Post by Eden Morgan on Jul 27, 2009 17:21:40 GMT -5
Splat.
With a forceful expulsion of air and a few muttered curse words, Jezebel Saint reaches down to pick up the wet rag she has dropped for what seems the 15th time tonight. Swiping it up with one hand, a cigarette smoking in the other, she plops it down on bar and scrubs furiously at the stubborn ring marks, jerking her head backward when her hair falls forward over her eyes and stealing a long puff from the cigarette until the cherry glows an angry red. This late at night, or this early in the morning, the bar is empty except for her, doing the routine clean sweep, Kid Rock’s “Blue Jeans and a Rosary” playing softly in the background.
Jezebel moves around the bar and continues to scrub, this time with both hands and the cigarette dangling precariously from her lips, her thoughts racing a mile a minute, not noticing the spot she has been so vigorously scrubbing is gone. Finally satisfied, she throws the towel into the sink behind the bar and picks her way through the tables littered around the room, straightening chairs as she goes and picking up empty beer bottles along the way. The clink of the bottles and the slow and easy rhythm of the song seem to go together and fit her mood. When she gets a load of bottles, Jezebel makes her way back to the trashcan next to the bar to throw them away. She leans over the bar and for a split second a loud crash drowns out the music as the bottles land unceremoniously in the large metal barrel, causing Jezebel to jerk and subsequently drop ashes all over her freshly-scrubbed bar.
“Son of a fucking whore.” Jezebel swears as she goes back around the bar to retrieve the soggy towel and clean up the mess.
“What does he know anyway? I’m doing just fine on my own, and I don’t need handouts from strangers,” she mumbles to herself, scrubbing all the while.
“Do I look like a god damn charity case? Some fucking nerve…” Jezebel continues her tirade as she scrubs furiously, not noticing until it’s too late that she’s flaked some of he varnish off the old bar with her scrubbing. Screaming in frustration, she tosses the towel into the sink for a second time and tears around the bar to swipe up the remaining bottles from their respective tables. She chunks them in the trash, making an even louder crash than before. Glancing around, she seems to calm down as all appears to be in order: floor swept and clean, tables clean and free of remaining bottles, pool tables clean and cues in their proper places, bar clean and shining (well, except for a spot missing some varnish), glasses washed, dried, and stored properly. Satisfied that at least something is going right, she shuts off the stereo system and moves tiredly, the stress of the day finally catching up with her, to the door to shut off the lights. Heading through the door and up the stairs, she comes to the door of her apartment, fumbling with her keys to open the lock.
“Fuck, Sherry, you left the tv on again?” she yells through the closed door when she sees the glow coming from the crack underneath and the muted sound of voices. Finally achieving her goal and unlocking the door, she steps into a small living room lit only by the glow of the television. Some old black and white movie starring Carey Grant greets her eyes and she stops in her annoyance long enough to smile. Her daughter, Havyn, had a strange fondness for old movies and she was always eager for any she could get her hands on. Closing the door behind her and dropping her things on a waiting table, Jezebel makes her way further into the room, her hand moving to the television to shut it off, but her movements are stopped by the sound of something sliding on the floor. Looking up from the television, she finally notices that the couch has been folded out into a bed and Sherry and Havyn are both fast asleep on it, a bowl of popcorn between the two of them.
Jezebel smiles softly as she reaches to take the bowl without disturbing them, pulling the blanket further around Havyn and tucking it securely. Lying on her side, one small hand curled under her chin, the other flung across the couch to Sherry, her hair falling haphazardly forward over her face just as Jezebel’s had moments ago, Jezebel felt her heart contract at the sight of the little girl and tears fill her eyes. She reaches down to brush the hair from her daughter’s forehead, her visage affectionate.
She deserves so much more than I can give her. She’s so smart, beautiful, and talented and she’s only four.
The voice that has been haunting her the entire night echoes through her head again.
I’m sure that you make more than enough cash in a place like this to throw at your child, to give it the best life and promising future possible. A splendid place to be raised in, sure as sure.
