Chapter 12 #2
To Estelle’s dismay, the other people immediately started heading back to their tents, muttered sneers between them. She stared at Mullet Guy where he was crouched in front of her assailant. “Why aren’t you doing anything? He’s a fucking rapist.”
Mullet Guy looked up, giving her a once-over. “You look fully dressed to me.”
Estelle scoffed. “Because I got away.”
Mullet Guy turned back to Fred. “Had a few too many tonight, did you?”
Fred nodded, still clutching his balls. A small comfort.
“You’d better go home and sleep it off then.” Mullet Guy helped Fred off the ground and sent him off in the direction of the trailer.
“What?” Estelle balked. “That’s it?”
“Nothing happened, right? You really want to make a fuss? Cuz I can guarantee you Morris won’t take too kindly to that.”
Estelle shifted her stance, her mouth opening and closing as she watched Fred’s lumbering form disappear into the night.
To her utter mortification, for the first time since she’d hit the road, tears burned behind her eyelids.
It wasn’t like she’d never before run into an asshole who thought he could walk all over her because she was a woman, but the complacency got to her.
The complete acceptance of those around her that the cards were stacked against anyone who dared speak up.
She blinked hard against the moisture in her eyes, her fists balling up at her side. No. She had to say something. If Fred wasn’t already a criminal, it was just a matter of time, and she had to think Morris would want to be alerted before it was too late.
“I don’t believe you,” she said, then she set course across the field.
She ignored the lingering tendrils of dread that refused to let go of her. It was possible following in her attacker’s footsteps was inadvisable, but she wouldn’t back down. She was not in the wrong.
She didn’t pause when she reached the trailer, walking right up to it and knocking hard.
The door flew open as soon as her knuckles had left it.
“What now?” Morris asked, spittle flying and his face bright red as if he’d been in the middle of an argument.
“Hi,” Estelle said. “Um, I…”
“Did you punch my son?” Morris asked.
Estelle gaped at him—at the notion that she was the one in the wrong. “He came into my tent. He touched me.” She shuddered.
“Oh, he’s harmless. Gets confused on account of being weak-minded. He probably thought you wanted him there.”
Estelle steadied herself with her hands on her hips. “I’ve never even met him before.”
Morris shrugged as if to say, “Oh well.”
“You need to tell him to stay away from me or I’ll call the police.” Estelle put as much command as she could in her voice.
“Do it then. See whose side they take when they see the size of his swollen gonads.”
“Oh please.”
“You know what?” Morris reached behind the door and came back with a wallet in his hand. He took out three twenties and handed them to Estelle. “I just realized we don’t need a singer tomorrow night after all. Take this and leave.”
Estelle stared at the paltry sum. “This isn’t even half of what we agreed on.”
Morris looked down at her from his perch in the doorway. “Well, maybe you’re not half the singer you claimed to be, which would make us even. Now goodnight.”
“Hey!” Estelle called, but it was too late. He’d already shut the door, and she was left standing in the muddy grass staring at the dented aluminum. Fuck.
Shivering from fatigue and the adrenaline leaving her body, she made her way back to the tent to collect her things, muttering curses under her breath the whole way. So much for doing the right thing.
It took all of thirty seconds for her to shove the quilt into her bag and reemerge from the tent with all her belongings in tow.
“Things go well for you then?” Mullet Guy called out to her with a snicker.
She hoisted her duffel onto her shoulder and set course for the parking lot, flipping him off over her shoulder as she walked off. Another night in the car it was.
“It’s temporary,” she mumbled to herself. Things would get better. Everyone had to deal with the grind at first.
She put her things in the trunk but kept the quilt to use as a pillow, then crawled into the backseat and closed the door. The crumpled bills Morris had given her tumbled out of her pocket as she went to lie down, so she gathered them up and reached into her purse on the floor for her wallet.
“Ouch.” She yanked her hand back, shaking her fingers as the sting from a paper cut swelled and sharpened.
What was that? She reached into her purse again, more careful this time, until her fingers touched something thin and angular. She pulled it out, squinting at it in the low light from a spotlight somewhere outside.
Raymond Clark, Business Manager, she read on the card, and a vague memory of an attractive man with intense eyes one night at Barnie’s rose from the depths of her mind. Confidence and compliments. Connections.
Estelle sat up fully in the seat, flipping the card over in her hand. What if he’d meant what he said? That he could help her out? It had been months since that night, and he’d probably forgotten her by now, but she wouldn’t know unless she called him.
She squeezed the card in her hand, allowing its edges to test her skin’s resilience.
When she chose it like this, the discomfort honed her senses.
The night turned from black to blue, and sleep went from dreaded discomfort to a shortcut to potential.
She tucked the card back into her purse and curled up on the seat, willing this possibility to be something real.
She’d call the number tomorrow from the very first phone booth she came across on the road.
With a little luck, the door closing on the gig tomorrow had opened a window to a different opportunity.