Page 52 of The Belle and the Biker

“Nope. I went ahead and lived my life exactly how I wanted to, and every day I wake up happy is me winning and them losing. So stop thinking about how miserable you are and think about what would make you feel better instead.”

“Wow, that was a pretty good motivational speech.” I stand up, newly invigorated. “No more self-pity. Savannah 2.0 marches forward. I would like to sign up to volunteer at the nearest homeless shelter. I haven’t written anything in my book of good deeds for days. Hold on. I’ll look it up on my phone.”

I get the number of the Tranquil Bay homeless shelter and call them to see if anyone in the office is taking volunteer applications. Something is going my way for once, and they tell me to come right in.

I rummage through my purse for my jewelry bag and change my jewelry to something a little more acceptable and then go check the closet for my clothes. My suitcase is still there, but all my clothes are gone except for my bras and panties. The gym bag full of biker-chick clothes is still there.

I storm over to Crash.

“Where are my clothes?”

“I texted Tawny while we were out and told her to pack them up and mail them back to your aunt.”

Seriously? Just when I was starting to like him.

“You did what? You had no right!”

He shrugs. “Sorry, not sorry. I knew you’d try to sneak around wearing your fancy debutante clothes. Look at you… You’re wearing your string of pearls with matching earrings.”

“Of course, they match!” I’m offended that he’d even suggest otherwise.

“How many biker chicks do you know who wear pearls?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Plenty.”

“Name five.”

I glare at him, unwilling to admit defeat. But I can’t even name one.

“I can’t go to the homeless shelter dressed like this!” I protest.

“It’s a homeless shelter, not a fashion runway.”

“But they deserve to see someone setting a good example. Someone who is properly accessorized, dressed for the season and the occasion…”

He folds his arms across his broad chest. He’s not going to budge on this.

“Every single T-shirt I have is obscene. I can’t go there like this.”

“Button up your jacket.”

Muttering under my breath, I do so. I wear my stupid wig but no jewelry and scrape off most of the makeup. Finally, I’m ready to go, and Crash drives me to the Helping Hands homeless shelter. It’s in a rectangular brick building resembling an orange Lego ringed by dying weeds. What a shame. It’s bad enough for people to be homeless, but must they be forced to stay in such a depressing place while they get their lives back together?

Enthusiastically, I fill out my volunteer application, putting down the names of the homeless shelters where I’d volunteered in New York. I also give them some decorating suggestions, which they seem to appreciate. It’s a shame I don’t know any good interior decorators in South Carolina, or I’d pass along their names. They promise to call me as soon as they’ve checked my references.

We’re almost back at the trailer when Crash screeches to a stop to avoid hitting a skinny dog who’s running across the road. It’s a dirty tan hound mix whose teats hang down like she’s recently had puppies. Her ribs are sticking out, and her tail is tucked between her legs. She stands there, head hanging low.

“Oh!” I say enthusiastically. “We can take care of her! More things to put in my book of good deeds.”

Crash shakes his head. “Now isn’t the best time; we might have to pack up and run at any time. We should just take her to a shelter.”

“I know, I know.” I’m climbing off the motorcycle as I say that. “I don’t even like dogs except for Tiddlywinks. However, if we take her to a vet, get her fixed up, bathe her, and feed her for a couple of weeks, she’ll be more attractive and more likely to get adopted. I mean, I cleaned up and re-styled Tiddlywinks, and Aunt Hepzibah totally fell for her. I’m great at makeovers.”

I pull some crackers from my purse and hold them out to the dog. She limps over slowly, sniffs at them, and gulps them down. Then she sits there with her head hanging low.

“Two weeks? Forget it. Three days,” Crash says.

“Ten days.”

---