Choices
Shirleen
AFTERNOON THE NEXT day, I was sitting in my Navigator, staring at the high school, my phone in my hand, my heart in my throat.
This was because Roam’s history teacher had called and asked me to come in to have “a discussion.”
I hated schools. I’d take visiting a hospital or walking my ass into a police station over walking into a school.
And with my old profession, both of those were saying something.
Not to mention, with my membership in the Rock Chicks, being able to visit a hospital or walk into a police station was an important skill to have.
Moses told me he often didn’t have his phone on him when he was at work.
Still, for whatever reason, I pulled up his text string, which had seven texts (yes, I counted). Him giving me his address. Me confirming I got it. Him saying something sweet after I confirmed. Me telling him I was on my way to his house last night. Him confirming he got that and telling me he was looking forward to feeding me. Me texting that morning to say I’d had a good time the night before. Him replying, telling me he did too.
I’m at the school. Roam’s teacher called. I’m worried, I typed in.
Neither boy had had trouble with school. It took some tutoring to get them up to scratch when they started back after being out for so long, but then they just assimilated.
Easy as pie.
Which freaked me out.
I’d talked to Jules about it because I’d found that odd. I thought that would be a battle too and was surprised when it wasn’t.
“We’ll keep an eye, Shirleen,” she’d said. “But not for the normal reasons. Sometimes, when kids get it good after they’ve had it bad, they try overly hard to prove they deserve to have something that’s just their due. Like an education. They don’t want it taken away, so they go beyond the pale to make certain it isn’t.”
It didn’t seem like they were trying overly hard. I didn’t have any practice, but it just seemed normal. They didn’t have an aversion to school like I did when I was their age. They didn’t jump for joy every morning at the prospect of hauling their asses out of bed, shoving their books in their bags and heading out with a pep in their step.
Since it was seemingly normal, we just rolled with it.
And now I’d been called by a teacher to come in “as soon as you can, Miz Jackson,” and have “a discussion.”
I stared at the text, wondering if I should send it.
In usual circumstances, I might text Daisy, and it wasn’t that I wasn’t talking to her that I didn’t type the text into her string.
It was just . . .
Now there was Moses.
Before I could chicken out (of a lot of things), I hit send, opened my door, pulled myself out of my car and hoofed it on my high heels to the school.
School was out for the day so the halls were quiet, but I could see through the windows there was a woman at the reception desk in the administration office.
It took a lot, but instead of giving in to my heebie-jeebies I was in a school and turning around to walk right out, I walked in there.
She looked up.
“Hey,” I greeted. “I’m Shirleen Jackson. Mr. Robinson called and said he wanted to talk about my boy.”
She nodded. “Just out the door, to the left, down the hall, take a right at the end. Mr. Robinson is in the second classroom on the right.”
I nodded back, muttered my gratitude and took off, my heels echoing on the tile in the empty hallways, my hackles coming up.
I’d had to have meetings with the folks at school to get the boys admitted. I’d also had to go to parent-teacher conferences for three years running. None of this had been comfortable, and not because I was worried about my street-tough boys in new environs (or not only because of that).
And I was seeing right then it was because it was bringing it all back.
This wasn’t just Leon and starting things with him when I was a junior and he was a senior and how bad that all went.
It was that, back then, I hadn’t come into me. I was awkward. Uncertain. My older sister was popular, I was not. I hadn’t found my way and looking back at it, I’d always felt embarrassed, even humiliated at how I’d handled myself.
But now I saw that there was no way I’d understand who I was, what I wanted and how to get it.
Hell, I wasn’t sure I knew any of that now.
But then, I was a kid.
Why did I expect so much of myself?
I found the room and knocked on the open door, my eyes to the handsome, somewhat disheveled man sitting behind the desk.
At my knock, he looked up at me, and I was relieved when he smiled.
“Miz Jackson,” he greeted.
“That’s me,” I answered, taking a step in.
He stood. “Thanks for coming.” He gestured to the student desks in front of his own. “Please come in.”
I walked in farther as he looked down, shuffled papers around, grabbed some and rounded his desk.
“Have a seat,” he invited, and as I took a seat at one of the student desks, he didn’t return to his own. He sat at the one beside mine. “We met at parent-teacher conferences last winter.”
