Not So Prince Charming: A Dirty Fairy Tale Page 5

  I nod, going out to Delivery Driver and passing along the news. “Five minutes? I’d better be getting a discount.”

  “I’m sure we can. I just have to ask my manager,” I reply sweetly before going back to the register to help someone with their bill. After ringing it up, Elaine comes over, smirking.

  “You’re so busy with the UPS guy that you didn’t see Red come in,” she says, pointing to the far corner table where one of my besties, Charlotte Dunn, is sitting. “Go take a break. I’ll handle everything for a bit, and I’ll have two slices of mud pie over there lickety-split.”

  “You’re the best, Elaine,” I murmur, handing her my order pad. “Thanks.”

  “I know it, and you’re welcome,” Elaine says, shooing me off when I warn her about the grumpy delivery guy.

  I walk over to the booth and drop in, suddenly feeling the long day. “Hey, Char, what’re you doing here this late?”

  “They had me on late shift at work for a special project,” Charlotte says, smiling that happy smile she always has.

  Seriously, Char’s like the chirpiest person I know as long as you’re not talking about men. She’s had an especially bad run lately, and even her usual mantra of ‘there’s no such thing as Mr. Wrong, only Mr. Right and Mr. Right Now’ has been trashed. But you could dump her in the middle of the Sahara in August with nothing but a ski outfit and she’d be happy about how the goggles help keep the sun out of her eyes.

  “Another girl called out sick and the copies had to be made and filed today.”

  “Ah . . . Blackuenza?” I ask, using my made-up term for when people who work in the Blackwell Building just say fuck it and quit with no notice. “I seriously don’t know how you put up with it, babe.”

  “I don’t work for the man directly, remember?” Charlotte says with a smile. “I honestly can’t think of the last time I saw him even come inside the building. And the pay’s okay for now.”

  “For now . . . how’d we end up in this fucked up cul de sac of life?” I ask, shaking my head. “I mean, Mia found her way out, but I feel like I’m circling the drain most days.”

  “Yeah . . . you were ready to castrate her man not that long ago, remember?” Charlotte asks, and I laugh. That’s true. I was.

  But Mia’s guy, Thomas, came through in a big way for her, like grand gesture style, and I’d happily watched from the sidelines as she got her fairytale ending. And I am thrilled for her, truly and completely, but it is a reminder that while people around me are making leaps and bounds, I’m drudging along with baby steps.

  Forward, but at a snail’s pace that’s basically killing me most days.

  Today was different, a voice whispers in my head.

  “Okay, okay . . . so what brought Roseboro’s most vivacious ginger in tonight?”

  “Redhead, not ginger. I got a soul!” Charlotte teases. “Mostly just wanted a little comfort food and to catch up with you. Been a few days.”

  Elaine comes over with two of the biggest slices of mud pie I’ve ever seen on each plate. Seriously, she had to have hand-sliced them.

  “You should tell Red about your Prince Charming hottie.”

  She doesn’t wait for me to say a word, turning straight to Charlotte and spilling, “He came in the past two nights in a row. Whoo-wee, that man is a good two hundred pounds of pure American beefcake if I’ve ever seen it.”

  She closes her eyes, grasping her hands at her chest and moaning, “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Oh, God, don’t start,” I groan, dropping my head as Elaine laughs. “Seriously?”

  “Beefcake, huh?” Charlotte asks, eyes ping-ponging from Elaine to me. “You know how I feel about that.” Her look of disdain says everything.

  “Red, please. What you need is to go find yourself a good man too,” Elaine says in that motherly way she has. “Your friend Pinkie Pie got herself wise. Now you two need to as well.”

  I grin at her calling Mia ‘Pinkie Pie’ because while Mia’s hair goes through a rainbow of colors, she does tend to dye it pink more than anything else. With her calling Char ‘Red’, I wonder if she calls me ‘Brownie’ in her head to keep with the hair color theme, but it doesn’t seem the time to ask as Charlotte’s gearing up for her soapbox speech about not needing a man to complete her life.

