High Class Harlot (Switching Tracks Series Book 2)

by Delia Steele

  Clay reeled me in a few years ago while hanging out with Rory and Rome after I left for college, but I noticed him in high school, too. Monroe Falls is a small place, and like Rory, Clay was a transplant. But unlike Rory, he came with a padded pocket. He has changed physically over the years by adding muscle to his tiny frame, but his personality has gone untouched. Working in that garage with Rome has made my man a nice display of meat, and I get it cut anyway I want it. Even back in school, he never conformed to what everyone around him was. He stayed true to his skater boy/rich boy/punk style, and I love him more for it. Nothing fake about my man…except me.

  Taking a deep breath, I hit Call. I need to hear his voice. I need reassurance. It’s something new that’s come over me the last year or so. I never needed a man’s approval to lift me up before, but these days, I find myself needing it more and more from him.

  “Hey, Baby.” His raspy voice has me instantly ready to jump his bones.

  “Hey, Boo. Sleepin?” I hear him grunt and instantly feel bad for waking him. “Sorry to call so late. Couldn’t sleep. I just needed to hear you,” I say with more whine and cheese than I mean to. “Hey, is someone there?” I ask, hearing background noise.

  “Oh yeah, it’s Thax. He made Rory mad and didn’t want to go home. He crashed on the couch.” I hear the bed creak and know he is tired. I should let him go back to sleep, but the devil in me can’t help playing with him.

  “Hey, Clay…if I were there right now, would you touch me in all my too-hot-for-TV rated places?” I smile knowing he loves my sassy slang in sex talk. He always says my personality is my best feature. He must be blind; we all know my hips are perfect. “Would you let me rub my wet coochie up your leg?” I moan, not meaning to turn myself on. “I want your hands on my tits, Clay.” I hear him moan as well, and I know it’s working. I breathe out, slow and raspy. “Can your Mandoconda come out to play?” BAM! Mood kill. He bursts out into laughter, and the sound causes a foreign smile to spread across my face. It legitimately hurts when I smile, it’s been so long.

  “Baby…my what?” After I calm down, I explain it’s my newest nickname for his monster meat. “Love it, baby! Best one yet!”

  We chat a bit longer, and I see someone headed towards me. It’s late, and the park is nowhere to just hang out at dark. “Clay, I need to go. It’s late, and Gran’s sleepin’. Talk tomorrow?”

  After a yawn he replies, “Yeah. Love you, beautiful.” I snap out a ditto and end the call. I stand to head towards the door but decide to wait. I don’t think the person saw me, and I’m curious. I make my way down the steps and head in the same direction as the shadow, but I never see it again. Stopping at the corner, I have to turn left or right. I figure, since nothing is going right in life, I’ll go left. And I do.

  I don’t make it very far. Two rows down, on the corner, sits a trailer with people standing around a barrel fire in the yard. I recognize a few from school but decide to turn back around rather than get noticed. This isn’t really my crowd. Before I can make my get away, I hear the gravel crunching as someone runs towards me. I whip around, ready to punch and run, but my eyes make contact with this guy, Charlie Wilson. Charlie is a white boy from right here in the park. I grew up playing with him when I stayed with Gran. He went with us to do her laundry, and he pulled me in his wagon all over this place…back when. He was my best friend…back when he was Charlie. Charlie wore shorts and superhero t-shirts, was scrawny but cute even though he had the cooties, with big blue eyes and brown hair.

  Charlie now stands almost six foot tall. His big blue eyes are now lazy and riddled with sadness, his hair looks like it needs a serious wash, and his clothes are two sizes too big. I stare at him because he isn’t Charlie anymore at all. With those huge gauges in his ears and that evil snare he constantly wears, he is now known as Chico, a product of my father. He is a reminder of why I hate my father. He turned my best friend, Charlie, into this thing everyone knows as Chico.

  “Hey, Mans, what you doin’ out so late? Daddy didn’t tell you how we roll ‘round here.” He clicks his head back towards the rough looking crowd. I roll my eyes at him.