“I remember,” I told him.
“Sorry to take your time, but I thought this was important,” he said.
“What was important?” I asked.
He offered the papers he had in his hand to me.
“My students turn in their papers online. I printed this one out. It’s Roam’s report on the escalation of American involvement in the Vietnam War.”
Slowly, I reached out and took it.
When I did, I felt my heart start beating faster because in the top left corner, it said:
Perspectives of American Military Action in Vietnam
American History
Mr. Robinson
By Roam Jackson
Roam Jackson?
Roam’s last name wasn’t Jackson.
Mine was.
“Do you go over your boys’ homework, Miz Jackson?” Mr. Robinson asked.
I looked from the papers in my hand to him. “Sometimes. When they ask me.”
He dipped his head to the paper. “Did you read that?”
I looked down at it, forcing my eyes to anything but the words Roam Jackson.
There were no marks on the paper. No grade.
I read the first couple of lines and saw this was not something Roam had asked me to look over.
I looked back at Roam’s teacher and shook my head.
Mr. Robinson nodded his. “Right then. Outside of it being glaringly obvious he did more than watch a couple of episodes of Burns’s documentary, a lot more, I’m not entirely certain how to describe the prose of that report.”
I felt my back hitch straight. “What are you saying?”
He looked me right in the eye. “It’s well beyond a high school senior’s aptitude.”
That was when I felt my eyes narrow. “You sayin’ my boy plagiarized this report?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m saying Roam is an exceptionally gifted and intuitive writer.”
Say what?
I stared at him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring this to your attention before,” he went on. “However, even if his earlier reports and test essays were very good, I’ve noted as the semester wore on, his talent has markedly increased. That said, I’ve seen nothing from him like that.”
“He hates writing reports. It drives him ’round the bend,” I said quietly. “Like, seriously.”
Mr. Robinson nodded. “I’m not surprised. For many outstanding writers, their need to tell their story, get their point across, doing this in the way they want the words to be crafted to share their narrative is a painful process. It can be very frustrating, as they can be very hard on themselves because each word has to be the perfect one and more, they all have to fit just right.”
I looked down at the paper.
“It’s my understanding Roam hasn’t applied to any colleges,” Mr. Robinson remarked.
I lifted my gaze again to him. “We had the talk. Only briefly. He didn’t seem interested so I didn’t push him.”
Another nod from Mr. Robinson with a gentle, “I know his history, Miz Jackson, and this doesn’t surprise me. Saddens me, but doesn’t surprise me. I will say that it’s more than just this assignment that made it clear. However with this,” he tipped his head to the papers again, “it’s more than clear he should go on to higher education.”
“To be what?” I asked.
“That’s yours,” he replied, now pointing at the papers in my hand. “Take it and read it and you’ll understand. But I’ll tell you what it did for me. That was not a high school report. That was not even a college level essay. When I read that, I forgot I was reading an assignment. It was like I was reading a book, a very good one, and when it was done my first reaction was annoyance because I wanted more.”
“Lord,” I whispered.
“He took a chance with that, Miz Jackson. He didn’t simply inform me of what he’d learned about American involvement in Vietnam. There are four parts to that report told from the perspectives of an American general, a member of the Viet Cong, an American Marine, and a Vietnamese peasant. It reads like fiction even if every word is factually correct. And the even-handed empathy for each viewpoint that he shared through his narrative was astonishing. Especially as written by the hand of a high school senior who wasn’t even alive during the conflict he was writing about.”
“Lord,” I breathed.
“Roam is a natural storyteller, Miz Jackson. You can’t teach what he’s got. His voice is unique, and although I’m not surprised he struggles with it, you will not find even a hint of that in his work. It flows beautifully.”
My eyes drifted down to the paper.
“It’s too late now to apply for him to start in the fall,” Mr. Robinson continued. “But I’d strongly advise you have another discussion with him. With his grades, and the way he writes an essay, he’d have no issues getting accepted and he could perhaps begin for mid-term enrollment. Or he could take some time and start next year.”
I didn’t see Roam slaving away at a computer, writing books for a living.
I didn’t even see him walking around with a backpack on some university campus.
What I saw was the fact my boy’s world was opening up.
