Chapter 9
MARIETTA
That was stressful. For a moment while I stood among the Wild Hair, I pictured myself lying on the conference table, naked as that redhead in Hoss’s room, with all the men putting their hands on me.
I hope Iron Jack has as much control over his club as he acts. Otherwise, I’m going to be someone’s snack by evening.
I scoot back to the kitchen. Betz is making sandwiches for after the meeting ends, long subs covered in deli meat and cheese. She’s short enough that her elbows barely clear the counter.
Carol sits on a stool, her belly as round as the moon in her pink hoodie, slathering mayo lengthwise on the cut rolls.
“Do we always feed them lunch on Sundays?” I ask.
“Yes,” Betz says. “Sandwiches when I’m lazy, like today. Sometimes we cook, but they don’t appreciate it.”
Carol wipes the back of her hand on her forehead, narrowly missing her frizzed out carroty red hair with the mayo-smeared knife. “Can you cook?”
“Sure. We could make some big Southern casseroles. That wouldn’t be too hard.”
“These men don’t like fancy,” Betz says. “Grill a burger, flame a steak.”
“Throw meat on bread.” Carol slathers mayo on another hoagie.
“What can I do?” I hitch up my jeans, which are loose around the hips. There wasn’t a belt to go with the ensemble, which struck me as something out of the early 2010s, but I wasn’t going to say a word. Betz wanting to control my wardrobe is another line item in my master’s thesis at this point.
“Go find the bags of chips and empty them into bowls,” Betz said. “Make sure there’s some Hot Cheetos for Hoss, or he’ll bitch about it for a month.”
I head into the walk-in pantry. It’s packed to the gills. Shelves of chips. Stacks of bottled salsa. A case of canned chili. Package after package of bread and buns.
These men could use a vegetable. Heck, some pasta would be a change.
But I’m new, and I’m going to live up to my name—a mouse. Scurry around, do what I’m told, and keep quiet.
I pull four bags of chips and take them to the chopping block in the middle of the kitchen. I assume we’ll serve on it for maximum flow when the men come to grab their lunches.
Although if we don’t, I won’t say a word about that either. I’m not here to change things, to maximize efficiency or make improvements.
I’m excited to see how the club works from the inside, hopefully use the information for my thesis, and if everything works according to plan, ditch the V-card with someone who knows his way around a woman.
But as I fetch bowls and start emptying chips into them, I picture Merrick in the hallway, holding the door with the pitchers in his hand.
We’re not too different. Bottom of the heap, seniority-wise. Finding our way.
It’s too bad he doesn’t have a room here. A mouse is stealthy, quiet, and bides its time. I could be in his room, making his bed, mopping his floor. Maybe I’d learn something that we could talk about.
I glance down at the pink panty strap fully visible on my hips. I could be in there wearing only a thong. What would he do then? He seemed anxious when he arrived and saw me dressed like this.
He’s probably a lost cause. I try to switch the idea to any of the other single men in the club. I’m slowly getting to know them.
Fancy isn’t too bad, named for the way he likes to dress. He’s thirty or so, with a curly mop of hair over a clean fade. He hasn’t looked my way, though, not even last night when we served beer on the back deck.
Hoss scares me just by his size. He could smash me into a wafer. But I’ll manage, I figure, if it ends up being him. He did fight Merrick for me.
I really don’t want to go with Chain. He’s always sweaty, with stringy gray hair. No, I can’t think about that.
It won’t be Iron Jack. He’s been clear about his disinterest. Betz and Carol like to talk about that. He will sometimes accept the gift of a call girl from another club when he’s visiting elsewhere, but he won’t take up with a regular woman and certainly not close to home.
Betz says he doesn’t want an ol’ lady. Carol thinks he never got over losing his mama.
He scares me, too. Although if he changed his mind about me, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. That man’s muscles have muscles.
I dump the last bag. If only Merrick would come around. But I sure don’t know how to seduce a man. I’ve already flashed my boobs at him twice.
My face heats thinking about it. I can’t seem to impress him, not even when I show off my stripper pole moves. Maybe he doesn’t like dancers. But it’s fun to do, and my stomach is getting taut as a trampoline.
“Stop daydreaming and load some beer into the coolers,” Betz snaps. “They have to be icy cold by the time church is over, or you’ll have a pissed-off club.”
I stuff the empty chip bags in the trash can and scurry to the pantry to lug out several cases of beer. We can’t keep enough in the fridge to be cold when the entire club is assembled.
“You know where the big ice maker is, hon?” Carol asks.
“Not yet.” It wasn’t on the quick tour Betz had given me yesterday before we prepped the burgers for Hoss to grill. I barely had time to pile my boxes and suitcases near my bunk in the big room full of narrow beds.
“It’s in a built-in on the far end of the porch, where they store the winter stuff like the fire bowls.” Carol waves toward the back door. “You’ll see the door. If it’s padlocked, let me know, and we’ll get you the key.”
“I unlocked it earlier,” Betz says.
I’m more than happy to lug the cases of beer outside and get away from their scrutiny.
Betz was mad Celia was still in bed and not helping.
There were other ol’ ladies, but they lived in their own homes, like Merrick, and not at the clubhouse.
Even so, some of them ought to show and help out at times.
I set the beer by the coolers stacked along the wall. The morning is cool and clear. The back of the clubhouse is nice, with a wide wood deck running alongside the house.
