Page 51 of Plum

His face tightens. He don’t like the turn of this conversation. Oh well, buddy. I don’t hide what I am. Bad enough the way people act like women who do my kind of work don’t exist, unless it’s time to get their rocks off. I ain’t doin’ no one the favor of pretending I ain’t what I am.

The way I see it, if I got to deal with your face judgin’ me, you’re gonna have to deal with the fact I got no shame. Maybe if I’d had better choices, I’d have chosen differently. But I didn’t, and I ain’t beatin’ myself up ‘cause life gave me lemons.

Adam chews on what I’ve said awhile, pretending he’s watching the TV, and then when there’s a commercial break, he clears his throat.

“I don’t want you working anymore.” He lays it out like a demand, real tough. Real sure of himself.

I bust out laughing. “When in the last hour did you become the boss of me?”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s the way it’s going to be, Jo-Beth.”

“You’re nuts,” I tell him, but he’s got to know that already. “Hand me that magazine.”

Of course, he ignores me. “You’re not dancing on that ankle. And you’re not…doing the other stuff.”

“People always do what you tell them to?”

“Over five thousand people in twelve offices in eight countries. Yes. Always.” He’s proud of that, and I’ll admit, it’s impressive. However.

“I don’t work for you no more. We’re dating. This is a—how do you say it? This is anegalitarianrelationship.”

“Egalitarian?” You can hear his surprise that I know a word like that.

I grin. “I guess you never met Heavy Ruth. He’s the president of Steel Bones. Man’s like a word-a-day calendar. Proletariat. Iconoclast. Halcyon.”

“Yeah?” He’s smiling. It tickles him, me saying big words, and I don’t mind. He’s cute when he grins. Boyish.

“Most of his words ain’t useful for shit, but egalitarian comes in handy.”

“Yeah? When?”

“For hassling Cue about the schedule, for one. Also, when explaining to the man I’m dating that he don’t get to decide shit unilaterally.”

“Is that another one of Heavy’s words?”

“Huh? No. Probably got that one from the news.”

He’s eyein’ me now, speculation in his eyes.

“What?”

“Jo-Beth, you’re not a dumb woman, are you?”

“I dropped out at the end of tenth grade.”

“Why?”

Oh, no. I ain’t gettin’ into my hard luck story, not when my ankle’s busted, and I can’t get comfortable ‘cause these damn chairs are the kind that look upholstered but are really hard plastic with fabric glued on.

“You can’t pay no water bill with high school credit.”

For a minute, I think he’s gonna press, but he don’t. He’s got a one-track mind. “If money’s the issue, you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

I snort. “Money’s always the issue. And you ain’t the boss of me, so you better drop it, or that’s it. We’re not dating no more.”

His face is set to keep arguing—all stern and lord-of-all-he-surveys—but he must see something in mine that convinces him to ease up. “You’d end it, then? Just like that? You’re a cold woman, Jo-Beth.”

“I am.” I snuggle my head into the crook of his neck. “I’d miss you, though.”

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