He had opportunities.
He had choices.
His past was bleak no matter what way you looked at it.
But his future was bright whatever way he wanted to take it.
I didn’t feel I had any of that when I sat at a desk like this years ago.
But I got to live it with Roam.
And Sniff.
“Maybe I should have pushed it,” I told the papers.
“I wouldn’t have,” Mr. Robinson told me.
I looked at him.
“It’s only a guess,” he continued, “but that guess is that you’re sensitive to allowing both your boys to feel in control of their lives, their destinies. This is crucial not only because of their pasts, but for them to learn to make smart choices for their futures. It is far from necessary for Roam to have a college degree in order to be a writer, if that’s his choice. What’s necessary to be a writer is to fill your life with as many experiences as you can get to inform your writing, enrich it. If more schooling is not his thing,” he shrugged, “it’s not. It isn’t everyone’s thing. He can gain life experience in a lot of different ways, and I’m sure we can both agree he has more than enough of one kind already. But I’d broach the subject with him again.”
“I will, Mr. Robinson.”
He smiled. “Please call me Keith.”
“And you should call me Shirleen.”
His smile got bigger.
I smiled back then looked down at the paper.
“I’ve been teaching history a long time,” he said, and my gaze shifted back to him. “And I have never, not once, assigned a paper when a student has used that kind of creativity in order to fulfill an assignment. I honest to God didn’t know how to grade it. I felt like an armchair quarterback who’s never played football in his life calling a play.”
“Wow,” I whispered.
Boy, I couldn’t wait to read that report.
“Precisely.” He grinned.
“I’ll have the talk with him,” with them, “soon’s I can.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Shirleen.”
I stood. He stood. We shook hands.
And I didn’t care what he read in me holding that report to my chest as he walked me to his classroom door.
“Shirleen,” he said when we’d reached it.
I stopped just in the hall and turned to him.
“After my mind unboggled, reading that report,” he started, “it came to me the young man who wrote it and how that young man got to the point in his life he was in my class and able to write it.”
I stared in his eyes.
“They were very lucky to find you,” he said quietly.
“I feel it’s the other way around,” I replied.
He gave me a gentle smile. “Like I said, they were very lucky to find you.”
“Gotta admit, Keith, wish I had a teacher like you in high school.”
He seemed embarrassed by the compliment, and if he’d scuffed the floor with the toe of his shoe, I would not have been surprised.
“But glad Roam got you,” I finished.
“That pleasure has been mine,” he returned.
“Like I said, glad Roam got you.”
He chuckled and I grinned at him.
We said our goodbyes and I walked a whole lot faster back to my car.
I didn’t even start it up after I tossed my bag to the passenger seat before I turned my attention to Roam’s report.
I had no idea how long it took me to read.
What I knew when I reached the end was that my boy could seriously write.
I was nearly home when my car rang.
I looked down at the dashboard to see it said Moses Calling.
I took the call, greeting, “Hey, my man.”
“You all right?”
“Yep.”
“Roam all right?”
“Apparently, I got Alex Haley livin’ under my roof.”
“Say again?”
“Just heard the word that Roam’s an exceptionally gifted storyteller.”
“Who gave you this word?”
“His history teacher. And just to say, I just spent the last however many minutes reading Roam’s “Perspectives of American Military Action in Vietnam,” and the dude does not lie.”
Moses chuckled. “So it was good news.”
Good?
Hell no.
Exceptionally awesome?
Absolutely.
“We didn’t talk much about college. Roam didn’t seem into it. Sniff either. I’m opening up discussions again,” I shared.
“Good,” he murmured.
I let seconds slip by before I whispered, “My boy’s exceptionally gifted.”
“Does this surprise you, baby?” Moses whispered back.
“Not even a little bit.” I let more seconds slip by before I asked, “How do I get him to believe it?”
“No idea, sweetheart. But I think the best way to try is just to start.”
“I’ll be doin’ that.”
“Good.”
I saw my house on the block so I said, “Almost home. Got pride to give and college lectures to speechify.”
Another chuckle before, “Call me later, tell me how it goes.”
“Will do.”
“As you know, girls are back with me tonight. I’ll find out their schedules and if there’s an opening when they’re doin’ something else with someone else somewhere else, we’ll fill it.”
