Author's notes:
*The next chapter in the story. This one is the prelude to dinner with Mr. Lunder and includes some other character perspectives. I'm trying to flesh out the scope of the story a little bit, because I was toying with the idea of formatting this into a cohesive book. If that interests you at all please let me know in the comments.*
**This chapter doesn't include traditional sex scenes, but has plenty of erotic world-building. So, you can skip it if this doesn't interest you. The next chapter will have plenty of fireworks.**
*
Sending invoices was fun, it meant you got money. Receiving bills on the other hand, was painful. At the end of the day, it was all about revenues and expenses. If the revenues fell short of the expenses, you were in trouble. In the business world everyone knew that. Mrs. Gartner had been a part of that world, a lifetime ago.
The bill in question sat malevolently on her desk. Unopened. There was no need. Mrs. Gartner knew enough math to know she was fucked. In fact, considering the modern world, it was a miracle she'd lasted this long. Sixteen years was a damn long time as a single mom, it was unheard of. Her former colleagues had fallen by the wayside a decade ago.
Wherever he was, she hoped her ex-husband was choking on misery, but she knew that wasn't the case. Social media had denied her even that fantasy. She recalled feeling dumbstruck, sixteen years ago when the world had gone insane. Still exchanging flurries of worried texts with friends when Lucas came home. Barely able to maintain his façade of concern, as he quietly assessed his exciting new options. Turns out without her job, a high-powered businesswoman was just another woman. And those were in abundant supply.
She grimaced and sipped her wine--she'd always been craftier than her colleagues. Of course, that no longer mattered, her job was gone. After a long losing battle, she'd gone the same way as the other female professionals. Now she was a full-time mother.
Hooray for me
.
At long last she would fall firmly under the yoke society had envisioned for her. It was ironic, seeing as Lucas had promised to be the stay-at-home parent. Life always found creative ways to drop steaming piles of unfairness in her lap.
There was no use being sentimental. When a business was no longer profitable, you didn't cry about it. You either liquidated or you sold. She was broke. The time to sell had come. What were her assets?
She was unemployable. Smart, attractive, but old. The last few years hadn't been easy. There was no use kidding herself. Only one of her assets was particularly valuable. Fortunately--maybe unfortunately, depending on your perspective--Jessie had been blessed with great genes. Her daughter had grown strikingly beautiful. Today, at least, that might be helpful.
The new dress was a good style for Jessie--despite being a bit indecent--low cut and open around the shoulders. Exactly the type of thing she'd avoided buying Jess her entire life. Odd how quickly circumstances changed.
The idea of whoring out her daughter mortified her, but somehow, the idea of sending Jessie out on her own was worse.
At least at home I can protect her
. Jessie was too stubborn for her own good. Horrible at staying out of trouble, and far too young to handle herself. Letting her leave home now was out of the question.
If she wanted to protect her daughter, she needed to find a home over their heads. She downed the rest of her wine. There was a dinner to burn. Though the pig next door didn't need much fattening.
As a child, my rambunctious attitude had led to many a lecture. Still, the past two weeks had been something else. Once again, I was receiving a lecture, though the circumstances were much different. Mr. Carson was midway through a diatribe that could not end fast enough.
Our intercourse during the last ceramics class had been a confusing experience. Mr. Carson had aggressively propositioned me, then left without sparing me a word. Now he seemed determined to rehash what happened, but without actually talking about it.
Guiltily, I remembered touching myself under the table during class, the momentary sparks of pleasure, then the adrenaline of making eye contact with Mr. Carson. My face turned red at the memory.
It was my fault. I did this to myself.
"Really, Jessie, I want you to think of me as just the same art teacher as before. If you are ever struggling with anything, speak up. The last thing I want, as your teacher, is to see you become less engaged with the coursework," said Mr. Carson, continuing his agonizing pep-talk.
"Really, like, I understand. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Mr. Carson, I shouldn't have. I crossed a line during last class. This is all my fault." I blurted, meaning what I said. I just wanted ceramics class to regain the sense of normalcy that had shattered.
Mr. Carson nodded along with my words. He seemed relieved to hear my apology. I just wanted things back to normal, hopefully I hadn't ruined our relationship.
"Yes, I accept your apology, Jessie, don't be too hard on yourself. It's not unusual, for a girl your age to make these kinds of mistakes. Please do your best to act as you normally would in the future."
