Ann’s lips curled up into a grin. Her eyes got a crazy look in them. “What if you were already taken? Would that make a difference?”
“Probably. The only thing is, I'm not,’ I pointed out, wondering where in the hell she was going with this.
“True enough. Through the thing is, you don't have to really be in a relationship. You could get somebody to pretend to be your fiancée. Just long enough to throw your ex off the trail. I've seen it work before.” She looked down at the table in an uncharacteristic display of embarrassment. “I may have done it.”
I thought about the fact that Ann was recently married and wondered. No, that couldn’t be true. She was joking with me.
The idea of a fake fiancée seemed crazy, but it did seem like an easy way. The prideful part of me was saying I should just step up to Etta even though I really didn’t want to, mostly because it would hurt Whitney. Ann’s idea would solve all sorts of problems. “It's a thought,” I admitted, scratching my chin. “I just have to find someone who would be crazy enough to go along with that plan.” Ann smiled and raised her glass for a toast. I grinned at her.
“May that happen quickly. And if World War III breaks out with Etta and you need a place to stay, my door is always open.”
I laughed, taking a swig of my whiskey, hoping that was nowhere in the future.
Chapter Two
Ashlyn
The bus rumbled like a mythical beast, the black smog streaming out the back only adding to this sense. The sweltering heat was not improving things much. Katie bounced and laughed on my lap. She really could make the best of any situation. I wished I could share her enthusiasm. Ordinarily, my little girl would have been home with her babysitter, and I would be at work, but the fates apparently decided that I should have a life a bit less ordinary. It started with a Thursday a few weeks before. Heart pounding, I had gone into the manager's small office at the back of the diner. I was still wearing my uniform and felt somewhat ridiculous. Sitting there on the old-school wooden chair, designed to be uncomfortable, I looked among the business-like utility of his office — wearing knee socks and a hair bow that made me even look even younger than I was. That was the day I was fired.
The babysitter left soon after, realizing that I wasn't going to be able to actually pay her. Couldn't blame her, really. Someone I could blame was my asshole of a landlord who had given me until this Sunday, or I was going to get thrown out onto the street and possibly found by my ex.
My arm started to ache again. Phantom pains from the time it was broken. I told people at the hospital I had fallen down the stairs. It wasn't a lie, really. Stairs had been gone down. I had just glossed over the bit about me having had help. They never pried, and I didn't elaborate. It wasn't until he pulled a gun on me, while I was nursing, that I decided it was time for us to go. That was over a year ago. A year of hiding and struggles.
Things were only getting worse. I needed money, and I needed it fast. I'd heard about this new restaurant from a friend. It was on the other side of town, but I figured it was worth the two buses it would take to get there just for the slim chance of getting another job.
Standing on the curb a few minutes later, I realized the stories had been somewhat misleading. The place was a diner in the broadest sense but with a distinctly risqué theme — with a uniform that accentuated the server's figure, to put it mildly. I was just desperate enough to give it a try.
Shifting Katie slightly, who was in a baby backpack on my back, I marched toward the restaurant, determined to get the job.
“Hi, I'm here for an interview,” I said to the buxom girl behind the counter. “Seriously?” she asked, looking at me and then at Katie. “Yeah,” I said, with slightly less enthusiasm. “Wait here,” she said, slightly annoyed. Taking of the backpack, I sat down on the vinyl bench, putting Katie back on my lap, which she seemed to love. Exhaustion crashed over me, and I had to pull myself together when I saw the manager coming toward us. “Ashlyn Tate?” he asked. “That's me!” I said, making the effort to perk up considerably. “Come this way,” he said, going back toward his office. Picking up the backpack, I followed, carrying Katie as well as I could with one arm. “Please have a seat,” the manager said, gesturing to a chair across from his desk. “Thanks,” I said, putting the baby backpack beside me as I sat down. “So, what's your experience like?” the manager asked. “I have about a year of diner experience,” I said. “Why did you leave your last job?” “I got downsized.” “I see,” he said, making a note, “you do realize this is a licensed establishment.” I blinked at him. “Yeah, why?” “How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen?” “Twenty-two,” I said. “Really?” he asked, looking up. “Yeah,” I said, my cheeks getting hot. I knew I looked young, even with a baby on my lap.
The manager eyed me. “What’s your cup size?” “You mean, like my bra?” “Yes,” he said flatly. “34D,” I said softly. “Impressive,” he said, taking another note then looking directly at my chest. I nearly said “thanks” on reflex but thought better of it before I could embarrass myself. He sighed. “I have to be honest, I’m not sure I can hire you. Don’t get me wrong. You’re super cute, and your tits are fantastic.” “Thanks,” I said, immediately wanting to slap myself. “It’s just I don’t think our clientele, horny as they might be, are going to go for the jailbait look,” he explained, actually sounding reasonable as he did so — like my last manager had right before he fired me.
I had been called a lot of things in my life, though ‘jailbait’, surprisingly wasn’t one of them. I was too humiliated to really say anything. I just nodded my comprehension, put Katie in her backpack, and left, fighting the tears that were threatening to well up in my eyes. Back out on the sidewalk, I checked my wallet again. I really hadn’t counted on the trip costing that much, wasting not only time and effort but what little money I had.
Katie started fussing as much as she ever did, letting me know she was either hungry or needed a change. I had just put her in a new diaper before we left to get the bus, so I figured it would be the latter. Left with the choice of taking the bus or feeding my daughter, I carefully crossed the street to a nearby supermarket.
It was getting dark when I came out, having fed Katie at one of the tables the store had set up for those who couldn’t wait until they got home. They didn’t have highchairs, so I just held her on my lap and spoon-fed her baby food. Resourcefulness was a major factor of my existence since striking out on my own. Most of the food even got into her mouth, which was a relief.
Thirty blocks. I had counted them as they had gone by the bus window. Thirty blocks between the diner and the apartment building. With no money for the bus, I started to walk, planning to take it one block at a time.
It was getting progressively darker with each passing intersection. By the time we got back, it was pitch black, and the crickets were partaking in their nocturnal serenade. With each step on my worn-out feet, I hoped and prayed that this would be the last problem of the day and the last failure of the week. I wished for a miracle. This needed to end. I was exhausted, hungry and scared. Too much more and I would crumble.