The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (12 page)

My left hand snatched the napkin out of my right as I extended it forward. “Good afternoon, sir,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. I was just trying to—”

The principal shook my hand and smiled. “It’s me that should be sorry, Miss Monroe. It was not my intention to startle you. I was coming to get an afternoon caffeine boost as well.”

We turned together to see the almost empty coffee pot. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I stumbled over my words. “I must have taken the last of it. I’ll make a fresh pot right away.”

I couldn’t help but feel like a teenager caught out after curfew whenever I saw the principal. William always told me to calm down and act natural. But it was next to impossible since the man pretty much held the future of my career in his hands. Especially now that I was up for the contract position, I reminded myself. Principal Brantford sat on the board of directors and since he was the eyes and ears of Glenmore Academy, I needed to be perfect around him. Perfect, and totally competent. Both of which were traits I most definitely did not portray at that moment.
 

“It’s fine,” Principal Brantford said with a wave of his hand. “I probably shouldn’t be drinking that stuff anyway. My wife is always telling me I should try green tea. It seems a little like drinking hot water poured over dried grass clippings, don’t you think?”
 

Unsure of what the proper response was, I both nodded and shrugged.
 

“Well?” he asked. “Which is it?” Something about the question, and the way he looked at me with his steely grey eyes, felt like a test. Like there was more behind the simple question than simply wanting to know my opinion about tea. Getting the contract job couldn’t possibly be contingent on my feelings about green tea. Besides, I wasn’t even supposed to know I was being considered for the position yet. William hadn’t said it was a surprise, but it probably would look bad if I said something before it was official.
 

Oh, damn. I closed my eyes for a moment, searching for the right answer. When I opened them, Principal Brantford was still staring at me. Waiting. “So, Miss Monroe,” he said and I blinked hard, trying to focus. “Which is it? Are you a fan of this green tea stuff? Do you think my wife is right?”

I swallowed hard. “I’m more of a coffee drinker myself,” I said after a moment. It was a weak answer and I knew it. I wanted to close my eyes and pretend that a question about tea hadn’t just determined my entire future at Glenmore Academy. Instead I waited, and seconds later Principal Brantford started to laugh. The skin around those dark steely eyes crinkled up and for a moment he actually looked friendly. Well, at least not so scary. Which was something.

“I’m with you,” he said. “But don’t tell my wife.”

I forced a laugh and made a show of glancing at my watch. I still had fifteen minutes before I had to be in class, but I needed to get out of there before my nerves were completely shot, or more likely, I really said something I shouldn’t. “I should probably get going,” I said. “It was nice to see you again, Principal Brantford.” I started to turn away and head for the door.

“The pleasure was mine, Miss Monroe. And I think we may be seeing a lot more of each other.” I stopped myself and turned back to face him. “In fact, I’m very glad I ran into you,” he continued. “You may have heard there will be an opening for a third-grade teacher when Mrs. Oxley takes her maternity leave.”

“Yes,” I said, doing my best to act like I had no idea what he was about to say. “I hear she’s having a boy. That’ll keep her busy. Boys are so much work.” He narrowed his eyes and I realized I was babbling but I couldn’t stop myself. “Not that I’d know,” I added quickly, unsure of why the words kept coming out of my mouth uncontrolled. “I mean, I don’t have a boy. Or a baby at all. But I’ve heard that boys are a lot of work, and very busy. So I’m sure she’ll be very busy and not at all able to teach while she’s on her maternity leave which I suppose is the purpose of a maternity leave.” I really needed to learn how to shut up.

“Right,” Principal Brantford said slowly as if he had just realized that he was dealing with a crazy person and not a potential candidate to teach the young minds of Glenmore Academy. “As I was about to say,” he continued, “we will be hiring a replacement for Mrs. Oxley. And while it’s just to cover her maternity absence, I’m sure you understand the potential behind such an opportunity.” He paused, likely for effect.
 

“Yes,” I said as seriously as I could. “It would be a very good opportunity.”
 

“To put it mildly, Miss Monroe.”