Raenius’ mocking voice echoes through her head for the millionth time tonight. Closing her eyes and turning from Sherry and Havyn, she walks further into the little apartment to her room, flopping on the bed fully dressed as the weariness, both mental and physical, sets in fully. She lets the tension flow from her tired muscles as she sinks into her bed, relaxing, but her mind is racing a mile a minute, far from relaxed.
I’ll see you soon.
Jezebel sighs. Raenius’ surety that she would be taking him up on his offer was really digging under her skin.
Even if I were to seriously entertain this offer, he would always see it as I owe him a favor, and I refuse to owe anyone favors. I can do things on my own. We’ve been making it just fine.
Her eyes open and she stares at a corner of her small bedroom, the paint peeling and the crack in the wall obvious. She never could get Jerry to actually get it fixed, much less fix it himself. Realizing how futile her previous thoughts were, she tries another tact of reasoning.
The offer was just from him and it wasn’t serious. He isn’t in charge of hiring talent. I could quit this job and find out that they don’t really want me and then where would we be?
But think if you make it.
“Now where the hell did that thought come from?” Jezebel sits up and scoots to the head of the bed, her back propped up against the wall as she digs in a pocket of her pants for the card Raenius gave her. Drawing it out, she stares at it, studying it, turning it over and over between her fingers, more of a nervous gesture than anything else.
I haven’t been properly trained. There are no guarantees. But are there ever any guarantees in life, really? He did say he would make them aware I would be calling. So, in other words, they’re awaiting my call. All I have to do is dial.
With these thoughts in her mind, Jezebel glances to her bedside table where she placed her cell phone. She stares hard at it for a while and starts to reach for it, but is stopped short by Raenius’ voice echoing in her mind.
Does this place and this life not depress you? Chill your bones? Working such a useless, soulless job as this when another one could be just around the corner for someone with talent the likes of which I have just witnessed.
Her hand drops to her side.
Who am I kidding? Talent? Bullshit. That’s with just some drunks, not professionals. And this job has gotten us through and we’re doing fine.
With that, Jezebel glances at the card once more before tearing it in half and throwing it down beside her phone, climbing out of bed, feeling more calm and in control than she has in the past few hours. Padding down the short hall in her socked feet, she stops in front of Havyn again, staring at her daughter. A fluttering on the wall catches her eye and she glances around the walls at the various pieces of paper taped there displaying the pictures Havyn had so proudly colored for her. One was a paper with the letters of the alphabet written across it, first in Jezebel’s carefully straight writing, and then in Havyn’s unsure, wobbly lines. She could already write her name and recite most of the letters.
She really is very intelligent. She deserves to be in a good school, one where her mind can grow and she can actually learn.
Jezebel sits on the side of the couch/bed and stares at Havyn with tears in her eyes.
She deserves so much more than I can give her.
Just then, Havyn whispers in her sleep “Mommy” and Jezebel pulls the blanket tighter around her, resolve showing in her face. So be it. I can swallow my pride and owe a favor or to and get my ass kicked if it means a better life for her. I’ll just keep getting back up. That’s what I’ve always done.
Moving off the couch/bed quietly, she swiftly moves back to her room and calls the number on the card, closing her door to talk.
About an hour later she emerges from the room, a smile on her face as she makes her way to the couch/bed to wake Sherry, shaking the sleeping figure.
“Sherry, come on lazy ass, wake up.”
Grumbling comes from the couch.
“Sherry if you don’t wake your ass up I swear I’ll leave you here when I quit tomorrow and I’ll hire a new babysitter.”
“WHAT?!”
Anticipating her reaction, Jezebel quickly covers Sherry’s mouth with her hand.
“Shhh don’t wake up Havyn. Come to my room so we can talk.”
Sherry groggily climbs out of the bed, yawning, her short spiky hair sticking up every which way, and follows Jezebel to the room and closes the door behind her.
“Now what is this nonsense about you quitting?”
“I got another job offer last night and I’m taking it.”
Sherry crosses her arms. “Are you now? And what exactly will you be doing in said new job?”
Jezebel grins. “Fighting.”
Sherry rolls her eyes. “If you woke me up and got me all worked up for a joke I’ll poison your food for a month you no-cooking whore. Now what the fuck is going on?”
Jezebel doesn’t say a word, she just hands Sherry the now taped up card that Raenius gave her. Sherry takes it and glances at it for a second before dismissing it and then taking a double take, now fully awake, her jaw hanging open.
