by Tori Alvarez
I don’t know their history, but this conversation has made him completely uncomfortable. It has piqued my curiosity, but I’m not sure I want to know more.
I look at the time to see how much time is left before demerits begin to flow for the guys who are late or don’t show up.
When to text? I lie in my bed, wondering what I should do. I won’t call because she wouldn’t know my number, so she probably wouldn’t answer. Is it too soon? Fuck! Just man up and send a text. Why the hell do I have my panties in a wad? Shit.
Hello, beautiful.
I hit send. I wait. Will she respond or does she ignore anonymous texts? Will it be stalkerish if I wait too long to let her know it’s me?
I really enjoyed our coffee this morning. Garrett
I begin making a sandwich for dinner as I wait for a response. Almost an hour passes before my phone pings.
Hello to you, too. I enjoyed the coffee, too. How did you manage to get my number?
I hadn’t considered how she would feel about me getting her number without giving it to me. Will it bother her if I tell her it was Kevin? Will he tell her he gave it to me?
My frat brother, Kevin, saw me talking to you. I got it from him
I decide honesty will be the best path. I’d rather have shit blow up now than later if I’m caught in a stupid lie. Time passes. More time passes. No answer. I decide to leave it for now.
Toni
What the?? I stare at my phone. Kevin gave him my number? Why would he do that? People are going to find out. I knew running into Kevin at the party was going to come back and bite me in the ass. What’s done is done. Fuck it.
I shut off my phone and turn the lights out.
Chapter 3
Real lives
Toni
I have never felt guilty for anything I have had to do to survive the life I have been dealt. And I refuse to start now. No one will ever make me feel less. My freshman year roommate tried that. It did not go well for her.
“Someone please shoot me. I am going to throw down,” I think to myself as my roommate walks in drunk, yet again. Second night of her and her damn friends being inconsiderate, coming in and taking over the room as if I’m not there. Food and loud talking all while ignoring the fact that I am lying in bed, reading.
I tried to be polite and bring it to her attention the first time the following day. I asked nicely for her to keep her bitch friends at a distance, but she has done it again.
“I’m trying to read!” I yell at the girls, sitting up. They look at me, roll their eyes, and laugh. Patience be damned. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING ROOM!” I decide being more direct is the only way to go.
The laughter stops, but they continue to stare at me like I have a third head. “I’m waiting. Get the fuck out,” I state matter of factly.
“Awe. Poor little girl has no friends and hates that others do. FYI. It’s my room too, and I invited them here. They’re staying,” my roommate finally states.
“I will throw each of these bitches out by their hair if you insist, but they will get out.”
With alcohol-fueled bravado, she gets up and stands in the middle of the room. Poor little white girl. She may think she has no fear with the haze, but I am about to put her in her place. I stand slowly, biding my time, keeping myself in check. I can’t do anything to jeopardize my scholarships. I need to let her know I can without actually landing myself with a ticket, in jail, or without money for school. I didn’t like juvie, landing there once for breaking city curfew and tagging. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you know who you are talking to. Let me give you some background.” My voice is calm and steady, even though I am seething inside.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and begins to turn around.
I place my hand on her shoulder, squeezing firmly to stop her. “Again, you might want to listen.” I pause, looking to her friends and back at her. “I grew up in a rougher place than this. A place you and your friends over there avoid like the plague. And let me guess, you have never thrown down in your life. So how about we try this again? Get your annoying ass friends and walk out to the common area or to one of their rooms. This year will go much better if you don’t annoy me.” My face is stern with the words just spoken. I cross my arms and hold my ground. Her eyes give her away. She is unsure if I’m telling the truth, but too chickenshit to test.
She swapped rooms with another girl a couple of days later. Better for me. The next roommate was quiet and all she did was study. Made for a very uneventful year, but it taught me I needed my own space.
Looking at my phone still off from last night, I decide to leave it that way. I’ll check in with Guela later. I dress for class and begin my day.
Garrett
Still no text from her. If I’m going down, I might as well go down spectacularly.
Good morning! Coffee soon? Send.
If Kevin was that uncomfortable about giving me her number, is she too?
I get ready and head to campus. No reason to sit around and wait if I screwed the pooch on this one.
As I’m in the student center, reading between classes, my phone begins ringing. Could it be? I pull the phone out of my pocket and glance at the screen. I swipe, answering.
“Hey, Mom. What’s going on?” I thought it would be Toni.
“Hello, Son. Is that any way to greet your mom?” Her teasing tone is welcome.
“Of course not. Sorry. But really, what’s the call for? You never call me during the day,” I ask again because she always calls in the evenings when she knows I’m home and alone. She usually texts before to let me know she’ll call. As she told me once before, she would rather live in blissful ignorance of my social life.
“Okay. You’re right. But I needed to call while your dad is out working. There is so much to do around here, and he’s being bullheaded about hiring more guys to help. If you aren’t busy this weekend, I thought you could come down and help the guys.”
“Of course I’ll come home this weekend. What’s happening at the ranch?”
