Bobby Sinatra: In All the Wrong Places (The Rags to Romance Series Book 1)

by Mallory Monroe

  Another man comes up, along with some of the people from the diner, and it’s like I’m on display all of a sudden. But the older man puts his hand on my hero’s back. “Let him go, son,” he says to him in an almost whisper, like he doesn’t want the younger man shown in any bad light. But the younger man does what the older man says and releases the guy whose car I hit. That guy straightens his shirt like he’s all big and bad now, and he gives me an evil look.

  But the man who came to my rescue looks at me, and Ayden, too, because I suddenly realize Ayden is out of the car and at my side, giving that guy whose car I hit an evil look right back.

  “You okay?” my rescuer asks.

  But as soon as he asks it, a cop shows up, runs up on me, and grab my hands. He’s placing me under arrest. My heart drops.

  But thanks be to God, my rescuer is there. “What are you doing?” he asks the cop. And he’s not happy about it.

  “It was her fault, sir,” the cop’s saying as he’s putting handcuffs on me. “She blew through that stop sign.”

  “Take those cuffs off of her,” my rescuer says.

  When the cop seems to be upset about that order, my rescuer raises his voice. “Now!” he yells and the cop gets it. He quickly removes those handcuffs.

  Now I’m wondering who is this guy that a cop obeys him. But then my rescuer looks at me. “Take your boy and get out of here,” he says to me.

  He’s apparently somebody big in this town because he’s real bossy, like he’s used to giving orders and everybody obeying them. But I’m so shaken, and because I know I’ve got to get myself together before that cattle call, I thank him and tell Ayden to get in the car.

  But the guy I hit is not so accommodating. “She can’t just leave,” he says. “She has to pay for the damage she did to my car. What about my car?”

  Then something kind of weird happens. The rescuer says he’ll pay for it. Now I’m stunned. I look at the man who called him son, and he looks stunned too. He’ll pay for it? Is he serious?

  This town is really nice. From that diner offering to pay for our meal, to this man. But maybe I’m not used to the kindness of strangers, or anybody else for that matter, because it feels suspicious to me. Too nice. Too generous. What’s going on here? “I can’t let you do that,” I say to my rescuer. “I can make arrangements to take care of it.”

  He looks at me. “You have full coverage insurance on your car?”

  It’s a hoopdee, and he knows it. What idiot would have full coverage on a car like that? “No.”

  He looks at the car I hit. “You’re looking at a few hundred bucks in damage on his car.”

  “At least that,” the guy whose car I hit says, trying to inflate it no doubt.

  “I understand that,” I say. “But I can’t let somebody else pay for what I did.”

  “Yes, you can,” my rescuer says. And he’s looking so hard at me that he’s making me feel small for not accepting his generosity at face value. But I glance at the man who called him son, the older guy. And he appears to be wondering about this sudden generosity too.

  “No, I can’t accept that,” I say to him again.

  “Yes, you can accept it,” he says to me again, and he’s still staring at me like he can see through me. Why is this man staring so hard? Do I know him? But I know I don’t. Who would forget eyes that intense?

  “No, I can’t,” I say again.

  But then Ayden, to my shock, breaks the tie. “Yes, you can, Ma,” he says to me, and is kind of turning me toward my car door. His eyes are on that cop now. Like he’s terrified I might still get arrested. That our rescuer may not have as much power as we think. “Let’s get out of here,” he says.

  I feel awful, and I know my face isn’t hiding it either. This isn’t how I ever wanted to live my life, where other people are footing the bill for me and paying my debts for me. I’ve never been that girl! But paying back a diner for burgers is one thing. I couldn’t afford those burgers, but at least I had the money to pay that girl back. But how in the world am I going to pay hundreds of dollars to repair a car when I don’t even have a few dollars to spare? And from the way that guy came at me, pushing me against my car like I was a piece of trash, he’s not going to take installments. He’s going to want every dime up front. He’s just the type.

