Chapter 6

“So, how far along are you?” Reynold asked as Nina turned to leave his office.

“Just about two months; how could you tell?” Nina asked. “I’m not even showing yet.”

“Call it a hunch,” Reynold smiled and groaned as he got to his feet.

In the full length mirror that hung over her bedroom door, Nina pulled on her Dallas Cowboys Romo jersey and put a wadded up pillow in the front. She looked at herself, her pregnant self in the mirror and laughed out loud. Then, laying on the bed, Nina hiked up the hem of the jersey to just underneath her ‘belly’ and masturbated, first with fingers, then with her vibrator. She was quick to orgasm.

“Wasn’t too hard to find,” Reynold Reynolds disclosed a few days later. “Owns some make-up and hair salon in Myndee, Arkansas. Called ‘Salon Cimo.'”

“Wow, that was quick,” Nina praised.

Ronald James, father of Stephanie’s old boyfriend, Glen James had moved to Myndee, Arkansas just after requesting a divorce from Betty James, Glen’s mother. A week after his departure, three pregnant teenagers showed up at Ronald’s former residence, looking for Ronald.

Ronald had always extended an invitation to his only son to come live with him. Ronald extended that same invitation to Stephanie, Glen’s girlfriend. Ronald often invited his four daughters to come visit, to come live with him in Myndee, but none of his daughters wanted anything to do with their father.

Stephanie had modeled Salon Cimo after T. Dayton Hair Salon and Elegantre’s Cosmetics. She rented stations in her salon to none but the most attractive young women. They sold organic cosmetics and hair and skin care products. Each stylist was to wear dresses or blouses and skirts, never slacks or jeans. Over their clothing, the stylists wore an unbuttoned lab coat. Each station was illuminated by recessed lighting; there were no clocks visible anywhere, and hidden speakers played Classical music softly in the background.

To the left of Salon Cimo was Burke’s Shoes, and to the right was Zydeco’s Coffee. They received many walk-ins from these two shops; Stephanie congratulated herself for choosing the right location. The tire store at the end of the strip mall was her one bone of contention.

That and Ronald James. Daily, Stephanie Cimo cursed Nina Crowder for shoving her into the lecherous grasp of Ronald James. Each night, as Ronald James defiled her flesh, Stephanie’s hatred of Nina Crowder grew deeper and deeper.

“Ms. Cimo?” Theresa Meyers’s soft voice interrupted Stephanie’s cleaning of her work area.

“Yes,” Stephanie asked, putting the cordless vacuum cleaner into its wall sleeve.

“There is a new client asking to see you, Ms. Cimo,” Theresa said, voice low and modulated.

“I will be right there,” Stephanie said, striding to the partition that kept stations and clients separated.

The front of the shop had four comfortable couches forming three sides of a rectangle. Theresa’s station formed the fourth wall of the rectangle; she was seated next to the entrance of the shop. In between the first and second couch and second and third couch were glass shelves that displayed skin care and hair care products. To the left of Theresa’s station was the entrance, to her right were glass shelves of their cosmetics. The poised, beautiful blonde girl kept an eagle eye on the wares; she received a four percent commission on any items she sold, and received no commission on any items that were stolen.

“Yes?” Stephanie said, smiling as she stepped around the partition.

The smile froze on her lips as she stared at Nina Crowder. Stephanie stopped in her tracks and stared at the cause of her misery.

“You…” Stephanie hissed, venom bubbling up.

“I, is there somewhere we can talk?” Nina asked softly.

There were two customers idly flipping through magazines, one customer playing on her phone, and an employee sitting to Nina’s right. Nina did not wish to ‘out’ herself or Stephanie in front of Stephanie’s customers and employees.

“I, we, I have nothing to say to you,” Stephanie hissed hatefully. “You God damned bitch; I wish you were dead. Do you hear me? I wish you were dead.”

Nina tightened her face; she had expected this response. In her heart, she had hoped she would get a much more joyful reception, but she had expected anger, bitterness, vitriol. She stoically nodded her head and turned to leave.

“I wish you nothing but happiness and success,” Nina said quietly and pushed open the door of the salon.

Zydeco Coffee served Nina three piping hot beignets and fresh pressed coffee. She used five napkins from the table dispenser to wipe at her flow of tears. Wearily, she took her paper plate and Styrofoam coffee cup to the trash bin, then ducked into the bathroom. She had a five hour drive ahead of her.