  “’Bye, Felicia,” Charlotte finally says, wrapping up her latest story about the guy she kicked out for telling her to make him a sandwich.

  I mean, he actually said that to her, unironically. Charlotte said he even scratched his balls as he said it, but I suspect she’s embellishing there. But she’s smiling a little as Elaine leaves. “That woman’s a trip and a half.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I reply as I cut a big spoonful of chocolate yumminess and chew slowly. “Remember, I’m the one who works with her damn near every day of the week. But she gets a pass when she serves me big pieces of pie like this.”

  “Mmmhmm,” Charlotte agrees before putting her spoon down. “Now, tell me about this man? Catch me up?”

  “Just a cute guy who came in the past two nights,” I demur, trying not to gush too much.

  I give Char a rundown on Gabe because it’s fun to think about him and gossip with my friend since I usually have zero to contribute to social life chats.

  “Oh, and he’s got that thing where when he smiles, only one side goes up and then the rest of his mouth catches up in slow motion. Like you can see the smile race across his lips. Makes me want to chase it. With my thumb or maybe my tongue.” I can hear the wistfulness in my voice.

  “True sign of a player,” Charlotte says even as she gives the same sort of lopsided smirk. “What about life outside the diner? Classes okay?”

  “I suppose,” I reply, remembering that I have a test coming up. A test I know I’m not ready for.

  “You sure?” Charlotte asks, piercing through my veil of toughness pretty quickly. When you’ve known each other as long as we have, that’s not too hard, and I’m sure she can see the weariness I wear like a cape most days. “If it’s not school, what is it?”

  “Well, Russell’s starting to harass me.” I start telling her about his threats and visits to my house demanding payments.

  I’ve always tried to minimize my financial difficulties with my friends, not hide them, exactly, but I don’t go around whining about how tight my bottom line really is. But they can read the silent little signs like they’re neon lights. I know they’d help me if I’d let them, but I don’t want their charity. I want to handle things on my own.

  But this thing with Russell is becoming something else altogether. Not just a bill, but a real danger, so I’ve tried to talk about him the least.

  So when I’m finished, I’m shocked at how long I’ve been blabbing and how much I shared.

  “Anyway, he’s a huge pain in the ass. And if you get a call from the county jail, answer it and bring me some bail money because I’ve probably maced him for lurking around my fence and mouthing vulgar shit.”

  Charlotte’s pissed. “That son of a . . . I should kick him in the balls so hard they come out his nose.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible, Char.” But her vehemence makes me smile a little despite the ugly situation.

  “I don’t care!” Charlotte hisses. “I’m worried about you, babe. I mean, he threatened you!”

  “He’s woofin’, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh. Still, if it were me in your position, I’d forget the mace and get a gun. You never know what’s out there, and that guy is a piece of shit, Izz.”

  I freeze, the last bite of pie suspended on my spoon, shaking a little. “A gun?” I say in shock.

  I mean, I’ve never even held a gun and would definitely be the dipshit who accidentally shoots themselves in the foot if I ever wrapped my hands around one.

  “Babe, you live alone. In not the best part of town. And you’ve got a dope fiend hitting you up for cash. I’m not saying you need to be Rambitch and lug an Uzi around, but something small? Enough that
if someone does force things, you can defend yourself. That’s a good idea.”

  She makes good points, but there’s one kink in her line of thinking. “Yeah . . . and how’d I buy one when I’m barely getting by?” The words slip out before I realize how they sound.

  Char reaches for her purse, but I stick my hand out. I’ve got a hard policy, no pity pennies from my friends. “Char, no!”

  “Fuck that. Listen, I’ve got a coworker, Brady. His brother runs a gun club just outside of town. Brady always said that if I gave his brother this card, he’d hook me up with a good deal. Lessons, a starter gun, everything. Just give him a call and see what it costs. Maybe it’s not that bad?”

  “Yeah, well, thanks, but I don’t need a gun.”

  Char still holds out the card, and finally, I take it, tucking it in my pocket. “You know this is ridiculous. Guns are just . . . I don’t know.”