  This time, I have to listen to Ayden. “Thank you,” I say to my rescuer, which seems ridiculously nowhere near enough. But he nods his head like it’s enough for him, and he’s still staring at me like he’s looking through me.

  I get in the car, although I hate myself for just leaving like this. I don’t even get a ticket, or have to give the cop my name. I look at the faces in the all-white crowd. And I can feel what they’re thinking. Another black taking a handout. Always ready for the welfare. It’s not true. I’ve never been on welfare in my life. But that’s the stereotype. And some people are more than happy to find evidence of it. I just hate being the one to give it to them.

  But I know I can’t do anything about it right now. I’m in that weak of a position. But as I get in that wrecked car of mine, praying it’ll crank and it does, and as I drive away, I pray to God that I get that hotel job. Because I’m gonna work my butt off. Because I will never allow myself, or my child, to ever be in a begging position like this ever again.

  That’s one check, one promise, I plan on taking to the bank.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It’s already something like eighty people in that hotel lobby applying for those five measly jobs when I get there. Ayden’s in the car across the street waiting for me, with strict instructions: I don’t care how generous these people are, don’t you dare say a word to a stranger. But he’s a smart kid. He already knows that.

  But I’m still in shock by the crowd. I can’t believe this! I’m early, real early, and already there’s this many people? But then again, given how tough times are, It shouldn’t be so shocking to me.

  I guess what I’m really saying is that it’s disappointing.

  Another bite out of my hope apple.

  Another mountain to climb.

  As I’m walking in, a skinny white guy is standing at the door with a clipboard in his hands. He introduces himself as Donald Sinatra, the hotel’s general manager, and I’m surprised because he looks so young. Then he asks me which one am I here for.

  At first, I’m confused. I want to say excuse me, the way I usually do when I’m confused, but he already seems impatient with the crowd. I want to ask him what are the choices. All my mama told me was that they were hiring housekeepers. But if I have a choice?

  Then he tells me what the choices are before I ask him. “What I’m asking,” he says impatiently, “is which position are you applying for? One of the desk clerk positions, or a position in Housekeeping? There are five vacancies for each position.”

  Oh, okay. Now I got my thinking cap on. Ten jobs. Eighty people for ten jobs. Still a lot of people for that few jobs, but at least my odds are improved. And so is my decision. I want to apply for both, to spread out those odds.

  But the Donald quickly nixes that idea too.

  “And you can’t apply for both,” he says to me, as if he can read my mind, “so don’t say you want to apply for both. Now which is it?”

  I’m really unsure which. But I’m sure any kind of clerk job would pay more than a maid job. That much I’m pretty sure about, although, in truth, I’ll take either one. But since I have a choice.

  “Desk clerk,” I say without overthinking it. I’ve never been a clerk of any kind in all my life, although I have been a maid before. But sometimes you have to reach higher. Reaching for whatever was in front of me hasn’t served me well. The lowest on the totem pole is always the first out the door. I’m tired of being first out the door. I need to find a place where I can walk in, and stay a while.

  “Desk clerk, it is,” this Donald Sinatra says to me, and then directs me to the left side of the room.

  It is only as I’m walking to the left side
of the room do I realize the way it really is in Jericho. Forget all the generosity. Forget all the friendly faces. This is the real deal I’m looking at as I walk to the left side of the room.

  There are about twenty-five people on the desk clerk side of the room, and everybody else, at least double that, on the housekeeping side.

  But that’s not all. All of the people on the desk clerk side are white. I mean all of them. Most of the people on the housekeeping side are Hispanic and black. Almost all of them. It was as obvious as the nose on my face. Everybody in that town apparently has a place, and they know exactly where their place is.

  That’s why, I guess, all those white folks are staring at me like I’m an alien from Mars when I make my way over to the desk clerk side. I’m out of place. I look out of place, if you go by skin color alone. But I don’t give a shit. I sit my black ass right in the midst of all those white asses, and wait my turn. I’m staying put.

