Page 16 of Fast and Dirty

“So, what brings you to town?”

“I’m guessing you know everyone here already and that I’m an outsider,” I deflect for just a moment as my phone starts to wake up. “Speaking of which, you must be a popular woman,” I say, nodding at the phone in her hands.

“No rest for the wicked.” It pings again and I feel my brows scrunch. She’s easily past the age of retirement.

“What do you do?”

“I run a speakeasy out of my basement,” she supplies, as if she’s simply reading from the weather app.

“You’re joking,” I tell her as my phone starts pinging and beeping, not to mention buzzing like a nympho’s vibrator doing overtime.

“Of course I’m joking.” She finally looks up and raises apainted-on eyebrow at my phone that’s having a nervous breakdown on the formica. “Now who’s the popular one?”

Uggh. I place my hands in my lap and watch my doom lighting up on the screen of my phone.

Dad: This is unacceptable.

Mom: Young lady, your father is on a rampage and it’s stressing us all out. Stop throwing your little attention-seeking tantrum and get back here.

Portia: Kira, seriously, where are you? Mom and Dad are holding me hostage in the penthouse and trying to get me to tell them where you are. Like I know? Get back here and get them off my back! If you’re a lesbian or something, I’m cool with it.

Toby: I’m on my way to brunch with Jeffrey, baby doll but then you better tell me where you are. I’ll come get you and you can stay with me.

My heart warms at that last one.

“So, what are you avoiding, Gucci Girl?” Agnes sets her phone aside again and folds her hands on the table.

“What? What makes you think I’m avoiding something?” I ask her as my phone keeps exploding in front of me.

“You’re from out of town, you clearly had a debaucherous night, you’re just now turning on your phone, and it’s about to make the nearest cell tower short out with it’s notifications. Not to mention I found you shacked up with Westy-boy this morning.” She rests her chin on a hand, clearly seeing that as the juicy part of the story she wants to settle in for.

I blow out a sigh, too mentally wiped to hold up a facade. Besides, no one here knows me. It might feel good to unload.

“I ran away from my wedding,” I spew out, just as Denise reappears at our table, hands full of plates. Because ofcourse.

“Thank you Denise,” Agnes reaches for her rolled up silverware. “Now kindly buzz off or I’m cutting you out of Ocean’s 11 night.”

Denise scurries away and I’m beginning to think Agnes runs this town.

“Let me guess,” Agnes continues as I look down at my plate to see a what looks like a warm cheese danish, a smattering of crispy hashbrowns … a shot glass full of orange juice… and a small tumbler of what looks and smells like that delightful beer I imbibed on last night. I look back to Agnes with questions all over my face as she goes on, tucking into her own breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon. “You come from some hoity-toity family in the most uptown part of a big city. Only you’re the one family member who never quite fit in and you were trying to make momma and poppa proud by marrying some rich douche of their choosing.”

Okay, Agnes is a witch.

“How the hell do you know all that?”

“Well you’re dressed the part of aristocrat’s daughter only you don’t act much like it. You also don’t seem to be shedding any tears for whatever poor schmuck you stood up. The only thing that’s not adding up is how you ended up here,” she circles her hands outward to indicate the diner and the town.

“My getaway car broke down.” I start poking at the danish.

“Wow,” she nods down at the piece of toast she’s slathering with strawberry preserves. “I have to tell ya, this is making me want to put on Smokey and the Bandit after my nap later.”

My phone starts chirping some more as I pop a forkful of danish in my mouth and am pleasantly surprised at the comforting taste and how easily it goes down, settling gently in my stomach. I look down at the infernal device to see another text from my dad.

Dad: Preston showed me your last message and you are in a world of hurt, young lady!

Oh shit. Blabbermouth Preston decided to show Daddy my Fuck You photo.

Portia: Just saw your photo… okay so you’re clearly not a lesbian but still. Just get back here and marry Preston so Mom and Dad will get off my back. You don’t have to have sex with him, he’ll have mistresses for that.

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