Stepping into the small bathroom, Nina stopped and stared at Christine. She could not breathe as she saw the blonde beauty pacing back and forth in the tiny room.

Christine wore a wife beater shirt that displayed her ample chest to perfection. The hem of the graying white shirt did not meet the waistband of her low rider cut-off denim shorts. Her hip bones and flat belly were evident in her skimpy attire. When she turned, cheap flip flops slapping the tiled floor, the shorts displayed Christine’s delicious backside.

Her blonde hair was done up in a ponytail, dangling down to just below her beautiful ass. Her skin was tanned, a healthy tan, not the kind of tan achieved in a tanning salon.

“Chris, Christine?” Nina managed to croak out, sure she would faint.

“Huh? Sorry, lady, you got me confused for someone else,” Robin Brundette smiled tightly.

“Oh. My. God. You, you look just, I mean you two could be twins,” Nina stammered and ducked into a stall.

“Lady, you get me out of here, I’ll be anyone you want,” Robin hissed urgently.

“Talk,” Nina ordered. “You a fugitive? You can forget it.”

Standing outside of Nina’s stall, Robin hurriedly told Nina about her abusive marriage to her on again off again high school sweetheart. They’d married upon graduation because she’d gotten herself pregnant.

“Humph! Takes two to get pregnant,” Nina snapped.

“Tell him that, huh?” Robin agreed.

Robbie had a job at Huxton Nissan dealership, worked no less than forty hours a week, but never seemed to have any money. They’d lost the baby; Robin blamed herself and Robbie blamed her for losing the baby. Robbie also blamed Robin for ‘trapping’ him into a marriage.

“Then get a divorce,” Nina suggested, flushing the toilet.

“Lady, you don’t think I tried?” Robin said. “Jesus, left him like a hundred times but he always finds me. Somehow he always finds me and…”

Robin broke down and sobbed as she talked about the physical abuse, verbal abuse, and the emotional abuse. She couldn’t go to the police, his uncle on his mom’s side was the Sheriff and he had two cousins and an older brother that were cops. Robbie’s uncle on his father’s side was an assistant DA for Clarkston County.

Because he was chronically broke, Robbie had Robin dancing at The Captain’s Table, a gentlemen’s club in Myndee. He was constantly digging through her purse, taking her nightly earnings.

“Course, then he’s saying I’m cheating on him; how fucked up is that, huh?” Robin sobbed. “He’s one got me dancing there, then gets all pissed off ’cause I’m dancing there.”

“And you say he keeps finding you?” Nina asked, washing her hands.

“Yeah. Went to my Momma’s, next day, there he is. Went and stayed at Michelle’s? Not even next day he’s banging on the door,” Robin agreed.

“Got a phone?” Nina asked, letting the air blower dry her hands. “God, hate these things.”

“I uh, yeah, you need to use it?” Robin asked, digging her cell phone out of her purse.

“This locked?” Nina asked, taking the phone from Robin’s hand.

Robin unlocked the phone and Nina quickly scanned through and found the ‘Find My Phone’ app on the device. Robin’s mouth dropped open; she’d not known the tracker had been installed.

“Okay, so that’s how he’s been finding you,” Nina said. “There anywhere you want me to drop you off?”

“Where you going?” Robin asked.

“Home. Louisiana,” Nina said, handing Robin the phone. “But, Christine, shit, I mean Robin, you, you even know anyone in Louisiana?”

“I know you,” Robin said.

“No you don’t,” Nina smiled. “You don’t know a thing about me. For all you know, you could be jumping from the frying pan into the fire.”

“Look, lady, none of my friends, Jesus, they all scared of him,” Robin begged.

“Shelter?” Nina suggested.

“Talk about frying pan into the fire,” Robin scoffed. “Went there one night. One night. Some psycho bitch starts screaming at me that I stole her bag and pulls a knife on me. Went to take a shower and two guys tried to rape me. And then Rodney, his ass hole brother shows up.”

“Shit. Just. Shit. All right kid, come on; we got about six hours ahead of us,” Nina sighed.

Robin was skittish as they left the bathroom. She looked around furtively as they walked across the parking lot toward Nina’s midnight blue Charger. Inside of the car, Robin hunkered down.

“What kind of car Robbie drive?” Nina asked.

“A ninety nine Maxima, this kind of dark green thing,” Robin said.