“When they did a perimeter check of the land, there are several places where the fences need repairing. And your father refuses to hire more temporary guys to help until the work is done. You know him. Stuck in his ways.” She sounds tired. I wonder if she has insisted on going out there to help.
“I’ll be there Thursday night. I don’t have classes on Friday, so I can spend three days out there.”
My dad has the money. He just refuses to spend it. He wants to do it all himself. Looks like my weekend is planned. If Toni finally responds, I won’t be able to see her.
A home-cooked meal I did not mess up or burn is always welcome. I left right after my last class this afternoon, making it in time for dinner. My parents’ ranch is a couple of hours from my place, too far to come and go easily.
“Last year, Son. Have you decided on grad school yet? Where are you thinking?” My dad may be posing this as a question, but we both know it’s his way of saying I’m going and better decide where.
“Still weighing my options. I may just stay here. I know the school and most of the professors. It would make for an easy transition, and I know I will get accepted.”
“When are you going to settle down, honey?” my mom asks, interrupting my father. It’s her favorite question since I have never brought a girl home to meet her. “I see your pictures, so I know there are many girls around…” She lets this hang in the air. I know she stalks my social media to keep up with my life.
The girls around are super-fucking-ficial. It’s all about what I have so they can eventually become a lady of leisure. This seems to be the goal of most girls I meet. How much do I currently have or what is my earning potential so I can support their dream of staying home and Botoxing for the rest of their lives. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no hermit, and I do enjoy the company, I just don’t keep them around.
“When I find one worthy enough,” I answer honestly. Finding a woman isn�
��t hard at all. Finding a woman who can stand on her own but let a man take care of her is a unicorn.
“You need to decide soon. No more dragging your feet. I expect applications to be sent out later this month,” my father continues, coming back even after my mother’s attempt to distract.
“Yes, sir,” I agree, knowing this is not worth arguing over.
“Talk to Julio in the morning about the fences that need mending.” Julio is my dad’s ranch manager. He has been around for as long as I can remember. He didn’t speak English when he began working at the ranch. We taught each other—me Spanish and him English. It was easier for me to work with the men, since most spoke Spanish. They did hard work out in the Texas heat, never complaining and always loyal.
I nod at him. “I’m heading up. See you in the morning. Good night.” I walk over and kiss my mom’s cheek.
I head up to the bedroom I have known my whole life. My parents wed and moved into my grandparents’ home. It was easier for my father with the early mornings out in the field. My grandfather was able to expand his cattle ranch significantly when they found oil on his land. Now, we have the cattle and the oil. The oil is great for the security of the ranch, but it brings so much hardship when it comes to friends and potential women in my life. You never seem to know whether the relationships are based on me or the money.
Mornings on the ranch begin before the sun is up. As always, Mom has the coffee ready and jugs of cold water to take with us. I head to the stable, ready to saddle my horse, knowing I won’t be able to ride for a while. I work quickly since taking the horse out is more time-consuming than jumping onto an ATV.
I ride out to join Julio and the guys, knowing the jobs on the ranch are never-ending. This isn’t an easy life. It’s not for everyone. In fact, it’s not for most.
“Hola, Julio!” I yell as I approach. “Como estas?”
“Garrett,” Julio responds, pronouncing my name with his thick accent. “Why you here and not in school?”
“Estoy aqui para la fin de semana. (I’m here for the weekend),” I respond in Spanish. These are our usual conversations, each of us trying to learn and practice each other’s language. “Que puedo hacer hoy? (What can I do today?)”
“I have muchachos fixing the fence in the west side. Side closer to pond. Can you help them?”
“On my way.” I loosen the reins and softly kick my horse on the side to take off in a gallop.
I find the guys already working on the fence. They brought one of the trucks filled with lumber. I jump down and wrap the horse reins around a tree nearby so she can stay in the shade.
“Hey, guero,” Juan calls out, his version of white boy. “Get your lazy ass out of the shade and come help.”
“Ya voy, culero.” The colorful Spanish language used is a gift from the guys.
Juan and two others are busy pulling planks from the truck. I haven’t been this far on the property in quite some time. I scan the area, not realizing how worn the fence is. There are parts that could easily be pushed—the fastest way to lose cattle. Shit, it’s going to be a long, hard day.
I pull another post from the truck and walk over to the section they are currently working on. They already have a stack of the old wood from the sections they have completed. We have a good 50 yards of repairs and mends. I walk the edge, inspecting what we can salvage by repairs and what truly needs replacing.
“How long has the fence been this bad?” I ask Juan while he is holding a board up for another to hammer in place.
“We just started riding out here a few weeks ago. Your dad asked me to check the perimeter. That’s when I noticed the parts needing repair.”
“The parts? How much?” Dad hasn’t mentioned any of this to me. I should not have taken classes this summer so I could have stayed on the ranch to help.
“I don’t know. But it is a lot. There are four sections he asked us to complete. The rest he said will wait until the cooler weather comes. It’s fucking hot by 9:30.”