  “Is that a threat, Charlie? Seriously? Because if so, maybe I need to call Daddy up and let you discuss your threats with him.” I hate resorting to using him as a threat, but I’m not stupid; this crowd doesn’t need to see my weakness. My dad is my Ace card with these fools.

  “No need, sexy. Want to hang out with me and my crew?” he slurs out, breath reeking of cheap vodka. I roll my eyes again and move to walk away.

  “Hey, Amandolette! Come on, girl. I don’t bite… Unless you beg me to.” My God, is he demented?

  “What the fuck is your problem, Charlie? Don’t talk at me as if I’m one these fugly-ass, trailer cum-filtering, fuckbuckets. You know better,” I say, pissed at how he’s talking at me instead of to me. Like I’m not worth his time. Please, bitch! He couldn’t afford my time if I gave him a fucking loan!

  “It’s Chico, Mans. I’m tha boss ‘round here; get used to it. And stop being a high-and-mighty, uppity bitch like your pops. Come chill wit me like back in tha day.”

  The line about my father breaks my anger. He’s right; I am acting like Balt right now. Money equals status. I refuse to be seen in that light, so I smile a fake-ass smile and reach out to grab his hand. “You’re Chico, but only if you drop that stupid-ass ‘Mans’ and call me ‘Mando.’ Deal? Besides, with curves like these,” I rub my ass up on him just a bit to make sure he sees it, “I’m for sure not a fuckin’ dude!” He gives me this disgusting smile, and it’s so gross, my panties crawl up in my twat to run from him.

  “Yeah, baby, trust. I can see you all woman, and so can e’ry other motherfucker out here.” He pulls me closer to him, dipping his head low towards me and draping his arm over my shoulder. His hand is dangling so close to my tit, if I sneezed, he could grab it.

  I don’t think hanging out with Chico is a good idea, but it’s better than always being alone. We make our way over the fire. It’s not cold, but the fire knocks out the chill. There are guys sitting on old van seats that are scattered around, a few on overturned buckets, and the girls are all dressed like something from a rock video on crack. They look like mowed-over crack whores, for sure. The types Carol would have fit in with.

  “Chico, baby, get your hands off that.” Some skank from the porch calls out, pointing at me.

  “That? Bitch, bring your ass down here, and I will give you a piece of THAT! And it won’t be a piece you want.” I snap out in her direction, but Chico stops me.

  “Don’t mind her. Crystal thinks she’s my girl or some shit.” He turns towards the porch wart and yells, “Shut the fuck up, Crystal! THAT is better than anything you got to offer ya boy.” Turning back, he smiles at me again with that nasty-ass, black-toothed smile. He has the nerve to wink, but it comes across like a nasty eye twitch.

  “Chico, you need to brush your teeth with Ajax, dude, damn!” I snarl my nose up and make a disgusted face. He doesn’t seem to care, just hands me a bottle of blue label vodka and plops down on a vacant seat, taking me with him. I stare at the bottle, listening to the chatter around me, wondering how I got here. I’m in the fucking chum bucket. “Fuck my life,” I whisper as I turn the bottle up, watching it over the tip of my nose as the bubbles rise and the clear liquid slides down my throat. It burns, and with the pain, all other thoughts slowly drift away. My stomach is on fire, but my mind is at ease, and I love it.

  I’m not sure about the time or how much has passed, but the crowd is getting sparse, and the ones here are all sprawled out or making out. I feel a hand on my leg, inching its way up, and I look down.

  “What the hell, Char… Chico? Keep your paws to yourself. I may be drunk, but I ain’t desperate.” I shove his hand off and try to stand.

  “Hey, let me walk you home.” He stands up beside me and waits while I get my balance. I hear a noise and look over at the guy closest to me.

  “Aye, Gir, you Bal
t’s kid?”

  Dusting the ash and dirt from my shorts, I nod my head without speaking. I smell it before I see it, and as I slowly look up from my dusting, I spot the joint in his hand. “I’m out. I don’t play these games, Chico, and I ain’t on that trip, OK?” I turn and make my way back towards Gran’s when the guy speaks again.

  “Aye, why ain’t you dark like them? Ya pops be crazy dark.” I just stare at the fool, wondering what planet he beamed here from. Fucking intergalactic reject doper!

