Shifter Overdrive by Scarlett Grove
I sighed and rolled the bills back in my pocket. I did need the cash.
Out on the sidewalk, the late-summer sun glared down on me. St. Louis's weather was either too hot or too cold, and today was one of those rare days when it was neither. I decided to walk home instead of catching the bus. I could always use the exercise, I told myself.
I strolled past the trendy blues clubs and hippy bookstores that populated the St. Louis Loop district and walked up the hill into the shady maple lined streets where old brick houses stood as a testament to the past. The heat picked up as a cloud moved away from the sun, and I started to feel hot. I’d lived here for six years, and I still wasn’t used to the heat and humidity.
My house came into view as I turned down my street. A two-story brick colonial with a slightly overgrown lawn awaited me as I trotted up the path. The front door burst open and one of my housemates flew down the stairs toward me. Kimmy grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.
The first floor of our shared four bedroom had an open living room/dining room area. Around the corner from the dining room was our sunny outdated kitchen that looked out on our overgrown backyard. The living room was furnished with a beige couch that sat in front of the window overlooking the front yard, a faded leather arm chair, and a lazy-boy. A forty-inch flat screen hung over the non-functioning fireplace. The dining room had a six-person Ikea table and miss-matched chairs.
“Spill!” she said, pulling me to the couch.
“What?” I said feeling irritated. She’d nearly knocked the magazine out of my hand. I was hot and sweaty from walking two miles in the humid St. Louis afternoon and wasn’t in the mood for her melodramatic interrogation.
“Collin was just over here. He said you broke up with him and wanted me to talk to you for him. What happened?” she said, leaning in and bringing her voice down to a whisper. Another house mate banged around in the kitchen.
I wiggled down onto the couch and rested my head on the soft, plush arm, looking up at Kimmy as she sat on the sturdy, oak coffee table covered in DVDs and last night’s pizza boxes.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I covered my face with my arm and groaned. My long wavy red hair poured down the side of the couch. I brought my other arm around my curvaceous form to hug myself as I pulled my feet up on the couch into a fetal position.
“Don’t be such a baby!”
I felt like crying. I loved Collin. We had a lot of good times, and I’d opened myself up to him. I’d told him about my childhood and my mother’s endless criticism. He’d told me I was beautiful. He enjoyed my body, and I adored him for it. But the cheating! How could I stay with a guy who cheated, no matter how much I loved him?
I pulled my other arm up over my face to hide the tears running down my round cheeks. I stifled a sob, and Kimmy patted my arm.
“What’s going on in there?” Mark called from around the corner in the kitchen.
“None of your business!” Kimmy shouted.
“He cheated on me again,” I whispered.
“God damn it! How do you know?”
I sat up on the couch, mascara running down my face. I didn’t want to admit how I knew. She’d think I was nuts. The truth was, I had seen him cheating in a dream, just as I had woken up that morning. I immediately called him. As soon as I heard his voice, the whole scene played through my mind again.
“He had lipstick on his collar,” I lied.
I wiped the tears from my face and sniffled. Mark walked out from the kitchen with his grilled cheese sandwich, plopped into the leather armchair, propped his sandaled feet on the coffee table, and turned on the TV. The sound of Myth Busters filled the room.
“Do you mind?” said Kimmy over her shoulder.
“It’s a free country,” Mark said with his mouth full. Kimmy rolled her eyes and looked back at me.
“Come on,” she said, pulling me up from the couch. I followed her upstairs to my bedroom— a small room furnished with Ikea dorm-style furniture. I had a white, metal-framed, twin-sized bed covered with a rose print comforter that matched my rose print drapes. One wall was entirely occupied by an overflowing bookshelf. Under the window sat my small desk and laptop. Framed posters of architecture and nature hung from the walls as well as a few colorful nudes I’d bought from a friend who was a painter.
I sat down on the bed, dropping my purse and magazine on the floor. I tried to stay tidy and organized most of the time. Sometimes it didn’t go according to plan. Kimmy sat down as I curled up behind her, sinking my head into a rose print throw pillow.
“What are you going to do?”
“Never see him again. I’m done. Third time is the charm. I’m not doing it anymore.”
She put her hand on my flowing red hair and petted me like a puppy. Kimmy could be obnoxiously energetic, but I was glad she was there for me right then. I turned my face into my pillow, and Kimmy ran her hand down my back and patted my shoulder. I started to cry a little, and Kimmy sighed.
“You’re better off without him.”
“I know,” I whimpered.
“I’ve got to get ready for this thing,” she said, standing. “But please call me if you need anything. OK?”
“Sure.”
I rolled over on my back and watched her walk out the door. My ample bosom rose up in front of me exposing deep cleavage. I pulled my shirt up to cover myself. I was glad to be alone. Crying was something I preferred to do in private. Tears dripped down my cheeks and chin as I allowed the full force of sadness to devour me.
Once the feelings had run their course, I wiped the tears from my face and rolled over to swipe the magazine off the floor. I hoped thoughts of adventure would ease my mind. I looked at the cover of the magazine— a cowboy on horseback riding into a golden sunset.