Back at the truck, I pull out another tool belt, nails, and a couple more posts. “Hey,” I call out to the guy who is watching Juan and the other guy work. “Come with me, and we’ll work this section.” No use in standing around. Working on two sections at a time will cut our time out here.
As I pull nails from the rotted wood, he holds boards so they don’t fall, then holds again as new boards are hammered into place. The sun is beating down on us, the trees that could provide a nice escape from the torture not close enough. I take my hat off and rub my face and head with an old rag in my pocket. You don’t usually hear men wanting a cold shower, but that’s the only thing on my mind right now.
I’m in bed, resting after another great homemade dinner, thinking of Toni. It’s been three days and still no response from her. I’m not worried about staying at the ranch all weekend anymore. If I’m not spending time with her, all I would be doing is drinking at the frat house or clubbing. My phone pings with a text from Juan. Come to our place. Bring beer.
Looks like the guys are wanting to work in the hurt tomorrow. Might as well join them. I make my way downstairs and pull a six-pack out of the drink fridge. No reason to mope around. I had coffee with her once.
Toni
As I’m finishing the final touches of my make-up, my phone pings a text. I read what Sasha just sent.
We need you here now. 3 bachelor parties tonight
Almost done. Be there soon
A huge grin spreads across my face because this may be a good night after all. Bachelors and their friends love to throw money around.
I walk in through the back, quickly stashing my stuff in my locker to hit the floor. There are girls running around in various states of undress, preparing for their numbers or relaxing a bit before walking the floor. I may admire how brazen these girls are, but dancing topless isn’t for me. I’ll stick to cocktail waitressing. The “private” rooms are gross. I’m not one for getting men off if they don’t turn me on.
There is beauty in waitressing. I still make a good amount of money because the men see me all night. The guys with money who strike my fancy are easy to pick up. I offer them me, and they offer me money. It’s the perfect arrangement. They get to have a “side” chick who doesn’t mind being on the side, and I get money and usually fantastic orgasms.
“Sasha!” I yell over the blaring music. She finishes at the terminal and comes to the side bar, handing me a tray.
“Could you take any longer, bitch? Look around. It’s already a fucking mess.”
“Calm the fuck down. You know they’re happy. What side do you want me on?” I ask, ignoring her temper tantrum.
“Left side of stage. We’ll have two parties on that side. Go make yourself a killing,” she instructs with a smirk and a wink.
I grab my tray and signal to the other waitresses already on the floor. I approach the first bachelor party group. “Hey, fellas, what can I get ya?”
One guy raises his hand to me, motioning for me to approach. I walk around the group, watching him. The cockiness he exudes is dripping from the smirk he’s wearing to his posture. “Hello, sexy. What do I call you?”
“Anything you want.” I wink at him. The only part of this job I can’t stand is giving out my name, not wanting to take on a fake “bimbo” name.
He tsks me while shaking his head. “Strike one. If I’m going to drop dime, I expect the service. And that means knowing who I’m calling to keep us happy.” Fuck, he’s a cocky son of a bitch. Not many of these come in. Men are usually happy to flirt, drink, and flash their money, not pull social rank.
I hold myself from rolling my eyes and place my most seductive mask in place to answer, “I’m Toni. I will keep you happy all night.” This double innuendo always satisfies the most difficult man.
“Well, Toni, I’m going to need bottle service. A bottle of Belvedere and a couple of Buchanan’s. The only mixer we need is Pellegrino and a side of limes.”
His all-business, demanding attitude is not one I’ve dealt with.
I smile sweetly. “Of course. Can I get a card to place the order?” He hands me an Amex Black. “I’ll be back.” I wink to lighten the encounter. I scan around to his friends, and they are all laughing and watching the show, oblivious to me and our conversation. I turn away to place their order and quickly stop at the group who just walked in, saying hello and that I would be right back shortly.
I place their order and walk back to the other group. As I approach, I see a familiar face. A smile instantly appears. I guess this night won’t be as bad as I thought. “Hello, gentlemen. What can I get for y’all?”
“Hey, sweetness!” one responds, handing me a fifty. “This is just to get us started. I’m sure these clowns will be refilling often, and I don’t want you to forget about us.” he says, his good-natured smirk letting me know he’s harmless.
I look over to the familiar face, Mark, as he watches our encounter. Mark is youngish, good-looking, willing to give an orgasm before engaging in his own, and quite generous with his money. He has been coming around for about a year. Dinners, a show, no-strings-attached sex, and some monetary relief or nice gifts has kept him around. It works for us.
“Okay, boys.” I raise my voice above the music. “Let me have it. What will it be?” Each rattles off their drink of choice. My smile is genuine, knowing these guys are harmless and will tip well.
My order for the first table is ready at the bar, so I quickly place the second order before heading back to set them up.
I pick up one of the trays and wave over a couple of bouncers to help with the others. I place everything on their tables. I turn and look at the head guy. “What can I serve you?”
“Buchanan’s over ice. Only a couple, please,” he states flatly. I continue serving the others quickly so I can deliver my other party’s drinks.