  “Listen, honey, in most instances I’d be right there with you. I’d be more inclined to shoot some asshole’s swinging dick off with it than use it to defend myself,” Charlotte jokes.

  At least I hope she’s joking. “But really, your situation is different . . . oh, hell, no!” she says, smacking the table.

  “What?” I ask, and Char rolls her eyes, sighing heavily like she’s disappointed in me.

  “I make one dick joke, and your eyes went all spacey on me. You were thinking of Beefy McSmiles again, weren’t you?” she points a manicured finger at me accusingly.

  Caught red-handed, I look down, a little embarrassed. “His name’s Gabe, not Beefy McSmiles. Although that has a nice ring to it,” I tease, and then quietly fake a porn-star breathiness. “Ohh, Beefy!”

  “Gabe, Beefy, Tyler Durden, what does it matter?” Charlotte sputters, shaking her head. “Come on, we took the pledge together. Don’t tell me you’re backing out?”

  She holds up three fingers, her thumb holding her ring finger down, and her face solemn like she’s taking an oath.

  “No, but really, Char, a pledge to become celibate married lesbians if perfect men don’t sweep us off our feet by thirty?” I ask, remembering the promise we’d made each other in a drunken night of commiseration a few years ago. “Not saying you’re not my main girl, but you really want to marry me and totally give up on men?”

  “It’s not like I’m into you that way,” Charlotte reminds me. “But you’re a good cook, you make me laugh, and best of all, we’d never fight over the toilet seat in the middle of the night. Actually, the best part is I can trust you, and that’s worth sleeping in separate bedrooms the whole time.”

  “I’m also an utter slob,” I argue, though that’s not at all true. More seriously, I say, “You know I’ve got your back no matter what, Char, but isn’t life more hopeful than that?”

  “So says the girl who has zero social life, much less a sex life, lives in a shack, and needs to learn how to handle a gun.”

  I growl in frustration, arguing back the only thing in her list I can refute. “I do not live in a shack! It’s not that bad!”

  “Hey, I’m not hating. At least it’s your shack,” Char reminds me. “I rent my place so I don’t have room to talk. But I’m serious. I don’t want to hear about you on the news with your body parts scattered all over Roseboro because I am not adopting a mommy-less Vash. She’s cute and all, but I’m a dog person.”

  “Hey, Izzy, last charge!” Elaine calls, and I raise a hand to acknowledge her.

  “Listen, I need to help with the drunk rush before closing time and start cleanup. It’s good to see you though. Thanks for coming in, Char.” I do appreciate her stopping by because between all the other things on my plate, a girls’ night out isn’t likely to happen anytime soon.

  She gets up and drops a five on the table, even though we both know Elaine’s not going to charge for the pie.

  “Seriously, babe, think about it. The gun, that is. And about Mr. Beefcake, check him out before you get too hung up. Remember, Mr. Hitachi will never ever let you down.”

  “We’d never work. I don’t speak Japanese,” I joke, and Charlotte laughs. We hug, and I squeeze her tightly. “I promise, I’ll be okay, hon.”

  “Okay, I’ll check in soon.”

  Elaine and I handle the last batch of customers that come in as we finish the prep work for the morning crew. After we lock the door and run the numbers at the end of the night, I look at my totals for the shift. Maybe it was easier back in the day when most tips were cash, but now with so many people paying by card, I have to wait until the end of the night to see my final tally . . . and it’s pretty damn pathetic.

  “Fuckin’ Pork Chop Guy didn’t even round up to the nearest dollar,” Elaine complains as she looks at the printout on the register receipt. She sees my downcast face and pats my shoulder. “It’ll be okay, hon. Payday’s on Friday, at least.”

  I force a smile, rubbing the back of my neck. “Let’s just get cleaned up.”

  Elaine nods, and I see her slip an extra twenty from her own tip pile into mine as we clean, but I’m too defeated to say anything. There go my damn morals.