  The Donald dude begin handing out applications for us to fill out, and tell us to attach our resumes. I have mine at the ready. Nothing on it about any clerking, but I’m still hopeful. I prayed all the way to this place.

  Then, as we’re filling out the application, one of the ladies in the desk clerk group says, “Look y’all,” and they all look.

  I look too. There’s a man walking into the lobby. A very distinguished looking man, very muscular, in one of those elegant, double-breasted suits. What I notice first about him, as soon as I see him, are his eyes. They are the largest, most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. And with his long eyelashes ladies would die for, and his long, brownish-blonde hair that sweeps around him like he was born to be a model, he presents quite the picture.

  I see women on my side looking down, at his body, at what appears to be a big-ass bundle between his legs, and they all seem to be dreaming about what it would feel like to have all of that meat inside of them. And I’m looking, too, to be honest, but I keep going back up, to his eyes. I’m a sucker for big eyes. And his are big, blue, soulful eyes. But what strikes me as odd is the look in his eyes. They aren’t the look of a lover, the way those women on my side seems to view him as, but to me they have the look of a fighter. A dangerous, edgy kind of fighter. Like a thug maybe? But he can’t be. He looks too respectable. Whatever he is, he’s a man’s man, that’s for damn sure.

  And then he looks over at the desk clerk side, and that’s when I realize it. Why didn’t I see it right away? I was in shock at the scene of the accident, yeah that spooked the hell out of me. And he changed into a different suit. But I still should have seen it right away. I should have seen that the man we’re all checking out is that same guy. My rescuer! The guy who punched out that guy for me. The guy who said he’d pay that major car repair bill for me. And now he’s here, at the Jericho Inn, where I am?

  Now I’m really spooked. Did he follow me? Is he stalking me?

  Then I have to smile and get over myself. What am I, nuts? Who, in their right mind, and least of all would want to stalk me?

  I know this is a small town. But damn. It’s still kind of odd.

  And he’s looking at me, as he walks across the lobby, but that could only be because I’m the only dot in a sea of white. But he doesn’t even break his stride. If he recognizes me, like I recognize him, he doesn’t show it. He walks over to Donald Sinatra, who’s still handing out applications on the housekeeping side, and they stand there holding a private conversation.

  So, I continue to fill out my application. He’s just a nice guy who helps people out, I figure, as I’m filling out the form. Until one of the ladies says something else. “He’s the best-looking mayor I’ve ever seen,” she says, and the ladies laugh.

  I know it has to be the same guy she’s talking about. No other good-looking man has walked into this place. And I’m shocked. The mayor? He’s the mayor? The guy who helped me after that accident is the mayor of Jericho?

  Now it makes a little more sense to me. Because it was probably an image thing. Help the damsel in distress and get votes.

  That’s what it is, I say to myself.

  He wasn’t helping because it was me. I’ve never gotten that kind of special treatment anyway.

  But I’m also saying to myself that that’s not what it feels like at all.

  It feels like something. But scrounging for votes ain’t it.

  And when he looks over at me again, and then ends his conversation with the general manager and starts walking over to the desk clerk side, but he’s looking straight at me as he comes, I know I’m right. Getting votes is the last thing on that man’s mind.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It’s her again.

  That was my first thought when I walked into the lobby of Ma’s hotel and saw her sitting over there. She was the only black face in a pack of white faces: it was easy to notice her. But now I’m over here talking to my kid brother Donnie, who was handing out applications to a different group, and I still can’t stop looking over there at her. And I’m asking myself why again. What is it about this woman that keeps me doing this shit?

  Then I figure maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s been such a long time since I’ve made love to a black woman that I’m getting the hots for that one. Maybe it’s as simple as that.

  Or maybe it’s her. Maybe I’m getting the hots, not for a black woman, but for that particular woman. But why her, when I can have the pick of the litter in this town, is still the question that’s nagging me.

  But fuck it. This woman has my attention and I need to talk her, just the two of us, to see if I can figure out why.

