truth.
“ Okay, awesome. So Jer,
when her dad shows up all pissed off, I’m going to let you deal
with him,” I say and walk off down the hall. He catches me at the
front door and places an oversized hand on the door jamb,
effectively stopping me from leaving without a fight.
“ Was that necessary?” he
asks. I turn around and lean against the closed door.
“ Yeah, Jeremy. It was,” I
say, folding my arms over my chest and staring up at
him.
“ It’s not like what I just
did is any different than what you do with the club,” he says with
disgust in his voice. I blanch in a mix of surprise and
embarrassment. I don’t talk to my brother about my social life, and
he never asks. I guess I just assumed he was so into his own thing
that he hadn’t noticed.
“ I’m the adult in this
house,” I say.
“ So what, that means you
get to do whatever you want? I’m just your stupid kid brother you
got stuck with, so I have to listen to your hypocritical bullshit?
Fuck that,” he yells.
“ Yeah,” I yell back,
“That’s exactly what it means. And if you want to keep inviting
your little girls over for play dates you’ll knock it off with the
attitude,” I say.
Cracking a cruel smile and
with cold eyes, he says, “Don’t you want to start them off right?
You can show them how to be a Lost Girl so when I get my patch
they’ll know their place.”
“ You’re not getting a
patch. You hear me now, and you listen good—you can be an asshole,
you can use every girl in this town. I don’t care. But if you think
you’re going to prospect, you are dead wrong, dude.”
“ And who the fuck is going
to stop me?” he says, smiling. “You’re not my mom. She ran off.
You’re not my dad. He’s locked up.”
“ Just clean up the
kitchen, okay?” I say and push him back then slide out the front
door. Walking to my car, I’m fuming mad. It feels like I’ve left
the house a hundred times today and half of those have been after a
fight with Jeremy. Five months—I remind myself—just five months
until he’s eighteen. A sudden panic overtakes me at the thought of
him being old enough to prospect. Then for a brief, selfish second
I wonder what it would be like to only have to worry about myself.
Having one mouth to feed would be a lot cheaper and certainly if he
were patched, he’d be earning his own keep. But no matter how less
stressful it would all be financially, it’s not worth what could
and likely would happen to him. He’d be no better than the rest of
them.
With irritated thoughts of
my brother, I drive to The 101 Club on the other side of town, just
beyond the bridge that crosses Noyo Bay. The 101 Club sits just off
of South Main Street in a large dirt lot on the inland side of the
road. The building looks small from the outside, with its worn
paint and inconsistent flickering neon sign above the door that
invites patrons to “Ente,” the R that nobody ever bothered to
replace having been busted years ago.
I step out of the car and
look down at my dark blue jeans tucked into three-inch knee-high
black boots. Normally, if I was looking to have a little fun, I’d
have gone for a suggestive top, but tonight I decided to wear a
fitted, long sleeve, black top. It’s nothing fancy, but it covers
up my ink. Not that I don’t love the artwork I’ve had done, but
tonight it just feels too obvious. I highly doubt Ms. Mancuso has
even an imperfect blotch of skin, let alone tattoos that trail
across her arms and lower belly.
And just like that my bad mood gets
even worse. I’m letting this chick and her presence in town really
fuck with my head. I know damn well that it’s my own insecurities
biting me in the ass, but that doesn’t put a stop to the incessant
voice in the back of my head that won’t stop saying, “You’re not
good enough.”
Inside the bar, it’s
poorly lit, which probably helps its customers tie one on and take
someone home they surely wouldn’t in the calm and sober light
“ Okay, awesome. So Jer,
when her dad shows up all pissed off, I’m going to let you deal
with him,” I say and walk off down the hall. He catches me at the
front door and places an oversized hand on the door jamb,
effectively stopping me from leaving without a fight.
“ Was that necessary?” he
asks. I turn around and lean against the closed door.
“ Yeah, Jeremy. It was,” I
say, folding my arms over my chest and staring up at
him.
“ It’s not like what I just
did is any different than what you do with the club,” he says with
disgust in his voice. I blanch in a mix of surprise and
embarrassment. I don’t talk to my brother about my social life, and
he never asks. I guess I just assumed he was so into his own thing
that he hadn’t noticed.
“ I’m the adult in this
house,” I say.
“ So what, that means you
get to do whatever you want? I’m just your stupid kid brother you
got stuck with, so I have to listen to your hypocritical bullshit?
Fuck that,” he yells.
“ Yeah,” I yell back,
“That’s exactly what it means. And if you want to keep inviting
your little girls over for play dates you’ll knock it off with the
attitude,” I say.
Cracking a cruel smile and
with cold eyes, he says, “Don’t you want to start them off right?
You can show them how to be a Lost Girl so when I get my patch
they’ll know their place.”
“ You’re not getting a
patch. You hear me now, and you listen good—you can be an asshole,
you can use every girl in this town. I don’t care. But if you think
you’re going to prospect, you are dead wrong, dude.”
“ And who the fuck is going
to stop me?” he says, smiling. “You’re not my mom. She ran off.
You’re not my dad. He’s locked up.”
“ Just clean up the
kitchen, okay?” I say and push him back then slide out the front
door. Walking to my car, I’m fuming mad. It feels like I’ve left
the house a hundred times today and half of those have been after a
fight with Jeremy. Five months—I remind myself—just five months
until he’s eighteen. A sudden panic overtakes me at the thought of
him being old enough to prospect. Then for a brief, selfish second
I wonder what it would be like to only have to worry about myself.
Having one mouth to feed would be a lot cheaper and certainly if he
were patched, he’d be earning his own keep. But no matter how less
stressful it would all be financially, it’s not worth what could
and likely would happen to him. He’d be no better than the rest of
them.
With irritated thoughts of
my brother, I drive to The 101 Club on the other side of town, just
beyond the bridge that crosses Noyo Bay. The 101 Club sits just off
of South Main Street in a large dirt lot on the inland side of the
road. The building looks small from the outside, with its worn
paint and inconsistent flickering neon sign above the door that
invites patrons to “Ente,” the R that nobody ever bothered to
replace having been busted years ago.
I step out of the car and
look down at my dark blue jeans tucked into three-inch knee-high
black boots. Normally, if I was looking to have a little fun, I’d
have gone for a suggestive top, but tonight I decided to wear a
fitted, long sleeve, black top. It’s nothing fancy, but it covers
up my ink. Not that I don’t love the artwork I’ve had done, but
tonight it just feels too obvious. I highly doubt Ms. Mancuso has
even an imperfect blotch of skin, let alone tattoos that trail
across her arms and lower belly.
And just like that my bad mood gets
even worse. I’m letting this chick and her presence in town really
fuck with my head. I know damn well that it’s my own insecurities
biting me in the ass, but that doesn’t put a stop to the incessant
voice in the back of my head that won’t stop saying, “You’re not
good enough.”
Inside the bar, it’s
poorly lit, which probably helps its customers tie one on and take
someone home they surely wouldn’t in the calm and sober light
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