Authors: Charlotte Swanpol
“I think we should merge the two ranches into one big one.” She said quietly. She saw both men tense up and knew that addressing business decisions was an area that neither would probably take kindly to her interference, but if this mating business was going to work, they needed to commit to the big picture. All of it.
John protested first, “why would we do that?”
“If we are all going to be partners, if the kids are going to be raised with two fathers, how will it look if we keep assets separately? We need to be united if this is going to work. Just think about it. This is going to be for life, do we really need to be running two households, two businesses? What kind of impression will that be?” She said quietly, she needed to make sure the two of them were going to take this seriously. It was more than just sex for her.
George nodded, “I can see the logic in that approach. It will take a while to get it all worked out, but she has a point John. I’m in agreement to making it happen, it’s not like either of us is taking over the other person’s ranch.”
“Team effort,” Keefa said and looked at John. He sighed and finally nodded. He may be less of a dominating force in the bedroom, but when it came to his business, he was ruthless and a complete control freak. George was the opposite, he was more laid back about his business, and preferred to dominate in the bedroom.
She knew the two of them needed to learn to get along in other areas and balance each other out, just like the three of them had worked out in the bedroom. She knew they could do it, and as she ate a piece of her bacon, she smiled.
Keefa knew this was the start of a long emotional roller coaster, one that would have ups and downs, and two very independent, strong men would often butt heads, but that’s where she could help play mediator when required. She was the softness to their strength, the reason to their quick reactions. The three of them would make a good team.
The End
The alarm was like a foghorn, blasting a ship out of the water with the force of its sonic pressure. Sophie shot up, grabbed her phone then threw it across the room. The light was already creeping in through her curtains.
“Darn it!” She threw her pillow across the room and stormed out of bed to grab the pile of clothes she left there after a midnight laundry run.
Her uniform was a white shirt with a black skirt and white apron.
She ran into the bathroom and took a quick rinse, not even bothering to check the mirror. The last thing she needed was a glimpse of her black curvy form marring her self-confidence.
The stairs outside were a death trap, probably a century old, and were flimsy enough to crack if she wasn't careful when she ran down them. One day, somebody was going to fall straight to the ground.
When she got in her car, Sophie turned the key and the whole thing shook. The clock light flickered before the car died. She was almost an hour late, and the car was going to need some love.
Sophie closed her eyes and crossed her fingers. “Start, start, start.” She turned the key again and it finally did start after a terrible coughing fit. The car was going to break down for good, and she'd have to give up most every cent she had just to get it to work.
Her life was hanging by an old thread that was unraveling more and more every single day, and when it broke, everything would come crashing down. If it wasn't her car, it would be her landlord or her boss.
Hope was a distant memory clouded by the lack of resources. Sophie started at Rita's when she was sixteen, planning to use her meager wages to find a way out of L'enfer Parish, but she ended up spending too much and got stuck.
There were less than a dozen places to work there, and not one of them offered a decent wage. You either made your own way, or you settled for a substandard life.
Sophie dreamed of leaving and starting something, but it just didn't happen, and now she was stuck with a terrible job and a car that could barely take her to work.
She struggled to get the steering wheel to turn as she pulled into the gravel lot of Rita's Cajun Mess where Alberto, one of the other servers was standing outside smoking a cigarette. She gave him an evil glared and he dropped his butt, probably running to tell Rita she was there.
Sophie got out of the car and walked in to find the lobby completely empty with Alberto's tiny frame leaning over the counter, whispering something into the owner's ear.
“You've got a lot of nerve, Sophie.” Rita was almost 300 pounds of black attitude heading straight for her.
“Listen, I'm sorry.”
“You're sorry?” Rita cocked her head to the side and followed Sophie to the register behind the bar. “What makes you think it's OK to come in an hour and a half late, huh?”
“I'm sorry, Rita.” Sophie clocked in as fast as she could and turned to face the steaming mess of a woman behind her.
