What's a Girl to Do?

by originella

Scarlett "Scar" Davies whole life has been a lie - upon graduating with a Master's Degree in Criminal Justice, she finds out that her distant mother adopted her when she was three months old. Determined to find answers, and having accepted a job in her birth place of Chicago, Scarlett goes to seek fortune, love, and the identity that people seem determined to keep from her.

1. Perfect Strangers

Chapter One: Perfect Strangers

I hum the chorus of Dolly Parton's 9 to 5 as I make my way down the highway, from Seattle to the Chicago South Side. Not your typical way of moving in this day and age, I know, but I've always been afraid to fly. If I'd decided to pull an all-nighter, I could've made the trip in just a day and a quarter, but my mother and stepfather—who had raised me ever since my dad had walked out on me when I was five—had given me a credit card to pay for hotels along the way so that I wouldn't do something crazy, like fall asleep at the wheel.

Crazy. Crazy is that feeling you get when you constantly feel like you're on the outside looking in. Crazy is that notion that you physically and emotionally look nothing like the various members of your family, and it's just something you have to accept. And crazy is when you find out at the age of twenty-one—just after you've graduated college—that your entire life started with a lie. It was as if I'd been in some kind of horror show from day one, and now I could officially eject the tape that had been my life.

To say that my mother and stepfather had raised me was an understatement—when you do the bare minimum for your child, the icing on the cake is paying them off when you feel guilty about the whole thing. My mother and biological father immediately tried getting pregnant as soon as they got married, but, for some reason, it never happened. Three years into their marriage, they looked into adoption, and, lo and behold, I was made available to them. They took me from my birth state and over to Washington State, where I had five years as a complete family unit. After my father left, he sent my mother divorce papers by mail, and I never saw him again. My mom divorced him quickly, discarding him like yesterday's garbage, but the son of a bitch was the one who left us, right?

My mother met my stepfather, Dr. Norman Court—who I called "Dr. Normal"—about six months after the divorce, and they were married three months after that—he was a doctor, so I guess that was something women looked for in a guy, financial security or something. In quick succession, my mother had three sons with my stepfather—my half-brothers, Drake, Elliot, and Fabian, who were now sixteen, fifteen, and fourteen. My mother subsequently devoted all of her attention to the boys, while her husband took pride in bringing home the bacon. I, meanwhile, was seven-years-old and reading law textbooks for fun that my stepfather had left over from when he wanted to be a lawyer. By the age of ten, I'd grasped the understanding enough of that, and the English language (and French, Spanish, and Italian) that I was able to move from the fifth grade and into the eighth grade. Well, pending approval from the sixth and seventh grade board, who booted me out of their classes faster than you can even fathom the words that the Sherman Brothers came up with for Mary Poppins.

By the time I'd graduated high school at the age of fifteen, I was fully prepared to take on college, and got a scholarship to the local law school extension of the university. I kept my head down and took all the classes I could, my eyes on the prize—to obtain my Master's Degree by age twenty-one. Which now lead me here, driving in my red Prius down that highway towards the South Side of Chicago, and not only because it was the farthest place I could run to. Well, the farthest one that I could find myself living, that is. Other than securing a job at one of their criminal law firms, I'd also heard my mother's long-kept secret, the one that made her stop looking at me when she remarried.

It was right after I'd gotten my diploma, and, after doing my best not to trip over the hem of the godforsaken gown, I managed to rendezvous with my mother, stepfather, and the boys in the meeting place afterwards. After the customary photos, and Norman handing me the keys to my new Prius with a customary "good luck", he turned and looked at my mother. The silence was deafening, but I waited for him to speak nevertheless.

"I'll meet you at the car, Tina," he said, pulling Elliot and Fabian after him as Drake brought up the rear, and I stood across from my mother.

Realizing this was one of our first times alone—apart from a handful of birthdays and when I was twelve when I became a woman—I forced a smile onto my face. "So, are you just going to go home with Norman and the boys?"

