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ONE
MY NAME IS JET
Don’t get excited, I’m not cool and hip. My real name is Henrietta Louise McAlister, and that suits me a lot better than Jet. Dad was a fan of Paul McCartney and Wings, so he nicknamed me after the song.
I’m not a Jet in any way, shape or form. When someone notices me, which is rarely, and I tell them my name, they look at me funny.
I’m five foot seven and have ash-blonde hair and hazel eyes. Therefore, I’m an in-between girl—not tall, not short…not blonde, not brunette…not green-eyed, not brown-eyed.
Just kindanot.
* * *
This is my story,such as it is.
* * *
I was born in Denver,Colorado (therefore a rare “native”) twenty-eight years ago to Ray McAlister and Nancy Swanowanski. I have a little sister who’s two years younger than me. Her name is Charlotte, but we call her Lottie.
Dad started calling me Jet straight away and Mom went along with it because she’d do just about anything to make Dad happy enough not to leave. He was kind of a lying, cheating sonovabitch (well, not kind of, hewasone). That’s how I got the name, and that’s how it stuck.
Anyway, none of Mom’s ploys worked. Dad left when I was fourteen. He came back to visit (which drove Mom nuts), sent a few Christmas and birthday cards (none of which had money in them, which drove Mom nuts) and phoned on occasion (usually collect, ditto with Mom going nuts). But mostly he was gone. Since, when he was around, he was pretty hilarious and definitely over the top, Lottie and I missed him.
I did well in school and had friends. I graduated and got a job as a teller at the Arapahoe Credit Union. It was steady, quiet, you knew what to expect and I liked working there.
Lottie, who got all the personality in the family (she was just like Dad), left town the minute she graduated. She went to LA to be an actress. She didn’t become an actress, as such. Instead, she got a boob job, got her ash-blonde hair highlighted true blonde, and became somewhat famous for being really good at lounging on muscle cars with half her ass hanging out. I see her picture every now and again in a magazine some guy is flipping through, or on a calendar at the garage where I get my oil changed. Maybe I shouldn’t be proud, but I am. She’s happy, so I’m happy for her.
* * *
Things were going prettysteady until eight months ago.
I have to admit, my life was kinda boring and things have certainly become a heck of a lot more interesting.
I’d never want my mom to go through what she went through for me to have an interesting life, though.
See, Mom had a stroke eight months ago. It was bad. She lost her whole left side. Then she lost her job, her insurance and her apartment. Since she was in a wheelchair, I had to move to a different apartment with Mom—the kind of apartment with rails in the bathroom, and bigger halls and doorways that wheelchairs can get through. A lot of old and disabled people live in our building, either because they have to, or because they’re preparing for when they have to.
Anyway, the place was a lot more expensive than what I had. Furthermore, Mom was getting on her feet a bit. She’d never get the use of her arm back, but her leg was moving and she was beginning to get around on her own. So, to keep that good work going, I had to pay for physical therapy and occupational therapy, twice a week each. That’s a lot of cabbage to be coming out of the bank account on a weekly basis when there’s no insurance to help. So I had to get a second job working nights at Smithie’s—good money, lots of headaches from customers and exhausting because I was on my feet the whole night.
Then, I had to quit the Credit Union three months ago because I was falling asleep at the drawer. I needed a stress-free, flexible job. Yeah, right, you say. But I had my first stroke of luck and found the coolest job in the world. It was working during the day at Fortnum’s.
Fortnum’s is a huge, old, musty, used bookstore (in the back) and groovy coffee shop (in the front). The owner, India Savage, known to everyone as Indy,iscool and hip. She’s a Rock Chick—gorgeous, with a lot of red hair and a killer body. She’s absolutely hilarious, and one of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met.
She inherited the store from her grandmother several years ago, and she put in the espresso counter. She has a bunch of characters working there, and she had some big drama happen to her and her boyfriend, Lee Nightingale, a couple of weeks before she hired me. Though, if you paid attention, you’d realize that Indy’s past was littered with big dramas. This latest one was just the biggest.
Smithie’s is a strip joint, better known as a titty bar. I don’t dance. I’m a cocktail waitress. The tips aren’t bad—they’re better for dancers (for obvious reasons)—though they’re good enough to keep Mom in OT and PT appointments.
Smithie is a good guy and takes care of all of his girls, including me (though I kinda drive him nuts). Surprisingly, he wants me at a pole, dancing. He keeps trying to talk me into it, but I just tell him he’s crazy, and he laughs at me. Working there is relatively safe (considering) because Smithie invests in excellent bouncers. Smithie says, “Doesn’t do me no fuckin’ good to have my girls quittin’ every few weeks. It’s like anything in life. You take care of it, it takes care of you.”
At Fortnum’s I work with Duke, a Harley guy, Tex, a crazy guy, Jane, a quiet lady, and sometimes Ally, Indy’s best friend. Ally is also a Rock Chick and is a sister to Indy’s boyfriend, Lee. They have a long history, Indy, Lee and Ally. I envy them that. They’re all real close, including Duke, Tex and Jane. Indy also has other family and friends who come by all the time. Lee’s a private investigator, and all the boys who work for him and his friends come into the store too, including Lee’s best friend, Eddie.
* * *
Eddie iswhere my life gets interesting, even if it’s only in my dreams.
* * *
See,the minute I clapped eyes on Eddie Chavez, I fell in love with him. Not that he’d ever notice me if I wasn’t under his nose. In fact, watching him (which I do, a lot), I think he has a thing for Indy.
