High Class Harlot (Switching Tracks Series Book 2)

by Delia Steele

  Text one: -Amandolette, call me, please. I worry, mija. Papi no mean to hurt you. Trust me. I fix it. He won’t touch again. Please.

  It breaks my heart to see my mother’s broken English text. She always tries to call. She hates the language barrier, so for her to send this is serious. She is reaching out to me while still giving me space. But what did she mean she fixed it? If he put one hand on her, I will kill his ass. I shoot a text back to her.

  -Are you OK?

  -Yes

  I guess it wasn’t that serious since she doesn’t seem to want to chat now. I move on to the other unread text.

  Text two: -I miss you, baby. So much. My heart is breaking with the way you left. I want to hold you. I miss you so much it’s killing me inside. Please talk to me. I can wait until you’re ready. I love you.

  He will wait? For what? I shake my head and drop my phone on the bed. I have a date to get ready for. A not-a-date, date. I dig a pair of cutoff shorts from my bag, and I find a white and royal blue striped top to pair with them. It looks more like a swimsuit top, but it’s cute, with gold chain straps that go over the shoulder. I pull out my six-inch, thigh high boots and slide them on. Once I have them zipped up, I grab my gold choker and put it on to match the straps. I hook some huge gold hoops through my ears, drop about fourteen bulky gold bangles on my wrist, and find a belly chain to wrap around me twice. I let it hang off my hip. I apply another coat of the gaudy red lipstick and grab my short leather jacket as I head towards the door.

  “Well, you look like a whore. Good job.” Gran smiles at me, showing off her own outfit, which is scary close to mine. Her boots are cowboy boots, and her jacket is jean, but I’ll be damned if she isn’t sporting a bikini top and… “Is that my belly chain?” I point at her, smiling back.

  “I think it’s supposed to be a necklace, but it fit my belly, so I went with it. You like it?” I throw my head back laughing and it feels so foreign to me. “Yes ma’am I love it.”

  I hug her, and she holds me at arm’s length. “You are such a beautiful soul, child. You’re perfect. I hope you know that.” I close my eyes to hold back the tears.

  “I wish you were right, Gran.” I kiss her cheek, “I’ll be back later. I’m going to see Chico at the pool hall and hang out a bit. I feel like I am losing my mind lying around, crying over Clay. He stopped calling.” A smirk touches the corner of her lips.

  “No, child, he gives you space. What you need. He and your mother have both called me non-stop, checking in on you. You may not believe this, but that boy will never stop calling for you. He is in this, better or worse. Maybe it’s time you see that instead of running around with that rotten-toothed Charlie Wilson. And tell that little shithole if he doesn’t pull those pants up, I am going to take my double barrel, stick it right up his asshole, and shoot it straight out the front through his tiny-ass little pecker. I can’t take these fools anymore, docking on my porch in pursuit of my beauty. Nope. Next time that boy sets foot on these steps, I will blow his asshole right out from under him. Little Dick—that’s his new name ‘round these parts. Maybe I’ll make a movie about him.” She smiles, and I laugh at her. She just told me Clay is checking on me and called Chico “Little Dick” in the same breath. Not sure what I should say, so I simply smile as I head out the door.

  I hate this grimy pool hall. It makes me sick to smell it. Fetid old beer, lingering cigarette smoke, and body odor… God, it’s so gross in here. I slide back into the squeaky bar chair and order a bottle of imported beer, only to be laughed at. “Domestic only,” the bartender spits out as he turns to show me the only two beers they carry. I feel Chico before I actually see him. Kind of hard to miss since he is all but lying over my shoulder, wrapped around me from behind like a scarf. “You order me one, chica?” I cut my eyes in his direction, showing the irritation I feel towards this whole situation.

  “Do I ever order you one, CHARLIE?” Removing his hands, he retaliates.

  “You know, Amandolette, for a trick, you sure are a condescending bitch. I mean, you hang out down here with us and then just sit here talking down to me like you’re better. If that’s the case, yo, get lost. I’m over this shit.”

