Rhodium

by Elise Noble

  Darly forgave me, grudgingly, so Friday found me back at the shampoo station, elbow-deep in suds as an elderly customer told me all about “that young girl who ran off to the city, then came back with her tail between her legs.” I didn’t know what was worse—having to listen to her tell me what a mess I’d made of my life, or the thought that she’d most probably discussed it with everyone in town.

  But I got paid. Cash.

  On Saturday, I spent a few dollars on Mason’s gift. If I’d been rich, I’d have bought him the car he’d always wanted, but he’d have to make do with a Corvette key ring and an IOU. And the pie. I helped Mom, and we went all out with his favourite lemon meringue, plus a coconut cream and a pecan to round things out.

  “How many people did you invite?” I asked her. We could have fed the whole town with the spread on the table.

  “Oh, just the usual. Your grandparents, Mason’s grandparents, Auntie Beth, your cousins, some of Mason’s friends, the Boses.”

  “The Boses? But they’re not family.”

  “I think you and Randy would make a lovely couple.”

  “He’s not my type. And he cheated on his last girlfriend.”

  I’d heard all about it at the salon. The story changed depending on who told it, but the key facts were always the same: Randy got caught with a high school senior in the bathroom at Marnie’s Diner. She’d been on her knees, which was bad enough in itself, but in a public restroom? Thinking of the sticky state of that floor made me shudder.

  “Give him a chance, Pippi. Everybody knows Mary Kate was a difficult girl.”

  A bit highly strung, perhaps, but she still didn’t deserve to be humiliated like that. And did Mom really think that little of me that she’d set me up with a man who’d been voted “top horndog” in high school two years running?

  To his credit, Randy made the effort to put on a tie, but he’d tied it too short and it hung halfway down his little pot belly like a clock pendulum. I watched it swing backwards and forwards every time he reached across the table for more food.

  “So, how was your time in Virginia?” he asked in between shovelling fried chicken and grits into his mouth. And he chewed with his mouth open. I tried not to look, but the sound alone put me off my own dinner.

  “It was an interesting experience.”

  “You didn’t complete college, huh?”

  Thanks for reminding me. “No, I still have half a year to go.”

  “Why’d you quit?”

  “I missed home.”

  “I bet. What’s not to like about Hartscross? Bet you don’t get peach pie as good as your momma’s in Richmond.”

  “Not unless I make it myself.”

  “Don’t get why people want to go to college, anyway. I’ve done just fine without it.”

  Randy managed the local sports bar, or rather, he hung out there while his dickwad friends got drunk every time football was on. Or baseball. Or boxing. So most of the time, really. And everybody knew Randy’s daddy bought him his truck.

  “I wanted to learn.”

  “As long as a woman knows how to cook, that’s plenty.” His daddy nodded in agreement. Then Randy leaned in and lowered his voice. “And fuck. A woman’s gotta know how to fuck.”

  He nearly ended up wearing his damn pie. I gritted my teeth so hard I thought they’d end up as dust, then lurched backwards over the wooden bench.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling a little sick.”

  Mom’s brows knitted together. “You need to lie down?”

  “I think that’s for the best.”

  Because I couldn’t kick Randy in the testicles if I was in my bedroom, could I? How dare he? I stormed up the stairs and slammed the door behind me. What a pig! And worse, half of the men in Hartscross belonged in the sty. Randy wasn’t the only one to think a woman’s place was in the home, either at the stove or on the bed with her legs spread. I’d rather become a lesbian than date any of them.

  Stretched out on the bed, I fumed quietly as the sounds of the party drifted up from downstairs. I didn’t even get a slice of coconut cream pie, and I bet by the time Randy left, the boys would have put away the lot.

  Light footsteps sounded on the stairs, breaking me out of my funk, followed by a soft knock on the door. Tell me Mom had brought pie?

  “Come in.”