“You mean that kind of fighting? That’s not fighting, that’s wrestling!! For Christ’s sake, what the fuck are you thinking? You don’t have any training, you’ll get murdered. Where the hell did you get this?”
With a sigh, Jezebel explains the happenings of the last several hours. Sherry listen quietly, a novelty, and takes it all in. When Jezebel finishes, Sherry sits heavily on the bed.
“So that’s it then. You’re leaving.”
Jezebel rolls her eyes. “Bitch, you’re coming with me. Do you think I’d leave you here with Jerry? And besides, I need someone to help me with Havyn and I would rather have you than some stranger, and besides Havyn loves you. So what do you say? Will you come with us?”
Sherry jumps up and down excitedly, clapping her hands. “Fuck, yeah, I’ll come with ya’ll. I’m going to get packed right now. I can’t wait!! You better start getting packed if we have to be at the airport this afternoon.” Sherry finishes her high pitched, excited tirade with a squeal of happiness not meant for human ears.
“Please, Sherry, don’t wake up Havyn. Packing will be easier if she’s asleep for the most part. Not like we have a lot to pack, but she’s going to need her sleep.”
Sherry suddenly stops bouncing, having thought of something serious. “Have you told Jerry yet?” Her face has an almost afraid look to it.
Jezebel laughs. “No, I haven’t told the fucker yet, but I will when he comes in to pick up the night’s earnings later this evening. Don’t worry, he can’t do anything. Besides, I have a surprise for Jerry darling. Hurry up and go pack. Oh, do you happen to have a business card for the bar on you?”
With a questioning look, Sherry nods and digs in her purse for a folded up business card with “Twilight Nights Nudes, Booze, and Tattoos” emblazoned across it along with several numbers for Jerry and the chain information on the back. When she sees that information is not forthcoming, she leaves the apartment to head to her own across town to pack, wondering just what Jezebel has planned. Jezebel studies the card, and flipping it over, she finds what she’s looking for. With a crafty smile, she turns to her bedroom and the phone. He wouldn’t mind a call like this, even if it was 4 AM.
**Later that evening, around 5:30**
“Everything’s packed and ready to go, I just have to talk to Jerry and then I’ll meet you and Havyn at the airport.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you when you tell him?” the worry apparent in Sherry’s eyes.
“No, I need you with Havyn. I don’t want her here when he blows up, and besides, I won’t be far behind you.”
The two women hug and then they walk over to where Havyn stands, aggravating their escort. Sherry, apparently, hadn’t been completely convinced it was all real until a car showed up with an official from the company to escort them to the airport and to the waiting hotel. She had let out another of those ear-grating screeches. At the time, Jezebel had thought they would have to work on that.
Havyn runs to Jezebel throwing her arms around her as Jezebel scoops her up into a big hug.
“Mommy, you’re really going to be a star?”
Jezebel laughs. “I hope so baby. Mommy’s going to try.”
“You’ll kick their butts, mommy, I know it,” Havyn states matter-of-factly, playing with a strand of Jezebel’s hair and tracing one of the tattoos on her shoulder with the lock.
“Not if we don’t get to the airport in time, so you and Sherry have to go and make sure the plane doesn’t leave until I get there. Mommy has a few things she has to take care of before she can meet you there. Can you do that? Don’t let the plane leave without us, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy, I love you,” and with that Havyn gives Jezebel and sound kiss and squirms down and into the car, climbing into her child seat. Sherry gives Jezebel one last worried look before climbing into the car after Havyn. The official closes the door and climbs into the driver’s seat. Jezebel watches as the car pulls off and heads toward the airport before going back inside the bar to wait for Jerry.
She doesn’t have long to wait. Not five minutes after the car with Sherry and Havyn in it pulled away Jerry drove up, the sun glinting off the pearl paint job on his newest Cadillac. Jezebel watches from the doorway, leaning against the frame as Jerry opens the car door and hefts his bulk out of the driver’s seat, his round belly leading the charge, the shine from his bald spot matching that of his car. A smile forms on Jezebel’s lips as she anticipates the coming moments.