I flipped through the pages. The articles seemed to be about vacation destinations where a person could get an authentic Montana experience. That apparently meant horseback riding, bear hunting, beaver trapping, white-water rafting, and a whole slew of other outdoorsy, backwoods stuff I’d never done before.
Intrigued, I turned on my stomach and read an article about log cabins. Lovely pictures of quaint, little hand-built cabins covered five pages of the magazine. I loved old-timey things like that. The photography really brought the buildings to life. I wished I could see them, smell the old wood, and imagine myself living in the olden days. I’d had barely left St. Louis since I started at Washington University freshman year. After my parents messy divorce, my mom and I rarely did anything interesting.
I flipped to the back of the magazine and found a section of classified ads. Someone wanted to sell an old wood-burning cook stove; another was in need of horse semen. I turned to the last page and found help wanted ads.
Ever since graduating from my Master’s program in Child Development, I’d been looking for a job in my field. I’d tried everything- Monster, job boards, career counseling, even craigslist. People kept telling me to go back to school and get a teaching certificate, but I didn’t want to get yet another certification. I was qualified to work in administration. Wasn’t six years of higher education enough? The loans were already piling up. The best I had been offered was a position as a daycare worker, which paid less than what I made at the cafe with tips.
After six months of searching, I was beginning to feel like there must be something else out there for me. The last thing I wanted to do was go back to school. I wanted adventure. I wanted to experience something outside of a library.
I scanned the ads. I imagined myself filling each one: a farmhand, a general laborer, an agriculturalist. My eyes stopped on something very interesting. It was an ad for a private tutor for a home-schooled, seven-year-old girl on a ranch in the western mountains of Montana. I blinked and read it again. I was actually qualified for a job like that. It included room and board and a twenty thousand a year salary.
I dropped the magazine on the floor, suddenly flooded with insecurity. Who was I to think I could travel alone i
I reached down under my bed and pulled out a bag of fudge from the last time I’d been to the Fudgery in Union Station. The fudge makers at the Fudgery sing and tell jokes while making fudge in the middle of an old converted train station in downtown St. Louis. I unwrapped the plastic wrap from the gooey peanut butter fudge that was my favorite and took a bite, letting the sweet flavor melt down my tongue.
Sweets always made me feel a little better. I tried to shove thoughts of Collin and my job search and my mom into the place in my head where I stored things I didn’t want to think about and picked the magazine up off the floor. I took another bite of fudge and flipped the pages back to the want ad for the tutor.
High on confectionery courage, I went to my laptop to write a letter of interest. So what if I got turned down? It couldn’t make things any worse than they already were.
I typed out my letter in a somewhat more arrogant style than I would usually write a cover letter. I made it sound like they would be stupid not to hire a person with a Master’s degree. I typed the email address into a new email, attached my letter and resume, and pressed "send" while sucking down another bite of fudge. It was sent before I even gave myself time to think it over.
As soon as my email program said "sent," I started to panic. I pushed my chair away from the computer, wrapped up my fudge and put it back under the bed. I’d been so cocky in the letter, they’d never hire me! I looked at the cover of the magazine again with the cowboy riding into the sunset. Who was I kidding anyway? It didn’t even matter. It wasn’t going to happen.
Chapter 2
I sat at a table on the sidewalk in front of Blueberry Hill eating my lunch. The elaborate neon sign above my head boasted an upcoming Chuck Berry show. I had the Hickory Burger with big wedge French fries smothered in ketchup. Totally delicious.
A warm breeze blew over my pale, bare legs as I scribbled into my journal. It helped to get my feelings out on paper to help deal with them. I wasn’t very good at suppressing my emotions.
I took a big bite of juicy burger and a drop of mustard almost fell on my white cotton tank top. I leaned over the plate just in time to avoid a near wardrobe disaster.
My cell phone buzzed on the table with a strange phone number I’d never seen before. I put down my burger and wiped my hands, examining the phone. I pressed the receive button and said hello.
“Jane Elder?
“Yes?” I said, wiping the side of my lip.
“This is Nathanial Ellis. From Bear Creek Ranch.”
I nearly fell out of my chair with excitement. He was the absolute last person I had expected to call me. I’d just sent the email the day before.
“I’m calling about your application. I was impressed with your credentials. You know I have a seven-year-old daughter. My late wife used to home school her before she passed away a year ago.”
“Sorry.”
“It has been difficult to find someone to teach her and look after her regularly. A girl comes up from the village a few times a week, but I’m afraid my daughter, Morgan, is getting behind. She spends most of her time underfoot. I’m extremely busy with my business affairs, and cannot fulfill her mother’s role. I need someone who cannot only teach her, but who can look after her as well.”
“I’m comfortable with that.”
“Morgan is highly intelligent, but the death of her mother and loss of regular schooling has been difficult for her. Have you been a tutor before?”
“During my graduate internships, I worked extensively with children in both educational and therapeutic environments.”
“What made you answer my advertisement? Surely, you have opportunities in St. Louis.”
“I’m looking for something different,” I said, not wanting to talk about the scarcity of job prospects.