  “I am brown, you half-wit fucking loser. What? You forget to take your anti-idiot pill today?” I spit at him in revulsion.

  “Just askin’.”

  I wait to see if he has anything else to add to that, and when he doesn’t, I say my piece, “I’m just a higher yellow. It happens, ass face. But trust me, as bad as I fucking hate it, I am his kid, through and through. So the next time you think you can come at me… Don’t. I don’t associate with people like you.” I turn but stop when I hear him again.

  “People like me? Bitch, you are the daughter of God in my world. People like me? You live off people like me. Hell, you are me!” He lays back, laughing and puffing on his drug of choice.

  “I am not you. I’m much worse.” Spitting fire from my black eyes and letting the venom drip from my angry snarl, I turn and head home, trying to shake the feeling I have.

  I’m almost back to Gran’s when Chico stops me. “Sorry about them fools. You know they don’t mean shit by it, right?” I just look at him, confused. How would I know what they mean? I don’t even know them.

  “Whatev’s, Chico, I got to go; I’m tired.” Tucking my hands in my pockets, I make my way up the steps. I’m almost to the door when he stops me again.

  “Hey! Tomorrow I have a tournament down at Shooters. Wanna go? Starts at seven.” I’ve lost all aspiration to be rude, so I just give him a sad smile and nod my head before walking inside and closing the door on him. Who cares if it’s my scene or not? At least I won’t be alone. I’m slipping, and I just don’t care to catch myself. I fall into bed. “Fuck my life,” I groan as I wiggle my body and pull at my covers, finally finding that bitch, Sleep, who kept evading me earlier.

  “Get yourself up, now; come on.” I look over the blanket to see the sun shining through the curtain and my Gran standing at the end of my bed. Why must she be in here fussing? We have no plans, and it isn’t a work day.

  “Stop,” I whine, trying to pull the blanket back over my face. No such luck. With a small grunt, she rips the covers off my body and drops them to the floor.

  “Get up. It’s two in the afternoon, and I need milk. An old lady can’t wait all day to eat!” I sit straight up, remembering I promised her I’d grab it before breakfast today. I drop my legs over the bed and pull my shoes on. As I stand, I get dizzy headed and drop back down on the edge of the bed. “Amandolette, you with a hangover is as bad as you without hair product, and right now you are both. Fix yourself before leaving this house. Looks like you been dropped off on the corner of nasty and shitty. You need to pride yourself, child. What is going on? I’ve never seen you so blue.” I smile humorously at her choice of words, seeing as it was the Blue Label vodka that done it. Yeah, I would say I am very “blue.” Hardy-har-har…

  “I’m good; I promise,” I tell her, smacking at the dryness of my mouth. Man, I hate that part. “Give me fifteen minutes, and I will get your milk.” Without another word, Gran leaves me alone with my demons.

  I could go to the Get It and Get Gone station for the milk, but this side of town is kind of rough. Instead, I opt to drive the extra six minutes over the tracks to hit up a cleaner grocery store. What I forgot to anticipate, however, was that this store would be much busier than the other one. After driving up and down those lame aisles for five solid minutes trying to find a parking spot, I pull into a Handicapped spot and get out. I know I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not. We all do it at some point, and today it’s my turn. I get out of the car and do a quick scan before pulling my shorts out of my butt. As I enter the store, I run face first into an ass. When I look up to see who I’ve wrecked into, I can’t help but roll my eyes. Right in my way is Mrs. West, Toby’s bitch-ass mother.

  “Well, hello, Amandolette,” she says with her mouth, though her eyes are saying something else. “You look interesting this afternoon.”

  I just look at her. I can’t decide if I want to cuss her out or just spit on her. Rory was always more calm. She didn’t flip out until she was provoked. But this chump…she turns my insides. I go on the defense immediately.

  “Well, I still look better than you, right? I mean, I look like a young woman who had a promiscuous escapade last night. You, on the other hand, look like an old hag whose son doesn’t speak to her because she is just an old, dried-up cooter fart!” I scan my nails in indifference, as if she isn’t standing here with steam shooting from her ears. “You should get that checked…your personality, I mean. The shit is foul, you old bitch. Even the ladies in your church group complain to Gran at line dancing every Saturday night. It’s a sad day in the world when the church ladies think your shit stinks!!”