“Ah, Jezebel, you’re down from your lair early, m’dear,” Jerry huffs as he pushes past her through the door. “Where’s your brat, or is that dumb slut Sherry with her? You know I honestly think the reason she stays with the brat is because they’re on the same level, thinking wise.” Jerry laughs as if what he said was the funniest thing ever.
The smile leaves Jezebel’s face and is replaced with a look of irritation.
“Try to be human for once, Jerry, and leave my daughter out of any and all topics of conversation.”
Jerry looks at Jezebel, amused. “Oh, well aren’t we all high bitchy today? Someone seems to have forgotten who signs the checks and who can say what he fucking damn well pleases. I run this place, Jezebel, not you. You are disposable,” so saying, Jerry sits down behind the bar with the money bag and starts counting, his favorite pastime.
“I’m glad you brought that up, Jerry, because since I’m so disposable, I’ve decided to take my talents elsewhere. I quit. Oh, and by the way, Sherry does too.”
Jerry laughs. “That’s real funny, girl. Now make yourself useful since you’re down here and go start straightening up, we’re likely to have a crowd tonight.” He continues to count his money, never missing a beat. Jezebel notices that his skimmings are higher than usual and grins.
“It’s no joke, Jerry. You just missed Sherry and Havyn leaving for the airport. We’re already packed up and if you go check upstairs, you’ll notice none of our stuff is there. So, if you could be so kind as to fork over the money you owe Sherry and me for this week’s work, I’ll be out of your… hair… as well.”
Jerry finally glances up at her, a look of shock on his fat face, rage building in his eyes. “And where the fuck do you think you’re going to go, hmmm? Or do you already have a job lined up? Quit fucking around, Jezebel. You don’t leave here until I give you permission to leave here.”
“You can take your permission and fuck yourself up the ass with it, Jerry. It’s over. Find yourself a new bartender, and a new barback.” With that, Jezebel turns her back to Jerry and starts towards the door, her frame tense as she anticipates the blow up. She can almost feel the heat pouring off of Jerry.
“Get your ass back over here, you stupid bitch,” Jerry yells at her, sweeping some of the clean glasses off the bar in his rage. The glasses fall to the floor and smash and shatter, the shards running amok.
Jezebel turns back with an eyebrow raised. “Oh, that’s how you make me come back, Jerry. Yell at me, call me names, break stuff in your own damn bar. Very intelligent. Have a nice life.”
“You think you’re something don’t you, bitch, but you’re not. You’re nothing but poor white trash and your daughter will never be anything but poor white trash, pregnant by the time she’s 14 because she has to turn whore to pick up your slack because you can’t make enough money on your own to feed the both of you.” Jerry stops as a car is heard pulling into the parking lot. “Don’t miss your ride, and don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Oh, and you can forget this week’s pay. I think I’ll keep it. Buy myself something new.”
Jezebel freezes, hands clenching and unclenching at Jerry’s words, the urge to commit bodily injury strong. She pushes it down and turns to him with a smug grin in place, knowing this will bother him more than an argument would.
“Keep it then, Jerry. I have a feeling you’re going to need it very soon, when you’re out of a job.” So saying, Jezebel turns and walks to the door, pushing it open just a bit to reveal a white limousine and her smile broadens.
“Just what do you mean by that?” Jerry demands, unable to see the posh limo from his location.
“Just that Mr. Bryson doesn’t appreciate what you’ve done to his establishment. Apparently, all the reports you’ve been giving him have been false. Tsk, tsk Jerry. He also doesn’t seem to appreciate the fact that you’ve been skimming off the top for quite a while now, not to mention that you have a sidejob for the strippers as prostitutes. And do I even need to go into how displeased he is about you allowing the customers to get tattoos while drunk or drinking? Or allowing drugs in here?” By the time she gets halfway through, Jerry has gone pale and is sweating profusely. Jezebel chooses that time to push the door open all the way, revealing the white limousine. Jerry’s face goes ashen and he looks about to faint.
“Have a nice life, Jerry. I’ll be sure to throw you a few pennies when you’re a bum living on the side of the road. Don’t bother asking for anything else.” And with that, Jezebel walks out the door, nodding to the tall, very well-dressed man getting out of the car, staring at the building with a look of disgust on his face.