“Of course, Principal Brantford.” I bowed my head slightly, but couldn’t figure out why. Something about the moment and the completely imposing man standing before me seemed to demand it.
 

“It is my pleasure and privilege, Miss Monroe, to inform you that you are being considered for that very prestigious position. We have been very impressed with your work here at Glenmore Academy and you come highly recommended. Of course, there will have to be a full review, interview, and assessment. I’m sure you are aware that we have very high standards for our faculty.”

I nodded, thoughts of the mysterious lifestyle questionnaire popping into my head.

“Excellent,” he continued. “Then it won’t be a problem. I’m sure we can expect the process to go smoothly.”

“Yes, Principal Brantford. I expect we can.” With a nod of his head, he turned and left the room. I should have been excited. After all, I needed the job. I wanted the job. And a full-time teaching job at Glenmore, well, the principal was right, it would be amazing.
 

The coffee tasted bitter in my mouth and churned in my stomach at the thought of the man who had taken up residence in my home. Besides William being bent out of shape about it, he was right—it could be a problem for the interview process. But at that moment, I wasn’t worried about Reid because there was a bigger problem that William didn’t even know about.
 

For most of my life, it had always been easier to lie to people about my parents and very few people who knew me knew the truth. I’d learned at an early age that my friends would not understand what my mother did for a living. They either thought it was dirty and scandalous or ridiculously cool. And I could never figure out which was worse. And that was just my girlfriends. Letting guys or potential boyfriends in on my secret was even worse and the few times I did say something, they inevitably wanted to meet her, usually at her place of employment. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but taking your boyfriend to watch your mother take off her clothes, isn’t always the best way to start a relationship.
 

Telling people that my parents were dead maybe wasn’t the best solution, but it was the easier one. At least, it had been easier.
 

Patty- July 1987

Patty

July 1987

Patty pulled up the leg of her pajamas and poked at the smattering of bruises that covered her legs. They were like a messed-up rainbow in various shades of yellow, green, purple and blue. Who would’ve thought swinging on a pole would be so dangerous? She lifted her pajama bottoms higher, revealing the bruises on her thighs as well. They were ugly, but as she had come to accept in the last three months at the Lady, they were par for the course. If she wanted to get more stage time, she needed to get better on the pole. And more stage time equaled more money and more time in the spotlight. It was an easy decision.

There was a knock on the door and Patty yanked down her pajama bottoms before her mother could walk in. Because her mother always walked in right after she knocked. Right on cue, the door opened wide and her mother, with Whitney on her hip, came into the bedroom.
 

“Oh, you’re awake,” her mother said. “Whitney’s up.” She nodded her head toward the baby as if Patty herself didn’t have two eyes in her head. The baby, who had quickly become a toddler, smiled at Patty, revealing her new bottom teeth.
 

“Come here, munchkin,” Patty said. Whitney extended her chubby arms and her mom reluctantly put the baby on the bed, where she crawled up to Whitney for a snuggle. “I didn’t hear her,” Patty lied.
 

Her mother sighed. She did that a lot when Patty spoke. “That’s the problem.”

Patty snuggled into Whitney’s hair, inhaling the sweet baby scent. “I’m sorry, Mom. I really am. I was tired.”

“I know,” Whitney’s mother said. She sighed again, and this time, dropped onto Patty’s bed. “You’re not sleeping enough. I’m worried about you.”

Patty eyed her suspiciously. Her mother hadn’t been worried about her since the day Whitney was born. It was like all motherly concern transferred over onto the grandchild and she’d been left to fend for herself. “I’m fine,” Patty said slowly.

But her mother wasn’t satisfied. “I know I told you to get a night job, but—”

“But what, Mom?” Patty pulled herself back so she was flat against the headboard. The baby, having grown bored with sitting, was crawling across the bed, headed towards the edge. Patty grabbed her diaper and slid her back across the quilt.
 

“Patty, I’m serious,” her mom said. “We need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Patty stood, pulling Whitney off the bed with her. She plopped the baby on the floor and moved to the dresser, which was once again covered in her own items since putting Whitney into her own room. “I needed to make money, and I am. That’s what’s important, right?”