She nodded. "That was the plan. You set off pretty early next week, don't you?"

I nodded back. "Yeah, I'll want to get an early start."

"How's the shopping going?"

"Good. Really stocked up on sweaters. Even got a couple pairs of snow boots and a new winter coat. Chicago winters they get...snow, you know?" I said, awkwardly.

My mother sighed. "I know. You were born there."

"I—what?" I asked, thinking I'd misheard her. "I was born in Chicago? But, you always told me that I was born here, in Seattle, nine months after you and Martin got married—"

"I lied, okay?" my mother said, her voice coming out like a whip. "Listen to me, Scarlett, you weren't born nine months after I married your father. I couldn't get pregnant," she said, a hint of desperation in her voice. "Your father had a business trip in Chicago and, well, we arranged for an adoption while we were out there."

"Adoption?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Yes. It had been nearly three years and I couldn't get pregnant—I felt like something was wrong with me, you know? So, your father and I got a lawyer and we found out where you were and, when you were three months old, we took you home with us."

"I. Was. Adopted?" I asked, my voice so tight that it felt like I was spewing each word one sentence at a time. "And you didn't think to tell me this years ago?!"

My mother shrugged. "Honey, it was very confusing—"

"What the fuck was I supposed to think?!" I hiss under my breath, forcing the tears to remain inside my eyes for the time being. "All this time I thought I reminded you of dad. You've barely looked at me these past sixteen years! What was I supposed to think?" I whispered then, my voice now hinging in the desperation area. "You made me think, all this time, that I'd done something wrong, and I hadn't. I was just somebody else's child, because you sure as hell never treated me like your own."

"Now, honey, that's not—"

"Don't you dare give me a what's fair versus not fair lecture right now, Tina!" I said, wanting to put as much distance between the two of us as possible. "I got the raw end of the deal, because you saw fit to upgrade to real children. I'll just remove myself from the equation, then," I told her smartly, jingling the keys in my hand before turning away.

"Scarlett!" she shouted from behind me. "Where are you going?"

I turned around then, my copper hair—so unlike her tidy blonde curls—swirling around my face in my moment of defiance. "I'm going back to your house, to pack my shit. Then, I'm going to load it into my new car. And then I'm going to begin my new life—away from you. It's just like you always wanted, isn't it?" I whispered to her then, the tears unable to stop themselves now. "I mean, from day one, you wanted me gone. Well, you sure as hell got your wish now, Tina," I mutter before turning away from her again.

I got home as quickly as I could that night, putting the last of my stuff in the boxes that I'd picked up the week before. Despite the begging texts I received from my mother, I ignored them completely, relieved that Dr. Normal had taken them all out for dinner. Before leaving, I stood in front of the antique mirror, that I would have my friend, Jessica, send to me via express mail, as well as my bedframe. Looking at myself, I could see it then—copper hair, dark brown eyes, pale skin—nothing like my mother's peaches and cream complexion, or my father's russet one. I shook my head, bringing my last box downstairs, my new credit card in my pocket, and bringing it outside. I placed it into the trunk of my car—the others wedged there, in the back seat, all the wells except the drivers' side one, and the passenger seat—before I slammed it shut.

I sighed, pulling my black leather jacket on my shoulders, for the night had suddenly turned chilly, but, that was Seattle for you. I locked the front door of the house, detaching the key from the chain and placing it underneath a flower pot upon the porch. Crossing the courtyard and getting into the driver's seat, I set the GPS for the South Side of Chicago as the ultimate destination. So convenient, I thought now, me picking that place, of all places, to start my new life and my new job. As I pulled out from my childhood house—which had never been a home—I forced myself not to look in the rearview mirror as I rounded the corner and out of sight for what I assumed would be for the last time.

. . .

