Page 24 of Weatherman

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone I hadn’t seen very often but remembered well.

Donna.

She stood out from the crowd, and yet no one noticed her. She was dressed in short-shorts and a too-tight tank top that glittered and showed off her ample chest, but the men she was around barely paid her any attention. She tried, though, arching her back and rubbing her breasts against one man’s arm while pouting and flirting.

I glanced around at the other people in the room. I saw wives and girlfriends in casual wear, but they weren’t showing off as much skin. Betsey had on her standard jeans, boots, and cut, and most of the other women wore similar outfits. They formed their own little group, and Donna was most definitely on the outside of it.

I watched her as I filled my plate and added some finger foods for Pearl.

Her body wasn’t bad, but she didn’t have the same vigor I imagined she had when she was younger. She looked tired and worn out. Her breasts hung low, and her prominent belly jiggled when she strutted on her spiky heels. Her makeup was thick and over the top to hide the wrinkles at her eyes and around her mouth. The overprocessed hair didn’t help. She appeared to be a woman desperately hanging on to her youth in a world that left her behind long ago.

The reasons were pretty obvious. The older Dragon Runners around her age were all married with children. They were family men now, and the only single ones left were the younger prospects in their early twenties or so. The men Donna flirted with weren’t mean to her, but they pretty much ignored her advances. They just weren’t interested in being with someone a decade or more older than them.

She finally gave up and moved to another group to repeat the same gestures with a big come-hither smile and blatant invitation. They treated her the same way: polite but uninterested. Her mouth turned down, and it seemed her whole body drooped with the rejection. She turned to collect a few used plates and beer bottles and dump them into several large gray trash cans.

My hands tightened, and I had to concentrate on not dropping my plate. My heartbeat picked up. I might be an outsider to the Dragon Runners MC, but I recognized what role Donna played.

Sweet-butt. Easy-lay. House-mouse. All terms used for women who were essentially sex workers in some form. They were a convenient lay for members and provided maid services. The trade-off was money or gifts, or a place to stay.

This clashed with everything I’d seen so far about the Dragon Runners. They didn’t keep a stable of women for casual use. Donna appeared to be the only one, and an aging one at that. The other women at this gathering were either old ladies, wives, or girlfriends.

In some ways, this impressed me. A motorcycle club that was more like a clan of households that supported and had one another’s backs in times of trouble. This was something hard to achieve with or without bikes. I’d come from a place where people regularly tore each other apart. The only example I’d ever had of something different was Mama J, and even she had struggled mightily against the tide of life.

The smiling faces, the laughter, the happy vibe that floated around the cavernous room—this was clearly one big extended family. Brothers under one roof, all here to be a part of something big and solid.

Envy and desire hit my heart while hurt and anger started in my head.

Donna stood alone, a forgotten woman with no place and nowhere to go. What she fought to keep no longer existed for her and left her picking up scraps of whatever affection still remained. Outside. Always outside.

It made me want to cry and scream with outrage at the same time.

“Don’t let the past dictate the future, sweetheart.”

“You okay?” a random person asked.

I shook myself and sniffed to hide the emotions churning inside my gut. “You bet. Thanks.”

Betsey stayed behind the bar, Pearl on her hip and the wig box next to her. She fumbled at the package, trying to open it while my daughter squirmed and played.

A man in a light brown uniform appeared next to them. Weatherman. He must have just arrived. His uniform was plain, but he wore it well, fitted around his incredible body. If he had one of those fancy hats with the tassels, I didn’t see it. His hair wasn’t flattened, and the waves lay perfectly across his skull. Waves I’d cut and styled.

He said something to Betsey and opened his arms to take Pearl from her. Betsey beamed in excitement and handed my little girl over to him. She reached and giggled as he scooped her up, fingering the shiny badge on his chest before putting her head on his shoulder.

A dull ache started in my belly and radiated throughout my body. This feeling inside me burned bad enough that I couldn’t breathe. I watched as Weatherman held my little girl. Safe. Secure. She must have sensed that, as her tiny arms came up to grip his shirt and her eyes closed.

“It’s okay to let your heart beat again.”

Betsey opened the box and pulled another one out with a familiar logo on the side. She lifted a tangled hairpiece from it and held it up. Her mouth turned down. Tambre lookedinterested, but the others had doubtful expressions. I put on my game face and hurried over.

“Nice color at least. What do you think?” Betsey held the mess out to me, and I handed my plate off to someone.

I examined the wig, pulling at the strands and checking the web of the cap. This was a really fine piece. Tightly woven, full hair, soft netting with an extra layer of padding for long wear. “This will be great once it’s styled.”

“Oh, thank the Lord!” she breathed in relief. “I thought somethin’ was wrong with it.”

“Nothing a little brushing and heat won’t fix. I can do most of that on a head form at the salon, but it would be best if I could do it for the person wearing it.”

Betsey’s eyes moved to the man who was now standing next to me. “Let me know when your mama’s up to a visit. I wanna see how she likes it.”

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