That made me feel warm all over. “Works for me.”
“Later, baby. Thanks for sharing this news with me.”
I hit the garage door opener. “Thanks for listening to it. Have fun with your girls.”
“Will do. ’Bye, sweetheart.”
“’Bye, Moses.”
We disconnected. I drove into my garage and sat in my car while I hit the door opener again to close it. I didn’t get out until the door was down.
Old habits.
I’d barely walked into the house before I heard Sniff shout from the basement, “That you, Shirleen?”
“You better hope so,” I shouted back, dumped my Chloe on the kitchen bar, but kept hold of the report as I walked to the steps to the basement.
I went down to see two tall, good-looking boys sprawled on the sectional with game controllers in their hands, attention riveted to the TV and after-school junk consumption evidence all over the coffee table in front of them.
“Pause,” I ordered.
Not even a hesitation, they paused the game, then their eyes came to me.
God, my boys were such good boys.
I looked to Roam. “Just got back from rappin’ with Mr. Robinson.”
His expression shifted from alert to wary but he said not a word.
Sniff, however, as usual, wasn’t silent. “Oh shit.”
“Apparently,” I walked closer to them and tossed the report among the chip bags and cookie packaging on the square coffee table that sat in the middle of the sectional, “you wrote a report he had no clue how to grade.”
Roam’s gaze dropped to the papers then shot back to me.
“Because it was so good,” I finished.
“Whoa,” Sniff muttered.
Roam remained silent and stoic.
In the early days, he’d let things through, give things away.
He’d been among the Hot Bunch so long, he’d learned when he wanted to hide something, how to make sure it remained hidden.
It worked my nerves.
But whatever.
I looked between them both. “I’m gonna say this once and I want it heard. Are you both listening to me?”
“Yeah, Shirleen,” Sniff answered.
“Yeah,” Roam grunted.
“Are you listening good?” I pushed.
“Yeah, Shirleen.” Sniff was getting impatient, maybe to get back to his game, probably because he knew a Shirleen Lecture was coming and he wanted it over.
Roam just nodded.
“When I got you, and I knew I was gonna be able to keep you, I set money aside. I didn’t know what it was for. Didn’t care. Just knew it was for you.”
They both stiffened, even Roam.
I kept at them.
“I know you don’t ask for anything. Don’t expect anything. Maybe don’t want anything you can’t earn yourself. But that’s not how families work. Families look out for each other. And we’re family. And I know you two can take care of yourselves, but you gotta give a woman something, and what I want is to give something to you. We had the talk, I didn’t push it. We’re gonna have it again because I’ve been informed, Roam, that you got some serious talent with writing. And it didn’t escape me with either of you that you get yourself some good grades even if you don’t try real hard. So I want you both to think about usin’ that money to go to college.”
“I’d rather use it to get some wheels,” Sniff muttered.
“I’m buyin’ you both a car when you graduate,” I reminded him.
“I’d rather use it to get some shit-hot wheels,” Sniff amended.
“Boy, you don’t quit cussin’ in front of me, I’m gonna knock you into outer space,” I snapped.
Sniff grinned at me.
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, drew in a breath, let it out, and looked back at them.
“You two can be anything you want to be,” I said quietly.
They stiffened again.
I powered through it.
“And I want no limits on that. We don’t talk about it and we don’t have to, but I’m just gonna say it is not lost on me the limits you’ve had in your lives and I want you to know, right here, right now, those limits are done. You wanna go to college, it’s yours. You don’t, that’s your choice, but I want you to think real hard on that and know even if it takes a while for you to come to that decision, the resources are there for you to have it. You want something else for your lives, it’s your life, you get to make that choice. I’m just sayin’ I want you to discuss that with me. Bottom line is, you got choices. There are no limits. I don’t care if I’m covering your asses for years of medical school and residency. Your futures include options. Give me the privilege of giving that to you. Don’t limit yourselves because you got any concerns at all about taking it.”
They said nothing.
“Am I heard?” I asked.
“You’re heard, Shirleen,” Roam rumbled.
“Yeah, you’re heard,” Sniff put in.
