Annie Rocks Trilogy

Out of the profession and determined to take the high road, can I stay on the straight and narrow and find love?

This story is a standalone sequel to "Rock Bottom" and the earlier story "Rock and a Hard Place." While it isn't necessary for you to have read those stories to understand this one, it might help since this wraps up some loose ends from those. This is the conclusion to the series.

© SouthernCrossfire - 2025. All rights reserved.

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I was a whore.

Or, more properly, Ihad beena whore. Some say "Once a whore, always a whore," but I was doing my best to prove that old saw wrong.

After almost five years in the profession, I'd gotten out, looking for a new life and, I hoped, love. I thought for a while that I'd found the guy I was looking for right under my badly broken nose. Les, the police officer who'd helped me get out, and I were in something of a relationship for nearly two years while I finished my degree in education, but Les and I eventually realized that while we were friends and lovers, we weren't meant to be together forever and we finally broke up for good in the summer of 1973. I had my nose reconstructed just days later, prior to the start of my last semester of college.

Yes, I wanted to move on with my life.

I finished my education degree that December and when they called my full name for me to walk across the stage to receive my diploma, I realized something else. I was starting a new life so I'd begin introducing myself as Anna Beth, my full given name, rather than Annie as I always had before.

Therefore, with the position lined up in advance, I, Anna Beth Boyer, started a position with the New York public school system the following month after making a short visit home to see my parents for the first time in over eight years. To my surprise, they were so glad to see me they were actually civil, praising me for my success without ever getting a hint of the hard and sometimes dangerous journey I'd trod to get there.

When they drove me to the airport in Des Moines as I was heading back to NYC, my dad hugged me and said, "I love you, girl, and I'm so proud of you. I'm ashamed I didn't trust you and have faith in you when you were growing up, but I realize now that I should have. You probably made some mistakes-- we all do, I'm afraid-- but I'm proud of what you've made of yourself."

I think that was the first time in over twenty years since he discovered religion that he'd said anything remotely like that and it brought me to tears, making the whole trip worth it. Mom, ever in Dad's shadow, stepped in to join us then, looking relieved that he and I had at least begun what we hoped would be reconciliation, and that brought even more happy tears to all three of us.

Yes, I'd made mistakes, but the worst things I'd done were actually my choices before finally choosing to do better. Now, my old profession was far behind me and I was enjoying a nice period in my life.

As my first semester as a teacher rolled along, I found myself loving my kids and making decent money-- nothing like before but I had a condo that would be paid off in a few years, quite a bit in savings, and some good investments, so money really wasn't that big of an issue to me. It was a period of fun and just learning to be myself.

Shortly before the end of the 1973-74 school year, I even started dating again-- the real kind, not the type where money exchanges hands-- and a couple of times in the summer and fall of 1974 when my date and I liked each other and the stars aligned just right, I enjoyed a very pleasant evening making love with a nice guy.

*****

A certified envelope from the law offices of Hasterly Beck and Parsons arrived just before Christmas 1974, shortly after the end of the fall school semester and my first full year of teaching. The letter inside said I'd been named a beneficiary in the will of one Matson Craighead Wirth, II, and that I was invited to attend the reading of the will on Tuesday, January 7, 1975, at the attorney's office.

I didn't have a clue who Matson Craighead Wirth, II, was so I was going to skip it. However, when I had dinner with my old friend Kimberly a couple of nights later, I mentioned the letter and the decedent's name, she looked off into space as if in deep thought.

"Wirth? I remember an old guy named Worth-- or I guess it might have been Wirth?-- talking to Sal a few times at Krenlo's. I think he might have been an investor in--"

Kim and I had worked together at Krenlo's, though she'd always worked downstairs in the pit whereas I'd been promoted upstairs into Sal's secret prostitution ring. As far as I knew, she never knew about that part of the business and I wasn't about to mention it.

"-- the club. He looked a little like that actor. Oh, what was his name? Cook?"

Her suggestion triggered a memory. There'd been a guy bearing some resemblance to Elisha Cook...

"Wait! Mr. Worth! Wizened old guy, maybe in his 70s, white hair--"

"And partly bald on top," she agreed, smiling.

"Yes! I took care of him a couple of times, I think," I replied. "I remember him now, but I have no idea why he-- if it's the same guy-- might have left me something in his will or why he'd want me at the reading."

"Cute young thing? Crushing on you maybe?"

On my tits, yes, but I couldn't tell her that so I gave her a little frown before chuckling. "I wonder, if he actually did leave something to me, which I doubt, I don't have to be at the reading of the will to receive it, do I?"

"Nah, I don't think so, but I'd go if I were you. You never know who in the family he might have been pissed at. Or maybe he didn't have any family, so, just maybe, he might have left it all to you," she teased.

