Sorority Girls With Guns

by Cat Caruthers

“This is all your fault!” Tiffany yells, and then she slaps Dusty in the face. With the horse-poop hand.

  “That should be some sort of crime,” I mutter, and Richard snorts and rolls his eyes in my direction.

  “This is not my fault!” Dusty yells. “You upset Rosie by roughing her up. You were angry and she could tell. You never wanted anything to do with horses and everyone knows it, including the horse. You caused this mess with your bad attitude!”

  Tiffany's mouth makes an “O” and I realize she's trying to reconcile his accusation with her happy-crappy experiment. “I do not have a bad attitude!” She actually manages to yell while smiling, which is almost as ridiculous-looking as Richard at his party the other night. “I embraced the opportunities the universe gave me, and this horse-” She points a shaking finger at Rosie. “This horse ruined my day with her bad attitude. And now you're ruining it with your bad attitude!” She turns and runs out of the barn, back toward the ranch house, where I assume she's planning to wash her hands so much it'd make an obsessive-compulsive green with envy.

  Charlie looks at Dusty, standing there with horse shit on his face, and starts chuckling. “You know, I was worried you'd be actual competition for a while there,” he says, shaking his head. “But it's obvious Tiffany doesn't want anything to do with you and this horse ranch business. No pun intended.” Then he launches into another round of laughter.

  Wiping futilely at his face, Dusty glares at Charlie. “You want some of this, man?” He asks, waving a shit-smeared hand at Charlie. “How about if I give you a taste in that big mouth of yours? You want to keep talking here?”

  Charlie abruptly stops laughing. “I'm going to go wait in the car,” he says, and bolts.

  “Anyone else want to learn how to saddle a horse?” Dusty asks, looking at our group.

  “No, thanks,” I say. “It's like the bad country song says – I'd rather ride a cowboy.”

  With that, I turn and walk out of the barn.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I find Tiffany in the ranch house, wiping her hands on a faded yellow dish towel with a picture of chickens embroidered on it. “I know, I know, you told me so,” she yells as I walk in.

  “I didn't say that.” I sit on the couch. “But if you're talking about this happy attitude thing-”

  “I know you think it's a dumb idea, but according to the book jacket, people have seriously changed their lives just by changing their attitudes!” Tiffany wails.

  I raise my eyebrows. “How's it working for you so far?”

  “There's room for improvement, but I'm still hopeful.” Tiffany sits on the couch next to me.

  “Okay, there's the problem,” I explain. “Normal people find it really irritating to hear stuff like that when something goes wrong. And just because the book jacket says that two people changed their lives, doesn't mean it's true. Maybe the people they used as examples just happened to get lucky.”

  “I've really been trying to do everything the book says,” Tiffany says, rubbing her palm on the arm of the couch as if she's still not sure it's clean. “I'm trying not to complain about things as much. I'm trying to see everything as an opportunity instead of a problem. Why wouldn't people like that?”

  “Because refusing to face reality never solved any problems,” I say. “And if nobody every complained about anything, where would we be? Do you think anyone would have invented electricity if everyone was all, 'I'm grateful for this great opportunity to walk into a wall' every time it got dark?”

  “I hate to admit that you're right, but I think maybe you are,” Tiffany mumbles.

  “And I was also right all those times I told you not to try to change yourself for a guy,” I say. “While Dusty is admittedly scorching hot, I don't think he's the right guy for you long-term. You have nothing in common.”

  “Now that's not true,” Dusty says, walking in the door. Apparently he got the horse shit off his face, although I still wouldn't want to kiss him, and it's the first time I've felt that way all day.

  “She's right,” Tiffany says, standing up. “And I think it's time for us to go.”

  “Wait, please, just give me five minutes,” Dusty says. “I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn't have pushed you to bridle Rosie. But think what a great scene that was for your reality show on GluedToYou! It was comic gold. And when we have our own show, I promise you'll never have to deal with horses again if you don't want to.”