With a forceful expulsion of air and a few muttered curse words, Jezebel Saint reaches down to pick up the wet rag she has dropped for what seems the 15th time tonight. Swiping it up with one hand, a cigarette smoking in the other, she plops it down on bar and scrubs furiously at the stubborn ring marks, jerking her head backward when her hair falls forward over her eyes and stealing a long puff from the cigarette until the cherry glows an angry red. This late at night, or this early in the morning, the bar is empty except for her, doing the routine clean sweep, Kid Rock’s “Blue Jeans and a Rosary” playing softly in the background.
Jezebel moves around the bar and continues to scrub, this time with both hands and the cigarette dangling precariously from her lips, her thoughts racing a mile a minute, not noticing the spot she has been so vigorously scrubbing is gone. Finally satisfied, she throws the towel into the sink behind the bar and picks her way through the tables littered around the room, straightening chairs as she goes and picking up empty beer bottles along the way. The clink of the bottles and the slow and easy rhythm of the song seem to go together and fit her mood. When she gets a load of bottles, Jezebel makes her way back to the trashcan next to the bar to throw them away. She leans over the bar and for a split second a loud crash drowns out the music as the bottles land unceremoniously in the large metal barrel, causing Jezebel to jerk and subsequently drop ashes all over her freshly-scrubbed bar.
“Son of a fucking whore.” Jezebel swears as she goes back around the bar to retrieve the soggy towel and clean up the mess.
“What does he know anyway? I’m doing just fine on my own, and I don’t need handouts from strangers,” she mumbles to herself, scrubbing all the while.
“Do I look like a god damn charity case? Some fucking nerve…” Jezebel continues her tirade as she scrubs furiously, not noticing until it’s too late that she’s flaked some of he varnish off the old bar with her scrubbing. Screaming in frustration, she tosses the towel into the sink for a second time and tears around the bar to swipe up the remaining bottles from their respective tables. She chunks them in the trash, making an even louder crash than before. Glancing around, she seems to calm down as all appears to be in order: floor swept and clean, tables clean and free of remaining bottles, pool tables clean and cues in their proper places, bar clean and shining (well, except for a spot missing some varnish), glasses washed, dried, and stored properly. Satisfied that at least something is going right, she shuts off the stereo system and moves tiredly, the stress of the day finally catching up with her, to the door to shut off the lights. Heading through the door and up the stairs, she comes to the door of her apartment, fumbling with her keys to open the lock.
“Fuck, Sherry, you left the tv on again?” she yells through the closed door when she sees the glow coming from the crack underneath and the muted sound of voices. Finally achieving her goal and unlocking the door, she steps into a small living room lit only by the glow of the television. Some old black and white movie starring Carey Grant greets her eyes and she stops in her annoyance long enough to smile. Her daughter, Havyn, had a strange fondness for old movies and she was always eager for any she could get her hands on. Closing the door behind her and dropping her things on a waiting table, Jezebel makes her way further into the room, her hand moving to the television to shut it off, but her movements are stopped by the sound of something sliding on the floor. Looking up from the television, she finally notices that the couch has been folded out into a bed and Sherry and Havyn are both fast asleep on it, a bowl of popcorn between the two of them.
Jezebel smiles softly as she reaches to take the bowl without disturbing them, pulling the blanket further around Havyn and tucking it securely. Lying on her side, one small hand curled under her chin, the other flung across the couch to Sherry, her hair falling haphazardly forward over her face just as Jezebel’s had moments ago, Jezebel felt her heart contract at the sight of the little girl and tears fill her eyes. She reaches down to brush the hair from her daughter’s forehead, her visage affectionate.
She deserves so much more than I can give her. She’s so smart, beautiful, and talented and she’s only four.
The voice that has been haunting her the entire night echoes through her head again.
I’m sure that you make more than enough cash in a place like this to throw at your child, to give it the best life and promising future possible. A splendid place to be raised in, sure as sure.
Raenius’ mocking voice echoes through her head for the millionth time tonight. Closing her eyes and turning from Sherry and Havyn, she walks further into the little apartment to her room, flopping on the bed fully dressed as the weariness, both mental and physical, sets in fully. She lets the tension flow from her tired muscles as she sinks into her bed, relaxing, but her mind is racing a mile a minute, far from relaxed.
