1. Maggie
Chapter 1
Maggie
It’s official. My job sucks. In fact, my whole life sucks.
I had dreams—not elaborate ones, just a simple desire to be doing something better than working in a cheap clothing store with dead-end prospects and people who don’t seem to give a shit about anything.
But it pays the bills. Barely. If it were left to my mom, we’d be homeless by now.
My shift finally comes to an end, and I guide my little Honda towards home. Rain peppers down on the windshield as I make the short journey up the highway, matching my gloomy mood.
I reach my house and park up in the drive, pausing to pull my phone from my purse. Triple Threat, my favorite country and western group, dropped a new album today, and I’m desperate to see if there are any reviews yet. Their first album hit number one on the Billboard charts, but they’ve struggled to replicate that success with their last two albums.
Scrolling through the websites, I find several early reviews that are less than complimentary. I slump in my seat, my stomach dipping with disappointment.
“Ah, crap,” I mutter, hating that they seem to be struggling.
I wish I could help. They have no idea of the role I played in the song that won them a Grammy.
I clamber out of the car and dash through the now pouring rain for the house. I opt to go through the garage so I don’t track water and mud into the hallway. Kicking off my wet shoes, I leave them to dry on the floor next to the washer. I’ll clean them up tomorrow.
The house is quiet as I make my way through the kitchen into the living room. Mom’s usually sitting on the sofa watching her favorite crime drama when I get home from work, but there’s no sign of her. I frown, wondering if she’s gone to bed with one of her migraines.
I make my way quietly upstairs so as not to disturb her when murmured voices and laughter reaches my ears. I look at my mom’s closed bedroom door. Oh, God! Is she entertaining? I’ve suffered through three stepfathers since my dad died when I was seven. The low murmurs and muted giggles sound very much like the noises that used to come from her room when she was bumping uglies with one of them.
Yep, that’s my mother. Discreet is not a word she’s familiar with. Many nights, I had to drag a pillow over my head to drown out the carnal grunts of her riding the bony express with the husband of the hour.
I’m just about to make my way into my room when Mom’s door flies open, and a strange man is standing there, completely naked, holding a used condom in his hand. I’m not sure who’s more shocked, him or me.
He recovers quickly, making no attempt to cover himself up. “Well, hello, sweet thing. I’m Ritchie. You come to join the party?” he asks with a creepy smile.
Heat seeps through my body, making my chest and face burn. I clench my jaw so hard my heads pounds, and I think my teeth may snap. The door behind the man creaks open a little, and I get a front-row seat of my mother’s naked body sprawled across the bed. This is the stuff nightmares are made of.
“Thanks, Roger, but I think I’ll pass. I’ve seen paperclips bigger than that,” I snap, casting a disgusted look at his cock.
“Maggie?” Mom calls from the bedroom. “I wasn’t expecting you home yet.”
Is she fucking kidding me? I get home at the same time every night.
Robert takes a step towards me and grabs my wrist. “Sure we can’t change your mind? We’ve got a whole box of these to get through,” he says, indicating the used condom dangling from his fingers.
I take a step back, yanking my wrist free, nausea boiling in my stomach.
“Leave her be, Ritchie. She may be my daughter, but she’s colder than a penguin’s ball sack,” Mom tells him.
Oh. My. God. Just when I think she can’t sink any lower, she goes and says shit like that. Fury bubbles up in my throat until I can barely speak through it. Tears threaten, but I push them down. I won’t let them see me cry.
“What kind of mother parades her conquests around in front of her daughter? Allows them to manhandle and proposition her?” I accuse her hotly.
“Oh, and she’s a drama queen,” Mom says to Ronnie, rolling her eyes.
It’s as if I haven’t spoken. I’m just a huge joke to this woman who calls herself my mother.
“I’m done,” I whisper, the anger draining out of me and leaving numbness in its place.
I walk into my bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. Grabbing a large rucksack from the wardrobe, I start throwing clothes into it.
Time to put on my big girl panties and get the hell out of this house.
I have no idea where I’m headed as I leave the house, dashing the hot tears from my cheeks. Somehow, I find myself at Kat’s. I don’t have many friends, but I met Kat through work, and we hit it off. We’re the same age and have similar interests, so it was inevitable that we would quickly become best friends.
Knowing she won’t hear me knocking, I text Kat from the car to let her know I’m outside. Kat has a hearing impairment following an infection when she was a child. She wears hearing aids, which help, and although she can speak, she mostly relies on lip-reading during conversation.
She’s had a rough time of it, having lost her parents a year ago in a car wreck while they were on vacation. They left the house to her and her older brother, who now lives in Colorado.
My phone beeps as Kat replies, urging me to come on in. I hop out of the car, my tears mixing with the fat blobs of rain that pepper my face as Kat throws open the front door.
“Maggie? What’s up?” my friend asks me with a concerned look.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Come in out of the rain,” she says, grabbing my arm and tugging me inside.
I follow her through to the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. Kat pours me a coffee from the pot she has brewing, adding sugar and plenty of milk, just the way I like it. She places it in front of me before taking a seat opposite.
“What’s up?” she asks, her brow furrowed.
Her kindness has fresh tears rolling down my cheeks. I tell her what happened back at the house. Kat knows about my crappy relationship with my mom, but I’ve never told anyone about the constant stream of men in her bed, some of whom have made inappropriate advances towards me over the years.
“Jesus, what a colossal asshole!” she snaps when I tell her about my run-in with Rupert or Ritchie or whatever the hell his name is. “And as for your mother…I can’t believe she’d say stuff like that to you!” Kat finishes in disgust.
I sigh. “Par for the course, sadly. I should’ve left years ago, but I can’t afford a place on my own, and I stupidly thought she needed me.” My throat closes up as I ponder my dim prospects.
Kat gives me a sympathetic smile. “You know, you should be writing music, not working in a clothing store. Why don’t you reach out to the band, tell them you’re the one who wrote ‘Better Than Me?’”
I laugh without humor. “I may have written it, but they’re the ones who brought it to life. Noah’s arrangement is genius. Theo’s guitar solo is pure magic. And we all know what happens when Tanner sings. Women’s panties spontaneously combust.”
“But it’s still your lyrics, your original song,” Kat points out.
“Yeah, but they don’t know that. They’d never believe me now.”
Kat frowns. “You have evidence, though, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. I have the recording I made of it with a timestamp. I have the email I sent to the management company.”
“Maggie, if you have the proof, you’re due royalties,” Kat says urgently, emphasizing her words with sign language.
“It’s not that easy, Kat,” I sigh, pushing to my feet and pacing the kitchen.
“Why not?”
I turn back to face her so she can see my mouth. “They’re in New York, for a start. That’s like, four hours from here.”
“I’m not suggesting you drive there and try to break in, Maggie. But you can reach out to their management company. Tell them you have the copyright and want to set up a meeting with them.”
“Already tried that. Never heard back and didn’t have the money to pursue it.”
“You need to try again,” Kat urges. “Put yourself first, for once. Don’t let fear of rejection hold you back. You’ve had enough of that in your life. You have to make things happen, not sit back and hope they fall into your lap.”
I’m a nobody. Just some girl who entered a competition when I was seventeen. Hearing Triple Threat singing my lyrics during their televised music concert last year later was a huge shock.
I’m twenty-one. My whole life should be spread out in front of me like some golden adventure. But between my father’s death, my mother’s careless attitude, and the strain of trying to keep a roof over our heads, I already feel jaded and cynical beyond my years.
But something Kat said has me thinking. It’s a crazy idea. Ridiculous. Impossible. But I have to try once more before I give up and settle for the mundane.