Page 11 of Rock Bottom Girl
“Did you meet Manolo?”
“Who’s Manolo? Their butler?” I asked wearily.
“The swan.”
“Yes. I did see something that looked like a swan in their front yard.” I didn’t add that I’d then proceeded to flop over my parents’ azaleas and crash land.
“So, Travis took over the Cadillac dealership from his father. Apparently it’s very lucrative,” Floyd said, leaning in as if he were imparting secrets. “They bought that lot and tore down a perfectly good two-story to build their mini castle just so the twins wouldn’t have to wait at the bus stop anymore because—get this—the elements were ruining the boys’ hairdos.”
“That seems…extravagant.”
“Well, when you spend $200 per twin every month at the barber shop, I guess you’d look at it as an investment.”
I wasn’t big on gossip. I’d been the target of it enough my senior year that I didn’t partake as a matter of principle. Besides, what business of mine was it if someone was screwing their boss or taking long lunches so they could run home and spy on their third-shift husband to see if he was having an affair? However, this piqued my interest.
“$200 per twin?”
The air conditioning vent above me blew a steady stream of arctic air onto my sweaty skin, and I started to feel the chill.
Floyd nodded. “Every month. Rumor has it Amie Jo is pushing to give them both Escalades for their birthday next year. They both drive pimped-out Jeeps that they got when they turned sixteen. Milton is on his second one since he drove the first one into Dunkleburger’s pond.”
Swans, Escalades, hair.
I shook my head.
“It’ll be very interesting to see how you two get along at school.” He grinned.
“You seem like a guy who knows a lot about a lot of people,” I noted.
He gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. “To be honest, there’s not a lot to do around here. And this feels healthier than watching reality TV. So yeah, if you need the dirt on anyone, you just let me know.”
I wet my lips and tried to talk myself out of it. What would stop Floyd from telling the entire town if I asked about him? Nothing. But did it really matter? I was only going to be here for a few months, and then I’d be back out in the world forgetting all about Culpepper.
“Jake Weston,” I said finally.
Floyd’s brown eyes lit up like I’d just handed him a winning lottery ticket.
“What do you want to know?”
6
Jake
The foam roller dug into the hot spot on my quad with a satisfying zing of pain. The first preseason practice was behind me for the day, and I could enjoy a few more hours of summer malaise.
August was bittersweet for me as a teacher.
I loved my summers off. Made great use of them. Taking the bike or the dog on road trips. But there was something exciting about heading back to school. New beginnings. Not that I’d felt that way when I’d been a student. I’d been more “rebel without a clue” back in the day.
“I’m rolling here, Homer. You’re not helping.”
Homer’s wet nose met my bare back. Damn dog did it on purpose. He was practically laughing at me with his shaggy face and lolling tongue.
“You keep doin’ that, and I’ll dig out the cone of shame.”
Homer rolled over on his back next to me, fluffy feet in the air. We’d been enjoying each other’s company for five years now, ever since I spotted him in the shame section of the local paper. There was a whole page dedicated to causes we should all be supporting, funds that needed donations, animals that needed homes.
Every once in a while, I picked one at random. It was atonement for my rabble-rousing days. Or prepayment on any new bad karma I’d attract during my hell-raising summers—which were admittedly more mellow now.
