This is a reposting. You, the reader, should share in my heartfelt thanks to Estragon, Rhonda's biggest fan, who persuaded me that it was worth my effort and, far more importantly, worth his effort to correct the innumerable errors in grammar and punctuation so that Tracy's story could be properly enjoyed. Any errors that remain are my fault, not his.
L.J.
Tracy's Story
I was young and naive when I fell for Jack all those years ago. I was seventeen and he, at the age of twenty five, was the leader of the local gang, Jack the lad, the number one, the top dog and, if his way of running security for the local night clubs was a bit dodgy, well, that's the way it goes sometimes. For me he was all the thrills and excitement I seemed to be missing at home and if he was a bit rough with me from time to time, well, that's the way I liked it. I have always found that there's something thrilling about being overwhelmed by a force greater than yourself so yes, I liked it rough and took everything he threw at me even if it was a bit scary at times. It made me feel oh so grown up and sophisticated to be his girl and I did everything he asked, everything he wanted just so he'd let me be with him. And when, the moment I turn eighteen, Jack, knowing a good thing when he sees one, proposed to me I thought all my Christmases had come at once. My parents, of course, were horrified and tried to stop the wedding but I was too much the rebel, too independent for my own good and, anyway, what did a pair of old fogeys like them know about young love.
Well, they knew quite a bit as it turns out. Almost as soon as the ring was on my finger I found the other side to Jack, the mean and jealous side. As far as he was concerned I was his, his to own and his to control and heaven help any other bloke that dared to look at me twice. For that matter heaven help me if I so much as dared to be nice to another guy. It all got much, much worse when we found out that we couldn't have kids, especially when it turned out that he was the one firing blanks. From then on his anger boiled over turning on me as being the one who had failed him and on a couple of notable occasions I even found myself down at casualty having "walked into a door".
And then, fifteen years later, I'm still paying the price for my stupidity as a teenager; just like the old song my mum used to sing, I'm only a bird in a gilded cage. Jack has moved on up from being a hired thug to become a major businessman although I'm pretty sure the basics of what he does are pretty much the same. He's still deeply involved in the nightclub business and, if he comes home late at night reeking of some tart's cheap perfume then I'd best keep my mouth shut if I know what's good for me. As for me, I'm still the stay at home housewife; I once thought about getting a job but Jack won't let me work, he says it's up to him to provide and my job is to keep my self and the house looking nice and presentable and play hostess when he brings the lads round. I joined up at the local gym once, anything to pass the time, but when he saw me trying on a new leotard he threw a total wobbler about other men ogling me and insisted we install a home gym instead. I'd leave him in the blink of an eyelid except I've got nowhere to go. Mum and Dad both died a few years back, Jack scared off all my old friends and, even if I did find somewhere, it would never be far enough to be safe from Jack and his temper tantrums.
And then, one day, we're round at the Andersons' for drinks and it turns out that Jim's got a new summerhouse in the garden and, if Jim Anderson has a summerhouse then we've got to have one. Talk about keeping up with the Joneses. Jack got in one of his tame architects to draw up the plans, one of his tame politicians on the council pushed through the planning permission and, in no time, we've got the builders in.
And then, five minutes later, they were out again. It was their first morning and, whilst they were setting up shop I was working out in the home gym and watching through the French windows. Anyway one of the builders sees me as he walks past outside and he only gives me a wolf whistle. I was flattered and, OK, maybe I did strike a pose but Jack happened to be home at the time and he went absolutely ballistic. He storms outside, finds the builder that had whistled at me and, right there and then, beats the living crap out of him. The other builders knew better than to get involved and, ten minutes later, they were all sacked, taking the battered remains of their mate with them. Jack, still fuming, then came and found me, accused me of acting the tart, of leading them on, of behaving like a slut in front of the help. And so, once again, I got another couple of slaps to teach me a lesson.
