A Novel by RamSlade

Author: RamSlade
Created: February 15, 2017 at 03:31 pm
Upload Type: Novel, E (Explicit Language)  
Category: Adult | Adventure | Thriller
Upload Stats: 5 Stars by 1 users with 1 comments and 205 views

The Hitchhiker's Daughter  

I wrote a poem called Hitchhiker about a very pregnant woman who a big rig driver gave a lift. She had her baby in the sleeper of his rig. This is the story of that child beginning when she was in her teens.

Chapter 1

Eve Chambers picked up her tip from the just vacated table, collected the dirty dishes and dumped them into a large plastic container setting on top of the bus cart. No bus boy at this out of the way place. She weaved through tables past the grill and toward the back where the automatic dishwasher was. The automatic dishwasher's name was Jimmy, but, everyone called him Slimjim because of his fondness for the flavorful snack by the same name. Eve didn't like, or trust Slimjim. Although she'd grown up tough around the truck drivers who frequented the restaurant there was something about the guy that scared her. Whenever she was around him his eyes undressed her in a leering, creepy way.
"Quitting early today?" the surly cook said as he stirred the pot of chicken and sausage gumbo he'd made for the night cook.
Eve gave the cook a curt smile and said, "I'm not feeling so good."
"I hear ya, I'm outta heah right behind ya."
Eve pushed through the swinging doors and parked the cart alongside the three huge sinks where Slimjim was bent over washing and rinsing. To the right of him against the wall set a table with a half dozen quart jars on it. On each jar the names of all the waitresses who worked at the restaurant were written on it with Marks-A-Lot. Eve grabbed hers and dumped everything in it on the tabletop.
"How'ja do?"
She nodded toward Slimjim without making eye contact as she counted. He was a tall man with long stringy hair past his bony shoulders. His face was pockmarked from a childhood disease and he was always touching his groin area when he talked to women. He'd been the day dishwasher at the Rankin Truck Stop, Casino and Convenience Store for as long as Eve remembered.
"Not too good," she said and walked toward the back of the room where the lockers were. She unlocked hers and took out her purse. After giving Slimjim a furtive look she walked past him thinking she'd make better tips working the night shift, but she refused working it.
"How bout springing for a beer or two, Eve? I'm leaving in about ten minutes."
Slimjim's daily attempt at charming her was growing thin. If he only knew what she really thought of him? What made her angry was that even though he knew she was underage that didn't mean anything to him. He was lecherous, but Eve had grown used to those kinds of stares. She had grown used to them but hadn't learned to like them. It took her a while to figure out why men treated her so differently when she first began to grow breasts.
"Fourteen dollars," she said to Arizona, cashier and owner of the Rankin Truck Stop, Casino and Convenience Store. The woman was skinny as a rail, with sharp facial features and dark brown eyes set into deep sockets.
After Arizona counted out the change, she said, "Way you look you could do a lot better'n fourteen dollars, Sweetie." Then she opened the register and gave her folding money for her tips.
Eve nodded and walked back through the tables toward the front of the restaurant. There wasn't many customers left at four o'clock in the afternoon, but it would pick up in a couple of hours. The night shift made much more money than the day shift. But Eve hated that shift because Arizona expected the waitresses to hustle the truckers. The waitresses who worked nights were little more than streetwalkers. Arizona was a hard-nose woman and Eve had heard truckers say that she had shot and killed Ed, her dead ex-husband for the insurance and buried him in Black Bear Swamp.
As she walked toward the front door she noticed Shirley and Dee-Dee wrapping silver for the supper crowd. They were sitting at a table near the entrance to the room where all the video poker machines were. The only reason the Rankin Truck Stop, Casino and Convenience Store could stay open was because of the gambling and night-time prostitution. The two waitresses would wind up in one or more of some long distance trucker's sleeper before the night was done. They would make a week's wages in those sleepers, so the tips meant hardly nothing to them. Still, night tips were much better than what Eve made during the day.
The truck traffic at the truck stop had been reduced in half since the big four-lane was finally finished, bypassing the town of Rankin. The truckers didn't have to maneuver through town like they did years ago if they didn’t want to. Most truckers drove on up to Shreveport to top off with diesel instead of fighting the local traffic like they used to. Eve was almost to the front door, but instead of walking through it she stopped in front of the large picture window. She stood there starring through it into the parking lot where five rigs sat. She had no idea how long she'd been there before she sensed someone beside her.0
"Why you stare out that window all the time, girl?"
She turned to answer the buxom black woman who'd asked the question. But the woman waved away her answer and continued talking. "That man, he ain't coming back heah, child, not now, not after all these years." She put a hand on Eve's shoulder and whispered, "You need ta let it go, baby."
"He said he'd come back, Octavia," Eve said quietly. The night cook was the only one Eve really liked at the restaurant. She liked her straight talking ways.
Octavia Brown, a matronly, big-breasted, no-nonsense talking night cook was just starting her shift. She had a smile for everyone, except people she took a dislike to, and Eve was happy she wasn't one of them. Octavia had a sharp tongue and a sharper sense of what she called Pure D Old Bullshit