The drive itself was not entirely horrible, and I was able to do something which I'd grown accustomed to for the last decade and a half—to be alone with my thoughts. It was a constant process that I'd done—a healing process, if you will—where today I told myself that it was not my fault that my mother had seen fit to lie to me. I wouldn't allow myself to understand why she had done so, however, for it would likely have sent me on a never-ending maze on unanswered questions that I could never get out of.

I made the drive in three days on little sleep, and the next destination I set my GPS for was my new apartment. I found my way to it easily, pulling into the provided lot and—although I was pleased at the impressive brick building—was pleased that it was equipped with an elevator, as my unit was on the fourth floor. After several stages of loading and unloading my car, I proceeded to figure out where to put what. I spent the next several hours organizing the area and then, after doing as much organization as I could handle on an empty stomach, I decided to take a walk and get my bearings. Pocketing my cell phone in my denim shorts, I felt secure in my newish tank top and sandals, and kept my credit card by me, which I'd been permitted to use by Dr. Normal until my paychecks began coming in regularly.

The red awning of an establishment known as The Alibi Room stood out to me, and although I was never one for drinking, I went inside. Scanning the place, I noticed it was all done up in varieties of wood, and the bartender looked like he knew a thing or two about self-defense. I stepped forward, towards the bar, and he immediately turned his dark eyes onto me. I stood my ground, pulling out a chair and sliding into it, and he regarded me closely then, almost as if he'd seen me before, but couldn't remember where.

"We usually have a 'no minors' policy, young lady..."

I scoffed at that, producing my ID from my pocket and flashing it at him. "Don't mind the whole Washington State thing—I'm getting my revised one soon."

He regards the card for a moment and nods to himself. "Hell, as long as you're twenty-one and over, I could care less," he says. "What are you drinking?"

I sighed. "I don't really drink," I replied. "I mean, maybe something fruity without the whole alcoholic aftertaste..."

"Apple martini coming up," he says with a smile, taking the oversized rag he'd been wiping down the bar with and slapping it onto his shoulder. "So, you new in town or something?" he wants to know, just making conversation.

I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you could say that," I reply, leaning back on the chair. "Just moved in three hours ago."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked. "What do you do?"

"I have a degree in criminal law," I reply. "Got a job as a junior lawyer at that big fancy firm downtown that you have."

"Ah, a professional," he said, nodding to himself as he prepares my drink. "Why didn't you get a condo downtown, then?"

I sighed. "Rent is cheaper here. Plus, I like the whole rebellious thing that this neighborhood seems to have." I wrap my fingers around the stem of the martini glass that the bartender offers to me, and inch it towards me.

"Sheltered life?"

I look up, and notice that he has the same look on his face—the one where he wants to place me, but just can't do it. "Yeah. My dad walked out on my mom and me when I was five, and then she married a doctor. They had three sons, and I was just..."

"Shoved into a corner?" he guesses.

I scoffed. "Yeah, you could say that. Got used to it, though," I say, lifting the martini glass and taking a swig, the alcohol burning my throat.

"How'd you get used to your mom being a grade-a bitch?" he asks, and, at my raised eyebrows, immediately holds up his hands. "Hey, I'm sorry, I mean, just an opinion..."

I clear my throat then. "She's not my mother," I reply. "Just signed her name on a damned certificate and never allowed herself to forget it."

The bartender nodded. "Adopted?"

"At three months," I reply. "The bitch told me three days ago, when I graduated with my fucking Master's, and that motherfucker husband of hers bought me a fucking car..."

"You didn't like him?" he guesses.

I nearly choke on my drink. "Dr. Normal? Never gave much thought to it. I've been pretty anti-men since my dad walked out—you're lucky I'm even talking to you..."

"Kevin," he said, putting out his hand. "Kevin Ball—owner. Nice to meet you."

"Owner...of course," I say, taking his offered hand and shaking it.

"And you are?"

"Scarlett," I reply, looking up and feeling my face flush, as I always did when I introduced myself to others. "Can't help thinking my mother called me that because I my hair. Hope my birth mother came up with something more original..."