“You're sorry?” Her voice was a like a foghorn.
“Yes.”
“Then go get the dishes done.”
Sophie walked into the kitchen and almost retched. There was a pile of full dishes a mile high, covered in breading flakes and caked over with dried syrup. They left all the food on, so she had to drag the trash can over and scrape everything off. Most of it was already dried to the surface, and her muscles ached as she used a metal scrubber to sand away the rancid gravy.
Sweat covered her brow, but every time she wiped it off, the water on her hands trickled into her eyes. That woman was Satan herself, and her food was terrible, not even worth a cent. Sophie brought her own from home.
“You ain't done yet?” Half the pile was gone when Rita stuck her head in.
“It would take a year to clean this up and you know it.”
“Well, you're done for now. There's tables waiting.”
Sophie got a paper towel and tried to make herself presentable as she stormed out into the lobby, confronted with wicked stairs.
“Miss,” a woman called out from the table closest to the door.
Sophie tried to paste a smile on her face as she walked over. “Hi, I'm Sophie. How can I help you?”
“Well,” she looked out from her massive glasses. “You can start by bringing me a menu.”
Sophie reached back to the pile a foot away from where the woman was sitting and handed it to her. “Thank you. I'll have the shrimp po' boy with tater tots and a side of ranch.”
“And to drink?”
“Tea with no ice.”
“Yes, ma'am, coming right up.”
“Miss?” She yelled out when Sophie was about to walk away.
“Yes.”
“Make sure you bring me some lemon for my tea.”
“Sure.”
Sophie walked over to the next table where a woman was wrestling with her two young sons.
“Sit down and shut up,” the woman barked at the demonic ginger boy that was jumping up and down in the booth, swinging around open packets of sweetener, spilling it everywhere.
Sophie lingered at the edge of a table for a second, trying to keep from exploding, then the mother reached down under and grabbed his legs out from under him, careful to keep him from hitting his head.
He cried out like a siren, and Sophie decided it was time to get this over with. “Hello,” she walked to the front of the table. “My name is Sophie. I'll be your server.” She ignored the pile of packets all over the table. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I'll have a coffee,” the woman leaned over, “with a double shot of bourbon,” she whispered.
“Alright.” Sophie smiled at the boy. “And what will you have?”
“I want Mountain Dew.” He was hopping up and down. Sophie looked over at his mother and she nodded her head.
When she ran into the kitchen to hand Rita the order, the woman snatched it up. “That woman at table 1 looks like she wants to shoot you.”
Sophie rushed out with her tea and the drinks for the other tables. “How's everything going,” Sophie asked. “ She set the drink down on the table.
“I want my food, and where's my lemons. I asked you for lemons.” The woman drummed her fingernails on the table.
“It'll be right up.”
“Well make it snappy. I don't have all day.”
“I do.” Sophie scoffed. She walked away to help the mother and her son. “Uh, Miss,” she turned around to see the woman looking at her.
“Yes?”
Their eyes met and the woman pushed the cup off the table. “Oops. I dropped my tea. Could you go run and get me another with a plate of lemons?”
Sophie marched over and put the glass back on the table. “Sure, I'll be right back with the pitcher for you.”
“Uh,” Sophie was halfway to the counter when she had to swing back around. “I need a clean glass.”
“I'll use my armpit hair as a sponge if you don't shut your mouth you old bat.”
“Excuse me?” The woman stood up and reached in her pocket.
“You can excuse yourself.” The old woman threw a penny straight at her and ran out the door.
Sophie had half a mind to tell the police she didn't pay for her tea, but considering the fact that Rita was having some issues with her temper, she decided not to push her luck and went over to hand the customers their drinks.
She took their orders and went back to get the customers their food.
“Get that,” Rita pointed at the trash can, which was overflowing onto the floor with everything from shrimp shells to fat trimmings.
“I've got customers.”