  “Our own show? What are you talking about?” Tiffany's brow adds another zero to some Botox doctor's future paycheck. “You've seen our segment about economizing on GluedToYou?”

  “Yes, I have, and I know what you're doing,” Dusty says, reaching for her hand.

  She jerks it away. “What are you talking about?”

  He looks back and forth, between the two of us. “Well, most people who do a series on GluedToYou want to get their own show. And I know you and your friends want to have one on economizing-” He nods to me. “-and that's great. But think how much fun it would be if you had your own spin-off? Just think – sorority girl meets ranch life! We'll use today's scene from the barn for our pilot, and you won't have to deal with horses anymore. But we can do other stuff, like hang out at the local bar and ride mechanical bulls and-”

  Tiffany's looking almost as disgusted as she did when she realized she'd just given herself a horseshit manicure. “So you were just trying to use me?” she yells. “You lying sack of shit! What happened to not caring about money? I thought you said you loved your simple life here on this ranch!”

  “I do!” Dusty waves his arm around the ranch house. “I want to live a simple life on my own ranch, not spend my life working for someone else. And I might even be losing that! Have you noticed that this place is falling apart? If the owner goes bankrupt, I lose my job, my place to live.”

  “So you thought you could use me to get a reality show paycheck for yourself!” Tiffany snarls.

  “No!” Dusty yells, raking a hand through his hair. “I swear Tiffany, I wasn't lying. I really do like you. And I wanted to go out with someone who didn't care about money, who just wanted to be with me. After spending time with you, I started to feel like we could have that.”

  He sits down on the edge of the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. Holy hell, that guy has a sexy lean. “And then I got to watching your reality series on GluedToYou, and I realized we could have our own show. We'd live our simple life together and we'd never have to worry about money. That's all. And we could still have that.”

  Tiffany shakes her head, her mouth turned up in a pout that could be an ad for a collagen company. “Even if I believed you, we still wouldn't be right for each other, Dusty. I don't want a simple life. I tried to convince myself that I did, but now I realize that I don't. I want something better, and I don't want to have to spend my life on a farm to get it. I'm sure you'll find a girl who feels the way you do some day, but I'm not that girl.”

  With that, she turns and heads for the door.

  “It makes me really sad to say this, but I'm not that girl either,” I tell Dusty as I follow her.

  ***

  “So what did we all learn from that experience?” Richard muses on the long ride home. He's already played Tiffany's breakup video on his phone. (She told him it was okay, and that she wanted us to see what a jerk he was. She even posted it right away.)

  “We learned that poor people will use each other for a payday just as fast as they'll use a rich person,” I say. “There are just more opportunities to use rich people.”

  “We learned that Mr. Lone Star isn't the right guy for Tiffany, even if he does have a six-pack that would make Budweiser jealous,” Morgan says, stepping on the gas. Tiffany asked her to drive because she was too upset.

  “You know, I'd never try to use you to get my own reality show,” Charlie says to Tiffany. “And I'd still like to go to the benefit with you tomorrow night.”

  “I'll consider your offer,” Tiffany says, shooting
him a look that suggests his chances will be significantly better if he stops speaking now.

  For once, Charlie uses the right brain and shuts up.

  “Did you notice that even though Dusty says he doesn't care about money - and based on his goal of living an icky country life with horses and mud, I'm inclined to believe him – a lack of money is still causing him problems?” I ask. “That's why it's unfair for anyone to claim that money isn't important, Richard.”

  Richie returns my glare. “He made it an issue, by making money more important that Tiffany.”

  I roll my eyes. “And what do you think will happen to him when the ranch goes under and he loses his job, his place to live?”

  Charlie rolls his eyes. “He'll go on unemployment and welfare and live off the rest of us. I think I want my taxes back.”

  Richard groans. “You're right, Charlie, that's what every poor person wants. It's our dream to go on welfare and live the high life off people like you. Hey, how much do you pay in taxes anyway? You're a student. You don't have even a part-time job.”

