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Willa
“LITTLE DID HE KNOW when he woke up this morning that a short redhead would destroy his perfect, Maserati-driving world.” I smirked and folded my arms as I stared at the white car in the café parking lot.
“Willa, if you’re about to do what I think you’re about to do, don’t,” Emmie said as she pushed her thick, wavy, mocha-colored hair from her shoulder.
Niki checked her phone messages for the third time this morning.
“I agree with Emmie. You don’t want the police involved . . . again.” It was the first cool late September day here in the sleepy town of Libertyville, Maryland. The leaves were developing a tinge of red and yellow, while the green tried its best to keep up the fight.
Emmie, Niki, and I were one of the first to be born and raised in the planned town, built in the early 1990s. Every feature, community, and tree were mapped out and designed to appeal to the average working American. Sort of the American dream in town form.
A bit artificial and in some places, over-the-top, but it was home. And we loved it.
It had that small-town feel but was nestled twenty minutes down the road from the big city. What I loved most about Libertyville were my two best friends, who I’d known since I was three years old. Right now, they stood next to me and tried their best to persuade me from making a stupid mistake.
But they also knew that stupid mistakes were my specialty.
“Emmie, give me your pocket chalk.” I held out my hand as I continued to stare at the white Maserati, or the nickname I had for it in my head, the compensation dick.
Her lips thinned as she gave me the side-eye.
“I’m sorry. What I meant to say was, Emmie, would you please give me your pocket chalk?”
“No.”
I turned to her and squared my hands on my hips. “Are you serious? I said please.”
“We came here for coffee this morning for our weekly Monday morning chat.” She waved a hand between herself and Niki. “I didn’t come here—and I am pretty sure Niki would agree with me—to be a part of your Law and Order scheme of the week.”
My hand flew to my chest as I gasped. “You two are my friends. You should be supporting me. Encouraging me. Girl power. Women’s lib or whatever catch-phrase I can insert to get you two to help me.”
They both shook their heads like creepy twins in a horror movie, that is, if the twins looked nothing alike.
“He’s parked in a handicapped spot and doesn’t have a tag.”
There was no handicapped license plate or tag hanging from his rearview mirror. Whoever drove the car was the worst douche since douches were first created hundreds of years ago.
And yet, that wasn’t the real reason I wanted to fuck with the driver.
“I admit, that’s bad, but not bad enough to mess with his car,” Niki said, finally looking up from her phone to assess the situation.
“I won’t even touch his precious baby. Scout’s honor.” I held up two fingers.
“You were never a Girl Scout, even though I begged you to sign up in third grade so we could hoard all the cookies,” Emmie said as she adjusted her death grip on her purse as if I was about to snatch it from her. Which I was, because it held the chalk.
“You could have been a Girl Scout.”
“My mom didn’t have the time or money to make that happen. And Niki’s mom kept sending her to tap lessons, so she never had time for Girl Scouts. You were our only hope.”
I rolled my eyes at the same fight we’ve been having for twenty years. I thought by twenty-eight, she’d be over the Girl Scout cookie scheme, but the woman held a grudge like a one size too small thong held on to an ass crack.
Pointing to the car, I said, “Can we focus on the problem at hand here?”
“I have to get to work, Willa. I run a company and people depend on me to be on time. Just because you think this guy isn’t disabled in some way that would require this parking space, doesn’t mean you should punish him. You aren’t the law enforcement. You’re a reporter. Maybe, instead, write a piece about people illegally parking in handicapped parking spaces,” Emmie offered.
I bit my lip and let out a breath. “Was.”
“What?”
“I was a reporter. I got fired last week.”
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t let it go. Why did this guy get all the money while being a total ass-hat, yet I got fired from a job I didn’t like anyway. I needed to work for the same reason everyone else needed a job—money.
My friends enveloped me in a hug. It was times like these I was grateful to have them in my life. Their support, comfort, and the kind words I knew would follow to help lift my spirits were what got me through these rough times.
Niki pulled back and gazed at me with a frown. “What did you do this time?”
“Can your boss sue you for libel or was it something caught on tape?” Emmie added.