  I couldn’t care less about his rant; though, he does hit a nerve. He is always fussing about something. Then I see the prize winning rodeo bull herself strolling up, smutted out in her customary tramp outfit of cutoff shorts, cowboy boots, and a tank top made out of tied together bandanas. Seriously? Her lady lumps are on display.

  ”Hey, Crystal, you do know your flabby chi-chi is sagging out the bottom of that homemade wannabe fashion fuck up, right?” I turn my beer up and guzzle about half of it down before Chico speaks up.

  “For fuck’s sake, Mando, you dress like a hoe bag your damn self. What’s your deal, dude? Hell, just ‘cuz our standards ain’t yours, don’t make us bad people.” I jump off the bar chair and stand my ground in my spiked heel glory.

  “Chico, you low life piece of sewage shit, I have fucking heels higher than your standards. You can say whatever you want, but the truth is: I have been with the same man for over five years. So, if I’m some sort of hoe—or harlot, if you must—you best fucking remember I’m a high-class harlot, motherfucker. This bitch is what she is, and that’s straight up fucking trash. Everyone here knows it. Hell, they fucking saw it last night! Just like they know her hair is bleached because they’ve all been down under. Which is one border none of you fucking losers will ever cross with me. Don’t you dare talk to me as if I’m less just because I’m here. You’d do good to count your blessing that someone like me remembers who you used to be. As for this nasty-ass, whore-faced, cunt wrinkle, the only thing she is good at is fucking underage kids and spreading her damn STD around for a dime sack.” Looking at the slut in question, I dare her with my eyes to call me out. “Just what I thought. Even she knows what she is. And keep it up, I’ll point her out to Rory the next time she is in town, and you best believe that’s one crazy ass redhead you do not want to piss off over her family.” I smile as I watch Crystal’s brow rise higher than her hairline in fear. It’s no secret Rory has a temper, especially when it comes to her family. Crystal is the one girl Rome messed around with after he met Rory. It didn’t go well. Rome was hung up on Rory, Rory was with Toby, and Crystal figured it all out and tried to get Rome to marry her… blah, blah. So yeah, Rory would rip this trashy bitch a new asshole in two seconds.

  I roll my eyes and turn my back to them. If Chico wants her and her stretched out asshole, he can have her. I won’t be talked to like that just because he knows he can stick it where he wants to in her and not me.

  “Hey, don’t get mad. You just need to stop acting like that.” I cast a glance in his direction and kill the rest of my beer.

  “I have an idea. Want to go?” I give him a big smile.

  “HELL YEAH!”

  I drop a Ten on the counter. “Of course, you do, you bipolar doper.” I smirk as we walk out, arms locked. I make sure to catch Crystal’s gaze and give her a wink. Bitch! Even without letting him stick it in me, I got him this time. It’s not really an accomplishment because Chico is no prize, but a point was made. She could be a decent girl and still get what she wants if she’d figures out how to work it. Here, she’s just a whore who will end up dead somewhere. That’s how it works. She loves trouble like a back alley whore loves crack.

  “Where we headed?” Chico asks as we slide into my car.

  “You’ll see!” I head to the good side of town and pull into a parking spot in front of Ink Stain. “I need to get something done.” While I have the nerve!

  “What we doin’ here? You gonna get something pierced?” he asks as we make our way across the parking lot.

  “Nope.” I stop at the door and wait for him to open it. He does, and we walk in. Looking around, I note that the place is nicer than I expected. Everything is clean and sterile. There are photos all over the wall—some beautiful, some morbid—but all perfectly penned.

  �
�Can I help you?” I turn to see a bald guy with tattoos covering his whole head and cringe. He looks out of place in this nice establishment.

  “I’d like to see the owner.” No way is this splotchy meathead about to touch me.

  “Looking at him.” He sticks his hand out. “Name’s Bob, but my friends call me Boner.” He smiles, and I notice his teeth are clean, just like the rest of him. Except for that ugly bald head.

  “You should grow your hair out. Your head is fucking freaky as shit, and I about ran my hooker-heeled ass right up out this bitch.” I laugh as I reach to shake his hand. “As for what to call you, I’ll decide once I see what you do to me.” He turns and walks over to the counter.