There are a couple of steps down to a stone slab where three grills are set up. Then a huge patch of grass before the trees grow thick and heavy as the ground turns to swamp.
The air smells earthy and crisp. I breathe it in. This is better than the city, at least for a while. As long as I can put up with Betz, I can make it through the end of the school semester and however long it takes to finish my thesis.
I remember Merrick saying Iron Jack wouldn’t like me writing up the club’s business, but they don’t have to know. Most of them seem caught up in their own grievances. They won’t pay any more attention to me than staring at my ass.
I turn to the end of the deck and spot the door I hadn’t noticed in the dark last night.
Inside the small room is the whirring ice maker, plus a deep freezer and fire bowls alongside packs of fire starter sticks, charcoal, and cans of lighter fluid.
I open the deep freezer. It’s stacked from top to bottom with meat. Carol said we worked with a butcher since we needed so much.
The ice maker makes a crunching sound as it drops a load. I lift the metal lid. It’s full. Perfect.
The men will certainly grab their sandwiches and head out here, so I load the beer I brought into two of the coolers and wheel them closer to the ice.
It’s satisfying, filling in and around the bottles. I fetch two more cases. Better to have too many than too few. When all the coolers are full, I close up the room and head back to the kitchen.
Betz doesn’t look up as she says, “Carol had to lie down. Pains were coming. Cut up the tomatoes and make a pile of lettuce.”
“Is she in labor?”
“Nah, it’s those fake pains. She gets them pretty often.”
I move to Carol’s spot and pick up the plastic-covered ball of iceberg.
“Wash your damn hands first, you nitwit!” Betz says. “You want to give the whole club salmonella?”
Right. I leap off the stool to head for the sink. Celia said Betz was mad because Low Joe made a move for my virginity. Which, to be honest, would have upset me, too. I can handle her vitriol. Hopefully, it will die down if I’m helpful.
It doesn’t explain why she had me dress like this, though. Seems like it would make things worse. Maybe Low Joe doesn’t like a girl who looks this way.
But I ask no questions. Nothing has happened here that’s any different from the minimum wage jobs I’ve had. Nice people like Carol. Grumps like Betz. Leering old men.
“I hope we can work together,” I say to her. “I know Carol will be tied up with the baby soon.”
“Shut up and fix the veggies,” Betz says.
Ooookay.
I pull off piece after piece of the lettuce and then take it over to the sink to wash. When I turn around, a small girl is standing by the table, reaching up for a chip.
When she sees I’ve spotted her, she freezes, her eyes wide.
I glance at Betz. I’m guessing this is one of Carol’s kids. I haven’t met any of them yet. Since Stoney is the VP and has a family, he has the big bedroom from the original house, with its own bathroom and another room for his kids.
Iron Jack has the third original bedroom, which is attached to an office. Everyone else is in the hallway that was added on.
The girl grabs a handful of Cool Ranch Doritos and takes off for the hall. The bowl tips, making a scraping sound.
I scoot the stool to cover the noise and keep Betz from turning. “Will one head do, or should I peel two?”
“One is fine. Only Fancy will use them. Maybe the prospect. Carol might put them on the older kids’ lunches.”
I move on to the tomatoes. I’ve barely filled the tray when the men stomp down the hall. My heart races a little. Merrick wasn’t with them when they had a meal last night since he had to work the bar. But he’ll be here today.
I straighten my neckline and sit taller on the stool.
Betz smirks. “If you want to fuck one of them, just have a pulse.” Then she frowns, and I wonder if she’s thinking about Low Joe looking at me.
Iron Jack enters first. “Thanks, Betz,” he says with a nod to her. “And our mouse.”
Betz comes for my tray and puts it at the end of the line of assembled hoagies. Then she ducks out of the way, grabbing my arm to move me aside into the doorway to the side hall that leads to the original bedrooms.
Stoney glances around. “Where’s Carol?”
“Lying down,” Betz says. “You want the mouse to take sandwiches to the kids?”
“Nah, I’ll check on her in a minute.” He lines up behind Iron Jack, grabbing a sandwich, then turning to dump chips on his plate.
As I expected, the men bang through the exterior door to the porch. When the Doritos get low, Betz nudges me. I race to the pantry to pull another bag.
I’m filling it when Merrick makes it to the room.
“You all right?” he asks.
“I’m good,” I say.
“Glad to hear it.” He steps away for a sandwich.
I reluctantly return to my post next to Betz. When the men are all through, it looks like a windstorm blew chips everywhere.
“Grab the broom,” Betz says. “When it’s presentable again, we’ll eat. Then see if Carol wants us to feed her kids. Stoney will be too drunk in no time.”
I pull the broom out and begin sweeping crunched chips from the floor. “Did you and Low Joe have any children?”
Her eyes narrow. “Why would I want a bunch of brats hanging on my hips?”
I decide not to answer that and sweep the chip debris onto a dustpan. Then I get a damp cloth and clean around the bowls.
Betz grabs a plate and fills it, taking off for the back porch.
I let out a long breath. This is tough, but I’ll get used to it. I’m excited to be here, even if Betz is mean.
Merrick spoke to me. He went out of his way to ask how I was.
I’ve gotten to see him more since I agreed to be a mouse than all the other times combined.
Maybe there’s hope for us yet.