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“Chances are, that bitch won’t stick around once she finds out you’ve got Tripp’s bun in your oven anyway, honey. Those snooty bitches don’t know how to share their toys.”
“Neither do I.” I was out the door and on my way before he could even say another word to me. I couldn’t believe yet another person wanted to use me as a pawn in the ‘break up Tripp and June’ game. Hadn’t I already suffered enough for them?
The conversation was only a day old, even if it felt like a lifetime ago. As I put on my work uniform of khaki pants and a black polo shirt that would no doubt have flour and other shit all over it by the end of the night, I realized Ratchet’s offer was too good to pass up. Despite his other match breaking and making agenda, Ratchet was offering me something I couldn’t do anywhere else. I made $8.50 an hour with the nightshift differential at the Piggly Wiggly. If Ratchet was serious about doubling that, it would mean making $17 an hour and knowing him, that would be under the table pay that wasn’t taxed. Even if it was, it was a hell of a lot more than I made with my photography and the Pig combined.
I called the clubhouse phone.
“Yo.”
“I need to speak to Ratchet.”
“Who are you?” The growly voiced asked.
“Kim Cross.”
“Shit, you Jagger’s girl?”
“His daughter,” I clarified, in case that wasn’t what he meant by ‘girl’. You never could tell with the club.
“That’s what I meant, sweetheart. Give me a second to grab Prez.”
I only had to wait a few minutes before someone picked up the line again. “Ratchet,” he announced.
“I’d like to take the job, but to hell with your agenda.” The man’s laughter made me smile for the first time in days.
“All right, honey. Be here tonight by six. We’ll have a support shirt for you to wear. Otherwise wear whatever is comfortable.” He hung up after that. I was really doing this.
I placed my next call and told my boss at the Pig.
“You need to give us two weeks’ notice so we can find someone to replace you.”
“Gary, you’ll never find someone to replace me because I worked harder than most of the guys on that shift.”
“That’s why we need time,” he shouted into the phone.
“Can you pay me $17 an hour for the next two weeks’ worth of work?”
“Hell no, I can’t do that.”
“Okay, well I can’t afford to miss that pay, so I have to start my new job tonight.”
“Where in the hell are you making that kind of money? Shit girl, even I don’t make that,” Gary asked curiously.
“Not your business, Gary. I wish you lots of luck, but I gotta go.” Then I hung up, feeling far better about what I’d have to do tonight instead of dreading the work I’d been doing. At least if I had to stop and go throw up, the guys at the clubhouse would be understanding.
Since I had all that settled, I set my alarm for five and tucked myself into bed. The men at the club were pretty straight forward about what they drank, according to the stories Mack told me. It was usually beer or whiskey and sometimes tequila. That shouldn’t be too hard to handle. The difficult part would be if Tripp was hanging around and giving me a hard time. I didn’t see him doing that, though. It was more than likely he’d do his level best to ignore me working there.
Chapter 12
Tripp
Two hours after June left, she called me up crying and made me feel like shit all over again.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Tell him,” I heard her cousin advise in the background.
“No, now hush.” June hissed and I knew it was directed at Anna, not me.