Recalling what I could of the evening I spent with him, I remembered the man I'd known as Mr. Worth as a sweet gentleman, that he'd loved his wife, and that he really had adored my breasts, getting a great look at them but declining to see some of the rest of me. From what I recalled, he'd rushed home in hopes of being able to get his wife off before his excitement faded.

I smiled at the memory.

"No, he wouldn't have left me anything significant," I declared with the certainty of the recollection. Maybe his session with his wife was memorable in some way? "But, you know, I think I'll go so I can pay my respects to his wife and his family, if he had anyone left. I didn't even know the old fellow had died."

The next day, I arranged the afternoon off from the school system on the day of the will reading, and the following Saturday, I made a trip to the nearest library branch and found Mr. Wirth's obituary in the newspaper stacks.

It appeared that M.C. as he was called, led an interesting life, serving in France in WWI, taking over his father's investment firm at a relatively early age and growing the business further. He'd also been married to Elsie--

Elsie and Emcee. What are the odds?

I chuckled aloud at the similarity of the pronunciation of their names, drawing a quiet "shhh" from a nearby librarian.

-- for almost 58 years, with two daughters, a son, seven grandchildren, and three great grandchildren.

It must be nice having a large family that loves you,I thought. I was glad I'd finally come to terms with my parents after such a long estrangement, though I wondered if the desire for grandchildren might have had something to do with that. That thought caused me to laugh out loud and got me a loud "SHHHHH!" and a stern look from that same librarian.

"Sorry," I whispered before sighing, thinking it was so nice to be able to enjoy a trip to the library without having to worry about heading to work in the evening and staying out until all hours. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I'd been up past midnight and most of the time I was in bed no later than 11.

I'd begun leading a perfectly normal if possibly somewhat boring life. With that in mind, I picked up a couple of books to take home with me. One was a romance and one was a true-crime story; considering my past background in sex work and as a police informant, I wondered which, if either, might spark my interest.

*****

My mom and dad flew into New York for a few days at Christmas. Dad hadn't become a complete teddy bear, but he definitely wasn't the absolute asshole of days past either, and Mom seemed more independent and less afraid to speak up than she had during my high school years.

Because of that, we visited and I showed them some sights, making for a nice family visit for the second year in a row and me happily losing $2 to my friend Kimberly when my parents and I didn't get into any serious fights during their stay.

Dad was particularly impressed with my condominium; I didn't tell him about the size of my downpayment or the size or term of my loan, letting him believe that I was working to make ends meet and make my mortgage payments like most any teacher about to start her second year. Fortunately, there were a few things I'd planned to renovate in it, so my explanation that I was putting them off until I'd saved enough money to do them seemed to satisfy his curiosity.

Mom finally mentioned the elephant in the room one evening while Dad watched a college bowl game on TV in the other room. "Are you ever going to settle down and get married, Annie?"

"Mom, I hope I'll meet someone someday. I've had some boyfriends, but things haven't worked out so far."

"I hope you'll try, sweetie. Your dad's mentioned that he'd like to be a grandfather someday, and I think you know that I'd like to be a Nana."

I assured her that I wanted to be a mother someday, too, but I wasn't going to charge in and do it on my own. "Dad's talking to me again after so many years; if I were to have a child out of wedlock, he'd never speak to me or the baby."

"I'm not so sure about that," she whispered. "And you know, there are some fairly nice guys in Iowa if you ever want to come home and try there. Most of the guys you knew back then have had ten years to grow up since you last saw them, so some of them may be halfway mature by now."

We laughed together then and shed a few tears when I told them goodbye at the airport the next day.

*****

Since I'd never been to one, I didn't know what one wears to the reading of a will, so I decided to wear basic black with a white top as a sign of respect, with my white pearl choker necklace and earrings and just a touch of makeup. According to the obituary, Mr. Wirth had died about three weeks earlier so I assumed the event would be somewhat similar to a funeral and that my outfit would present a nice, respectful look once I took off my coat.

The Wirth clan apparently had a different idea, with the older crowd generally wearing business casual and the younger kids wearing jeans and sweaters or play dresses and tights suitable to the season. Mrs. Wirth, probably in her mid-70s, was the only one who'd really dressed up and she was looking quite relaxed until she saw the mistress walk in.

At least that's what I saw in her eyes, suddenly blazing.

Theapparentmistress, meaning me.

She rose immediately and came toward me. "Good afternoon," she said, quite measuredly. "I'm Elsie Wirth, M.C.'s wife. And you are?" The way she said it didn't sound at all welcoming.

