17

 

 

Elliot did not call or text and when Thursday rolled around. He didn’t book a private dance. It was Thanksgiving, so I told myself that he was occupied by his family. I spent the day with the girls, eating from the buffet on my break and joking about in our skimpy costumes.

I told myself that I didn’t care. That he couldn’t hurt me by pulling away.

But that was a lie.

Had he been with Sarah the entire time that he'd been with me?

I fantasied about how to enact revenge on Sarah Mallory, but my moral compass dictated that I couldn’t hurt a pregnant woman. No matter how she pranced around, drinking wine even though she was growing another human inside of her. Using her unborn child like a VIP invitation to the Gold family.

It hurt worse because she belonged with him. She fit by his side like a perfect addition to his Goldryn Elite persona.

I was just a stripper. Trailer trash. What had I been thinking? I wasn’t the kind of girl that a Gold would marry. I was a bad decision to piss off the parents before he settled down.

I was sick at myself for thinking it. I knew it was the poisonous voice inside myself. The darkness that I hid away that told me that I wasn’t good enough and he was telling me all sorts of lies just to keep me on the side. Having his cake and eating it too.

On the Black Friday, I had finally gathered enough money to pay off Daniel Davis. It should have been a weight from my shoulders but somehow my stomach felt like it was full of snakes.

The thing about debt is that you're never free of it. You can force it into remission, but debt is like a disease. It’s always a threat if you’re susceptible.

When I handed Mr Davis the envelope, I told him to never contact me again.

He'd walked away with the words:

“If your Mama can't pay then I know where to find you.”

I was so angry that I couldn’t speak.

I was tired of being beaten down. I'd had enough time away from the toxic trailer that I had grown up in to be able to see that.

I’d been up all night after handing over my last ever envelope.

I was cutting Mama off. For good.

If Davis came after me again, I’d have to cut myself off from Mama legally. I'd sever ties. Get a gun and hope to God that he didn’t try and get me to touch his cock again; because I didn’t want to go to jail for shooting it off.

I needed caffeine something fierce. The good stuff. I had a beaten up old coffee maker that I’d gotten from goodwill but all the coffee that came from the pot tasted faintly of metal. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and tied my hair into a scruffy topknot.

I looked like a homeless mess.

If any of the patrons of the Pink Sleeve saw me in the daylight, they wouldn’t recognise me. I slipped my wallet into the pocket of my baggy sweats and underwent the short journey to Main Street.

It had been a full day without Elliot Gold and I was already having withdrawal symptoms. It was humiliating.

The TeaSpoon, Goldryn Bois' answer to Starbucks, was my first stop. The bistro chairs out the front were empty because the air had a bite as winter moved in. Louisiana weather was bipolar. It could never decide it was going to let the season move in or not. Whilst summers were humid and hot, any other time was a free for all. Though I hadn’t seen snow in the Bayou.

I ordered a black Americano and I hovered by the counter as I heard the barista call her name.

Was Sarah Mallory following me? Dammit to hell.

Probably not, as her drink was served before mine. Still, I was dressed like a homeless person without an inch of makeup. My cheeks were red and patchy without foundation or a dab of tinted moisturizer, and I was horribly self-conscious of my less than put together state.

The barista called my name and I flinched. Sarah had leaned over the counter, causing a ruckus and asking loudly if her drink contained gluten or not. The barista seemed to be holding back their laughter, considering that it looked like she’s ordered a standard latte.

I kept my head down and gripped the to-go cup as fast as I could without burning myself. I turned on my heel and I’d almost gotten away with it when I heard her speak.

“Harriet Thompson, right?” Sarah asked innocently, as if she didn’t have a clue who I was. Yeah, yeah, we're both fucking the same guy. Yay for us.

Oh god. I wanted to cut a bitch and I was a typically passive person. More of a 'curl up and hide' then 'guns blazin' woman. I nodded silently and gave a smile that was more of a flinch. The peroxide blonde tilted her head to the side and I noted that her hair looked like it had been freshly bleached.

