The Velvet Chamber
An Anthology of Revisioned Myth and Fairy Tale

Explore the dark side of the female psyche --A CALL FOR WRITERS supports The Velvet Chamber

Monday, May 3, 2010

Truck Stop Cinderella

Orignally published in Dirty Girls,
edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, Seal Press, 2008

Gracie Angelique DuBois drove to work that morning with the top down on her baby blue convertible, taking the country highway instead of the interchange, and singing along to Love to Love You Baby at the top of her lungs. It was the beginning of a fine summer day, the sun just beginning its slow ascent over the ridges of the mountains. She was sure this was going to be her last summer slinging hash at Riddley's Truck Stop on Route 27. She knew she was meant for better things. The fact is that Gracie Angelique DuBois had all kinds of dreams; cosmetology, modeling or even cocktail waitressing at a fancy bar in New York or L.A.

In the meantime, she always wore her tightest jeans to work, and her white high heels --- even though like Cinderella, she often went home barefoot because her feet hurt so bad. She did a survey once; she wore sneakers during a shift and averaged $15.00 an hour, but when she wore high heels, she averaged $25.00 an hour. It was hard to argue with the economics of that equation. Sex appeal and high heels provided a roof over her head. Gracie wasn't a stupid woman, she knew she was considered trailer trash, but she wore that as a badge of honor. Held her head high. Her mama and her mama's mama were trailer trash. But honestly there wasn't anything trashy about her trailer. She had real wood floors, glass bookcases and bright yellow curtains on the tiny windows that she had sewn herself. She got the idea from a magazine, using pillowcases and brass rings, and she thought, now isn't that clever. Her bed was covered with pink satin pillows with tiny bows across the front, and on her fake white marble night table was a crystal lamp and pictures of her mama and her mama’s mama. Gavin, her last lover, said, "Damn Gracie, all you women are sexy.”

She laughed out loud at this--- Gavin McFitch was slight, very shy, with cornflower blue eyes, but his cock was a monster. He couldn't kiss, and he didn't eat pussy, but Lord, she didn't care. She pulled herself together as she turned left into the parking lot of the truck stop. No sense thinking those kinds of thoughts now, not before she began her shift. Gracie was a true professional, and although it was a fact that every man in the diner dreamt of fucking her, she would never allow it because it gave her an edge. Again, it was hard to argue with the economics of all those men who came back to the diner again and again, always hoping for a chance.

Grace adjusted the straps on her blue silk brassiere in the car, were her boobs getting bigger? She hoped so. Her nipples were certainly erect. She scanned the parking lot and saw that all her regulars were there. The big rig over in the south corner of the lot belonged to Vinnie, a long haul trucker from New Jersey who liked his burgers rare and his coffee lukewarm. To the right, was a rig from North Dakota--- Timmy was a strange man, but his biceps were girl heaven. Despite her very strict rules, she often found herself fantasizing about running her tongue--- oh, never mind. Timmy was a nice man with a nice wife. She smiled when she saw Gus's beat up Lincoln Continental. He was an old timer who lived ten miles down the road in a tiny little town called Possum. She just loved his crinkly brown eyes, sometimes they made her melt. Yes, all her boys were here today.

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