to it. I need the practice.”

  Chiffon wearily trudged to the back of the restaurant, where someone had taken a seat in a booth beneath a yellowed 1987 calendar. The customer’s face was buried in the menu.

  “How ya doing? Can I get you something to drink?” Chiffon asked.

  “Diet Coke, three ice cubes, and a side of lemon,” said a familiar female voice.

  “What size Coke you want?” Chiffon asked.

  The menu lowered two inches, and Chiffon found herself staring into the heavily made-up eyes of Jonelle Jasper.

  “Chiffon Butrell? What are you doing here?” Jonelle asked nervously.

  “I work here,” Chiffon snapped. “Our special today is meat loaf with a side of—” She stopped short when she saw the message on Jonelle’s T-shirt. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?” she said.

  Jonelle covered her T-shirt with her hand. “It’s just a little joke.”

  “‘I slept with Lonnie Butrell,’” Chiffon said, reading the lettering. “Where in the heck did you get that...thing?”

  “I had it made at the T-shirt shop in Augusta,” Jonelle said as she nibbled on a purple fingernail. “Janie-Lynn Lauren is my all-time favorite movie star; some say we even favor each other. What a coincidence that she and I both slept with you know who—”

  “Get out of here right now,” Chiffon hissed. “Or I’ll knock your frizzy-haired self into tomorrow.”

  Jonelle shot up from the booth and planted her hands on her skinny hips. “Are you threatening me, Chiffon Butrell?”

  “You better believe it, you sorry, selfish little�
�”

  “Whoa, Chiffon!” Jewel said, grabbing her arm. “Pull in those horns, girl. What’s the problem here?”

  Jonelle’s face was twisted into a scowl. “Your hired help threatened me with bodily harm.”

  “Is that true, Chiffon?” a wide-eyed Jewel asked.

  “Look at her T-shirt,” Chiffon said through gritted teeth.

  “What?” Jewel said as her eyes fell on the message emblazoned on Jonelle’s flat chest.

  “I had no idea she was working here,” Jonelle said. “Even if I did, she has no right to come at me like...” She fastened her eyes on Chiffon and looked her up and down. “Like a sumo wrestler.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Chiffon huffed.

  Jonelle clenched her jaw. “I’m saying you’re bigger than a moose. No wonder Lonnie always strays. It’s not like I’m the only woman in this town who could wear this T-shirt.”

  Chiffon tried to lunge for Jonelle, but Jewel yanked her back by her apron strings. “That’s enough, Chiffon,” she said breathlessly.

  “Just what kind of crazy establishment are you running here, anyway?” Jonelle said.

  “Why don’t you just let me take your order, Jonelle?” Jewel said, poising a pencil over her order pad.

  “Why don’t you?” Jonelle said with a flip of her ratty dark hair. “I’ll have a Diet Coke, the meat loaf special, a slice of chocolate icebox pie—”

  “Sorry, we’re out of it,” Jewel said neutrally.

  “Out of what?” Jonelle asked.

  “Everything you ordered.”

  Jonelle frowned and squinted at the menu. “All right, then, I’ll have a Diet Sprite, barbecue chicken, and an apple turnover—”

  Jewel shook her head from side to side. “Sorry.”

  Jonelle tossed the menu on the table and glared up at Jewel. “Just what do you have?”

  “You’re in luck,” Jewel said. “Today we’re featuring the mystery special. And your server, Chiffon, will personally prepare it for you.”

  “I’d be delighted,” purred Chiffon.

  Jonelle’s bottom lip twitched. “So that’s how it’s going to be? Knowing Chiffon, she’ll spit in my food.” She snatched up her pocketbook. “I’ll just take my appetite elsewhere.”

  As soon as she left, Jewel burst out laughing. “She’s one customer I can afford to lose.”

  Chiffon slumped down in the booth. “You shouldn’t have to lose any. I’m sorry, Jewel. I didn’t mean to cause a scene. I just saw that T-shirt of hers, and it sent me over the edge.”

  “It’s all right, Chiffon,” Jewel said, sliding next to her and squeezing her shoulder. “It was worth it to see the look on her face. She can dish it out, but she sure can’t take it.”

  “I’ve always had a fiery temper,” Chiffon said, thinking how simple it was to put Jonelle in her place. How come she couldn’t do the same with her mama or Lonnie?

  “Why don’t you go on home, Chiffon?” Jewel said. “I’ll take care of your side work for you. I know you’ve had a long day.”

  “Are you sure, Jewel?” Chiffon asked. “I don’t want you thinking I don’t pull my own weight.”

  “Go on, now,” Jewel said with a wave of her dishcloth.

  Chiffon decided to nip by the Winn-Dixie before she picked Gabby up from day care and met the older children’s school bus. It was a rare luxury to shop without a buggy spilling over with youngsters. The Winn-Dixie had car-shaped kiddy carts, so there was always the ongoing squabble over who was going to “drive.” But the worst part about shopping with her kids was always saying no to all of their requests. Chiffon would like to have said yes now and then, but the family’s financial situation left no extra money for the pricey treats that beckoned the kids from the grocer’s shelves. Emily, at age eight, was already resigned to the fact that Mommy only bought bags of off-brand cereals like Captain Crisp or Fruity Ohs, instead of the glamorous name-brand varieties dangled under the kids’ noses during Saturday-morning cartoons. Dewitt, on the other hand, was still too young to understand why Chiffon purchased the broken cookies on the bargain table instead of Oreos or Keeblers, or why he was never allowed to buy any overpriced drink boxes. Every shopping trip with that child in tow was a trial by tears.