I looked to Roam. “That report, son, I read it. Nothin’ else to say but to share the fact I got so much pride for you, it hurts me inside havin’ to contain it and not let it explode all over the place.”
“Shirleen,” he whispered.
He wasn’t hiding anything right then. The goodness coming to me from him came strong and pure.
God, I loved that boy.
Sniff punched his own heart with his fist twice then reached out and punched Roam in the arm with it. “Way to go, my brother.”
I loved both of them.
“Piss off,” Roam muttered.
And a little bit more eked out.
He was embarrassed.
I fought grinning as I ordered, “Don’t tell your brother to piss off.”
“He’s annoying,” Roam returned.
“He’s proud of you too,” I shot back.
“I totally am,” Sniff stated.
Suddenly Roam pushed up from his lounge and clipped, “Shut up.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up when—” Sniffed started.
He stopped talking when Roam pointed in his face then pointed to the ceiling and hissed, “Shut up.”
Sniff shut up, tensed, then both boys shot off the couch like rockets.
My heart dropped to my feet.
“Stay down here,” Roam ordered quietly as he and Sniff swiftly made their way to the stairs.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Got your phone?” Sniff asked as answer.
“No,” I told him.
He dug his phone out of his pocket and tossed it to me.
Oh no.
“Boys,” I snapped in a whisper.
Roam was four steps up, Sniff two down from him, when Roam halted and turned to me.
“Stay. Down. Here. And quiet,” he commanded on his own whisper.
If I wasn’t so freaked, I would lament all the time I allowed that boy to hang with the Hot Bunch learning to be so damned bossy.
Instead I was freaked.
Because something was up.
And in the life of the RCHB, something being up could be anything.
I mean, I’d shot a man in my own home because the RCHB (that time it was mostly HB with the RC dragged in) had some big shit going down.
Was I going to let my teenage boys slink, unarmed, up to face uncertain anything and wait downstairs for them?
Hell no.
I started to follow when I heard squealed, “Well look at you, sugar bunches of love! You get more handsome each time I see you!”
Daisy.
Daisy had broken into my house.
As fast as my high heels would take me, I stomped up my stairs.
Nope.
Not Daisy.
The Rock Chicks.
Every one of them.
Daisy. Indy. Jet. Roxie. Jules. Ava. Stella. Sadie. Ally. And Annette thrown in, I hoped, for comic relief.
Because we’d need some comedy.
Seeing as I was about to lose my mind!
“Did you all break into my house?” I asked furiously.
“Well no, sugar,” Daisy answered calmly. “You gave me your key to check on things when you had that staycation that time Vance and Jules took the boys campin’ for spring break.”
Shit.
“I—” I began.
“Zip it,” Ally ordered.
I stared daggers at her and would learn quickly I should not have wasted time staring daggers and instead should have maybe gone for my stun gun when I found myself bum-rushed by ten Rock Chicks through my great room, down my hall, into my bedroom.
“All’s good, just Rock Chick business,” Jet called behind her to my boys before she slammed the door, turned to rest her back to it and glared at me. “Two dates and no spill?” she whisper-hissed. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I mean, are you seriously serious?” Roxie demanded.
I crossed my arms on my chest. “Can’t do a freeze out and spill.”
“Oh. My. Goddess!” Annette screeched. “This room is fuckin’ phat! I mean, I can see myself . . . everywhere.”
She did a whirl, checking herself out in a variety of directions.
What could I say? It was my bedroom. I decorated in glamor.
And glamor meant mirror.
“Annette,” Ally clipped.
Annette stopped whirling and grinned at me. “Even your furniture has mirrors. And you got yourself a purple padded headboard. Sah-weet.”
“It’s lavender,” I corrected.
“Whatevs,” she replied. “It’s sah-weet!”
“Can we stop talking about Shirleen’s headboard?” Indy asked.
“Unless that headboard’s seen some action,” Ava added.
“What kinda girl do you think I am?” I asked. “We’ve only had two dates.”
“A healthy, red-blooded one,” Ava answered.
“Have you kissed him?” Roxie asked.
“Have you slept with him?” Ally asked.
“What’s he look like?” Stella asked.
“Is he tall?” Sadie asked.
“Is he hot?” Indy asked.
“Is he sweet?” Jet asked.
“Are those pillowcases satin?” Annette asked.
