Page 8 of The Business Trip

No response.

Pushing the blankets off, I pulled on some thick socks and stood up. My golden retriever, Rocky, jumped off the bed,eager to get outside and do his business. While I let him out the back door into the cold and stood shivering, waiting, I contemplated what to do about Glenn.

I could never tell him that I had helped Jasmine, that was for sure. I would lie to protect my friend. Maybe it would help assuage some of the guilt I still felt at not alerting her to his behaviors when they had first started dating. I rationalized that I had thought maybe Glenn mightfinallyrise to be the kind of guy who took care of a woman. Yet it didn’t take long before I saw the way he stared her down as she waited on others and heard the bossy tone in which he spoke to her. I recognized the sad look Jasmine had as she told me that Glenn instructed her on what to wear and what not to wear to the bar. It made me both sorry for her and happy that I was single. But the guilt still bothered me so much I had loaned her $500 to help her escape.

Letting Rocky back in and pulling the storm door tightly, I looked at my phone again. Still no response from Jasmine. Was she OK? Maybe she’d show up at my door late tonight.

Poor girl. Jasmine had never had an easy lot in life. Not that I had either, but hers seemed even worse. We met in seventh grade, when my mom moved us to Madison. My parents were divorced, and I lived with my mother and two younger brothers in a tiny house with leaky faucets and spotty heat in Jasmine’s neighborhood. As Jasmine and I grew closer, I saw the way her mom treated her. One time, Jasmine invited me over, and after talking and listening to music in her room, we went to the kitchen to find a snack. Her mom was at the sink doing dishes. She turned and said, “Oh, I see we have two little piggies at the trough today. Who’s your friend, and who’s going to pay for all of these groceries, Jasmine?”

Jasmine’s face turned beet red as we grabbed one crumpledbag of potato chips that was nearly empty anyway and disappeared. An hour later, as we were hanging out in Jasmine’s room, her mom opened the door and said, “Jasmine wore her hair in pigtails all through elementary school for a reason, right, Jasmine?”

After that, I didn’t like to be at their house.

Freshman year of high school, Jasmine and I became friends with Raven, another girl without much money but with a knack for getting things that she needed. The three of us had an area we called “the secret spot” behind the high school in a dark corner by the tennis courts, and we would spend hours there bitching about school, our families, and how other girls had so much more money than us. We shared candy bars and cigarettes Raven stole from the corner store and her mom. Since our first names started withJ,A, andR, we called ourselves JAR for a while, but then Raven had the idea to flip it and add anEso we became RAJE. It fit. We were mad at the world.

Junior year, Jasmine and Raven got into an argument. It happened before Drake’s Halloween party. I was out of town that weekend, my mom forcing us to go to Milwaukee for my grandma’s birthday, so I only heard about the fight from each of them later. Everyone in Madison knew about the Halloween party, though. It was all over the news because Drake raped and strangled his girlfriend, Allison, right in his backyard. Jasmine had been there. She never wanted to talk about it. Neither did anyone else. The whole school was in shock for what felt like the rest of high school. Drake and Allison had been in the super popular group, a clique that called themselves “the Fun Bunch.” After the tragedy, I think the group dropped the moniker.

Jasmine and Raven made up, much to my relief, and we stayed close, all of us continuing to run with the hardscrabblegroup of high schoolers. We did a lot of stupid things, from shoplifting to “skeeching” (holding on to the back bumper of someone’s car in the winter and getting a ride along the snowy streets). We were busted for underage drinking multiple times, and once, we vandalized a neighboring school and had to clean it up and do community service.

The three of us kept in touch even after high school. Raven split time between Madison and Atlanta after she met a guy from the South. Jasmine and I stayed around Madison. I knew Jasmine had tried cosmetology school and had to drop out. I had never been the college type and didn’t want a bunch of debt, so I never went that route. Instead, I jumped into the working world. Jasmine and I got together for drinks every now and again through the years. She had jobs around town and so did I, but we had never worked in the same place until she called me saying she was leaving her boyfriend and needed a job. Was the bar I worked at looking for any help? It was perfect timing. A waitress had just up and left. Jasmine fit right in, and the guys all flirted with her. She was pretty, with her long hair and trim figure. Why she drifted to Glenn, of all the choices, I never knew. I didn’t find him attractive at all.

Now I went back to my phone and texted Glenn to get him off my back:

Got your voicemails. No idea. She never said anything to me. How long has she been gone?

She said she was making dinner last night but when I got home she wasn’t here and some of her shit was gone. One of my flannel shirts too.

It’s only one night, Glenn. Give it some time, maybe she’ll come home.

She won’t call me back. She never said nothing to you?

We worked together but that was it.

If you hear anything you better tell me.

Asshole. Trying to intimidate me. But to keep him off my trail, I decided to act like I was all in.

Sure, will do.

Then I texted Jasmine one more time.

Glenn is getting pissed. Let me know if you need anything, or at least just let me know you’re OK.

There was no response.

CHAPTER 6Glenn

The Day After the Flight

Where thefuckwas Jasmine? I had known something was up the second I turned into our gravel driveway the night before. Starving for that steak after an afternoon of ripping carpet, I couldn’t wait for dinner, a few beers, some fooling around if I felt like it, and bed.

But the trailer was dark. Slamming the car into park, I stormed inside, where it was cold and silent and obvious that no cooking had been done. Looking around the bedroom, I suddenly noticed a rolling suitcase was gone and some of her clothes too. My red flannel was also missing. I hadn’t paid attention to see if anything was amiss in the morning. I had believed her texts. How could I be so stupid? There was no note now, no text, no call, nothing.

The bitch couldn’t be far. She had no money. If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t even have a roof over her head. I paid for groceries, gas, heat, water, electricity, everything. She gave me money for household expenses, but she didn’t make shit at the bar. Plus, she didn’t have a car. There was no way she was too far gone.

I started by calling her. She didn’t pick up, so I left a voicemail. If she was still pissed because I had squeezed her arm hard the night before, maybe she would come right back and make that steak if I sweet-talked her, so my first message was nice. I told her I’d change my ways and I loved her. Sometimes I truly thought Iwouldchange. I had tried a few times, but it never lasted long because she always pissed me off with something she did or said, and that little devil in me would come out. It wasn’t my fault. In fact, it washerfault for making me angry and bringing out the devil.

When she didn’t respond to the first voicemail, I started leaving more. I had to make a frozen pizza and eat that, not at all satisfied with my dinner. The devil was rising in my chest with each minute. I downed some vodka, smoked some pot, left more messages—each getting nastier—and eventually passed out on the couch.

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