  I move to sidestep her, but she puts her hand out to stop me. I almost feel bad for her because she looks sad. Then I remember what she’s done to an innocent child and Ashley. I remember my best friend and the shit that could have happened to my Goddaughter. And I remember what I am looking at. “You deserve everything you get, Mrs. West. Everything. You don’t deserve to know your grandchildren, and you do deserve to be shamed for your awful ways. No one died and left you boss. Your lack of character is a joke. Shame on you and the shit-stained wagon you rode in on. Have a grand fucking day, you rotten, bitchified, trash face, cunt snort, old hag. I don’t want your cuntagious attitude rubbing off on me. And get your ass somewhere and get still so that damn house can squash your highfalutin’ ass already!” With a stomp of my foot and a ‘fuck you’ salute, I turn and strut away towards the milk section. Like a boss.

  I purchase the milk and get back to the trailer in time to see Gran stretched out on the floor like a contortionist. I swear that old lady is going to break her vagina doing this stuff. “Gran, what are you doing?” I place the milk in the fridge and watch over the counter as she bends at the waist, bowing herself backwards

  “Mando, it feels great. It’s called a downward dog or something. But I feel like a bent-up goddess on feel-good java.” She smiles with her eyes closed tight.

  “Not sure what you have planned tonight, but Chic…Charlie is playing at Shooters in a tournament, and I plan to go watch, so I’ll be back late.” I fix myself a turkey sandwich and sit down at the table to eat. Gran does a few more bends in silence before getting up to shut the TV off and join me.

  “You know, child, you are twenty-five years old, and you don’t live here. You can come and go as you please. And you are welcome here anytime as though you live here. So…want to tell an ole dog why you’re hanging out on her porch?” Taking a bite of my sandwich, I watch her watching me and wait to see if she’s done. She doesn’t say anything else as she gets up and fixes herself a bowl of cereal, no regard for it being almost three in the afternoon. “Seems you don’t want to go home, to me,” she picks up where she left off. “You hiding? Cuz I told ya mama where you was. She already knew it, but I like to think I have gossip sometimes.” I roll my eyes at how she wants to be like everyone I hate. I love Gran because she is a bitch just like me. She doesn’t care who she hurts; she will not sugar coat anything. She is filter-less. Ruthless. She is perfect. I drop my napkin and paper plate in the trash and hug Gran from behind, just holding her close to me for a while. “I’m going to go shower, call Clay, and grab a nap. If Chic… Charlie shows up, tell him I’ll meet him there at seven.” Yawning, I turn in the direction of the bathroom and the nice hot shower awaiting me. Maybe it will knock this headache out. Maybe it will kill this funky, ass-sweat smell I have going on.

  The shower doesn’t go as I plan. I turn the wa
ter on and stand under it only long enough to pull some shampoo through my hair. Then I unravel. I just slide down and lay there, letting the water run over my body. I hate feeling this way. I hate letting people affect me. I don’t want to be this way, but I feel so fake, so useless, and so counterfeit; and I have no idea how to change any of it. The water runs cold before I finally move my body, and when I do, I refuse to dry off. I wrap the towel around me, letting all the water drip on Gran’s floor, as I walk towards my room. All I can think about is calling Clay. He will help me. He will pull me out of the funk.

  Falling on the bed, I reach for my phone and pull the covers over my head. I hit the screen and stare at his face again. He is such a pretty guy. He deserves better than me. He needs a woman who can love him the way I can’t. My love is so grave, so sullied, so pointless. He needs a real woman. He needs his own Rory. I hit call and wait for his voice. I must fall asleep before the call even goes through because the next thing I know, I am waking up to the sight of Chico standing at the end of my bed.

  “Aye, girl. Yo Gran let me in. Said you planned on leaving soon, so you were back here getting ready.” It takes a minute for the sleep fog to clear, and when it does, I realize I’m still wrapped in a towel, my hair still damp.