Kevin laughed, continuing to wipe down the bar. "Well, you've made a friend already."

"A friend?" I asked, taking another sip of my martini. "Well, that's nice, I guess," I reply, my eyes wandering around the place a bit more, and spotting a makeshift stage in a back, darkened corner. "What's that?" I ask, nodding towards it.

"A stage," Kevin replied, following my eyes. "Got all the equipment set up for karaoke, but nobody really seems interested..."

"Not at this hour," I joke. "It's completely dead! Maybe, on Friday and Saturday nights, when bars should really be hopping, but now..."

Kevin freshened up my drink then. "You sound like you know a thing or two, Miss I-Don't-Really-Drink..."

I smirked. "If you're asking me if I can sing, the answer is yes. I can. Don't know where the hell I got it from—just did it a lot in my spare time and found that I could carry a tune."

"Why don't you come back tonight?" Kevin asked, and I turned and looked at him. "Contrary to popular belief, The Alibi Room is chocked full of customers every night. Why don't you come in with something sexy on and, I don't know, attract customers with your voice?"

I smirked as I lifted my martini to my lips. "You just met me, for one thing," I reply, taking a delicate sip—I seriously needed to pace myself. "And for another thing, you're only going on my say-so. Who's to say that I'm a perfect judge when it comes to my own singing voice, anyhow, Kevin?" I ask him.

Kevin smirked then, crossing his arms. "Sing something, then."

I felt myself blanch white. "Huh?!" I demanded.

"Sing me something so that I can be the judge," he tells me, more slowly this time. "My bar, my rules. Besides, I'm impartial—remember, I just met you."

I sing the song that's been stuck in my head for years, the one I drummed out the chorus to on my drive over here. 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton comes out of my mouth then, and I do my best not to completely emulate her Southern twang, as I knew it had to sound like me. I keep my eyes fixated on the bar, and my hands placed on it—my fingers splayed a perfect distance from the other upon the wood—knowing I didn't have the guts to look at Kevin. Finally, when I finished the chorus, I looked up at him, and his dark eyes were wide.

"What?" I asked him, my voice filled with dread.

"Not only are you good—you're fantastic," Kevin told me, his face breaking into a smile. "Not only do you get to sing karaoke tonight, but I want you several times a week! I'll pay you five hundred a night, Scarlett, for two hours on weeknights, and four on weekends."

"Five...hundred?" I whispered, my eyes widening. "Sure!" I replied then, putting out my hand to his to shake again. "Sure, five hundred is great!"

"Great!" Kevin said, obviously pleased with himself. "You'll start tonight as agreed."

. . .

My first three days in Chicago passed by like a blur of apple martinis and song requests from drunkards—of course, Kevin had one rule: do not touch the merchandise, which was altogether fine by me. On July fourth, The Alibi Room was packed, and there I was in a tight leather skirt and skimpy black top, my ankle boots doing their darndest to knock me off my feet, standing there beneath the red, orange, and yellow spotlights. I began my set for the evening when the men and women had quieted down some, and soon, I was on a roll.

I looked back towards the bar at one point, seeing Kevin talking to a particularly delicious specimen of young man, who couldn't have been more than two years older than me. As I sang, I saw Kevin gesture to me to the guy he was speaking to, and as I hit a high note, the guy turned and looked at me. I felt my heart beating faster then, my cheeks flushing from my martinis, the adrenaline, and something I couldn't quite put my finger on as I continued with my set. Once I'd finished, I got down from the stage and walked by all the pawing hands, and perched in my customary barstool, where Kevin had an apple martini and my payment for that nights' show waiting for me.

"So, you're Scarlett?" said a voice as I lifted the drink to my lips and, as I looked up, I saw the delicious specimen Kevin had been speaking to earlier.

I nodded. "Yeah, that's me," I replied, putting out my hand. "Scarlett Davies—nice to meet any of Kevin's friends."

"I'm Lip. Lip Gallagher," the guy replied, smiling at me. "Nice to finally meet you. Kevin's been going on and on about you for days."