Patty eyed her mother. She looked old. Older than Patty remembered ever seeing her. She’d always been older than her friend’s moms, but she’d never looked it. Not like she did at that moment with her greying hair and sagging shoulders. For a moment, Patty felt herself soften. Her mother had been helping out a lot with Whitney. She couldn’t be getting much sleep either.
 

“About the money,” her mother said. The suspicious look in her eyes melted any sympathy Patty might have felt towards her. She’d known it was only a matter of time before her mother figured it out.

Every night, Patty brought home more than she could make in two weeks at the nail salon. A job she’d quit weeks earlier. The entire time she was making more money than she could imagine, feeling more confident and amazing than she’d ever thought possible, she’d known her mother would find out and think the worst of her. Patty had been waiting, wondering what day would be the day her mom would confront her.
 

“What about it?” Patty pulled her hair back in a ponytail and rubbed her hands over her face, trying to look more awake than she felt. The night shift did make it hard for her to cope during the day. She glanced down at Whitney, who was babbling happily and had pulled herself to a standing position using the bed frame.

“It’s just that,” her mother swallowed hard and fiddled with the ties on her robe, “it seems like an awful lot of money to be making in tips.” She looked directly at Patty’s reflection in the mirror, challenging her.
 

“I work hard.” Patty turned away from the mirror so she wouldn’t have to look at her mother.
 

“I’m sure you do, but—”

“What are you trying to say, Mom?” Patty sighed and faced her mom head on. There was no point fighting; she didn’t have the energy. Besides, her mom didn’t know the half of it. If she found out about the hundreds Patty had been tucking away under her mattress, she’d really freak out.
 

“Where are you getting the money, Patty? I know it’s not waitressing. I called the diner last night and they said they’d never heard of you.” Her mother looked right at her and Patty felt an instant rage burn through her. She’d always thought the worst of her. Even when she was a little girl, Patty couldn’t do anything right. Not after her dad died. He had always been the one on her side. He would never have thought bad things about her. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” She got up from the bed and stood in front of her daughter.

“Trouble?” Patty laughed, a harsh sound. “Like selling drugs? Or my body, Mom? Is that what you want to know?” Patty didn’t even recognize the bitter tone to her voice. The pent-up anger and frustration unfurled and suddenly, unexplainably, she wanted to hurt her mother. “You think I’m whoring myself? That I couldn’t make so much money legally all on my own?”

“Patty—”
 

“No, Mom. I’m so sick of you thinking the worst of me. I’ve always tried my best to make you proud and—”

“How are you getting the money, Patty?” Only inches in front of her, she spoke softly but firmly.
 

All the bravado whistled from Patty in an exhale. “Dancing,” she said quietly. “At the Lusty Lady.”

Patty didn’t look down. She didn’t look away, which is how she saw the flash of hurt cross her mother’s face. But instead of fading away, like every other disappointment Patty had shown her mother, the hurt stayed. It was if, in that second, the worry lines that only occasionally appeared on her mom’s face became permanent fixtures. In that one moment, Patty watched her mother age.

No one said anything and neither of them looked away. Patty waited for her mother to ask her more. To ask her to elaborate on what it meant to be “dancing”. But they both knew exactly what it meant, and for a moment, Patty wished she could take it back and tell her mother she was kidding. But she knew she wouldn’t. And it wasn’t just about the money, either.
 

“Well, you’ll need to quit,” her mother said and folded her hands in her lap as if the matter was settled. “I don’t think there’s any other way around it.”

“No.”

“No? Patty, strip—dancing is not a respectable job for a young lady. Especially one who is mother to a little girl. What kind of example are you setting for Whitney?”

Patty looked to her daughter, who was quite content crawling around the messy floor of Patty’s room. “I can’t quit,” she said, looking back to her mother. “I need to provide for Whitney. Besides, I like it.”
 

“You like it?” Her mother made a choking type of noise and she cleared her throat loudly in an effort to recover. “You like selling your body? Dancing on stranger’s laps, belittling yourself for a few grimy dollar bills?” Her voice was tight and strained as she tried not to raise her voice. “It’s dirty,” she spat the word.