I’ll see you soon.
Jezebel sighs. Raenius’ surety that she would be taking him up on his offer was really digging under her skin.
Even if I were to seriously entertain this offer, he would always see it as I owe him a favor, and I refuse to owe anyone favors. I can do things on my own. We’ve been making it just fine.
Her eyes open and she stares at a corner of her small bedroom, the paint peeling and the crack in the wall obvious. She never could get Jerry to actually get it fixed, much less fix it himself. Realizing how futile her previous thoughts were, she tries another tact of reasoning.
The offer was just from him and it wasn’t serious. He isn’t in charge of hiring talent. I could quit this job and find out that they don’t really want me and then where would we be?
But think if you make it.
“Now where the hell did that thought come from?” Jezebel sits up and scoots to the head of the bed, her back propped up against the wall as she digs in a pocket of her pants for the card Raenius gave her. Drawing it out, she stares at it, studying it, turning it over and over between her fingers, more of a nervous gesture than anything else.
I haven’t been properly trained. There are no guarantees. But are there ever any guarantees in life, really? He did say he would make them aware I would be calling. So, in other words, they’re awaiting my call. All I have to do is dial.
With these thoughts in her mind, Jezebel glances to her bedside table where she placed her cell phone. She stares hard at it for a while and starts to reach for it, but is stopped short by Raenius’ voice echoing in her mind.
Does this place and this life not depress you? Chill your bones? Working such a useless, soulless job as this when another one could be just around the corner for someone with talent the likes of which I have just witnessed.
Her hand drops to her side.
Who am I kidding? Talent? Bullshit. That’s with just some drunks, not professionals. And this job has gotten us through and we’re doing fine.
With that, Jezebel glances at the card once more before tearing it in half and throwing it down beside her phone, climbing out of bed, feeling more calm and in control than she has in the past few hours. Padding down the short hall in her socked feet, she stops in front of Havyn again, staring at her daughter. A fluttering on the wall catches her eye and she glances around the walls at the various pieces of paper taped there displaying the pictures Havyn had so proudly colored for her. One was a paper with the letters of the alphabet written across it, first in Jezebel’s carefully straight writing, and then in Havyn’s unsure, wobbly lines. She could already write her name and recite most of the letters.
She really is very intelligent. She deserves to be in a good school, one where her mind can grow and she can actually learn.
Jezebel sits on the side of the couch/bed and stares at Havyn with tears in her eyes.
She deserves so much more than I can give her.
Just then, Havyn whispers in her sleep “Mommy” and Jezebel pulls the blanket tighter around her, resolve showing in her face. So be it. I can swallow my pride and owe a favor or to and get my ass kicked if it means a better life for her. I’ll just keep getting back up. That’s what I’ve always done.
Moving off the couch/bed quietly, she swiftly moves back to her room and calls the number on the card, closing her door to talk.
About an hour later she emerges from the room, a smile on her face as she makes her way to the couch/bed to wake Sherry, shaking the sleeping figure.
“Sherry, come on lazy ass, wake up.”
Grumbling comes from the couch.
“Sherry if you don’t wake your ass up I swear I’ll leave you here when I quit tomorrow and I’ll hire a new babysitter.”
“WHAT?!”
Anticipating her reaction, Jezebel quickly covers Sherry’s mouth with her hand.
“Shhh don’t wake up Havyn. Come to my room so we can talk.”
Sherry groggily climbs out of the bed, yawning, her short spiky hair sticking up every which way, and follows Jezebel to the room and closes the door behind her.
“Now what is this nonsense about you quitting?”
“I got another job offer last night and I’m taking it.”
Sherry crosses her arms. “Are you now? And what exactly will you be doing in said new job?”
Jezebel grins. “Fighting.”
Sherry rolls her eyes. “If you woke me up and got me all worked up for a joke I’ll poison your food for a month you no-cooking whore. Now what the fuck is going on?”
Jezebel doesn’t say a word, she just hands Sherry the now taped up card that Raenius gave her. Sherry takes it and glances at it for a second before dismissing it and then taking a double take, now fully awake, her jaw hanging open.