To my relief, the conversation was over. Tucking my legs together, I slumped into my assigned seat. Students had begun to trickle into ceramics class, though there were still a few minutes left of break. My mind desperately needed a trip elsewhere. Tonight's dinner with Mr. Lunder was occupying most of my brain's real estate. I checked my phone, craving social media, but the first thing on my screen was a text from an unknown number.
'You are very pretty Jessie 😊
. What's up?'
A random number. The simplest thing to do was ignore the message. Still, I didn't want to offend the sender. I winced, and realized I had been gnawing on my lip.
'Who is this?'
I responded.
A dull ache settled in my temple as I pressed send. A stress headache was brewing. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. Today, my phone had felt like a chore rather than a distraction.
Before I could return the phone to my bag, it buzzed. I glared at the back of my phone, and the Rose Gold case glinted back. My normally trusted confidant, had suddenly turned into a nuisance. I flipped it over with the enthusiasm of a math exam.
'This is Brett Ziegler. We saw each other in the weight room this morning.'
Brett,
the name wasn't familiar. I read the rest of the text, and the context slunk into place, '
the weight room'.
The chair creaked as I shifted uncomfortably. He was the specky boy from this morning, the one I had...
No. No.
Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. I look away from the message and buried my face in my forearms.
Against my wishes, Brett's face swam into my mind, pasty and slick with sweat, shining above me in the weight room's fluorescent lights. He groaned, tilted back his head and--I pinched myself before the mental video could go any further.
Putting my phone away, I left his message unanswered. Hopefully Brett would understand, I didn't want to have to hurt his feelings.
During class the normal urge to be talkative was gone. Serious problems needed fixing, and they weren't the type I could discuss out loud. There were more men harassing me than one person could possibly ward off. Mr. Stephenson was the most urgent, he was the most persistent, and the least distractable. Left to his own devices, it was only a matter of time before his tiny prick succeeded in ruining my life. When someone had power over you, there was only so much you could do about it. This was a somber realization. But maybe there was a way to work that to my advantage?
Class ended and my steps took me on an unfamiliar route. I cut purposefully through the rush, and a few people even hopped out of my way. Resolve gave my steps added purpose, making my decision feel easier. Then someone popped out at me.
"Slap ass Friday!" Yelled a jubilant voice. The owner spanked me with jarring force.
I wheeled in bewilderment, as a cascade of laughter descended, searching wide-eyed for the source of the disruption. An auburn-haired boy stood boldly in front of me, squinting through a sea of freckles, not having even bothered to flee. He had the tense anticipatory look of a younger sibling weighing whether to run.
"What the fuck," I spat.
The culprit winced, distressed to see the ramifications of his plan. There was a cluster of juveniles behind him, watching in hushed tones, still giggling.
"It's slap ass Friday." The ginger shrugged his shoulders in a meant-to-be conciliatory way. "No big deal."
This caused a fresh round of giggles to break out. After a quick glance over his shoulder, the pasty oaf smiled apologetically. The asshole had probably decided his gamble paid off. Now he was basking in the adoration of his stupid, immature friends. I smiled along with them, trying to feel in on the joke. Hoping it would lessen my newfound embarrassment.
"Oh, right... Got it." Rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms and marched away. A raucous celebration broke out behind my departure, which I chose graciously to ignore.
A hundred steps later and I reached my destination. I looked around. This was a place I never imagined I'd visit voluntarily. Uniquely uninteresting photos and certificates adorned the walls of the waiting room.
"Hi, is Principal Walker here? I need to see him."
"Hi Jessie," Rebecca, the secretary, smiled behind her desk. An impossibly wide smile. She was one of those people who could muster enthusiasm seemingly out of thin air. I knew her by her first name, because I was old enough to vaguely remember her being a student here. "He's in, but let me give him a quick buzz."
There was a brief exchange on the intercom. Then I was informed--with another smile--that I could have a seat to wait. Ridiculous. I didn't want to waste my lunch hour waiting. I exhaled before sitting down, and Rebecca shot me a sullen look. While seated, I studied her. She had a fashionable blue dress on accented by a thin black choker, which was an unusual choice. The style worked for her. Here was a lucky women who had found work after high school. Maybe I could get some advice from her. Then I could do better than her.
"Principal Walker will see you now."
I stood up.
Finally.