  The door cracked, and Randy slipped inside, grinning.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Thought I’d see how you were feeling.”

  “Like I’m gonna puke.”

  I wasn’t lying. He had a glob of cream stuck to the side of his mouth, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

  “Looks as if my offer might have to wait.”

  “What offer?”

  “I know cash is hard to come by in this town, especially for a girl like you. So I thought I’d become a client.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  He dropped down on the edge of my bed, and I shuffled to the far side. The way he looked at me didn’t escape my notice, his slow appraisal as he scanned my body from neck to toe.

  “I know what you do in Richmond. Overheard Pop whispering on the phone. Something about a lawyer wanting to subpoena you for your part in that murder case.” He palmed himself through his pants. “So, what do you say? Why not earn a few bucks while you’re back here?”

  I suppose you could count that as disaster number five. The one place I felt safe, the one place I thought I could escape from my past, and Randy had just stolen that from me.

  “I-I-I don’t do that anymore.”

  “Maybe not as a job, but how about as a sideline?”

  “Get out.”

  He sighed. “Why do women play so hard to get? Look, let’s make a deal. You play with me, and I’ll keep your little secret.”

  “You’re blackmailing me? You… You…”

  He leaned over and trailed a finger down my breast, and I shoved his hand away. Filthy swine.

  But he only grinned. “Tell you what; I’ll give you a couple of days to consider it. I know you’ll see sense. After all, I’m sure your mom wouldn’t want to hear about her precious Pippi’s sordid past.”

  “I’ll kill you, you bastard,” I hissed.

  “Not when my daddy’s the sheriff, you won’t.” He lurched to his feet. “You and me, we’re gonna enjoy getting to know each other.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “WHY D’YA HAVE to go back to Richmond, Pippi? You only just came home.”

  Mom stood in my doorway, watching me pack. Every so often, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, all dainty like in the movies. A stickler for detail—the parlour excepted—she’d even coordinated it with the blue of the flowers on her dress.

  “I got offered a job. And I want to finish college.”

  Of course, Randy could still spill my secret if I wasn’t in Hartscross, but I didn’t think he would. There was no fun for him if he couldn’t witness the full effect of his cruelty.

  “But you have a job here.”

  “Shampooing hair. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life shampooing hair.”

  “But Darly’s such a sweetie.”

  “I know, Mom.” My case was full, and I flipped the lid shut. I had no idea whether I’d be away for a week or a month, so I needed to take enough clothes for an extended trip. “But I always wanted to run my own business, and I can’t do that in Hartscross.”

  “Sure you can. Jaycee Colbertson set up a nail salon last year, and she’s done real well.”

  Dammit, why did Mom have to make things so difficult? This was the side of her I vowed never to allow in myself—the neediness that would make my happiness dependent on another person. I wanted to find my own way in life, even if I hadn’t done such a great job of it so far.

  Meanwhile, all I could do was give my mom a hug. “I’ll visit more often than before. I promise.”

  “But it’s your birthday coming up in February. I had a big party planned.
”

  “We can still have the party. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Only I hoped to have a little more control over the guest list.

  She brightened a touch and gave me a quick half smile. “I thought we’d go with jewels as the theme. Marnie based her daughter’s celebration on flowers, but I don’t want to copy. We can have decorative centrepieces, and glasses to match, and…”

  Jewels? Great. Rubies and sapphires.

  Mom chattered away as I took one last look around my room. I’d once thought it was cute, the way she left it exactly as it had always been, but now I realised she lived in the past. She hated change, and in her head, I’d forever be a child.

  Chester drove me to the bus station, his face serious. He’d made his feelings about me leaving yet again quite clear.

  “You can’t keep doing this to your mom,” was his parting shot as he heaved my suitcase out of the trunk.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, but I was talking to empty air. He’d already driven off.

  Ten hours seemed like twenty as the bus rumbled north overnight. All was in darkness as we meandered up through Georgia and the two Carolinas, and I’d lost the will to live by the time the bus pulled into Main Street Station.