“I'll handle them, you just get that trash out of my kitchen and start back on them dishes.
Sophie grabbed another bag and started scooping the rest of the trash into it then pulled the two bags to the back door, which took a serious push to get open.
Once she did, she set them down and collapsed against the wall. If she smoked at least she'd have a reason to be out there, but she only had a second.
They used to say, when she was a little girl that man wasn't meant to live in the swamp, that everything from the water to the things running around in there, were trying to kill you.
There was nothing out there, Sophie knew, but it scared her nonetheless, and she stayed out of it. Plenty of people went fishing in there, catching crawdads and catfish. Others would hunt for alligators. Sophie wasn't about to get tied up in that. It was bad enough that every time she went outside the restaurant the swamp was there. She used to dream the water would overflow and she'd have to wade through it to get to her car.
The door slammed open and hit against the wall “What the heck you doing? Is it break time?”
“Taking out the trash.”
Rita raised her eyebrows and held the back door open for Sophie to walk in. “Finish the dishes and get ready for the dinner rush.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Sophie stared down at the spotless sink like it was the bottom of Mt. Everest and she was standing at the top, then she grabbed a paper towel and dried her hands, ignoring the way her knees threatened to give in.
Rita popped her head in. “It always takes you the entire shift to finish the dishes.”
Sophie flipped around. “That's because they keep coming. It's impossible to stay on top of them.”
Rita sighed, backing down more easily than Sophie expected. “I'm too tired. Go clock out. Have you a beer and some food.”
“Thank you,” Sophie walked out to the empty lobby and typed her code into the register. It was already ten o'clock and she got there at 10.
Rita set down some calamari and shrimp on the bar, then started pouring beer. Sophie sat down. “I'm not that bad, am I?”
“You're slow, but you know how to handle the customers.” “Am I worth keeping?” Sophie took a bite of shrimp.
“You've been here for years, and I haven't fired you yet.”
“There's always that fear, I guess.”
“True.” Rita laughed, “but I was slower when I started.”
“You think everyone fights because of the stress of trying to get things done?”
“Maybe.” Rita took a drink.
“It's how things work in the kitchen. You can scream and fight, but you still get through it, so long as you take it in stride.”
“Where's Alberto,” Sophie looked around. She hadn't seen him since the dinner rush.
“I think he walked out. I haven't had time to look into it, but he went out on smoke break an hour or so ago, and just left.”
“He's gone?”
“I think so. It's a shame too. Alberto was one of my best servers. It's gonna be hard to replace him.”
Alberto was always causing trouble for Sophie, snitching on her, and yelling at the customers, but he wasn't a bad guy, and having him leave like that didn't feel right. There was nothing she could do.
Sophie sighed. This was a strange night, and the conversation was awkward. She didn't talk to Rita much, but she was starting to realize there was a soft shell under the woman's constant griping. She got up off her chair. “Think I could get a box?”
“You didn't finish your beer yet.”
“I know. I'm just kind of tired. I wanna go home.”
“Alright. I know how you feel.”
Sophie grabbed a bag and walked outside. It was just as hot at night as it was during the day, and the insects still swarmed around everywhere.
She walked over to her car and unlocked the door, then she saw it. Sophie jumped back and screamed at the top of her lungs. Alberto's body was lying at the foot of her tire with his eyes staring straight at her.
He was blue.
Sophie turned around and ran back inside where Rita was standing at a window trying to see what was going on. “Alberto,” she sobbed.
“What?”
“He's dead.”
“Is he out there?” Rita pointed outside, and Sophie nodded. “Shit.” Rita grabbed a bottle of whiskey with the phone in her hand. “Come here.” She poured Sophie a shot, the girl just stood still with her hands folded over her chest.
His gluey eyes and pale blue skin. There was blood covering everything—his shirt, his pants, her windshield.
Rita walked around the bar with a shot in her hand. “This is your first time seeing a dead body before, huh?”