“You are the best applicant I’ve had. I would like to offer you the position. You will be on a trial basis for two weeks, salaried of course, after that, you will gain permanent employment. I will send you a ticket for two weeks from today so you can get your affairs in order. Is this agreeable to you?”
“That sounds fantastic!”
As soon as I got off the phone with Mr. Ellis, I practically ran up the block to my work and hurried inside. Megan stood at the cash register like always. She was probably forty and had been working in cafes since she was younger than I was. I brushed past some people in line and put my hands on the counter waiting for her to look at me.
She glanced over. I beamed at her— red-faced and panting.
“What is it Jane?” she said, sounding annoyed.
“I have to put in my two weeks notice.” The words burst out of my mouth.
“What’s going on? Did you find a job?” she said, taking a customer’s order. A little crease appeared between her brows. She was the kind of person who liked order and hated change. I knew I was upsetting her, but it couldn’t be helped.
“I did. And get this, it’s in Montana! On a ranch. Can you believe it?”
“What? Doing what?”
“Private tutoring. It’s such a good opportunity.”
“Hmm, sounds strange. Well, can’t say I’m not disappointed. You’re one of the best baristas we’ve had in a long time. But good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow right?”
“Of course. I’ll be here.”
The line of customers smiled at me as if I’d just won the lotto. I felt like I’d just won the lotto. My energy must have been contagious because it seemed like everyone I saw smiled at me. I grabbed a bus at Delmar and Kingsland and rode it home. I jumped off the bus and practically skipped down the sidewalk to my house. I hadn’t been in such a good mood since I’d been accepted to Washington during my senior year of high school.
When I got to the front walk, my mood sank. Collin sat on the porch with his skateboard in his hands, looking sorry and pitiful. I rolled my eyes and stomped up the stairs. I refused to argue with him about the break up. I refused to let him ruin my good mood.
I brushed past him without a word and slammed the front door. I set my purse on the coffee table and turned back to lock the door, but it was too late. He was already inside.
“Get the hell out of here!”
“Not until you listen to me, Jane.”
“Fuck you. I don’t have to listen to your shit. I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”
He rushed to me, put his hands on my shoulders, and leaned down to kiss my lips. His body felt so good next to mine; I let his kiss connect before I could protest. He pulled my voluptuous body into his wiry muscled frame. I felt him get excited, and I almost gave in.
“No!” I shouted, pushing away.
“Jane, please. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care Collin,” I said, plopping on the couch and crossing my arms tight under my breasts. My short-shorts rose up my thigh, and I could see him staring down at my bare flesh. I crossed my legs and glared at him. He swooped in next to me.
“I know you used your gift to find out about the affair. That’s why I didn’t try to deny it.”
I hated it when he brought up my “gift,” as he liked to call it. I’d made the mistake of telling him about it one night when he’d encouraged me to try pot. I was so high I spilled my life story.
After father left my mother for some woman from work, when I was twelve, I started having dreams that would often come true. Once, I had a dream about a girl I knew getting in a car accident. The next day at school, they told us she was dead. I also dreamed of small things, like a pop quiz in algebra. Sometimes, I was visited by my dead grandparents who talked to me as if it was no big deal they were dead. After studying child development for six years in college, I came to believe it had something to do with the trauma of my parent’s divorce.
“You always told me you did
“I believe you now.” He rubbed his hand down my bare shoulder, grazing my breast with the back of his knuckles. It shot little bolts of sensation through my breasts and down my thighs. I grimaced and crossed my arms tighter.
“Too little, too late.”
“Jane. I’ve been an idiot. You are the best girl any guy could ever have.” He ran his hand up my thigh, and I slapped it away. The sound of smacking filled the room. None of my housemates were home. If they’d heard the shouting or smacking, they would have come running to ogle at the drama.
“Nice of you to notice. It doesn’t matter anyway because I’m leaving. I got a job in Montana.”
“Montana. What the fuck?”
“Yep. I leave in two weeks.”
He pulled my chin to him with both his hands and shoved his tongue in my mouth. I let him kiss me. After I’d smacked him and told him I was leaving, I wasn’t as angry anymore. He seemed ravenous, as if he needed to kiss me to prevent starving to death. He pulled me up on the couch and slipped between my legs, his tongue darting against mine. His hands gripped and squeezed my plump breasts. He kissed down my body, pushed up my shirt, and ran his hand inside my bra. The cool flesh of his hands made my nipples harden.
My body responded to the thrust of his firm shaft between my legs. Moisture ran into my panties, and my breathing deepened. He peeled back my bra cup and put his mouth to my breast, sucking and biting at my full, pink nipple. I ran my hand up his tight muscled arms and tilted my hips to meet his thrusts. I was absolutely ready to let him fuck me. Why not? The front door opened, and I slumped into the couch, pulling my shirt back on.
“No way!” Kimmy shouted from the front door. She lunged forward and smacked the back of Collin’s head.
Collin recoiled from Kimmy’s blow and stood up, buttoning the pants button I couldn’t remember unbuttoning.
“Don’t try to take advantage of Jane in her weakened state. You need serious reform before I let you near her again.”