A/N Well, obviously, the characters aren't mine. I'm just playing with what C. Harris gave us. No profit, no ill will.

The situations? Thos are all mine, in fact, most of this first chapter is a true story! I make no promises as to how often I will update. I am moving soon, and that will muss things up, I am sure.

Much love and many thanks to the fabulous AdorableAnarchist, who is not only a fabulous Beta, but one of the bestest internet girlfriends a woman could ask for, smooches, and the equally as fabulous SoyShay, for providing the kicks in the ass and courage I needed, and also being a fabulous Beta. You two Rock my Socks!

When you use your one phone call to reschedule an interview, how much worse can your day get, right?

I woke to the phone ringing, and ringing and ringing and ringing. Rolling over I see the clock, 9:30. Nothing good will come from this. Jase, if he's even home, is either too hung-over to wake up and answer, or too wrapped around the flavor of the week. Gran isn't here to answer anymore, if she was, Jase wouldn't be, and there sure as hell wouldn't be the risk of a strange female in the kitchen when I go get breakfast. Normally, I would already be up and getting coffee into me, but I pulled a double last night, in my feeble attempt to maybe get ahead of the bills for once.

"Hermphgr?"

"Sook… that you, Sug?"

"Yeah, sorry Sam, I just woke up. Was there a problem with the numbers last night? I wasn't out'a'there 'til damn near 3 A.M, after arriving at noon. I'm purt sure I balanced everything out, between my tables and the bar till."

Great. Sam Merlotte, my boss or at least my boss until I find something better. There is only one reason he would be calling me at 9:30 A.M. on a Friday. He wants me to work. I need the money, fluffy bunnies and God knows I need the money, but I have an interview tonight at this new club in Shreveport. From what I've been told, the owner pays well, well enough to offset the fuel costs in The Beast, my '77 Jimmy, even. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough for me to make the house payment, pay the bills, eat something other than bar food, and if I'm lucky, go back to school.

"Sookie, I know you worked a double last night, and I know you have to be exhausted, but I really need you to come in. Arlene's food poisoning is actually the flu, so she cain't work. Tara's refusing to answer my calls unless I talk about bringin' Laf back in, and Dawn, well, she just can't do it."

Sam fired Lafayette when Laf punched a customer. Granted, the customer called Laf some less than pleasant names, and then grabbed Lafayette's crotch, but still, 'you shouldn't punch customers' Sam says. Tara is Laf's cousin, damn near a sister, so of course she won't work if Laf feels hurt. Arlene, well, I'll lay even odds on her being pregnant not the flu or food poisoning at all, and Dawn, well Sam would have to wake her up, and if he can get someone else to come in, maybe they can get one more round in before he has to show up.

"Sam, you know damn well the only reason Dawn "cannot" do it is because it ain't legal in the great state of Louisiana to wait tables or back a bar with another person balls deep inside of you. I swear, you are taking advantage of me having to pay for Gran's funeral, you know damn well Jase won't do jack-shit. Fine, fine, just let me get dressed and get some coffee in me!" With that I slammed the phone back in the cradle.

Fuck.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

I just went off on my boss. It doesn't matter that I'm looking for something new, if I don't get it I am still working for him, assuming he doesn't fire me after that. OK Sookie, here's the plan, get your ass out of bed, brew the coffee while you wash last night's bar stink off of you. Drink the coffee while driving the beast into work. Get to Merlotte's and pray you still have a job. If he needs you right away, you will only be working until 5, plenty of time to change and run to the interview at The Raven's Loft. Lunch and early dinner mean less bar work…right?

#$$$$$$$$$$$#

The assumption I made as I was getting ready is more than likely why I am here, right now, having used my 'one phone call' to reschedule my interview with Pam Ravenscroft and Erik Northman. To be fair to the assumption, it was a series of events that landed me in jail this fine evening, and you actually get more than one phone call, I found out.

It was 4:30 P.M. In the time I've been clocked in at Merlotte's, Sam's oh so cleverly named bar slash restaurant slash wanna-be-pub I have: had my ass smacked by a customer, twice; dropped a tray full of salads; I dropped a tray of ice water ON a customer; burnt my hand on a bowl of soup; and I fell, thankfully with no tray. About an hour ago, Sam moved me behind the bar to finish out my shift. I only need to make it thru half an hour, then I can clean up in the restrooms and change into my interview clothes, drive to Shreveport in The Beast, and pray I get the job. Honestly, I was praying The Beast would make it.