  “You know, hon, why not talk to your friend’s fiancé?” Elaine asks as we get ready to leave. “Seriously, the man can buy half of Roseboro, and you’d pay him back, I know it. Hell, I’d hate to see you go, but maybe he could even set you up with something that pays better.”

  She looks through the dark windows to the night outside, and I wonder if she ever dreamed of getting out of here when she was younger. Her lips purse, and I amend my thought, wondering if perhaps she still dreams of it.

  “I . . . I’d prefer not to, that’s all,” I admit. “Guess my pride’s still pretty mixed up in all this. I want to stand on my own two feet.”

  “Yeah well, sometimes, we have to accept a little help, even when we don’t want to, to get to where we’re going. I’m sure that Goldstone boy would help. You could pay him back, and when you get to solid ground, you return the favor and help some other stubborn girl who could clearly benefit from a bit of a boost.”

  She looks at me hopefully, like she wants me to hear the genius of her idea.

  I nod and mount my scooter. “Maybe,” I say, but it’s a lie.

  Chapter 6

  Gabriel

  “You have seven days. Or else I will be upset.”

  Blackwell’s words replay in my mind, weighing upon my shoulders like a ton of bricks as I dissect them repeatedly. There’s not much to the two sentences, a deadline and a threat. But it’s the threat’s ambiguous nature that turns over and over in my head.

  What is he willing to do?

  How far will he go?

  I pause to take a breath and look up. In front of me is a nearly sheer rock wall.

  While I’ve always been a good athlete, nothing quite gets my blood pumping and my endorphins going like nature. It’s the one thing that helps me clear my thoughts and center myself.

  Which is what brought me to this spot, about twenty minutes to the west of Roseboro, in the middle of a national forest.

  “You know you don’t have to do this,” I tell myself as I wipe my hands on my shirt. It’s the truth. I passed the sign for the hiking path to get to the climbing entry point I’m at now.

  Yeah, I could take the easy way to the top . . . but this’ll help.

  I approach the wall, one last visual of the line I’ve chosen up the face of the cliff. And then I reverse my way down until my eyes land directly in front of me and take the first grip, lifting myself off the ground and adjusting my feet.

  Free climbing is like no other form of climbing. There’s no rope, so I can’t take the same risks that someone who’s tied in would. At the same time, I can’t go too slow, because with each passing second, my ankles and forearms are being tested. One release, one slip, could be instant death.

  But it’s exhilarating, and as the fire starts up my calves, I can feel my head clear. It’s like I split in two, half of me focusing on staying alive this very second by picking out th
e next handhold, the next place to put my foot, while the other half of me chews over my problem, unfettered and free to jump from idea to strategy to potential consequences without logic or rationality to get in the way.

  Isabella Turner . . . my assignment.

  Blackwell’s paying me a shitload of money to make it happen, but the information he promised is far more valuable. That information is the whole reason I’m in the life I’m in.

  Still, that doesn’t change the fact that she’s someone who doesn’t deserve the fate chosen for her. If anything, she deserves to get a hand up in life.

  An image of her proudly serving customers, head held high as she works herself to the bone, flashes through my head. Followed by one of studying hard in the library to better herself, and then standing her ground against an evil shit stain of a man who’s obviously trying to take advantage of her.

  If anyone deserves a lucky break, it’s Isabella Turner.

  But luck has nothing to do with this. And I’m definitely not a lucky charm, more like a tragic curse.

  My left foot slips slightly, and I dig in with my right hand, pulling myself up a bit higher before my foot can find purchase again. I’m halfway up the rock face, but from here the going seems easier. There’s a relatively large crack in the rock that looks wide enough for me to get both a hand and a foot inside, and it runs nearly all the way to the top of the cliff itself.

  I pause, shaking out my hands and feet by alternating rest holds, and cruise the rest of the way up, reaching the top with a good amount of sweat built up but more excitement than anything else. It’s been awhile since I’ve had the chance to really freeclimb, and I’ve missed it.

  You learn about yourself on the rockface with nothing to catch you, no safety nets and no do-overs. You learn about who you really are when you have to look death in the eye and know that it’s chasing you and the only things holding it back are your own will and skills.