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.
As Betty learned more about each of the Silver Spoons she realized they had the upper hand everywhere. They bragged about the horrible things they did outside of Razzles. Right and wrong didn’t apply to them. No one held them accountable. They just slithered through life.
They enjoyed other people’s misery. They laughed at others who struggle to survive. Other people’s pain was the punch line to their jokes. They controlled prizes and placed them out of peoples reach. Then mocked as others jumped to grasp them. To the Spoons, it was like watching economic slapstick.
They used up Betty in the same way. She was often the butt of their jokes. They had no respect for her. To them she was a toy, a trinket, or an accessory. Who cared what she felt? She started to resent them.
When the Spoons were in a group they were awful. They were in constant competition with one another, fighting for who could be the worst. Betty was hit, spit on and had drinks thrown at her. One even dumped a plate of food over her head. They degraded her for sport. They could do anything they wanted and no one was there to stop them. It wasn't fair.
If anyone talked back to the Spoons, they would be cut off from the funds. If you did what you were told, you got paid. Those were their rules. Everyone beneath them had to live by them. She began to hate those spoiled pricks.
During the day school had gotten harder. Finals were approaching and an all or nothing, pass or fail, do or die, air permeated her class. The impending gauntlet of tests pressed down on her confidence. She knew the material, but being challenged on it, in a formal test, was not something she looked forward to.