Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) by Hilarey Johnson Read Free Book Online Page B

many people prostitute
themselves like that for free?
    “I can’t believe the grocery store let them use the
parking lot across from us. They probably don’t have permission. Shouldn’t you
complain that they’ll take our business?” I ask the back of Cal’s head, since
he still stares at the girls.
    “You’re right, I should go over there.” He walks
away with all the determination of a kid near a free snow cone stand. I turn
back to my job.
    Water drips down the cracked windshield of the
Land Cruiser in rivulets like dirty tears.
    On my lunch break, I walk to the nearest casino
and cash my check, the best place for someone without a bank account. It’s in
the low seventies today. Maybe warm enough for my clothes to be dry when I go
home. Whoopee.
    I step into the hazy, electric cacophony of lights
and sound. Several gray-haired men and women hunch over their cigarettes and
drop their legacies into a box of dreams, coin by coin. Nice way to spend an
afternoon, I can’t wait to grow up. A cocktail waitress wearing fishnets
delivers a drink with an umbrella. An old guy hands her a ten dollar bill.
    “Something for you.” He has a gravely, smoker’s
voice.
    This might be a good place to work. Good tips.
    I look down at the neon squiggles in the carpet.
This is my aspiration? Three years from now I’ll be twenty-one and all my
dreams will come true: sunset colored drinks in a mini skirt?
    I need better dreams than this.
    The wrinkled-face lady behind the cage requests my
ID and thumbprint. I press it into the back of my check next to my signature. A
crisp hundred and several twenties—how will I fit this stack into my wallet?
    Dames of Desire. Brody’s business card is an
ambulance chaser following the scene of my injured wallet. I shove the cash
next to it.
    He asked me to come by and say hello.
    I touch my cheek. All healed.
    Brita.
    Brody wanted me to let him know how I was doing. I
haven’t talked to Misti, Buzz or Cassie once since my last night at the Wild
Lily. What was I thinking? I could just pretend it never happened? I really should
check in.
    After a twenty-minute walk, I turn the corner and
the sight of those golden arches arouses a beast in my stomach. The McDonald’s is
just around the corner from Brody’s bar, a good place to grab a bite. I’m on my
lunch break, after all.
    The line is short, so it doesn’t take long to get French
fries from the dollar menu. It would be nice to not order from the dollar menu.
I chew my meal slowly.
    I watch a man outside rub his saggy jaw as though
all he sees in the window is his reflection. He turns and shields his eyes with
a dirty, chapped hand. Stringy, shoulder-length hair flips lightly, dancing
above his OD green field jacket. He looks like a mangy alley cat, one who’d
rather steal than beg.
    I get back in line.
    When I hand the homeless guy a bag with a couple
dollar menu cheeseburgers, he doesn’t say anything. He just nods from where he
sits on a torn sleeping bag. At the rate I’m earning, that could be me soon.
    Dames of Desire is a two-story building. All I can
read is the word “Desire” because the front is obscured by construction workers
on wooden platforms. They’re removing the letters and re-facing the building. A
very tall, thin man halts construction when I approach.
    “Afternoon, ma’am.” He tips his hard hat like a
cowboy. “Are ya going in?”
    “Do you have the time?” I point to my wrist where
a watch would sit, if I had one.
    “Two-oh-five.”
    My lunch break ended five minutes ago. Looks like
I just quit Sir Car Wash.
    The men watch me walk past. They almost have awe
in their faces, at least compared to my, um, ex-manager. I’d rather be thanked
when I’m looked at than to have the looks stolen. I’d rather be paid, than to
give them away like a cheerleader.
    The inside has the same amount of hammering and
drilling noise, but it’s captured by the walls and therefore louder.
    I no longer expect to see Cassie,