As soon as I could get away I disappeared off upstairs to patch myself up and keep out of his way, leaving Jack to get on the blower to sort out some new builders, or, as it turned out, a new builder. After making a number of calls Jack talks to Joe Southern who recommends an outfit called "Betty's Builders". Yeah, I know, I laughed too, well, until Jack told me in no uncertain terms to shut my trap if I didn't want another slapping. Anyway it seemed that Betty's Builders was, believe it or not, an all woman building firm which, Jack reckoned, would keep me out of mischief and, as he so sweetly put it, maybe we can get the fucking thing built this time.
Early the very next day Betty herself arrived. Well, she wasn't called Betty really; it turned out that she was called Rhonda and she only used the name Betty to make the name of the firm rhyme and, despite it being Betty's Builders with an 's' on the end, it was a one man, or should that be one woman, show. I was still upstairs in the bedroom when the roar of a powerful motorbike announced her arrival so it was Jack who went to the door to meet her. They didn't go through the house but went around the side and straight out to the garden to look things over and all the while I'm watching them from behind the bedroom curtains. Right from the start I could see that Rhonda was everything I'm not. Take how we dress for a start. Jack gets stroppy if I'm not dressed like some sort of barbie doll and given that clothes shopping is one of the few pleasures left to me it's something I quite happy to oblige him with; my dressing table is my morning temple where I put on the war paint, my wardrobe is my treasure house. My clothes are all from the top designer stores, Jack wouldn't have it any other way and shoes, god I love my shoes. I've gotten used to heels, four inches being my standard, five if we're pushing the boat out and he wants to me to impress. On the other hand Rhonda was wearing biker boots, jeans, a tee shirt and a black leather jacket.
But it wasn't just the way she dressed, it was the way she held herself. Right from the start there was a no nonsense attitude about her; she was no one's possession, she wouldn't take any bullshit, not from Jack and definitely not from a little mouse like me. She was big and strong, hey, she's a builder, right, but it was more than that; Sshe looked like no one, no way, was ever going to push her around.
As they disappeared around the side of the house I couldn't see them anymore so I threw on a dressing gown and rushed down to the kitchen so as to carry on watching. Quite why, I'm not sure but I'm following every move as I stand at the sink staring out of the window watching them map out exactly where the summerhouse should go. Then they turned towards the house and came in through the back door.
"Trace, this is Rhonda. She's going to be building the summerhouse starting next week. Rhonda, this is Tracy, my missus. Excuse the dressing gown; the little tart is so bone idle she hasn't even got dressed yet," Jack said as he led Rhonda into the kitchen.
"How do you do?" I asked politely holding out my hand. "Can I offer you a cup of tea?"
She took my hand and stared into my face. I'm sure I'd hidden the worst of the bruising from Jack's beating under my make up but she seemed to be staring right at it and I felt naked and exposed.
"Yeah, tea, nice one. I fancy a cuppa," she said eventually before releasing my hand.
"Yeah, cuppa tea, doll," Jack said. "Come along, chop, chop. We workers haven't got all morning to laze around like some I could mention."
They stood in the kitchen watching me as I boiled the kettle, filled the cups and poured the milk. I wasn't that surprised when Rhonda told me she liked hers strong with three sugars, real builder's tea. Jack also seemed to approve; she was just the sort of no-nonsense type he liked to deal with. With the tea poured it was my turn to stand and watch, keeping out of the way in the corner of the kitchen while Jack and Rhonda sorted out how long she expected the job to take and exactly when she could start. I hardly heard a word that they said; I just stared at Rhonda, she had taken off her jacket to reveal the skin tight Motorhead tee shirt underneath which, whilst perfectly clean, had seen far better days. The body it revealed was strong and fit; this was a person who did hard physical work day in, day out and, without being fat in any way she was stocky, well built, hard and, although Jack would never have found her attractive in a million years something about her spoke to me.
"...and I'll see you Monday week." Rhonda turned to me as she finished.
"Err... what... Yes, of course." I pulled myself out of my day-dreaming.