“Oh for goodness sake, let her speak,” Jules demanded of the Rock Chicks. She looked to me. “By the way, you should know, I know him. In a professional capacity. And I approve.”
From Jules, that said a lot. She was a social worker at King’s Shelter for kids.
I was still ticked at her because she’d played her part in putting me out there.
“He’s tall. He’s hot. He’s sweet. I’ve kissed him. I have not slept with him,” I answered the room at large. “And now you can all just get on out of my house.”
Roxie plopped her ass on the low bench at the foot of my bed covered in purply-gray, patterned velvet, declaring, “Shirleen, you cannot be pissed we set you up with a tall, sweet hot guy.”
“I can’t?” I asked.
“No,” she answered immediately.
“Did he really ram his grocery cart into yours at the store?” Sadie queried.
“Yes, he did,” I bit off at Sadie.
“Hot,” Indy murmured.
“Totally,” Ava replied.
“He’s a good man. He’s a loving man. He’s got two daughters he adores. A job that’s more a calling. A nice home he let his oldest decorate,” I allowed myself to share.
“That’s fantastic,” Jules said.
“And he could have found out who I was and what I did and excused himself to go to the bathroom and never came back,” I finished.
“Oh please,” Indy drawled while throwing herself on my bed, totally unpoofing the perfect fold of my duvet.
So I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Like Lee and the boys didn’t investigate him to within an inch of his life,” she continued.
That was when my eyes, of their own accord, bugged out at her.
“Yeah, and followed him for days,” Stella put in.
Say . . .
What?
“And then Lee had it out with him face to face to make sure it was all good and he wasn’t gonna find out about your history and pull a loser move like that,” Jet added.
Well, I knew that last part.
“They investigated him?” I asked.
“Of course,” Indy answered.
“Does he know this?” I asked.
“Yep. Didn’t care. Just wanted to go to dinner with you,” Roxie shared.
Good Lord.
He didn’t care.
Moses didn’t care the Hot Bunch had invaded his privacy, his history.
Followed him.
He just wanted to go out to dinner with me.
I jumped when a pounding came at the door and through it Roam yelled, “Shirleen, you okay?”
“Those boys are so cute,” Daisy whispered. “They so love their Shirleen.”
“I’m fine!” I yelled back, hoping he hadn’t overheard anything. “And our talk is over. You can go back to playin’ your game.”
No hesitation before, “You sure?”
“We’re her girls!” Daisy shouted. “Of course she’s sure. It’s just girl talk, sugar bunch! Go on back to your game!”
I gave it a beat until I sensed Roam leaving and turned to Jules. “I had a conversation with his history teacher today. He reported to me Roam’s an exceptionally gifted writer.”
“Whoa. Wow. Really?” she asked but smiled and said, “Cool,” before I could answer.
“I’ve reopened discussion about college with both of them,” I informed her.
Her smile got bigger. “Awesome.”
“Uh, as great as it is Roam’s exceptionally gifted at something, it’s not news, he’s a fantastic kid. But we’re off hot-guy topic,” Ally butted in.
I looked to Ally. “I’ve said all I’m gonna say.”
“You totally have not said all you’re gonna say,” she shot back.
“Yo, bitch,” Annette called, and I looked to my bed to see her standing at my bedside table, the drawer open. “I approve of your choice of vibrator, but you got yourself a hot guy and you don’t have any rubbers in here.”
Only Annette could get away with snooping through a woman’s drawers with said woman right in the room with her.
That was to say she actually couldn’t, but she was such a good-natured hippie-chick, you couldn’t get mad at her.
“I’ll get Lee to buy you some,” Indy offered.
My eyes darted to her. “You will not.”
“Shirleen,” Roxie started hesitantly, “perhaps the ship has sailed on pregnancy, but there’s more than one reason to use prophylactics.”
“I don’t need sex education courses at age fifty-three,” I snapped at Roxie.
“Then why don’t you have condoms?” Jet asked.
“Because Moses hasn’t even stepped foot in my house, much less my bedroom,” I said to Jet. “And we’re not there. We’re taking it slow.”
There was general vocal merriment to this comment before Ava murmured, “He crashed his grocery cart into hers. They so aren’t taking it slow.”
