Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Wow. Maybe this trip isn’t going to be the washout I was dreading.
When I find a free stall, I do what needs to be done. A sniffling sound from next door interrupts my flow, but I don’t say anything.
I stand at the mirror and wash my hands, using a piece of toilet paper to dab at my legs and feet. I’m almost done when the girl emerges with red-rimmed eyes and a face covered with blotches of distress. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I give her my most sympathetic face.
"Are you okay? Tell me to mind my own business, but I like to think that girls in restrooms should be there for each other in times of need."
She sends me a watery smile and washes her hands. "I’m having a bad night," she explains.
"I’m not having the best one," I say. "My legs were just moisturized with Bud."
Raising her eyebrows, she scans my soaked shoes. "Probably not Bud," she says. "More likely to be Victoria or Tooheys. You’re from America?"
"Is it that obvious?" I don’t even know why I’m asking. Of course it is!
"Well, I could offer you my welcome to down-under speech, but it looks as though someone has christened you already."
I grin, watching as the girl scans me from head to toe. I have plenty of female friends, but I’m very aware that other women are often wary of my confidence and my tattoo makes them jittery. Girls who like to live for today are more likely to be the ones who fuck boyfriends and husbands. That’s not me at all, but it still hangs over me. "Is this an Australian custom I didn’t read about in the Lonely Planet?" I toss the bundle of wet tissue in the bin and focus on my new bathroom buddy. She’s dressed in a smart skirt and white blouse which seems more appropriate for work than bar-hopping. With dark hair twisted into a bun, and small glasses perched on the end of her nose, she’s any man’s librarian fantasy brought to life.
"Not really." She sniffs and blots her face, her expression changing from friendly and open to worried and closed.
"Wanna tell me what made you look like someone stole your Twinkie?" The girl blinks at me, confused, and then I realize my reference isn’t something she’d understand. I guess they don’t sell Twinkies in Australia. "What’s causing the tears?"
"I got fired," she says with a shrug. "I’m good at my job, but my boss wanted extras and I’m not that kind of girl. I mean, I’m dedicated and hardworking and I go over and above to achieve but sucking cocks or bending over my desk for a fifty-year-old balding asshole is too far."
My mouth drops open. "He fired you because you wouldn’t sleep with him?"
"Yep. He tried hard enough. I can still feel his gross hands on my skin and smell his sour breath." She shivers, her hand rustling her right cuff as though she’s searching for something to distract her. "And he’s made up some bullshit about me to cover his tracks, so I can’t even get a decent reference or fight him in a work tribunal. He’s too powerful and scary, anyway. I just feel like a bug he squashed under his shoe. I came out to drink myself into oblivion, but I can’t even do that without crying."
"I’m sorry this is happening to you," I say. "And I’m totally on board with drinking myself into oblivion. My issues are small potatoes compared to yours but having one too many mojitos was the only thing on my to-do list tonight."
She blinks her bloodshot eyes and gives me another watery smile that seems less sad. "I like mojitos."
"Then, let's drink and forget our woes. Tomorrow is another day."
"Okay. Sure."
I grab my new friend’s hand even though I don’t know her name and march decisively to the bar. I may have been miserable three seconds ago, but now I’m a girl on a mission to uplift a sister. "Two mojitos, please."
We perch on vacant barstools, and I can’t resist a scan of the bar, searching for the beer-soaked Adonis but not finding him anywhere. Shame.
"So, first things first. I’m Dawn." I hold my hand out for a formal handshake.
"Chantelle," she says. "And thanks for this."
"No problem." I smile, feeling all the warm fuzzies that come with being someone’s knight in shining armor. In my case, it’s more of an avenging angel in lycra.
"So, who’s the mean guy and why can’t you press charges?"
Chantelle shakes her head and hangs it mournfully. "He’s too rich and powerful. You probably wouldn’t have heard of him." I shrug and she continues. "I wouldn’t stand a chance. To be honest, I’m scared of making it worse. You didn’t see his face when I told him no. His eyes were black and dead, but his mouth pulled into a twisted smirk that chilled my soul. The way he touched me." Her shoulders bunch and she shivers. "When I got the job, I didn’t realize how shady he was. The way he does business…" She shakes her head and grimaces. "...let's just say it was all underhanded."