The woman rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and snorted. "Mens say lot ‘o things, child, and do t'other. Eight years ago that man climbed into that ole truck ‘o his and drove outta heah. He's had plenty time to come back if'n he wanted to."
"Something happened to him. He'll come back some day."
The big woman hugged Eve. "Don't blame you for wishing poor baby." She turned around and started walking toward the kitchen, still talking as she did. "You go on home now; I have to git ta work, see you on tha morrow, sweet baby."
Eve turned and watched her as she disappeared through the doors that lead into the kitchen. She gritted her teeth. She hated that kind of talk and if she hadn't liked Octavia so much she'd tell her to kiss her ass. Octavia was convinced that she knew what she was talking about. Although she had her mind made up about her daddy, Eve thought she was wrong. Octavia, and the others might mean well but their negative attitude about Adam sometimes wore on her to the point of . . .
She abruptly shook her head and walked out the front door, took a sharp right and climbed a set of wooden stairs. When she got to the top she took a deep breath, fitted the key in the lock and opened the door to her apartment. Locks meant nothing she almost said aloud. They come when they want. Her little apartment was the only one above the truck stop. She told Arizona about the first two men who where sitting inside her apartment when she came home from work. Arizona laughed it off, saying, "You of age, you gotta expect that." The fact was she wasn't of age, she was thirteen at the time, but Arizona wasn't thinking about real age. She was thinking physical age.
She laughed once about it and said if you old enough to bleed you old enough to poke. Eve had been afraid to go to the police because Arizona paid them off so she could run the girls out of the restaurant. Although she didn't mind if Eve was raped she never asked her to work as a prostitute for her. She guessed she was afraid Adam would someday show back up and not take kindly to Arizona whoring out his adopted daughter.
The apartment was small. It consisted of one large room with a huge sofa where she slept, a small kitchen and even smaller bathroom. She plopped down on the sofa, slipped her shoes off and put her feet on the coffee table.
"Ah, that feels good," she said aloud, something she did frequently and didn't think it unusual. Hearing her own voice helped her reason out her thoughts.
She stretched long and hard, arms over her head and feet rigid in front of her. Sometimes, after a hard day on her feet when she stretched like that cramps came to call and nearly killed her they hurt so. But not today.
After awhile she got up and padded toward the bathroom shedding clothes on the way. By the time she bent to start the water running for her bath she was naked. She appraised herself in the mirror as she waited for the tub to fill. What looked back at her some had begun calling a woman-child. She didn't feel like a child and hadn't for many years, not since her dad walked out of her life eight years ago.
A mane of silvery-blond hair swept slender shoulders and framed a face that was both cute and sensuous at the same time. At least that's what she'd been told on more than one occasion. Her eyes were large, deceivingly innocent-looking and deep-water blue. Her complexion was fair, with a slight sprinkling of freckles across an endearing turned-up nose. When she smiled, which wasn't often, dimples to kill for showed up on either side of a full mouth which always looked as though life had played a sick joke on her. Eve was a beauty, but even that took second place to the thin, jagged, and dark red birthmark which ran along the left side of her throat, from the shoulder blade toward her ear.
She shrugged, turned off the water and stepped into the tub after indulging herself by pouring in a huge dollop of jasmine-scented bath oil. She lazed in the water until it was almost cold before getting out and toweling off.
She made a tomato sandwich with plenty of mayonnaise, grabbed a can of Dr. Thunder, a WalMart brand of soda, from the small refrigerator. Side-stepping her clothes on the floor, she walked back into the living room. After plopping back down on the sofa she put the drink on a coaster on the coffee table and ate her sandwich. When she finished it, instead of turning on the tiny twelve-inch television she reached over and picked up a wooden picture frame from the end table beside the sofa.
Her eyes filled with tears up as soon as she looked at the picture. They always did. It was a grainy black and white photograph of a man standing beside a shiny black Peterbilt. He was a tall man with thick forearms and a forced smile. Eve touched the glass softly, almost reverently.
The utterance of the name brought on a flood of tears. She jammed a sofa pillow into her mouth to muffle the sound although no one could hear her but herself. As she brought the picture frame to her breasts she said, "Oh, Daddy, where are you? When are you coming home?"

Last Modified: February 15, 2017 at 05:08 pm
© RamSlade - all rights reserved

Author Notes

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Comments & Reviews

February 15, 2017
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i enjoyed the poem you wrote and now the actual story as a follow up. You are a gifted writer Jerry , i have really enjoyed reading this installment tonight.... more soon please SL

Ahhh . . . Thank you so much, Stella. Yes, I finally got around to posting something other than a poem. I see I need to deal with the spacing within the paragraphs. Again, thank you my friend.

 RamSlade replied on February 15, 2017

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