Faye Chavers was obsessed with finery, particularly fashionable dresses and shoes. "A lady never knows who she might meet while she's about running her errands," she would often say rationalizing an exorbitant purchase with wanton disregard for her credit limit. Whether she was shopping at the local grocery mart, attending a school meeting, or riding the bus into town to get her hair done, she and her little daughter, Ashley, were always dressed to the nines.

But those days seemed to belong to a different era. Once Ashley had slipped into puberty, filling out and outgrowing her wardrobe, Aunt Dina provided scant funding for new clothes. Adolescent boys didn't seem to notice Ashley's ill-fitting skirts and blouses, but Shelby Sinclair and her clique never missed an opportunity to belittle her.

Standing in line along the curb in front of the school building, waiting for her afternoon school bus, Ashley turned her back when Shelby, a future trophy wife, and her three friends approached, decked out in designer clothing. Ashley felt their eyes and winced as the giggling commenced.

"Looks like Chavers found some bargains at the Goodwill," Shelby sneered, her wide mouth turned up at the corner.

Ashley spun, straightening to full height, narrowing her eyes at the girl.

"I beg your pardon," Shelby offered a sarcastic apology. "I'm sure you're the best-dressed swamp rat at the trailer park."

"You best get that bony butt of yours movin'," Ashley said. "You don't wanna be late for your personality transplant."

She stared back, mouth open. For the first time in her life, Shelby Sinclair had no comeback.

########

After school, Ashley took inventory of the canned goods in the stockroom of Gandy's General Store, listing product counts on a notepad. At her awkward age, two physiological forces were at odds. The petulant child she'd almost grown out of was not fully prepared to surrender to the woman she was becoming.

Mr. Gandy, with his slicked-back hair and smelling of cheap aftershave, entered, pulling the door closed behind him. "So, how are you today, Ashley?"

"Fine, thanks," she said, pretending not to have detected his predatory intentions.

"You been doing a good job for me. A real good job."

She smiled but her expression showed no pleasure.

He drew uncomfortably close. She stepped away, continuing counting jars. He gently placed his hands on her hips. She spun away, backpedaling.

"Mr. Gandy," she said, finding it difficult to sound assertive.

"There's no problem here," he grinned, blocking her only exit from the aisle.

"Mr. Gandy, no," she said as he persisted.

"You are so awful darn pretty." He petted her cheek with the back of his hand. "Prettier even than your ma and then some."

"Let me pass. Please."

"How would you like to make twenty dollars?... Huh?" He stepped back, eying her. He lowered his voice. "Just slip out of those trousers for me. For just a minute."

"No!"

"I just want to look at you, is all."

"I want to go now."

"Twenty dollars. For just taking off your dungarees for a couple of minutes. My sweet Lord, you are fine."

"Mr. Gandy, I'm thirteen years old."

"Twenty-five dollars then."

Her tone shifted, angry and sharp. "I'll just bet the police would love to hear about this."

His smile died. "The police! And who do you think they're gonna believe? Me? Or some lying little thief?"

She held up her cell phone. "They'll believe it once they hear what's on here."

His jaw dropped.

"I'll take that twenty-five dollars."

########

Ashley threw open the flimsy metal door and stomped to the trailer's sink where she filled a drinking glass.

Aunt Dina followed her in. "Who put the bees in your bonnet?"

Ashley waved a pay stub. "Two weeks of workin' my butt off for what? Forty-three dollars?! What a load of horse shit!" She gulped down the water.

"You will not use that language in this house!"

"Almost twenty dollars in taxes!"

"Honest pay for honest work."

"What do you know about honest work? I pay taxes so you can lay around all day and collect your government check!"

Dina huffed. "It was me asked Mr. Gandy to hire you on at the store. You wouldn't even have a job."

"Well, thanks a whole lot for that. And for your information, I ain't working there no more."

"And how do you suppose you're gonna afford them fancy soaps or the new pair a shoes you been eyeing? Tell me that, wouldja?"

Ashley pushed past on her way out. She bounded down the metal steps and around the corner of the trailer.

Dina poked her head out the front door. "Where do you think you're off to?"

"Taking my troubles for a walk."

"Don't you wander too far, hear?"

########

On the bus ride to downtown Baton Rouge, Ashley contemplated a reimagining. Up until now, her good looks had been a liability. It was past time for a change. Without a specific plan in mind, she knew that her best opportunity would be to go where the money was then figure it out from there.

When she saw a cluster of bars and restaurants, she got off at the next stop. Shielding her eyes from the sun, Ashley stood on the sidewalk, surveying the area. A middle-aged woman stepped off the bus. "Excuse me, ma'am," Ashley said. "Is there a fancy restaurant nearby?"

"There's Pittman Steak House. A couple of blocks down, I believe. Right past the bank there."

"Thanks."

Two blocks later, Ashley peered through the window at well-dressed diners seated at tables draped in white linens. Two elderly gentlemen were finishing their meals. When she stepped into the foyer, she was greeted by the aroma of flame-broiled prime cut beef and a friendly hostess. "Can I help you, hon?" she asked.

"Waitin' on my folks," Ashley said, taking a seat on a bench. "They're huntin' a parking spot."

When the hostess left her station to seat two guests, Ashley crept down the hallway. A flustered waitress rushed to the serving window and poked her head into the kitchen. "Still waiting on them Delmonico's."

"Keep your saddle buckled," the cook hollered over the sizzling grill.

The waitress set down her book of tickets, drew a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, then headed for the ladies' room.

Ashley strolled past the kitchen through a smoky blue haze of charred succulence, snatched an apron from the hook, then pocketed the waitress's tickets. Tying the apron, she sauntered into the dining room over to the table where the prosperous-looking elderly men had set their silverware aside. She played the "cute card" for all it was worth. "Since you gentlemen got no room for dessert, I'm afraid I have the indelicate task of presenting you with your check."

The gray-bearded man grinned. "Well, where you been hidin', sugar plum?"

"Filling in for your waitress while she's on her break," she said with a dimpled grin.

"Well, aren't you a darlin' little thing?"

Seated across the table, his friend with a speckled salamander face grinned in agreement.

Ashley kept her eye out for the waitress while the man produced his wallet. "I got this covered, Earl," he said to his dinner guest. He plopped down four fifty-dollar bills and a few twenties.

When she reached to collect the money, he trapped her hand against the linen tablecloth. "I wish you was ten years older and I was twenty years younger." He cackled.

She leaned forward and pinched his cheek. "Well, now you've gone and made me blush."

Both men guffawed as Ashley pulled her hand and the money away. She exited, deposited the apron and the checkbook on the counter, and skittered out the door.

A short time later, the waitress returned to the table where the gray-bearded man rose, brushing crumbs from his jacket.

"Excuse me, won't you gentlemen," the waitress said, flustered. "But I seem to have misplaced your ticket."

"That little firecracker took care of it," he replied.

"Who?" The waitress looked around.

He pushed his chair in and said, "You mind checking? She hasn't come back with my change."