All of the women that I had known who'd had babies had refrained from dying their hair much when they were pregnant for worry of their unborn baby’s health. Though Sarah didn’t seem to have that problem. Different strokes for different folks, I guessed.

“Do you mind if I have a word?” Her tone was friendly. Mild. Her eyes were daggers. I looked around and saw a few glances flitted our way and decided that it would probably look strange if I flung my hot black coffee over her face and ran.

“This is my third coffee of the morning.” Sarah laughed; the sound was high-pitched and forced. “I can’t live without my caffeine.”

“Same.” I grunted, channelling Elliot. The thought made my lips twitch.

Once the patrons of the coffee shop got over two women who'd never sit together by choice, they turned away and went back to their business.

Sarah tottered to one of the more secluded booths at the back, which I knew muffled conversation. Rina and I had tested the acoustics back in high school.

Sarah swept her hand out, as if giving me permission to sit. Which I did. My face must have been a picture though, her queenly act didn’t fool me.

“When's your due date?” I asked, surprising her.

“May 12th,” Her entire body radiated smugness, but I didn’t know why. Anyone could have a baby, but raising it was the hard part. God I was bitter.

I felt like a fool.

“Elliot’s really excited.” She tacked on and watched my reaction.

“I know. He told me all about it.” I took a sip from my coffee and watched her over the rim of my to-go cup.

“We're getting married once my divorce is finalised. The baby will have the Gold surname.” Sarah's word rolled off her tongue with the kind of ease that implied she believed them. I didn’t know if they were true or not.

I didn’t want to incite her so I nodded sedately. “Do you have a picture?” I asked.

Sarah rummaged through her brown leather slouch bag (Prada, of course) and handed over a sonogram. A black and white image of a round head and little stalks looked back at me. My heart clenched in pain. Jealousy. Anger.

I remembered when Mary at the diner had her little boy. Her scan had the words 'Baby Ferris’ on the top, for the mother’s surname, but Sarah’s didn’t have that information.  I wondered what she’d told the doctor. Baby Mallory or Baby Gold.

The printout was standard A4 paper. Not the photo finish that Mary's sonogram had.

My eyes narrowed slightly but I made a fake noise of appreciation.

“I bet you're really excited.” I said.

“Cut the shit,” Sarah smiled sweetly. Her tone was so level that if I didn’t see the hatred in her eyes then I would have thought I’d misheard her.

“Excuse me?” I whispered, in disbelief.

“We both know that you think you've gotten your claws into him, you fucking whore.” Sarah lowered her voice to a snarl. “Elliot Gold has been mine for years. I'm not going to roll over and let some drunk's daughter take my man.”

“Elliot is perfectly capable of making his own decisions.” I bristled.

“Not if he's blinded by your cunt.” She snarled.

I flinched away from her harsh words, but found my mind drifting away as my defence mechanism kicked into place. I went numb. The same way that I did when Mama slapped and spat vitriol at me.

“You’ve got nothing to say? Bless your heart. It's no wonder. You’re a few apples short of an orchard. Your Mama must have been drunk when she was pregnant with you. It must be the reason you're so dumb.” Sarah continued to rattle on, incensed by her own words. “You’ll stay away from my Elliot.”

I watched her with cool detachment. Her anger couldn't touch me.

I'd left my body behind.

I stood up without a word, leaving my coffee on the table, unfinished. I turned on my heel and left.

I was halfway down Main Street, pulling out my phone to call Elliot and relay what had happened, when it began to ring. It was an unknown number, but since my number was unlisted, those were rare. I answered.

“Ms. Thompson?” A calming and professional voice asked over the phone. I confirmed my identity.

“I’m really sorry, Ms Thompson, but this is St Mary's Hospital in Baton Rouge. We've got your mother here with us. She's been in an accident.”