  Charlie frowns, scratches his head. “Well...I'm going to start paying taxes soon, when I graduate from college and get my trust fund.”

  “Assuming your mom forgives you for not going to work in her business?” I ask, and Charlie twitches his head in surprise.

  “How the hell did you know about that?”

  “Your mom cut you off too?” Tiffanys asks, pushing her sunglasses back up on her head and focusing her red-rimmed eyes on Charlie, who's still glaring at me.

  I roll one shoulder back. “I hear things. I might have heard you screaming into your phone about needing money for your 'edumacation'. You were pretty loud you know.”

  “It was a party. I assumed everyone was drunk.” Charlie looks at me like I broke some sort of law.

  “Wait, you mean you guys really are as broke as you've been pretending to be?” Morgan asks, and the car fills with the sound of crickets chirping.

  Richard shakes his head. “I'm not forfeiting the bet, and cut off or not, they're still better off than they've been pretending to be.”

  “I will be once I beg my mom's forgiveness and she gives me some of my money back. Hopefully,” Charlie says.

  Richard keeps shaking his head. “You both have your parents' influential name, if not their money. You have all those expensive clothes and gadgets I made you leave behind, which you could sell for a lot of cash.” He looks at me, then Tiffany, then Morgan. “I bet you all have a closet full of clothes similar to the ones you've been buying in the thrift store and selling right?”

  Morgan shrugs. “Eventually they'll both run out of stuff to sell.”

  “And by then they'll be back in Mommy and Daddy's good graces.” Richard shrugs. “Still not the same thing. That's the purpose of this bet: To show you what it's really like to live on a limited income, when you don't have rich parents who will bail you out just as soon as you apologize.”

  “I'm so sick of listening to this!” Charlie snaps, leaning over the front seat to yell at Richard, who's riding shotgun. “We spend almost a month meeting all your challenges, and you're still making fun of us!”

  “Hey, I met all your challenges too!”

  “Oh, yeah, it must have been really hard partying at an awesome club, drinking expensive champagne and enjoying the hookers we ordered,” Matt says.

  “That last stunt almost got me arrested!” Richard yells. “I had to fund a charity party just to get out of that mess.”

  “You're the one who's always saying how the rich should use their money to help others, not themselves. You get the opportunity to do it, and here you are complaining,” Matt jumps in.

  “Well, we're here.” Morgan slams the car into the nearest empty parking place, hitting the brakes so hard we all get intimately acquainted with our seatbelts.

  Tiffany is the first to throw open her door and jump out. Unfortunately, her first try is unsuccessful, since she's forgotten she still has her seatbelt on. For her sake, I make the effort to suppress my laughter as she finally frees herself and flees from the car. Then I follow her as Matt and Charlie get out on the other side.

  “What about me?” Richard yells from his seat. “Aren't you going to drop me at my hotel?”

  “Why don't you walk?” Morgan says, slamming her door shut and glaring through the window at him. “Or call a cab. Or a limo. Or whatever. Just get out so I can lock the car.”

  Richard sighs and reluctantly leaves the car. Morgan locks it and follows Tiffany toward the door. Matt and Charlie head off in the direction of their shared room, and I'm going after Morgan when Richard taps me on the shoulder.

  “What do you want now?” I ask.

  He flashes the dimples. “There's something I want you to know. Thought we should talk in private.”

  “About what?” I turn off my cameras by touching an icon on the app, and Richard does the same.

  The smile keeps going on and off, making his dimples flash like a strobe light. “About how I know your secret, too. About how you'll be keeping your mouth shut even after the reveal on our channel because you want me to do the same.”

  I am too experienced at both being lied to and lying to let this affect me. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “I watched some of your video from the day you and Tiffany and Morgan decided to go thrift shopping.” He leans against the Buick, oblivious to the fact that it's filthy after driving down a dirt road. So much for the expensive clothes Matt goaded him into buying at some swanky, overpriced place downtown.