"Can't think why—he's got Veronica to keep him on his toes," I say, catching his eye and raising my drink to him, and he smirks at me, catching our line of conversation. "But anyway, it was nice of Kevin to let me earn some cash before my official job starts."

"Official job?" Lip wants to know.

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm—well, I'm going to be—a criminal lawyer at Blomqvist, Sampson, and Torrance downtown," I replied. "A junior one to start out with, but I've just gotten my Master's Degree, so I'm all set."

"Master's Degree?" Lip demands, clearly in shock. "Fuck! How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," I reply with a grin, lifting my glass again. "Graduated high school at fifteen. I skipped fifth, sixth, and seventh grade."

"So you're some kind of smart girl, then?" Lip wants to know.

I laughed aloud at that. "I don't know about 'smart'," I reply with a shrug. "I mean, I'm certainly being dumb right now..."

"Why? Because you're talking to a stranger?"

I look up at him, our eyes meeting again. "No," I reply, finding that my voice has quieted down for some reason. "No. Because my stepfather is a hepatolgist."

"Should I know what...?"

I giggle at him. "No, but yes... Um, it's a doctor and they specialize in the gallbladder, pancreas, liver, and biliary tree, and how you can manage a disorder in any of those," I tell him. "As far back as I remember, Dr. Normal always went on and on about the dangers of drinking and how you could fuck up your liver for the sake of a good time."

"Dr. Normal?" Lip asks, trying not to laugh.

"Dr. Norman Court, my stepfather," I reply, dragging my finger on the surface edge of my martini glass.

"You didn't like him?" Lip guesses.

I look up at him. "I neither liked him nor disliked him. I mean, he did pay for my college preparatory high school, and for my books and supplies all the way up to college graduation, but he didn't love me. Only his boys."

"And your mom?"

I shrugged. "Made the boys her main priority as soon as they were born."

"So, that's how you became a genius, then?" Lip wants to know. "By bad parenting?" he asks, a small smirk developing around his mouth.

I nodded at that, pleased that someone finally seemed to understand as I raised my glass. "To bad parenting," I say with a laugh.

Lip touches his beer bottle to my glass. "So, I take it you're not from Chicago originally? We have a distinct accent..."

I laugh. "Uh, yeah, actually. I am from here originally."

"Really?" Lip wants to know.

I laughed. "Yeah. My mom told me the Degree that I was adopted. I already accepted the position out here so I left Seattle and came back home, so to speak."

"What are you looking for?"

There was nothing in the question; there was something in the question. Now that it was posed to me, I found that there were difficult answers that lay beneath. The warning bells that should have gone off in my mind at unveiling so much about myself to a total stranger were strangely silent and, for once in my life, I didn't want to be normal. I wanted to take risks and talk to strangers and try new things and, just once, allow myself to get close to someone without the added fear that they, too could hurt me.

"A new life," I replied, not knowing what else to say.

"Then why'd you come here, to the South Side?" Lip asks.

I smiled at him. "My mom texted me that I was born here, in the South Side," I replied. "Might as well return to my roots in my free time, make a go at trying to find out who I really am, and maybe, just maybe, track down my family."

Lip considers my words for a moment, almost as if he is attempting to contemplate every thought I'd ever had in my life. "Do you know anything?"

I took another sip of my drink. "Well, my mom told me that my birthday might be off, but the year was correct—1996. I guess once I can figure out the hospital, I can go from there. Maybe the courthouse has the adoption records..."

"Probably," Lip puts in. "I mean, I would assume so..."

I smiled at him. "You say something now, Lip."

Lip chuckled. "Let's see. I come from a big family... My dad's a total deadbeat alcoholic that lost custody of us a long time ago. We've got a half-sister named Sammi, but she's locked up, and thank god about that. I've got another older sister, Fiona, who got custody of us after our dad, Frank, lost it, and pretty much raised us. Then there's Ian, who's your age, and then Debbie, Carl, and Liam."