“You mean that kind of fighting? That’s not fighting, that’s wrestling!! For Christ’s sake, what the fuck are you thinking? You don’t have any training, you’ll get murdered. Where the hell did you get this?”
With a sigh, Jezebel explains the happenings of the last several hours. Sherry listen quietly, a novelty, and takes it all in. When Jezebel finishes, Sherry sits heavily on the bed.
“So that’s it then. You’re leaving.”
Jezebel rolls her eyes. “Bitch, you’re coming with me. Do you think I’d leave you here with Jerry? And besides, I need someone to help me with Havyn and I would rather have you than some stranger, and besides Havyn loves you. So what do you say? Will you come with us?”
Sherry jumps up and down excitedly, clapping her hands. “Fuck, yeah, I’ll come with ya’ll. I’m going to get packed right now. I can’t wait!! You better start getting packed if we have to be at the airport this afternoon.” Sherry finishes her high pitched, excited tirade with a squeal of happiness not meant for human ears.
“Please, Sherry, don’t wake up Havyn. Packing will be easier if she’s asleep for the most part. Not like we have a lot to pack, but she’s going to need her sleep.”
Sherry suddenly stops bouncing, having thought of something serious. “Have you told Jerry yet?” Her face has an almost afraid look to it.
Jezebel laughs. “No, I haven’t told the fucker yet, but I will when he comes in to pick up the night’s earnings later this evening. Don’t worry, he can’t do anything. Besides, I have a surprise for Jerry darling. Hurry up and go pack. Oh, do you happen to have a business card for the bar on you?”
With a questioning look, Sherry nods and digs in her purse for a folded up business card with “Twilight Nights Nudes, Booze, and Tattoos” emblazoned across it along with several numbers for Jerry and the chain information on the back. When she sees that information is not forthcoming, she leaves the apartment to head to her own across town to pack, wondering just what Jezebel has planned. Jezebel studies the card, and flipping it over, she finds what she’s looking for. With a crafty smile, she turns to her bedroom and the phone. He wouldn’t mind a call like this, even if it was 4 AM.
**Later that evening, around 5:30**
“Everything’s packed and ready to go, I just have to talk to Jerry and then I’ll meet you and Havyn at the airport.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you when you tell him?” the worry apparent in Sherry’s eyes.
“No, I need you with Havyn. I don’t want her here when he blows up, and besides, I won’t be far behind you.”
The two women hug and then they walk over to where Havyn stands, aggravating their escort. Sherry, apparently, hadn’t been completely convinced it was all real until a car showed up with an official from the company to escort them to the airport and to the waiting hotel. She had let out another of those ear-grating screeches. At the time, Jezebel had thought they would have to work on that.
Havyn runs to Jezebel throwing her arms around her as Jezebel scoops her up into a big hug.
“Mommy, you’re really going to be a star?”
Jezebel laughs. “I hope so baby. Mommy’s going to try.”
“You’ll kick their butts, mommy, I know it,” Havyn states matter-of-factly, playing with a strand of Jezebel’s hair and tracing one of the tattoos on her shoulder with the lock.
“Not if we don’t get to the airport in time, so you and Sherry have to go and make sure the plane doesn’t leave until I get there. Mommy has a few things she has to take care of before she can meet you there. Can you do that? Don’t let the plane leave without us, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy, I love you,” and with that Havyn gives Jezebel and sound kiss and squirms down and into the car, climbing into her child seat. Sherry gives Jezebel one last worried look before climbing into the car after Havyn. The official closes the door and climbs into the driver’s seat. Jezebel watches as the car pulls off and heads toward the airport before going back inside the bar to wait for Jerry.
She doesn’t have long to wait. Not five minutes after the car with Sherry and Havyn in it pulled away Jerry drove up, the sun glinting off the pearl paint job on his newest Cadillac. Jezebel watches from the doorway, leaning against the frame as Jerry opens the car door and hefts his bulk out of the driver’s seat, his round belly leading the charge, the shine from his bald spot matching that of his car. A smile forms on Jezebel’s lips as she anticipates the coming moments.