  The first time I made this trip, I’d been full of hope for the future. Apart from one week in Florida, I’d never spent more than a day away from Hartscross, and the bright lights beckoned. Now I knew their glare hid the dark side of society that most people didn’t want to talk about, even the ones who secretly roamed there at night.

  And now I’d exhausted my college fund and my dreams. I had six hundred dollars in my checking account, no home, and no job. And only one long shot of an idea.

  The businessman sipping from a sleek black cup at the table next to the door looked down his nose at me as I wheeled my suitcase into Java. I knew what he was thinking: “that girl’s lost.”

  And I was, just not in the way he thought.

  The same blonde girl from last week stood behind the counter, watching curiously as I shuffled towards her.

  “You want coffee?”

  “Actually, I was hoping for a job,” I blurted.

  “You were with Octavia last week, weren’t you?”

  I nodded, holding my breath, both apprehensive about her response and hopeful because she’d been in my position and come out on the other side. Maybe she’d understand?

  “You’d better come through. You can wait in the break room while I serve this lot.” She jerked her head towards a gaggle of suits who’d just walked in. “Then we can have a chat.”

  She lifted the counter for me to go past, and I scurried through the doorway she indicated. The break room was little more than a cupboard with a couple of battered chairs wedged into the corners, shabby and mismatched. I perched on the edge of one, terrified of the situation I’d got myself into but at a loss over how to find a way out of it. Perhaps I should have stood up to Randy, but he’d always had a habit of spreading gossip in high school, and worse, he liked to see his victims squirm.

  So, here I was, back in Hell, Virginia. Population: two hundred thousand perfectly nice citizens and one arrogant ass of a lawyer.

  “I thought you could use a coffee. Espresso, right?”

  The blonde squeezed past my suitcase and settled into the chair opposite, our knees just inches apart.

  “Thanks.”

  I hadn’t drunk anything since North Carolina, or eaten for that matter.

  “Still on a diet?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Would you like a muffin? On the house?”

  “Yes, please.” My voice cracked a little. I wasn’t used to that sort of kindness.

  She wriggled out again and came back with a double chocolate, wrapped in a napkin.

  “You look as if you need this.”

  I balanced it in my lap, careful not to take a layer of skin off my tongue this time as I sipped my drink.

  “I’m Imogen,” the girl offered. “Also known as Ginger.”

  “Ginger?”

  “I used to dye my hair.”

  “Stefanie.” I felt my cheeks heat. “Also known as Sable.”

  “You had the guy with the bunny fetish, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Octavia mentioned that. Like a Playboy bunny?”

  “That’s what I thought when I first got the booking, but it was more like the Easter bunny. I had to wear the outfit then feed him fruit out of a basket. Grapes, mainly, but he also liked pineapple. Crazy, huh?”

  “Every Friday night, I had dinner with a man who enjoyed dressing in a rubber suit and having me lead him around like a dog. I say ‘had dinner with,’ but he didn’t used to eat on account of the suit didn’t have a mouth hole. Or eyeholes.”

  I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “For real?”

  “Yeah. And he was loaded. He had a Ferrari and a Bentley parked in the driveway.”

  “I also got the man who liked me to go to charity fundraisers with him. It all looked perfectly normal from the outside, but he insisted we wore each other’s underwear.”

  “Didn’t you get VPL?”

  “I had to be real careful which dress I wore. Those parties were full of singers and movie stars.”

  “Ohmigosh. Proper A-list?”

  “More like Z-list.”

  “I spent an evening with a movie star once. B-list but, like, ten years ago. He spent dinner referring to himself in the third person and then he couldn’t get it up.”

  In my whole life, I’d never come across someone I clicked with as easily as Imogen. Even Chrissie. I mean, we used to discuss work, but not all the details, not like this. Imogen was a hoot. We chatted about the ridiculousness of Rubies for ten minutes until we both had tears streaming.

