Rock Chick Rescue (Rock Chick #2)(98)

Dear Lord.

“That’s right, Nance,” Tex replied and wheeled Mom around where I stood in the middle of the front of the store and took her behind the espresso counter.

“Nance?” I asked, turning in a half circle to fol ow their progress.

Mom threw me her majorette smile.

Tex glowered.

Tex glowered.

“Don’t you have shit to do?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to say something. I don’t know what but it was going to be something, when the bel over the door went again. I looked in that direction and Smithie was walking in.

My glare transferred to Smithie.

“I’m not talking to you!” I yel ed.

“Shee-it, bitch. What’s your problem?” Smithie shot back.

“You fired me!” I shouted.

His hands went out at his sides.

“I didn’t fire you. I just put you on a f**kin’ unscheduled, unpaid vacation.”

“Yeah, you fired me!” I snapped back.

“I’m guessin’ from the attitude you don’t have your shit sorted out yet,” Smithie said.

“No, I don’t. I’m working on it, okay?”

He walked up to me and handed me an envelope.

“Your tips from Saturday.”

The wind went out of my sails. It was a nice thing to do, coming al the way down to Fortnum’s to give me my tips.

I took them.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“There’s extra in there from the girls and the bouncers.

They did a col ection, knew you needed it,” he said.

Damn.

Trust my luck, after twenty-eight years, to find my attitude and toss it around when people were doing something nice for me.

I felt the tears crawl up the back of my throat and I swal owed them down.

“I don’t know what to say,” I muttered as I shoved the envelope in my back pocket.

“Maybe ‘thank you’?” Mom snapped from behind the espresso counter, again, using The Voice, “Yeesh, you’d think I didn’t raise her right,” she said to Tex.

“That your Mom?” Smithie asked.

I didn’t have the chance to answer when the bel went over the door again.

I turned and saw my sister, Lottie, standing there.

She was wearing skinny, black jeans and a black tank top with the Audi circles straining across her D-cup boobs.

She had a knockout tan and her blonde hair was flopping around the back of her head in a loose bunch designed to look sexy and messy. It worked.

“Eyeeeeee!” I squealed, thril ed to see her, forgetting everyone; Tex, Duke, Smithie, Jane, Indy, Mom and the So Fine Commando Wild Bunch. I ran and threw myself at her.

Lottie squealed too and we hugged, swinging each other back and forth and laughing out loud.

Mom wheeled up and pul ed herself out of her chair for her own Lottie hug. Lottie helped her sit back down, then turned and shot a bleached-teeth, LA smile at me.

“What’re you doing here?” I asked, stil smiling.

“Gotta cal from Lavonne, then from Trixie, then Lavonne again and final y Mom,” Lottie said.

My smile died, and with it, my excitement at seeing Lottie.

“What’d they say?” I asked.

Lottie’s smile died too. “They told me what’s been going on.”

Wonderful.

My hand went back to my hip. “They shouldn’t have done that.”

Her hand went to her hip. “Why not? No, wait, why didn’t you tel me?” she asked.

“I was handling it.”

She shoved my shoulder.

My entire body froze.

“You weren’t handling it, you crazy bitch,” she said.

“That’s what I’m sayin’,” Smithie put in.

Lottie didn’t even know who he was and she nodded at him.

I pul ed out the Double Diva Threat and put both my hands on my hips.

“I’m handling it.”

She shoved my shoulder again.

“Don’t shove me,” I snapped, shoving her back.

“Girls,” Mom warned.

As we had our entire lives, we ignored her.

“You’re crazy,” Lottie told me. “Al this shit going down with Dad and you, workin’ in a titty bar!” I shoved her again. “Nothin’ wrong with working in a titty bar,” I said.

“No, you’re right, there isn’t anything wrong with working in a titty bar, except you working in a titty bar. You aren’t the in a titty bar, except you working in a titty bar. You aren’t the kind of girl who works in a titty bar.”

She shoved me and then she yanked my hair.

“What’s that supposed to mean? And don’t you yank my hair,” I yanked hers back.

“Girls,” Mom repeated, realizing from lots of experience that the hair yank was a significant escalation in hostilities.

“I’l yank your hair if I wanna yank your hair!” She yanked it again and I shoved her. She ignored my shove and kept talking, “Always taking it al on your shoulders, not cal ing, tel ing me you needed money, taking two jobs. You’re an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot!” I yel ed.

“You are, you should have cal ed,” she yel ed back.