Chapter 2
690 Words
Hey!” Monica smiled at me as I walked out of the sheriff’s department and into the bright sunlight.
“You paid my fine?” I smiled back as he shrugged.
“You have to pay me back,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“We’ll go to Denny’s.” Monica jerked his head. “Come on, I’m parked in a handicap spot.”
“Heh!” I giggled and he wasn’t lying. Three cops walked right past Monica’s old BMW and didn’t even blink at the big blue handicapped sign in front of it.
The Denny’s turned out to be less than a block away, practically across the street, and we didn’t really talk until we were sitting in a booth. He still looked like a pretty college girl to me, but even better than before as Monica had been able to fix herself up in front of a mirror. That’s the first thing I did too, excusing myself for the restrooms and after a second’s hesitation, deciding I’d better use the men’s because I didn’t need to get busted again for something stupid.
“I was thinking about taking off,” Monica told me. “Go someplace else, you know?”
“Like where?” I asked, eating a big western omelet and it tasted good after a long night in jail.
“Paris,” he shrugged. “Rome, London, all those places. I want to check out Europe.”
“That would be nice,” I agreed. “Probably costs a lot though.”
“Probably.” He took a bite of his own omelet. “I figure I can work there too, though.”
“That escort thing?”
“Sure,” he said with a smile. “Look, there’s not that many guys who look like us running around.”
“A lot of girls though.”
“Right. Girls,” Monica nodded. “But we’re not girls and that makes us special.”
“The cops didn’t think so,” I reminded him with a wry grin. “What about your court thing?”
“I don’t know.” He fluttered his hand dismissively. “I can always change my plea and just pay the fine.”
“Yeah.”
“Or just blow it off,” Monica giggled. “As long as I never come back here, I’ll be okay.”
“Better ask your lawyers first,” I suggested.
“I just wanna be somewhere else,” he sighed. “Meet some rich Italian guy with a big boat and sail around the Mediterranean.”
“That would be nice.”
“Would it?” He looked at me with a curious gleam in his green eyes. Monica tilted his head, brushing some red hair out of his beautiful face.
“Well ... Yeah,” I said with a smile. “Who wouldn’t want to do that?”
“You want to come with me?”
“Me?” I laughed and showed him my pink tongue. “I can’t go anywhere. I don’t have any money. I don’t even have one of those passport things.”
“Have you got a birth certificate?” Monica asked. “Where were you born?”
“Here,” I told him. “My mom died when I was like two or something.”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay. I mean, I didn’t really know her and she didn’t even know who my dad was, so...” I shrugged and it wasn’t okay, but what choice did I have?
“Well, we can get a copy of your birth certificate and then apply for a passport, but I think you need a parent or guardian to sign it.”
“Father John can sign it.”
“Who?”
“The priest at the orphanage where I ran away from,” I explained. “He’ll sign it.”
“Are you sure?”
“If he doesn’t, I’ll tell on him,” I decided with a grin, earning me a curious look, but Monica didn’t ask for any details.
- Writer