"Sook, can you whip up a strawberry daiquiri for the girls in booth 5?" Dawn, who showed up when Sam did, asked.

"A daiquiri? Are you shitting me Dawn, they asked for a daiquiri-y'know what, fine I'll make one, but it's gonna be in a shake cup, the blender isn't working right, Sam's checking it out now."

I assembled the strawberries, lemon and lime juice, sugar and rum in the metal shake cup, lifted it to the mixer, when CRACK! Apparently, the seam of the shake cup was loose. It cracked when the spinning mixer blade hit it. The result was me, covered in daiquiri and strawberries. My shirt and hair were soaked in rum; there was strawberry hanging on my nametag and in my hair. It's not as if I didn't draw enough attention looking like a short Barbie-doll, no, I had to look like a slasher movie reject on top of it.

"Sam! DAWN! I'm done; I'm leaving, take care of y'alls business on yer own, as I cannot deal with this shit right now!" I screamed. I figured I could take the back roads home, shower quick, do a messy bun, let the ends dry while I was driving to Shreveport, and just barely make the interview on time. I took off my apron, walked past Sam, who looked suspiciously like he was trying not to laugh, grabbed my shit, and left. The Beast thankfully rumbled immediately to life, and I admit, I pealed out of the lot. That was my first major mistake. I hit the rut at the bottom of our gravel drive, and the muffler tore loose. This had me driving, over the speed limit, with a super loud rumble and a dragging muffler. I really shouldn't have been surprised when Bud pulled me over. Bud is one of, what I think amounts to 6 total, Bon Temps finest. Bud has not only known me sense I was born, he knows that I don't drink much, that I work as often as I can, and that Gran passed less than a year ago. He knows that I am a 'good girl' in other words.

"Bud, what the hell do you want? I am not having a good day, and I don't need any of your shit." That, right there, was mistake number 2. Bud was fairly mild mannered most of the time, but he never really liked me or my brother Jason.

"Ms. Stackhouse, you were speedin', draggin' yer muffler, and are you drunk?"

"Yes, Bud. I just doused myself in a daiquiri so you would think that was why I reeked of booze- how did you figure out the truth? How did you know that I was drunkenly driving at not even 5 after working all day? Are you really trying to take the piss outta me right now?"

"Sookie, will you take a sobriety check?"

"Wow, I didn't even think you knew the word sobriety!" That right there is more than likely what got me arrested. Bud decided it was refusal to take a sobriety check while obviously intoxicated, he asked me to exit the vehicle, cuffed me, and brought me to our teeny tiny jail.

Apparently, he 'needed some time' to figure out if he was going to transfer to me the county jail or not. He realized once we got here that I actually WAS covered in daiquiri, and having a shit poor day, but sober. He can ticket me for the noise and speeding, but that should hopefully be it. All of this is what led to the phone call.

"Thank you for calling the Raven's Loft- what can I do for you?" A rather seductive female voice purred out.

"Yes, this is Sookie Stackhouse calling for either Pamela Ravenscroft or Erik Northman, they should be expecting me, and can you put me thru?" Having worked for Sam as long as I have, I was always leery of someone asking for the owner by name, hence the 'expecting me' line, which technically; they are, just in person.

"Ms. Stackhouse? I believe we were expecting you in person, not on the phone, may I inquire as to why you are calling?" It could only be Erik Northman on the line. It would have been nice to know that his voice was like dark honey, and capable of stopping all higher brain functions.

"Erm…jail…bad day, rum, muffler, loud daiquiris? "

"…try again?"

"I had a horrible day at work. There was an 'incident' that ended with me covered in strawberry daiquiri, I got pulled over on the way home, arrested for drunk driving, even though I am sober, and I need to reschedule the interview, if that's all right with you and Ms. Ravenscroft?" I tried to sound as refined as he, and the receptionist, did.

Then, laughter, woman's laughter; great, he had me on speaker phone.

"Oh Erik, I like her, let's keep her, yes?" The same voice that answered the phone said.

Fuck.