Twisted(123)
Cricket fell silent as the waitress returned with her salad. She unrolled her silverware and set her napkin in her lap, as dainty as could be. Then she just looked at Jazz. “I was in foster care too.”
“I don’t care.” She didn’t. She absolutely would not allow herself to feel any empathy for this woman, not even for a second.
Cricket shrugged and speared a cherry tomato. “I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying it sounds like we come from the same place.”
“No, we do not. Want to know how I know? Because I never would’ve stooped to selling to people who aren’t strong enough to say no. I never would’ve bought my fancy clothes from blood money.”
“No, you sit back and let the men in your band protect you. Sweet little Jasmine that all the boys want.” Cricket scraped her fork over her plate. “I make no apologies for what I do. I provide a service to adults. If those adults can’t control their fucking impulses, why is that my problem?”
“Because you’re a human being and have a heart?”
“Maybe you still do, and if so, I pity you even more. Mine withered up years ago, and I can guarantee you that of the two of us, I’m suffering a lot less.” She set down her fork and pulled her phone out of her purse. She tapped a few keys and glanced up, her face blank. “You asked me how much he still owes.”
“Yes.” Jazz tucked her now trembling hands between her thighs. “Tell me.”
Cricket named a figure that caused Jazz’s pulse to skip a dozen beats. She huffed out a breath and inhaled another. No big deal. She had enough to cover it. She’d planned ahead, and she was prepared.
“You look like you’re about to hyperventilate, drummer girl.” Cricket slipped her cell back into her purse. “Your boyfriend has a healthy appetite. His tab added up fast.”
She wasn’t going to think about exactly how much coke that money had bought. If she did, she’d probably get nauseous again, which wouldn’t help her case for indifference. “That includes everything, right? Fees and interest and—”
“I don’t pay taxes, so yes, that includes everything right up to this minute.” Cricket smirked. “But the clock is running.”
“Okay.” Jazz withdrew the bank envelope from her purse. “I have about half of it here—”
Cricket sighed. “Same tune, different singer.”
“Shut up. I have the rest, but it’s in the bank.” And it would tap her out completely. “I’ll write you a check.”
Cricket laughed. “Darling, mine’s not the kind of business that accepts checks. We’re strictly a cash-and-carry type of operation.”
“Do you want your money or not?” Jazz pushed her iced tea out of the way. “I guarantee you I’m good for it.”
“If you only had any idea how many guarantees I hear of that on a daily basis…” Cricket went back to her salad. “Fine. Give me the cash you have in hand and write me a check for the rest.”
“I want it in writing that this satisfies the debt.”
Cricket choked and reached for her soda. She took a long sip then shook her head. “You did say you were raised in foster care, right? Not with The Waltons on the farm? First you want to write me a check, now you want a signed note from the teacher. What’s next, a handshake to show good faith?”
“You don’t have any faith left, good or otherwise. As for the note, humor me.”
Yes, it was stupid. She fully acknowledged it. But some part of her refused to see this as anything but a simple business transaction. When she paid a bill, she got a notice that it was paid. Simplistic, maybe, but she needed to follow the steps.
“You know, I like you. I have no reason to. Your contempt toward me is rather overpowering. But maybe it’s our shared experiences.” One side of Cricket’s mouth curved. “And interest in men.”
“You don’t have an interest in him. You wanted to swallow him whole.”
“Can’t argue with that. He is one gorgeous package. And he has one, as well.” Cricket held out her hand, her sly smile fading. “Now pay up.”
Jazz handed her the envelope and wrote her a check for the rest. By then her stomach was threatening revolt, so she accepted the scrawled payment note Cricket gave her in return and stood to leave.
“It was nice doing business with you,” Cricket said, returning to her half eaten salad.
Jazz started to turn away before some unknown impulse caused her to turn back. “Do you ever think about getting a real job? Something legit?”
Cricket didn’t look up. “Something legit like banging on the drums in a rock band?”