“All right; we need stop off anywhere? You need get anything? Clothes? Money?” Nina asked, starting the car.

“Got all my money right here,” Robin admitted, nudging her purse. “Just drive, lady.”

“My name’s Nina,” Nina said, pulling out onto Holland Drive. “Quit calling me ‘lady,’ huh? Shit. Makes me feel old.”

Nina did not comment, but just as she turned from Holland drive onto Highway 119, she saw a dark green car turn into the parking lot they’d just left. She had no idea if it was a Nissan Maxima or not but the car’s paint was faded; it certainly could be circa 1999.

Stephanie turned from the large picture window as the dark blue Charger turned onto Highway 119. With icy resolve, she marched to her station and sat in her stylist’s chair to begin her plan of action. No longer would she allow Nina Crowder to dictate her life for her. She would no longer allow herself to be a victim.

Stephanie decided that her first act would be to find a place to live; Stephanie had a steady source of income and, despite Glen’s best efforts, had an excellent credit rating. Her next step would be to extricate herself from Ronald’s filthy clutches.

Clarkston County Police Department,” the mechanical voice intoned before launching into the prompts.

Stephanie selected ‘non-emergency’ and determined, if she’d not heard back from them by four o’clock, their closing time, she would simply drive to the police department. She also determined to get her own cell phone; Ronald had magnanimously taken Stephanie to PC Nation and selected a new phone for her. Stephanie now realized, it was so that he could keep tabs on his property.

“Fuck you, Ronald James, and fuck you, Nina Crowder,” Stephanie growled, then pasted a smile on her face for her next customer.

While Stephanie listened as Connie Trussaud requested a miracle, requested that Stephanie somehow give Connie the thickness and volume of hair she’d had nearly forty years ago, Robbie Brundette marched around the shoe store looking for Robin. The girl at Zydeco’s Coffee had smiled and laughed and flirted with Robbie, and said that yes, she’d seen a girl fitting his description of Robin in there maybe twenty minutes ago, but hadn’t seen her since.

The manager of Burke’s Shoes politely asked Robbie, if he wasn’t in there to look at shoes, please leave. Robbie politely told the wrinkled up old hag to suck his dick; he was looking for his bitch wife.

Stepping outside, Robbie again looked inside the plate glass window of Salon Cimo; the receptionist had told him no girl bearing any resemblance to his description of Robin had entered the salon. He didn’t see Robin in the limited view the window afforded.

Robbie checked his ‘Find My Phone’ app and cursed; nothing was showing up for Robin’s phone number. He wandered down to the tire store, but Robin was not visible in the showroom or in the service bay.

“Aw bitch, that is your fucking ass, hear?” he snarled, punching number 8 on his phone.

Robin had asked him once why she was number 8 and not number 1. Robbie had smirked and told her maybe she needed work a little harder, maybe he might make her number 1. Then he grabbed his crotch and told Robin ‘ate me.’

“Aw shit,” Robin squeaked when ‘All My Life’ by Foo Fighters began to sound from her purse.

“Problem?” Nina asked, glancing in her rear view mirror, then at her companion.

“That, that’s Robbie,” Robin whispered, terrified.

“Give me the phone,” Nina ordered.

“Yeah, who this is?” Nina asked, adopting a thick sounding voice.

“What? Who is this?” Robbie demanded.

“Nuh uh, I axed you first,” Nina said. “Who you?”

“What are you doing with my wife’s phone?” Robbie demanded.

“Nuh uh, I was sitting in that zwy de cuh, coh, whatever it is and this girl leave her purse when she goes drop the kids off at the pool so it mine now,” Nina declared.

“Bitch, better bring that phone on back here,” Robbie barked.

“Bitch? You calling me bitch? Know what, bitch, I’m blocking your ass. That’s right, who the bitch now, mother fucker,” Nina yelled and hung up.

“Quick, block his number,” Nina ordered, tossing the phone to Robin.

“I, I can’t believe, I can’t believe you talked to him like that!” Robin laughed merrily as she rapidly punched in the ‘block’ command.

“Aw, your ignorant ass is one dead bitch I find you,” Robbie screamed.

“So, this Chrissie, Christine, she your sister or something?” Robin asked, dropping the phone into her purse.

“No, she uh, she was just this girl,” Nina said, staring straight ahead.

“I mean, you walked in, seen me and just kind of froze there,” Robin said, looking at Nina’s pinched face.