I raise my eyebrows. "Wow. You certainly don't fathom families with a lot of kids anymore, unless they're on TLC or something."

Lip laughed at that then, taking a swig of his beer. "Who's to say that all the funny, hot girls are taken?" he asks.

I laughed. "Who told you I wasn't taken?"

"Kevin," Lip replied.

I threw Kevin a look from behind the bar, and he threw up his hands in a moment of surrender before I turned back to Lip. "For once, Kevin is right. I'm not taken. I read too many books and skipped too many grades in school to get taken. When I was a senior, I was pretty much off-limits on pain of jail time to two-thirds of my class."

Lip smiled. "Hey, at least you got out of there."

I nodded, checking my phone then. "Almost midnight. I should go."

"Where do you live?"

"The brick apartment building—Alamo Arms. It's just three blocks down and two blocks over from here. Not too far."

Lip immediately got to his feet, and offered me his hand. "I should walk with you. I mean, it wouldn't be very neighborly if I didn't."

I smirked at that, finishing my drink and hopping down from the barstool. I dug a couple singles out of my pocket for a tip before taking my payment for the evening and placing it inside one of my pockets. I then grabbed my cell phone and took Lip's offered arm, whereupon we walked outside into the darkness together.

"Do you like it here, so far?" he asked as we walked.

I laughed. "It's been three days."

"What? Not enough time to make a judgement call yet?"

I smiled. "Maybe," I replied.

Lip smirked beneath the streetlamps as we walked. We continued in silence for several minutes before we eventually arrived at my block, and his grip tightened as I was about to move away from him, and towards the entryway stairs. He looked down at me then, and I turned to look at him, smiling up at him.

"I'm okay here," I assured him.

"I know you're okay. You're...you're more than okay, Scarlett Davies."

I laughed, turning away from him for a moment to hide my smile before looking at him once again. "Was that a line, sir?" I asked.

Lip hung his head sarcastically. "Admittedly, yes."

I nodded. "I see," I replied.

Lip looked up at me then, as eager as a boy on Christmas. "Is it working?"

I don't know what came over me, but my senses returned as I leaned in and kissed him. I, of course, had experience with kissing, but not much else, but the notion of kissing someone who was practically a stranger made my heart beat in my ears. I gasped aloud then at the sensation of Lip's hands on me as he pulled me closer to him, and my gasp caused the kiss to escalate, so much so that Lip and I could and would get arrested if we did anything further.

I finally came to and broke away from him, our faces flushed, our breathing heavy. "It was nice to meet you, Lip Gallagher," I said, my voice hoarse as I turned away.

"Wait," Lip said, catching my wrist, his touch gentle. "Can I... Can I call you sometime?" he wanted to know, and the fact that he sounded so sweet melted my heart.

Turning around, I reached into his jeans pocket, skimming the inner seam with my fingers for some daring reason and managed to guess his pass code. I accessed his contacts app, whereupon I added myself there. Then, I placed the phone back into his pocket, my fingers trailing along the inseam once more before I raised my eyes to his. Lip leaned down and kissed me again, but I pulled away a moment afterwards, knowing that giving the milk away for free was not an option during the night we met. I gave him a small smile then, turning back around and walking back up the stone steps of my building, taking my key from my pocket and unlocking the door, before turning in the doorway at a sound from behind me.

"Scarlett?"

I was touched at how sincere his voice sounded, that I very nearly just found myself staring at him for a fraction of a second too long. I was awed by his earnest blue eyes and his beautiful dark blond hair, and the way he looked at me was enough to drive any girl wild. When I finally found my senses—for the third and final time that night—I felt the smile upon my lips turn into a slight smirk, knowing that I could fall hard for him, if he played his cards right.

"Your move, Gallagher," I told him, and Lip grinned up at me, and I grinned back, before stepping into my apartment building, and waving him off as he walked home in the darkness that surrounded us all.