“Oh my God, we get to do a new pool. I’m in for fifty bucks for Shirleen gettin’ the business on her next date,” Sadie decreed.
“I see . . .” Daisy began, tapping a long, French manicured nail that had cherry blossoms painted across it on her lower lip, “date number four.”
“Grocery cart ramming, there’s no bet here. It’s totally going to be the next date,” Stella announced. “It’s actually a shocker it wasn’t the first date.”
“Teenage boy blocks,” Ava accurately surmised.
I had to stop this even if the famous Rock Chick Getting the Business Pool was started by me so I deserved this ridiculousness.
“He knows Leon beat me, sexually abused me and piled a load of shit on me. He wants me to understand he’s not Leon. So he’s dedicated to taking it slow,” I retorted.
“Sister girl,” Daisy whispered.
That was when I felt the change in the room.
And with it, I felt the gentle eyes on me.
I swallowed.
Then I announced, “I’m not sure I’m worthy of him. He’s dedicated to proving I am. It’s going to take some time. But he wants this, and I definitely want it so we’re gonna give it a shot.”
“You’re scared,” Ally noted softly.
“I’m terrified. Two dates, I never had it so good,” I replied.
“This makes me happy,” Jules put in.
I looked to her. “That’s part of the scary. It makes me happy. But most of the scary is it seems I’m making him happy, and he’s the kind of man I don’t ever want that to stop.”
“That’s pure Shirleen. More worried about giving than getting,” Indy mumbled.
I was struck.
“Say what?” I asked her.
She grinned gently at me. “You put the super-bad into badass, Shirleen. But you’re the most selfless person I know.” Her grin strengthened, but didn’t get less gentle. “Outside all these chickies in this room, of course.”
“We’re so happy for you, we could spit,” Sadie declared, a little grin on her fairy princess face.
“Look at this!” Annette cried, and I looked in the direction of her voice to see she had the massive mirror that sat on the floor opened to expose my enormous and perfectly laid out jewelry display inside. She was swinging the door open and closed. “You can, like, accessorize then check yourself out to see if it works, like, right away.”
“Annette,” Roxie called impatiently.
Annette turned from the mirror, closing it as she did, and locked eyes on me.
“And woman, if I ever hear you say you’re not worthy of anything or anyone, I’m gonna shake you until your teeth rattle. You’ve got a beautiful soul. Nothing dims that. Not one thing. It might have lived in the shadows for a while, but it surprises nobody that it broke through. So don’t you dare talk yourself down, not in front of your girls. Not in front of anyone. Are you understanding me?”
Well, oowee.
I’ll be damned.
Annette had some badass to her.
“I’m under—” I started.
I didn’t get it all out because Jet went flying from the door as it was thrown open.
Everyone turned to it to see Tod, in his flight attendant uniform, tear in.
He slammed the door, looked around and snapped, “I told you I was on my way! It isn’t easy getting from DIA into town at rush hour. And you started without me!”
“Chill, sugar. We been waiting days, you know we couldn’t wait any longer,” Daisy said.
“Not even ten minutes?” Tod asked.
All the Rock Chicks (save Annette) looked guilty.
Tod turned to me. “Is he cute?”
Tod was Indy and Lee’s neighbor. Tod was one half of Tod and Stevie. Tod (and obviously Stevie) was gay.
It wasn’t that Tod was gay that he was a Rock Chick. It was arguable seeing as they swung both ways (those ways being both Hot Bunch and Rock Chick), but Tex and Duke, both who worked at Indy’s bookstore, both not gay, were also de facto Rock Chicks.
It was just how we rolled.
I didn’t know if “hot” translated to “cute” in gay-speak.
Still, I replied, “Mm-hmm.”
He leaned back and grinned. “Well, all right.”
“Tod can buy you some rubbers,” Annette declared.
Tod’s eyes got big.
At me.
“You don’t have any condoms, honey?” he asked.
“Can we give the condoms a rest?” I requested.
“I’ll talk to Eddie,” Jet murmured.
I guessed we couldn’t.
“Don’t talk to Eddie,” Indy advised swiftly.
“Why not?” Jet asked.
“Eddie’s not a big fan of buying condoms for other dudes,” Indy told her.