  “And?” I keep my face and voice still and steady, in spite of the fact that my heart is hammering away at my ribcage.

  “You know, last semester I did an extra-credit report for history about Andrew Jackson,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You know what it said?”

  “His brother Michael was the big star but he was the big, overlooked talent in the family?”

  That actually catches Richard off-guard and the dimples disappear again while he contorts his brow into a Tiffany-like frown. “What are you...oh, you mean Michael Jackson?” He rolls his eyes. “You think they teach that in history class?”

  I shrug. “He was big back in the eighties. That's history. I only know about him because they did a Michael Jackson song week on Are You the Next Pop Tart?”

  Richard sighs. “You know, there are some people who actually read those overpriced books the school forces us to buy. And that's my point – after delivering a report on President Andrew Jackson, I can tell you a few highlights about his life and career, but there's no way I could tell you what he ate for breakfast every day.”

  “Who cares what he ate for breakfast every day?”

  Richard shakes his head, the dimples starting to twitch again. “The point is, I noticed something when you were talking about Feebay: You were way more knowledgeable than the average person who does an extra-credit report for Econ class.” He holds up a hand as I open my mouth. “Yes, I know about your legendary great memory. But you don't read that much about Feebay for a two-minute report in the first place. You would have skimmed a few financial journal articles, mentioned their stock price and maybe a few tips about selling that anyone could get if they Googled 'How to Sell on Feebay'.”

  I lift a shoulder. “So?”

  “So you gave Morgan and Tiffany some very detailed, specific examples. You knew way too much about it to have only sold a couple things for revenge.” He shoves off the Buick and walks toward me. “I read the new sellers' chat board. Everyone new knows nothing about selling, picking the right items, including measurements. You might have guessed right on one or two of those things, but you were explaining stuff like an expert.”

  “That doesn't prove anything,” I say, trying not to talk too fast or too slow or too differently from how I normally talk. “I'm studying marketing. I know a lot about selling. And I did a lot of research for this Green Day project.”

  Richard is s
tanding so close to me now that I can smell his $150 a bottle cologne. “You used your old ID so I was able to look at your selling history. Based on your feedback alone, I can tell you've been selling for years – and not just occasionally, but a lot of items.”

  “So what?” I refuse to confess to anything when he has no proof. “Lots of people sell on Feebay. Especially people who shop a lot. There's only so much room in my closet.”

  Richard pulls out his smartphone and turns it around to face me. “Did you buy that 54DDD bra for yourself? I mean, I know silicone is a girl's best friend and all, but even you couldn't fit into that bra.” He scrolls down. “How about this size 3X sweater with glitter and rhinestones? Even if you could fit in it, you'd call something like this hideously tacky.”

  I sigh as if bored. “Richard, why do you care what I've sold on Feebay before?”

  “You and I both know why.” He leans over and whispers in my ear, “You're not really rich any more than I'm really poor.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Selling on Feebay doesn't prove that,” I whisper back, my lips irritatingly close to those dimples.

  “You picked up on the idea of economizing faster than anyone else,” he continues.

  “I'm smarter than they are.”

  “You had that idea about digging under vending machines for money.”

  “I had a good idea. Did I mention I'm smarter than-”

  “You defend the rich more than any other rich person I know.” Richard's eyes glitter in the dim light of the motel's tacky neon Vacancy sign. “You know, you're right about me. I do have rich person guilt. But so do almost all rich people, to some degree. They may not all act on it as much as I do, but they're not vehemently defending themselves the way you do, either.”

  “It's not rich people I'm defending, Richard, it's money,” I hiss, in case he's still recording this conversation. “Don't confuse the two.”

  He nods. “Only someone who's had to do without money would appreciate it as much as you do. The others take it for granted – even I do sometimes. But not you. You talk about money the way Tiffany used to talk about donuts when she was on that low-carb diet.”