“Ah, Jezebel, you’re down from your lair early, m’dear,” Jerry huffs as he pushes past her through the door. “Where’s your brat, or is that dumb slut Sherry with her? You know I honestly think the reason she stays with the brat is because they’re on the same level, thinking wise.” Jerry laughs as if what he said was the funniest thing ever.
The smile leaves Jezebel’s face and is replaced with a look of irritation.
“Try to be human for once, Jerry, and leave my daughter out of any and all topics of conversation.”
Jerry looks at Jezebel, amused. “Oh, well aren’t we all high bitchy today? Someone seems to have forgotten who signs the checks and who can say what he fucking damn well pleases. I run this place, Jezebel, not you. You are disposable,” so saying, Jerry sits down behind the bar with the money bag and starts counting, his favorite pastime.
“I’m glad you brought that up, Jerry, because since I’m so disposable, I’ve decided to take my talents elsewhere. I quit. Oh, and by the way, Sherry does too.”
Jerry laughs. “That’s real funny, girl. Now make yourself useful since you’re down here and go start straightening up, we’re likely to have a crowd tonight.” He continues to count his money, never missing a beat. Jezebel notices that his skimmings are higher than usual and grins.
“It’s no joke, Jerry. You just missed Sherry and Havyn leaving for the airport. We’re already packed up and if you go check upstairs, you’ll notice none of our stuff is there. So, if you could be so kind as to fork over the money you owe Sherry and me for this week’s work, I’ll be out of your… hair… as well.”
Jerry finally glances up at her, a look of shock on his fat face, rage building in his eyes. “And where the fuck do you think you’re going to go, hmmm? Or do you already have a job lined up? Quit fucking around, Jezebel. You don’t leave here until I give you permission to leave here.”
“You can take your permission and fuck yourself up the ass with it, Jerry. It’s over. Find yourself a new bartender, and a new barback.” With that, Jezebel turns her back to Jerry and starts towards the door, her frame tense as she anticipates the blow up. She can almost feel the heat pouring off of Jerry.
“Get your ass back over here, you stupid bitch,” Jerry yells at her, sweeping some of the clean glasses off the bar in his rage. The glasses fall to the floor and smash and shatter, the shards running amok.
Jezebel turns back with an eyebrow raised. “Oh, that’s how you make me come back, Jerry. Yell at me, call me names, break stuff in your own damn bar. Very intelligent. Have a nice life.”
“You think you’re something don’t you, bitch, but you’re not. You’re nothing but poor white trash and your daughter will never be anything but poor white trash, pregnant by the time she’s 14 because she has to turn whore to pick up your slack because you can’t make enough money on your own to feed the both of you.” Jerry stops as a car is heard pulling into the parking lot. “Don’t miss your ride, and don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Oh, and you can forget this week’s pay. I think I’ll keep it. Buy myself something new.”
Jezebel freezes, hands clenching and unclenching at Jerry’s words, the urge to commit bodily injury strong. She pushes it down and turns to him with a smug grin in place, knowing this will bother him more than an argument would.
“Keep it then, Jerry. I have a feeling you’re going to need it very soon, when you’re out of a job.” So saying, Jezebel turns and walks to the door, pushing it open just a bit to reveal a white limousine and her smile broadens.
“Just what do you mean by that?” Jerry demands, unable to see the posh limo from his location.
“Just that Mr. Bryson doesn’t appreciate what you’ve done to his establishment. Apparently, all the reports you’ve been giving him have been false. Tsk, tsk Jerry. He also doesn’t seem to appreciate the fact that you’ve been skimming off the top for quite a while now, not to mention that you have a sidejob for the strippers as prostitutes. And do I even need to go into how displeased he is about you allowing the customers to get tattoos while drunk or drinking? Or allowing drugs in here?” By the time she gets halfway through, Jerry has gone pale and is sweating profusely. Jezebel chooses that time to push the door open all the way, revealing the white limousine. Jerry’s face goes ashen and he looks about to faint.
“Have a nice life, Jerry. I’ll be sure to throw you a few pennies when you’re a bum living on the side of the road. Don’t bother asking for anything else.” And with that, Jezebel walks out the door, nodding to the tall, very well-dressed man getting out of the car, staring at the building with a look of disgust on his face.