  “What can I do for you?” he asks. I look around the room and note two guys playing Xbox on a white sofa to the side and a couple of giggling girls flipping through the books on another sofa.

  “I need a tat, and I need it right now. If I leave, I won’t do it, and it has to be done. Can you do that?” I watch as he walks over to speak to the girls on the sofa. They smile, shaking their heads no. He returns to us.

  “Yeah, they still haven’t decided on the matching tattoos they want, so I got a little bit. So long as what you want’s not too big.” I pull a piece of paper out of my purse and unfold it about six times.

  “I want this, but I want it in two pieces. Cracked. Split. It needs to symbolize something broken and worthless.” He looks at the paper and then back at me a few times before heading to the back. Chico is watching me, curious as to what’s on the paper.

  “Yo, Mans, maybe you should just get your nipples pierced. That shit’s removable, dude. This won’t be.” I look at him feeling so uncomfortable. It’d almost be laughable, if I wasn’t so nerved up.

  “Trust me, Chico, this is the right thing to do. I once wanted something so bad I wished for it every day. Then, I had it right in my face, and I walked away. The meaning behind this tat will never change because it’s the absolute truth.” The meathead reappears, calling my name, and I move to follow him to the back.

  “Should I come with you?” I hear Chico call out, and I motion for him to come along. I won’t lie; I’m scared. I have never wanted a tattoo—ever—but right now I need something solid, and this is it.

  The room is silver, white, and sterile, and it reminds me of a hospital. That’s a good thing. “Where we gonna put this, little lady?” baldy asks, bringing my attention back to the task at hand. I unbutton my shorts and slide them down, watching both sets of eyes light up as I push them further and further until I’m tossing them aside. Thank goddess I put on a cute-ass, gold g-string.

  “I want it right here, about the crease. I want it noticeable to every man I ever fuck. I need him to understand I will never be right or valuable, and he will never be with me any other way. I need the world to know I am a broken, useless a piece of shit.” Neither of them comments, and I’m glad. I hop up on the table-style chair and get comfortable, wearing nothing but a swimsuit-type outfit and boots up to my thighs. The scary bald guy slides between my legs and makes himself at home. When the vibration touches my skin for the first time, I scream out in fear and grab for Chico’s hand. I can’t afford to freak out.

  “I’m about to stick your little ass, so sit still. I’ll be done before you can count to fifty.” I close my eyes and lay there, still as a board. It doesn’t hurt once he starts, but I still want to puke. I can’t believe I am doing this to my body. I still haven’t wrapped my mind around what I am doing when I hear, “Done.” I sit up and look down, shaky and nervous, but it’s unwarranted. He is good. Really good. My broken diamond looks as worthless as I am. “I want the paper back,” I say, holding out my hand. He gives it to me, and I fold it back up and slide it in my bag. I will never lose it. It’s the photo I showed Clay when we picked out my ring. The ring I have repeatedly refused to accept, claiming to not be ready. Now, I have the very diamond he bought to signify our forever love tattooed right beside my v-kitten. This one is broken and useless, and that one may as well be.

  Chapter Five

  (Clay)

  I can’t believe I have to do this, but she won’t answer me, and I can’t help but worry. Rubbing my hands down my pants to clear the sweat, I dial the number and listen to it ring.

  “‘Ello?” Taking a deep breath, I dive right in.

  “Hey, Gran, it’s me, Clay. I need to check on Mando. She won’t answer, and I am driving myself up the wall over here.” After a short pause, she replies.

  “Oh, Clayton, honey. Don’t worry your pretty little body. She’s just lost. Have faith in the things bigger than you. She will find her way home again, and when she does, she will find you. That Charlie has his claws in deep, but she will figure it out. Trust an old lady.” I sit and wait for more. Surely I didn’t hear that right. Who the fuck is Charlie?

  “Gran, is she hurt? What do you mean Charlie has his claws in her? Who is Charlie?”

