Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
"He- I can't- I can't let him find me," she'd whispered.
Shirley had nodded. "Well, as long as he don't show up here, talking sweet with flowers and sorries, and you decide to take him back leaving me high and dry."
It had taken a moment to process Shirley's words and finally it clicked into place that Shirley thought she was running from an abusive man. Sensing an opportunity, but far too tired and hungry and scared to feel much guilt over it, she'd latched onto that story and held on tightly.
"What's your name, hon?" Shirley had asked.
"Elizabeth," she'd replied quickly and Shirley had pulled the sleeve back down, covering the bruises, patting her arm gently.
It had been Shirley's idea to dole out cash for her wages under the table to keep her whereabouts a secret from the phantom lover with the bad temper. Since waitressing was mostly a cash business anyway, it wasn't much of a leap to keep all the money rather than just the tips, a secret. That arrangement had worked for six months until she decided it was time to move on. For safety's sake. For Shirley's sake. She had wandered into a convenience store, plucked a map of Arizona out of the rack, gave Shirley ample notice, and bought a bus ticket for Phoenix the same day.
That story had worked with Shirley and so she kept using it. Through Phoenix, and then backtracking to Albuquerque. After that a blur of medium sized cities, sometimes two or three a year. Denver had been beautiful and she had been loathe to leave it, but it was time. Even if sometimes she got tired. Even if, every so often, she thought about what it would be like to just go home and let whatever happened, happen. But she might not be the only one to suffer if she pointed her feet toward home again.
So she kept moving. Different cities, different states. Friendly, but not too friendly, which was important in earning tips. And she'd done a variety of jobs that paid in cash. Waitressing in small restaurants and diners was often the obvious choice, but sometimes it had been too difficult to find employment with someone willing to overlook her lack of a driver's license and social security card and she'd turned to bars and once in Utah had washed hair at a tiny salon.
The salon work hadn't been as demanding as waiting tables, but the environment was a disastrous fit. Too many women asking too many questions, making it nearly impossible to be anonymous. Since then, she'd stuck to bars and diners, which normally had a pretty steady turnover rate for employees. No one thought twice about a girl who only worked for four, sometimes six months and then headed off to greener pastures.
Nowhere longer than six months, that was the rule. It kept everyone safer. Made everything easier.
She adjusted her bag and spied a metal newspaper dispenser on the corner. Depositing a few quarters and plucking out a paper, she found herself a chain coffee house, bought a latte with extra whipped cream, and settled down at a table by the window to look through the classifieds.
By mid afternoon, the chill had subsided and it was now in the low 60's. She'd shed her jacket, stuffing it inside the duffel and smoothed out her hair while she was standing in front of Maria’s. It was a small little bar just off the main drag. Not shabby, not dirty, not too clean, though either, since from the few motorcycles parked in the lot she'd figured out it was rougher trade than a diner.
She'd been to two diners and a restaurant already but none looked too promising. Most people who worked hard to build up their small businesses were not too keen on jeopardizing it by hiring an undocumented worker. One man was willing to hire her. Judging by the sheer number of Hispanics working in the back he seemed no stranger to illegal labor, but she'd gotten a bad vibe from him. His eyes had continually made their way to her breasts during the interview and she could practically hear him asking himself how much she'd be willing to do to keep her existence in Rapid City under the radar.
She'd politely told him she'd consider it but that the base wage was too low (lie) and quickly got out of there.
Bars were interesting. Especially bars that catered to bikers, cowboys, and various and sundry blue collar type people. They sometimes had their fair share of skirting the law, either with fire codes, or liquor permits, and certainly a good portion of their clientele had been on the wrong side of the law on more than one occasion. They didn't ask too many questions if you made it clear you weren't keen on telling. And as long as you were friendly and worked your ass off, management was generally fine with their employees keeping to themselves in the personal details department. After all, you weren't really there to socialize anyway. You were there to work, and these people understood the value and necessity of work.