“No.” Sophie shook her head.
“I have. It's hard, but you didn't do it, and he wasn't family.” Her words were abrasive, but had the simple comfort that only logic could offer.
Sophie grabbed the shot from her and slammed it, letting the burn running down her throat wash away the blanket of numbness covering her body.
Rita went back behind the bar and called 911. Sophie zoned out, standing there, spinning in her own world, unsure of what was going on or where she was until something jolted her out of her daze.
“Miss!” The harsh voice grated against her ears.
She turned around to see a cop with black fur sticking out the top of his collar staring at her. “Yes, officer?”
“I need you to come with me.” He followed closely behind her out the door.
“Is something wrong, officer?” He grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her back slamming cuffs out onto her wrists.
He held her arms saying, “You're under arrest for the murder of Alberto Guillermo. You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. Is there anything you'd like to say in your defense.” She'd heard before that in serious cases it's best not to talk, or even send signals with your body language.
He bent down and began pretending to run his hands up her leg, then had her lift her arms. It's wasn't proper protocol. He was supposed to be touching her, but he wasn't.
“Do you have any needles, or anything else I'm going to stick myself with?”
She kept silent. There was no point in responding. He was just going with the script. This man wasn't arresting her because she'd done anything wrong. He was doing it for his own reasons.
He must be the killer.
“Alright. Now,” he stood up, “if I take these things off you are you going to cause any trouble.”
“No.” Her tone was flat and emotionless.
He undid her cuffs and walked to his car, motioning for her to follow him. “Why are you doing this,” she asked when she got in.
“I'm apprehending a murderer.”
“Bullshit.”
When he leaned down to open the door to the car.
He was the killer. She was getting into a car with a mad man with a gun, and there was nothing she could do. She started screaming hysterically. “Help! Help!”
He just pushed down on her head softly and she got in the car. There was nothing she could do. “Help!”
“Will you stop,” he laughed. He reached down to the radio on his shoulder and started saying something, while she looked out the window, certain she was going to die. This was the last thing that she ever expected to happen to her. She was a good girl.
He started up the car and they drove away. Her breathing moved faster and faster, until she grew light-headed, but it wouldn't stop. Her head whipped around the cabin. The hard plastic seat stuck into her back. There were no door handles, no locks just the glass. She thought of bashing it in, but realized that they'd thought of everything. There was no way she was getting out.
“Why are you doing this?” She hunched over in the seat, shaking from the sobs rolling through her.
He stayed silent and drove down the short dirt road that led to the highway. She took that road everyday to go home. Now, she was going to die. Even if she did smash in the window, she wasn't going to be able to get out. They must've been traveling 80 miles an hour.
The cop put his blinker on and took a right onto exit 356.
“This isn't the way to the jail. Where are you taking me?” He was going to do it.
The car slowed when it reached the top of the overpass. She could do it. Sophie lay down then she lifted her feet up and slammed them into the window. There was a cracking noise, but the window didn't break.
“It's not gonna work. You're wasting your time.” His voice was soft and dangerous.
Sophie was not one to continue fighting for very long. She went with the flow her entire life, and couldn't keep up her current momentum. She sat back as best she could, and let her head fall. There was so much she wanted to do. She was going to leave the parish, find a man, and be a part of something. She could've had a family, a place of her own. She used to dream of having little kids running around in the yard, playing and running through the sprinklers. None of that was going to happen, now that her life was over.
“OK,” his deep voice sounded through the cabin and she looked up.
“Huh?” They were in the parking lot of her apartment complex. “What?”
“The prosecutor's office chose not to charge you.”
“What!?”
“You're not being charged.”
“But you know I didn't.”
“I don't know anything, and neither do you.” He let her out of the car, and drove away as fast as he could.
Sophie was standing in the parking lot, but in her mind she was still back in the back of that car sobbing. That moment would never leave her, and neither would the absurdity of the experience.