  “Didn’t I just say don’t worry? That little saggy pants ass ruffian won’t last. She will chew him up and spit him out soon. He used to be her friend. Now he just wants to slice up her prepackaged meat market, sweetie. You know, sample the goods. Nothing to worry over. She knows he is contaminated. She wouldn’t touch his chopstick-sized penis with someone else’s vagina. I know this. Besides, I will blow his asshole slap off his body if he so much as tries to rub that little ding-a-ling on her. You know, I heard from Isabella over on Row 2 that someone told her that his mama and her brother was bumping uglies and he came out nine months later. YEP! Sure enough heard that one. And it’s no secret, Crystal, that whore from the back lot who used to try to sex up my little love muffin, Rome, says Charlie Wilson’s penis is the size of a Vienna wiener. I hope it isn’t as soft because it would just mash right on up on contact. Poor thing should just fake it if all that’s true. I even heard once—not sure how true it is—but Crystal lets him stick it right up her dookie shoot for a dime bag.”

  I almost fall off the bar stool listening to her. I can’t believe Gran is telling me all this crazy mess and that my bitter Amandolette is running with the likes of people such as Charlie the claw. Just kill me now. Before something happens to the love of my life and I just sit back and watch it happen.

  “And you’re sure she is OK? I need to see her Gran. I need her to know I love her.” I can’t help crying. I feel so useless right now. My heart is out there, roaming around wounded, and I can’t help her.

  “She needs to do this her way. Don’t you come over here making her mad and pushing her away, son. If she needs you, I will call you, I promise. Right now, she needs to have her pity party. I should go buy a balloon or two for the house to support it. At some point in her life, she’s gonna have to figure out that some things aren’t about her. Let her hurt, and let her heal.”

  “I don’t know what I am supposed to do, Gran. I love her. I mean, I don’t understand. I know she lives a boss’s life. Is she afraid I can’t give her that? Because I can. I can provide her with anything she needs, anything her heart desires. Is her dad making her stay away from me? I know she cares, but if she thought she was being cut off, she might freak out,” I voice my fears, certain the pain is evident in my voice. I can’t fathom Gran saying I’m right; it would hurt too badly. Her family has always seemed to like me. We aren’t close or anything, but they’ve always been cordial.

  “Well, Clayton, in a sense, yes, he does have something to do with it, but not by cutting Amandolette off. She doesn’t want his money. She wants a father, not the riches he smothers her in. She may love her clothes and gadgets, but they are a vice for her, not a necessity. Just be patient. She will figure it out. She is a smart girl. Sadly, she is fighting her subversive, gypsy soul right now. She’s a loose cannon. Let her diffuse herself before you push her. Otherwise, you could damage her more than help her. Again, have faith in her, son.”

  I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes. “Yes, ma’am. Please call me if she needs me. I need her, and when she’
s ready, so am I. Talk to you soon.” I hang up the phone without waiting for Gran to say anything. I refuse to let her hear me break down. She has enough on her plate with a bipolar Mexican chick running around. I think hearing Mando has replaced me with some guy named Charlie hurts the worst. Gran seems certain it’s nothing romantic. I shouldn’t worry, but I do. I can’t help how I feel about her. Everyone knows I worship the ground she walks on. She’s my queen. The ruler of my heart.

  I pace the floor, drink half a six-pack, and take a shower before I decide to call Rome. I need to let this out before it makes me do something stupid. I want to talk to Amandolette, but she refuses contact. I mean, I text her, and she ignores me; I call her, and she sends me to voicemail. I can’t win for losing. I grab my phone to make sure Rome is home before I head out, and I see I have a text. It must have come through while I was in the shower. I slide my hand across the screen and almost drop it when I see Mando’s face. The message is simple: I miss you. That’s it. However, it’s enough to remind me why I love her and why we are supposed to be together. I stare at the screen and think about how to approach the message. I shoot a quick but heartfelt message back, telling her I miss her as well, and I cram the phone in my pocket. I can’t deal with her ignoring me again, not right now. I head out the door, sure Rome is home. It’s late, and Rory’s likely still at work, so someone has to be tending to the kids. And that someone is most likely Rome.

  I walk in without knocking, and the first thing I see is Denver and Saige at the table, books spread out everywhere, and Rio piled up in the floor beside them, working on his book fair project. Rory may beat him when she sees all the glitter in the carpet. “Where’s Rome?” I ask anyone listening.