  Just once, Chiffon would like to go into the grocery store and toss items into her buggy with abandon, instead of fretting over each purchase, as if she were pricing rubies instead of radishes. Just once she’d like to buy her kids every kind of sugary, teeth-rotting snack they saw on TV.

  In the grocery store’s parking lot, Chiffon carefully counted out the bills in her wallet, trying to figure how much she could safely spend, deducting the cost of Gabby’s day-care bill and Dewitt’s sneakers. Her shoulders slumped when she realized how little she’d have left over. Even broken cookies wouldn’t make it into her buggy today.

  She entered the store and headed toward the produce section. As she checked the price on a bag of Golden Delicious apples, she heard two women whispering near the cantaloupe bin. She tossed a glance in their direction and the whispering ceased.

  Chiffon strutted past them with her chin in the air. What did she care what a couple of broken-down biddies thought about her? She did the same when she encountered a clutch of teenage girls in the cosmetics section who went as far as to point and giggle as she passed by.

  As she made her way through the store, she deflected every look, murmur, and guffaw, feeling like she had a glass bubble around her. Nothing could touch her; no one could slip past her defenses. She was invincible. She probably would have left the store completely unscathed if she hadn’t had to pass through the checkout line. That’s when she lost it.

  Every magazine cover seemed to feature a photo of Lonnie and Janie-Lynn Lauren together. To see it for herself, to look at all those glossy images of Lonnie lewdly leering at another woman, was more than Chiffon could bear.

  Without warning, her wall of protection crumbled and she was stripped clean to the bone. She couldn’t stand the scrutiny of the other shoppers for one more second. Shoving her cart to the side, she hightailed it from the store. Tears blinded her as she bolted down the aisle and flung herself toward the exit doors. On her way out, she nearly sideswiped a stock boy holding a mop.

  “Watch out,” he said. “Somebody spilled some—”

  Chiffon’s legs gave way, and she skidded several feet before falling in a heap beside a row of gumball machines.

  “Wesson oil,” he said. “Are you all right, miss? You hit that ground pretty hard.”

  “I’m fine,” Chiffon snapped, struggling to get up. When she tried to put weight on her left leg, she cried out in pain and tumbled to the ground again.

  Nine

  Consciousness is that annoying time between naps.

  ~ Sign outside of a mattress store in Bible Grove

  “You, too, can unearth precious treasures with the MineCo 3000, the most powerful metal detector on the market,” blared the TV commercial on Chenille’s little ten-inch portable.

  Chenille, who’d been lying on her bed in a stupor, propped herself up on her elbows and watched the advertisement with interest. Metal detecting? Maybe that would be a good way to bring in some extra income. She could see herself sweeping vacant fields and unearthing misplaced rings or earrings, taking her bounty to pawnshops and bringing home thick rolls of bills. Why, she could have a thriving little business!

  “For an investment of only $299.95, you’ll soon be finding valuable coins, jewelry, and other riches—”

  Chenille aimed the remote at the television. Three hundred dollars was more money than she could safely part with right now. What a shame! Metal detecting seemed like such a restful, solitary type of occupation.

  She channel-surfed, looking for Law and Order. Ever since she’d been out of work, she’
d discovered she could find her favorite show almost any time of the day or night, so she regularly indulged in a near-orgy of episodes. On the rare occasions when she couldn’t find the show, her hands trembled and her stomach churned. In a pinch, she’d try to make do with other crime shows such as CSI, but it just wasn’t the same.

  Chenille wriggled contentedly into her covers when she found an episode of Law and Order: Criminal Intent on USA. As an added bonus, it was an episode she’d seen only twice before. She patted the place beside her, expecting to find Walter, but there was only a slight indentation in the bedclothes where his little body had recently lain.

  He must have jumped off the bed again. There was no denying it: Walter had been distant lately. At first she attributed his standoffishness to his bout with eczema, but even after she applied an itch-soothing topical cream, Walter remained aloof. He no longer followed her from room to room, his stubby legs hurrying to match her long strides. When they relaxed side by side on the bed, he showed her the gray hump of his back instead of his sweet, bewhiskered face. But most disturbing of all, whenever she tried to hug him, he now squirmed to escape her embrace.

  Sometimes Chenille swore she saw a look in his eyes that went beyond mere annoyance and bordered on disdain. Was it possible for an animal to lose respect for his owner? Did he somehow sense her decline in status?

  He slunk across the carpet with Boo Bear in his mouth, looking so dear, so guileless.

  “Walter, darling. Come up here with Mommy,” she said, her needy fingers reaching out for his wiry compact form.

  He didn’t even glance up, but quickened his pace and ducked underneath the bed.

  Chenille pounded the pillow beside her. Snubbed again. How could he treat her this way when she was so vulnerable? If she’d wanted this kind of behavior in an animal, she could have gotten a cat.