“Do I want to know this story?” Jet inquired.
“Sure, it’s funny,” Ally answered, also tossing herself on my bed.
“And it reminds me I might need to stock up on Lip Smackers,” Indy muttered.
“Oh for goodness sakes, I’ll buy you some condoms,” Daisy stated. She was now at my jewelry mirror, had it open, and was draping some necklaces around her neck. She turned to me. “Can I borrow these, sugar?”
“I need a drink,” Stella announced before I could give approval, or not, to Daisy’s request.
“I need three,” Tod declared, also throwing himself on my bed. “Who’s manning the cocktail shaker?”
“Shirleen, you got some chips?” Ava asked.
Did I have some chips?
I was raising teenage boys.
I had more chips then the Lays factory.
“Yeah, hey,” Annette could be heard. She was on her phone. Alarmingly. “I wanna order some pizzas.” Yep. Shirleen was alarmed. “You ready? Right. One large veggie. That’s for me,” she said this last to the room before going back to her phone. “One large pepperoni. One large sausage. We’re gonna need some of that cheesy bread. Two orders. And maybe a salad.” She got some looks. “Okay, no salad and three orders of that cheesy bread. Right. You got my account from my number? Right. Cool. Charge it on the card on file. But it’s a new address.” Her gaze came to me. “What’s the address here again?”
Ten voices told her the address.
I’ll note, none of those voices was mine.
Annette strolled to the door after giving my address, stating, “Right, thanks. Laterzzzzz.” She took the phone from her ear, opened the door and shouted, “Pizza in thirty!”
“Right on!” Sniff shouted back.
Roam had no reply.
“Oh my God! I need to borrow these shoes!” Ava wandered out of my walk-in holding my Gucci crystal embellished sandals that I’d bought on a whim because they were fancy and I had nowhere to wear them but they were just so hot I couldn’t pass them up. “Luke would love these.”
Damn.
Now I just had to give them to her.
This was because I held the knowledge that Luke Stark liked his woman in sexy shoes, and just how he liked to work things out with those sexy shoes and their heels digging in certain areas of his flesh. And now I couldn’t wear those shoes without thinking of those heels digging in Luke Stark’s flesh.
Shit.
“Bring those to me,” Tod ordered, already twisting his body in a knot to take off his own shoes. “I’m feeling those sandals. I’m feeling ‘Born This Way.’ I’m feeling ‘You Make Me Feel Mighty Real.’ I’m feeling wig number three, dress number seventeen. No. I’m feeling shopping.”
Tod, when he was not being a flight attendant, dad to a chow dog called Chowleena, partner to Stevie or the unofficially official Rock Chick wedding planner, was a drag queen called Burgundy Rose.
Ava walked the Guccis over to Tod.
I felt something touch the back of my hand.
I looked to my side.
Jules was there.
“You knew it would happen,” she said quietly.
I did.
I sighed.
“They just love you,” she continued.
They did.
I sighed again.
Jules smiled.
“I’m on cocktails,” Stella announced on her way to the door. “Who wants what?”
“I’ll help,” Sadie said, following her.
“Cosmo,” Roxie ordered.
“Surprise me,” Tod put in, bent over the side of my bed, strapping on my Gucci.
“I’m in for a cosmo, but I gotta call Eddie. Tell him he’s on his own for dinner,” Jet shared.
“He can come over,” Annette invited Jet’s husband to my house. “I’ll just call and order more pizza.”
“Tell him to go to Lincoln’s. Lee’s having a team meeting. He can meet the guys there,” Indy told Jet.
“Tell him to tell Hank,” Roxie added.
“I better call Blanca and let her know she’s got Alex for dinner,” Jet muttered.
“And I better call Nick and see if he’s down with watching Max and Sam for the foreseeable future,” Jules said, disengaging from me.
Eddie and Jet, and Jules and Vance had started their broods.
The rest would follow.
And as evidenced with what was right then happening in my bedroom, it wouldn’t slow any of them down.
I went to the closet to take off my heels and put on my slippers.
What could I say?
The Rock Chicks were in the house.
And as I’ve said, I was relatively badass, and the fact remained, I had been ticked at them.
But still.
The truth of it was . . .
I wouldn’t have it any other way.