  I leave Donnie to finish his work and walk over to the lady. Some of the other ladies are perking up, like I’m coming to talk to them, and I do recognize a face or two. Might have even fucked those two back in the day. It’s certainly possible. I used to fuck my way all up and down Jericho back in the day, and their social status didn’t mean shit to me. But my ass is getting old now. I can’t remember names or faces the way I used to.

  But it’s not just those two perking up, it’s the entire group of ladies. They’re all stopping what they’re doing and staring at me.

  All, to my dismay, except the one I’m coming to see.

  I know she saw me coming, because she was looking at me when I first left Donnie’s side. But now she’s all buried in her application like she don’t give a fuck. Until I smile and say, “Good afternoon, ladies,” and everybody cheerfully speaks up. And she looks up.

  And when she looks up at me with those cat-like, beautiful, serious but so sad eyes, my heart actually flutters. It’s like I’m looking into the eyes of somebody near and dear to me that it’s startling. Who is this girl? Why am I having any reaction at all to her? I know now I’ve got to find out.

  To the astonishment of the other ladies, I move over to her. “Hey,” I say to her.

  She gives me a little smile. Nothing overdone like the other ladies are doing, but it does soften her face. “Hi.”

  Then I just go for it. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

  The other ladies look at her like they’re stunned. Why in the world would Mayor Sinatra want to talk to her? That’s the look they’re giving her.

  But for her part, she looks mortified. Like I’m accusing her of a crime. “Yes, sir,” she says and rises to her feet.

  “It’ll only take a moment,” I say to her to help ease her sudden distress. But it doesn’t seem to help. She has her paperwork still in her hand, and her pen, and she places her pocketbook strap across her narrow shoulder as she walks with me across the lobby to the hotel’s diner. Only a handful of customers are in the place, as the dinner crowd hasn’t arrived yet, and I wave off the waitress who’s hurrying over to take our drink orders. This isn’t that kind of sit down.

  We sit down at a booth by the window. But I don’t sit across from her the way it looks like she was expecting. For some crazy reason, I sit on the booth seat right beside her. Because I need to be that close to take the measure of this woman.
But it’s a mistake.

  Because she smells so wonderful, so fresh and clean with a hint of perfume on her smooth skin, and her hair, her thick, curly black hair looks so soft and radiant up close. And her breasts. The outline of her nipples can be seen if you look hard enough, as if she’s not wearing a bra. She is. But I guess I’m just turnt up.

  “You’re applying for a job here, I see,” I say to her, as if it’s not obvious.

  “Yes, sir,” she says to me.

  I’m trying to smile and keep it on the friendly tip, to relax her a little more, but I know it’s not working. Mainly because my eyes keep moving down, from her face to her breasts, as if that’s all I’m interested in. As if I can’t control my own eyes. As if I’ve never seen breasts before!

  And another thing’s happening to me that I don’t like. Her just being beside me has got me going again. Has got my penis throbbing again. I lean forward, with my arms on the table, as if that’ll ease this shit up. That only mildly works because, when I look over at her again, and she look over at me with those beautiful eyes, I stop fucking around and get a full-blown erection. An erection! What the fuck is wrong with me?

  “Everything okay?” I feel a sudden need to ask her.

  “Yes, sir,” she says to me like she doesn’t understand why I’m asking such a personal question. “I’m fine,” she adds.

  “Sure about that?”

  She hesitates. She’s probably not sure about any of it. But she’s not about to share that with me. “Yes, sir,” she says.

  “Okay, let’s make a deal,” I say. “If you agree to stop calling me sir, I’ll agree to stop scaring you.”

  She smiles. And this time it’s a genuine, nice, big smile. And then she even laughs. “You’ve got a deal,” she says.

  “That’s more like it!” I say, smiling too. Why I’m happy she’s smiling, I can’t say. But I am happy.

  But then there’s an awkward pause again, but I quickly fill the silence. “I know you’re wondering why I asked you to come back here with me,” I say to her.