​​Chapter Twenty-Seven
Natalie

Things are expensive, I hear in my head. It’s the broken record that’s been playing since the first time I first walked into the condo Hootie shares with his wife and two kids. “Summer last year,” he had said, giving a hard nod at the picture of the four of them at Branson on the wall. I hadn’t asked and didn’t care. His life is inconsequential.

Our arrangement began the day I walked into his office to apply for the waitressing position. I know when a man is interested, and to say Hootie was interested is an understatement. I practically had to swat him off me like a fly my first day at Double Dees. He didn’t officially ask to start seeing me at his place until the end of my first shift, probably making sure I was adequate enough to wait tables and not punch any of our customers in the mouth.

The part where I get paid for my side gig? That was all me.

“Like a prostitute?” Hootie had asked the first time I set foot inside his key lime colored condo. The whole development was meant to give a Calypso vibe like you’re in the middle of the Bahamas and not right across from the paper processing plant. The scent in the air is definitely not reminiscent of an ocean breeze.

“No. Like someone who’s risking her reputation and career so her boss can get his kicks.” Anyone else would have shut me up, but Hootie just laughed. I was in his arms in the bed he shared with his wife, and he laughed like we were two buddies sharing a joke.

“Fair enough,” he said, which surprised me. Hootie isn’t necessarily the philanthropic type, but I didn’t question him. I deemed it had to be fate for it to be just that easy.

And it was a good thing, too, because I had been wanting to buy Wren a bike.

I drive back to Junction, stashing Hootie’s dirty cash from my most recent visit in the glove compartment. It’s a little after three now, and I always make sure to get in somewhere around five-thirty. My friend, Emmy, covers for me if Wren or Jerry ever drop by, but to my knowledge, they never have since picking up my afternoon “shift.”

In the meantime, I go to the library there and get lost in a sea of books. I’ve never been a big reader before but have the luxury now, if you can spin it that way.

I read a lot of fiction, stories about women who make it out of a dark hole they’ve dug for themselves. No accident there, I suppose. And I lose myself in words and plot lines, trying not to think about the hard things I have to do like tell my boss I’m pregnant. And tell Wren I’ve failed again.

Sometimes, I think of my mother. How she was given the gift of closing the curtain before the show ever really began.

Lucky dog.