Betty couldn’t hide from the problems that easily. She was out there in Citadel facing reality head on and it was changing her. She had to face it. She had to solve the family’s problem since no one else could. She couldn’t leave things the way they were. She couldn’t accept or ignore the world around her. She loved her Father and wanted to help. She wanted to go back home. So she pressed him.
“Seriously dad, how much?”
Facing away from her he mumbled, “a lot.”
“Well how much is a lot?” She persisted.
In despair he blurted out the number. She couldn’t cover it yet but she could get it. At the rate she was going, she figured she could buy the farm outright sometime next year. All they had to do was hold on. Proudly, Betty presented the bankbook to her father.
All he wanted to know was where the money came from and how she got it. She tried to explain without going into details, but he figured it out. “I may be from a little farm down south, but I’m not an idiot.”
“Elizabeth Samantha McDougal, tell me the truth! How did you get this money?” He demanded.
She felt like a little girl again. She knew he wouldn’t like it, but she did what her father ordered. She thought there was a way to explain it so that he would understand, but her words kept coming out wrong. The more she spoke the worse it sounded. The more she spoke the worse she incriminated herself. Through tears and sobs she told him everything.
He didn’t recognize his daughter anymore. She had become a complete stranger to him. Without his consent, intent or knowledge his daughter was now part of the Citadel underworld! She should have known better! How could she do this to him? She was a sneak! She sold out! When did it start? It must have been for a while based on the amount of money she had stashed! He couldn’t look at the whore before him.
Betty begged with him to listen to reason, but he wouldn’t have it. He couldn’t take her words or money. He wouldn’t acknowledge that he drove his innocent little daughter into prostitution because he wasn’t man enough to provide for his family. First he lost his wife and now her. He failed everyone. Money had destroyed them. It truly was the root of all evil. And she was contaminated. He banished the dirty slut from his life.
Betty ran. She wanted out, out of the room, out of the hospital and out of Citadel. She wanted to go back to farm, and she would get there no matter what it took!
Sister Hazel didn’t hear all the details of the conversation, but she got the gist of the immediate situation. She knew these types of dramatic exits never ended well. She intercepted the hysterical girl and guided her into the church above the shelter to console her.
As they sat in the pew, Sister Hazel tried to draw the story out of Betty. The girl recounted the argument editing out the most egregious aspects and any mention of the word Razzles. The story the nun absorbed went something like; the father and daughter had a fight about a boy. Also, Betty had been making money as a waitress and offered to give her father money to help him out. But, like most men, Betty’s father was far too proud to accept help from any woman, let alone his daughter. His pride was bruised. All the nuns knew Randall was getting a little more crotchety since the illness afflicted him. Sister Hazel was just sorry that poor Betty had gotten the brunt of his wrath.
Betty realized Sister Hazel bought the story. The nun even offered some advice. She wanted Betty to think about her future. “You can use the money to help your father in a way where he won’t feel threatened. You can care for him while he’s sick once you’ve had the proper training. You could become a nurse. Once he sees that you’ve made something important of yourself he would be proud of you and he would embrace you once again.”
Betty listened to her words as the nun continued. “All men throw tantrums young Betty. He cannot stay mad forever. Time healed all wounds. So you must stay nearby and wait him out.”
To Betty it sounded like good advice. She wanted to help him. Maybe this was the only way she could redeem herself in his eyes. She could become a nurse. Maybe even his nurse eventually. Sister Hazel would arrange everything with the school for Betty. All she needed was the tuition. Betty asked how much it was. The nun responded and added, “but they’ll take payments.”
The nun gulped and asked. “Do you think you have enough money for it?”
The tuition was a lot cheaper than Betty expected. She had plenty. She had the full amount and a whole lot more, but she decided not to let the nun peek into her purse.
Betty replied with big eyes. “I think I can get it all.’
Nursing school was very different from high school. There was a lot of information but everything made sense. Every question had an answer. Every idea had a purpose. Every purpose fit into a procedure. Every procedure had a trigger. Betty appreciated the efficiencies and practicality of the older nurses who instructed the small class. They were serious women who knew what they were doing. They spoke directly and held nothing back. Their candor was refreshing to a girl who dwelled in a realm of lies.
By day she studied in nursing school. At night she starred in fantasies at Razzles. She wasn’t giving up her job. The money was too good. Whether her father liked it or not, she was getting that farm back and she would do anything to get it.
Over the next two years Randall was in and out of the hospital more times than he cared to count. Between bouts of sickness, he continued working as a janitor and kept a bed at the shelter. He began using his income to make donations to the shelter. He felt he should pay his own way. He accepted that the shelter was going to be his last home. He was deteriorating. He knew his life was ending. It was just a matter of time before it was done. He welcomed death now, but life dragged on. He tried not to think of all the things he lost.
Betty kept tabs on him during his hospital admissions. She also supplied Sister Hazel with healthy, anonymous donations to provide for the residents of the shelter. Betty's income was significant, but she had to spend it to survive on her own. Her account was still growing, but not at the rate she hoped. As she balanced her checkbook she often thought, "I don’t care for adult life."
The shine wore off Razzles for Betty. All customers weren't that handsome, though Betty acted like they were. That was what they wanted. Some men liked it gentle, some liked it rough and they all had their way. Over time she did things she thought she would never do. She let men use her in ways she couldn't have imagined. Some of their antics would have sent her storming out of bed only a year ago.
Sometimes she just laid back and thought about the farm to escape the weight of the cologned slobs that grunted and writhed on top of her. They paid their rent and she paid hers. But the routine was getting stale.
It wasn’t only the clients who wanted something from her. It seemed like everyone around her had their hand out. She did the hard work she got the bruises, but she still had to share her earnings. The Razzle managers took a cut; there were finder’s fees, bed rentals, laundry services, tips and a steadily increasing bar tab. Whatever remained in her purse went into the bank. The number in her bankbook still grew, but it was taking a lot longer than she wanted.