“Wow. The love right now is . . . overwhelming,” I said as I thinned my lips.
I pulled my hand behind my back, holding something I didn’t want them to know I had until the time was right, and backed away.
“We’re sorry. It’s just, well, you’ve been fired from every job you’ve ever had. Even the lemonade stand you made with Darci, your neighbor, growing up. I remember when she fired you. Said you used too many lemons and the mix was sour.”
Darci was stingy and wanted all the profits for herself. I was only helping with that stand to be nice to her because my mom said she had no friends. I learned why she didn’t that day.
“You two were right. I was fired. I called my boss insane and a few other names I won’t repeat in front of such upstanding ladies.”
Niki snorted as Emmie smirked and shook her head.
“He went on about how the town had some secret society that catered to the wealthy. That the country’s elite built Libertyville to act out their wild fantasies all under the disguise of a quiet suburban town. Crazy talk. So, I called him on it. Apparently, my boss didn’t like hearing the truth.”
Niki nodded. “Yup, he’s crazy.”
“See, Niki agreed, yet I was the one being punished for being truthful. My crazy boss got to dictate what’s seen in the paper and this driver—who obviously has money—could break the rules and get away with it? That’s wrong.”
“I know it’s not fair, but life was never promised to you on a silver platter. If you need money, I can always—”
“Stop. I’m not taking your money.”
Emmie had butt loads of the stuff. For a girl who grew up with a single mom who worked two jobs just to feed her and her sister, she was the only one of us that made good on the promise we made in this very parking lot fifteen years ago. Back when the Hella Ella Café was Sweetie Times Frozen Yogurt. The three of us sat on the curb during the summer, dreaming of what our lives would be like when we grew up.
Emmie wanted to run a magazine. Not only did she own three different lifestyle magazines, but she was about to create a Vidtube series starring the lifestyle guru, Vera. The woman worked her ass off to make her dream come true.
Niki also dreamed of the entertainment world, but as an actress. She was old-Hollywood beautiful with bleached blond hair and big blue eyes. We all knew it was a matter of time before Niki made it because she was as talented as she was gorgeous—two of the requirements to make it in the movies. But, as of yet, the most she had done was a few appearances on a network series and a starring role in an indie film made years ago that had yet to be released.
These two were working on their dreams while I took any job I could get to pay the bills.
“You know, that series I’m creating will need some music. Something soft and universal, but with your voice—”
“Again, not going to happen.”
I dreamed of being a singer . . . working in the music industry. But how could someone become a singer if they were afraid to sing in front of the people they knew?
I could sing to a crowd as long as I didn’t know a soul in it. Which made it impossible as my friends and Mom would walk through fire to support me by showing up. I loved them and loathed them for it.
“You wouldn’t have to sing with anyone around. I could set up time in a recording booth where you couldn’t see anyone and—”
I took a step closer toward the car and held up what was hidden behind my back. The chalk.
“How did you . . .?” Emmie dug through her bag but found it empty of chalk. As put together and perfect as her life was, she had this weird revenge goal. In her eyes, if a business was terrible or treated her and others poorly, she’d mark the outside of the building with chalk. Then she knew where to go when she had money to buy out the place and make it how she wanted.
Niki and I nicknamed Emmie, the Mogul.
“Tiny body, tiny feet, but most importantly, tiny hands.” I held up my hands and wiggled my fingers. “It pays to be small.”
Marching toward the car, I bent over and began to draw on the black asphalt in front of the Maserati. It took longer than I had expected, and I was sweating by the time I was done, but it was worth it.
He deserved this for what he did.
“Parking only for those with tiny peens and fart breath,” someone murmured from behind. “I like the tiny penises squirting curlicues. Makes the insult a bit more fun,” he continued, but this time, he pushed thick blond hair that hung below his chin behind his ear, revealing a dimple.
Fuck me sideways, this guy was gorgeous in a scruffy, rugged sort of way . . . and oddly familiar.
“Is, uh, this your car?” I asked and inwardly prayed he’d say no.
“Yes.”
What could be worse than being fired yesterday? Being murdered by a wet dream today.
