*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Just a flash story; a rather dark, sordid little flash story.
Lilah's divorce from Derek went through with no trouble; he did not want anyone to find out he'd been hiring young black studs to fuck his pretty blonde wife. And even though the ink had not even been dry on their marriage certificate, Lilah still received fifty thousand dollars from Derek.
She now had a college diploma, and a teaching certificate, but absolutely no employment history to speak of. A recruiting agency found very few prospects that were suitable; Lilah was not about to teach at an inner city school in Detroit, or Chicago, or Philadelphia, no matter how good the starting salary might be.
"Stephanie, may I call you Stephanie? Stephanie, I've got three little girls," Lilah told an agent with the recruiting agency. "And I'm not about to put them in any situation that's as dangerous as that. You can understand that, can't you, Stephanie?"
But still those offers kept coming.
The principal of McKenna High School, her high school when she'd been a student had retired. But Lilah called her anyway.
"Lilah, Lilah Quentin?" the woman said, voice still just as strong as it had been fourteen years earlier. "Of course I remember you. Selfish, self-centered little cunt; thought her shit didn't stink, thought the world owed her something. And how can I help you?"
The woman burst out laughing when Lilah told her she'd become a teacher. Lilah hung up and continued to search for a job on-line.
"Stepping Stone, Louisiana," Lilah mused. "Where the hell is that?"
"Louisiana's between Mississippi and Texas," Hannah, her twelve year old daughter informed her.
"I know where Louisiana is; I meant where Stepping Stone is?" Lilah snapped, resisting the urge to slap the spoiled brat.
"Oh, we don't like when our daughter's a smart mouthed little bitch?" Lilah's mother asked.
"Yes Mother, I know, Mother, I was a horrible child, Mother," Lilah snapped.
"And not much of an adult either," her mother said. "Might remember whose house this is, Dear."
"And I'm grateful you're letting us stay here," Lilah spat the words out.
Lilah googled Stepping Stone and saw that the nearest large city was Alexandria. The next largest town was two hours north, Monroe Louisiana.
"God, it's in the middle of nowhere," she said.
"And you said that about Matthew, North Carolina when I moved here," her mother reminded her.
"No, Mother, really, it is in the middle of nowhere," Lilah insisted. "Nearest town is Alexandria and Alexandria's not much more than Matthew is."
Lilah shrugged and sent the school administration her resume and stock cover letter and continued her job search.
The following Monday, buried among the emails from the recruiting agency stating they'd found her the perfect job in Washington D.C. and Baltimore, Maryland and Detroit, Michigan, was a response from John F. Kennedy High School, in Stepping Stone, Louisiana.
"Go Cougars," Lilah laughed as she read the email from Mrs. Abramson.
But now she had a very difficult decision to make. Spoiled brats or not, Hannah, Robin, and Shannon were her children. Leaving them here, their father would get custody of them. Knowing Brandon Durst, the man would probably try to sue her for child support. John F. Kennedy High School was offering her twenty eight thousand a year, plus health and dental and a matched 4O1K plan. According to the email, there was even a single wide trailer she could rent for three hundred and fifty dollars a month. The trailer had been vacated by the previous History teacher.
If she took Hannah, Robin, and Shannon, she could only imagine what Hell they would make her life, and the lives of their teachers at David Treen Elementary School and Lindy Boggs Middle School.
She called Linda Smith, her best friend and the two women met for coffee.
"Honestly?" Linda said. "I mean, please don't get me wrong; they're my goddaughters, you know I love them to death, but go. Go. Let Brandon put up with those snotty little bitches he helped bring into this world. You can get them on holidays and on summer breaks."
She fired the recruiting agency, citing their shoddy performance as the reason, sent an acceptance email to Mrs. Abramson, and called Brandon Durst.
"Well, I uh, see, I been..." Brandon stammered when Lilah said she would be relinquishing primary custody of their daughters.
"What, Brandon?" Lilah snapped. "You been bitching and bitching child support's killing you and you been bitching and bitching that you never get to see them."
"Yeah, but I'm kind of seeing this woman, I mean, shit, Lilah, they hate Shaquisha and truth is, she wanted to kill Hannah last weekend," Brandon said.
"Welcome to my world, Brandon," Lilah said.
They again met in front of a judge who approved transferring primary custodial care to Brandon. Shaquisha could not leave quickly enough. The judge also ordered Lilah to pay seven fifty a month in child support to Mr. Durst.
Stepping Stone, Louisiana had a grocery store and a liquor store. Mrs. Abramson made sure to point out the liquor store's hours of business.
"We actually get all the high school children from Turning Point and East Turn, as well as Stepping Stone," the woman said as they toured the small cinderblock building. "You will be the History Teacher, as well as the Homeroom Advisor for the senior class. This year we have a record number of students in the twelfth grade. There will be twenty nine students; seventeen females and twelve males."
They paused in front of the classroom and Mrs. Abramson produced a key and handed it to Lilah.
"After you," she said.
There were thirty desks, five rows of six desks each. There was a dry erase board behind a large wooden desk. On the desk were four cardboard boxes and Mrs. Abramson clapped happily.
"Oh, the new books came in!" she cried and ran to open the boxes.
"If you don't mind my asking," Lilah said as they examined the boxes of books. "Why did the last History teacher leave?"
"Passed away," was all the older woman would say.
Lilah made sure the classroom was again locked up then went to the single grocery store. The cashier was a woman that appeared to be in her seventies; she still sported a beehive hairdo and chatted pleasantly as she slowly, meticulously rang up each item.
The manager of the trailer park, an attractive brunette woman, came over and helped Lilah unload her groceries as a late summer thunderstorm had suddenly popped up.
Lilah's single wide trailer was neatly furnished, functional, sturdy furniture. The closet in the main bedroom was empty, but the closet in the second bedroom held some women's clothing. Lilah had not had time to look through any of the drawers; she was in a hurry to get to JFK High School, for her meeting with Mrs. Abramson.
"Thanks, uh, Dianna, right?" Lilah said, as they carried the last two bags from car trunk to small kitchen.