  “Hang on,” she said. “I just need to let Lance know I won’t be long. Technically we only get fifteen minutes for breaks, but he’s flexible.”

  She poked her head out the door then sat down again. “So, you’ve turned up with a suitcase. That looks serious.”

  Before I could stop myself, I told her about the court case, home, and Randy Bose. Not Oliver, though. Somehow, what happened with him made me feel more stupid than all the rest put together.

  “I heard about the court case. I’d quit by then, but us girls still talked.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “My old roommate had this boyfriend, and they used to curl up on the sofa every Sunday night and watch movies. She always looked so content. And I realised I’d never have that, not if I carried on being a Ruby.”

  “So you’ve met someone?”

  “Not yet, but at least now I go on dates with relatively normal people.”

  “I struggled with money. Before Rubies, I used to work in a coffee place, but I got behind on all the bills.”

  “I won’t kid you—it’s tough going straight. I work here four mornings a week, plus vacation cover like today, and I waitress a couple of evenings at a restaurant too. And do manicures in my spare time.”

  “Is it worth it?”

  She stared at the wall behind me for a few seconds. “Yes, I’d say it is.”

  I coughed nervously. “When I came in last week with Octavia, you mentioned there was a job opening. Is it still available?”

  Her smile lit up her face again. How many rubies did she have? That grin alone was worth five. “Sure is. Mornings have been a nightmare since the last girl left, and the boss put hiring a replacement on my plate as well as everything else. He hates getting his hands dirty.”

  “Can I apply?”

  “Better than that, you can start tomorrow. Octavia says you’re reliable, and if you’ve served coffee before, this’ll be a breeze.”

  I sagged back in the chair. “Oh, thank goodness.” Then I remembered. “But I have court next Wednesday.”

  “You poor thing.” Imogen was one of those touchy-feely people, and she reached out to squeeze my hand. “I can get Lance to cove
r for you that day. He doesn’t mind doing the occasional extra shift.”

  “You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Oh, I’ve got my own interests at heart. I need the help.” Imogen clapped her hands then glanced over at the suitcase. “Do you have somewhere to live?”

  “Not yet. I’ll pick up a cheap hotel room tonight, then look for a place tomorrow.” I stifled a yawn. “Sorry. I’m so tired.”

  “I only mention it because I’m looking for a roommate. The last one left on real short notice and left everything in a mess. I haven’t finished clearing, and the only applicant I’ve had wanted to know if I’d have a problem with threesomes.”

  A bit of my coffee went down the wrong way, and I spluttered into my hand. “She wanted to hold threesomes in your apartment?”

  “He. And he wanted me to join in.”

  “Oh my…” I had no words.

  “So if you’re interested and you’ll help with the tidying, I could offer you half rent for the first month.”

  Never before had I felt the urge to kiss another girl, but today I wanted to fall at Imogen’s feet and lick them. In some ways, she reminded me of Chrissie.

  “That sounds perfect.”

  “Awesome! Let me finish my shift, and then I’ll show you the apartment. You want another drink?”

  “I’d love one. And I don’t usually drink espresso.”

  She winked at me. “I know, sweetie.”

  Imogen lived a ten-minute walk from Java in a cute little fourth-floor apartment. Nothing flashy—just a tiny lounge with two bedrooms leading off it, a shared bathroom, and a kitchen with two stools at the counter. It may have been small, but she’d decorated it to be cosy, just the way I liked it.

  And the room wasn’t even that much of a mess. It would only take me a day to fix up, and I didn’t need much more than what it contained: a bed and nightstand, a tiny closet, and a desk and chair. If I ever got back to college, that would be perfect for studying.

  “I’ve got spare sheets you can borrow, and towels.” Imogen poked her head around the doorjamb. “And we get as much free coffee as we can drink.”

  “At the moment, I think I need it.”