"Hello, Mrs. Wirth, it's nice to meet you but I'm sorry about the circumstances. I'm also very sorry to hear of Mr. Wirth's passing and of your loss. My name's Anna Beth Boyer. Please call me Anna Beth."

"Anna Beth? Hmm. I don't think M.C. ever mentioned you, Anna Beth. How well did you know my husband? Anna Beth?"

The more she said my name, making it sound almost dirty, the more I regretted asking her to call me that. However, I was determined to take the high road.

"We had two conversations, ma'am, so I wouldn't say very well, but the second time we spoke for a while and I was impressed with him and his devotion to you and his family."

"Really?" The way she said it, I swear she practically huffed in the middle of the word.

"Everyone?" called a man inverynice suit who walked in and headed to the end of the big table in the conference room. "It's 2 p.m. and I believe everyone's here. It's time to get started with the reading of the will."

Mrs. Wirth turned to the attorney. "Mr. Hasterly, I want to object to this woman--"

There was that huff again, making "woman" seem more like "hussy" than it rightly should have based on the phonetics. Or at least that's what I sensed she was implying.

"--being here. She's not a member of our family and she's not known to any of us. I object in advance toanythingof value my poor, late husband might have been tricked into bequeathing to her, and I want you to file suit at once to keep her from receiving it."

There was a lot of hubbub around the room, voices everywhere, and the attorney Mr. Hasterly wasn't getting any attention as he raised his hands, calling for silence.

I, on the other hand, was standing in silence and was totally pissed. I'd come to pay my respects and I'd been met with the most disrespect I'd seen since Oscar Previns, my former street pimp also known as Tweety Bird, broke my nose and jaw before beating me to within an inch of my life.

Fuck the high road!

I stood, and with my classroom voice, said, "Mrs. Wirth! I'm here paying my respects because I received a letter stating that Mr. Wirth wanted me to have something. I respected the man the way--"

Fearing what I might reveal, some of the parents were ushering the children out of the room as fast as they could. In deference to them, I paused until they were all gone.

"Ma'am, I respected the way he felt about you, his devotion, and his desire to live up to his marital vow."

"Bullshit!" she said. "Did you--"

She paused for a moment as she looked around to make sure all the children were gone. "Did you have sex with my husband? Were you his mistress?"

I glared at her, suddenly glad I'd spent so much time recollecting my discussion with Mr. Wirth seven or eight years before.

"No, ma'am. I did NOT have sex with him and I was NOT his mistress. However, he did tell me that he was proud of living up to his vow for nearly 50 years at the time, and that he would never betray that vow because at age 70 or whatever he was he figured he might have a hard time reaching that 50 years of faithfulness mark if he had to start at zero all over again."

That actually got some laughs from a few people.

"Bull shit," she repeated, emphasizing each word this time. "M.C. would never have told you that."

"He most certainly did. If I remember correctly, he also said you wouldn't let him see you naked on your wedding night--"

There was a shriek!

"--or until he got ready to go to war in France because you were worried about the size of yourbreasts--"

This time it was a wail!

"--even though he knew exactly how big they were and how much he loved them because he'd had his hands all over them for months."

There was no sound this time other than the gasp of the crowd and Mrs. Wirth collapsing to the floor. I saw her go down, fainting I think, but I was too far away to catch her and everyone else's eyes were on me playing the scorned bitch. With the sound of her slumping, all eyes turned to her and everyone quickly gathered around her on the floor, patting her arms and face, trying to revive her.

I hoped she wasn't hurt.

Too badly, anyway.

There was nothing I could do and I knew I wouldn't have been welcomed anyway, so I turned back to the attorney, looking shocked as he sat at the head of the big table. "Mr. Hasterly, please tell Mrs. Wirth that I was happy that Mr. Wirth was so dedicated to her, even though I now realize she was even more of a shrew than I suspected."

There was more coughing and murmuring-- some of them must have still been paying attention to me after all-- but I continued, using that teaching voice that I was finding so handy. "Please give Mrs. Wirth my apology for turning this into a circus-- that definitely wasn't my intent-- and let her know that I respectfully decline anything Mr. Wirth might have left me since it would apparently cause dissension among family members. Good day to you, sir, and the family."

Having let off enough steam to keep from blowing up completely, I walked out.

*****

I had a rare glass of wine when I got home. After relating a slightly edited version of the tale to Kimberly by phone and listening to her howling over the events of the afternoon, I had an even rarer second glass before bed. I paid for it at 5:45 the next morning when I forced myself to get up. It wasn't a hangover, but another hour of sleep-- or maybe two?-- would have feltreallynice.

By the weekend, I'd put it all out of my mind but that made me think about my lack of recent dates and having gone several months without sex. Trying to avoid such thoughts, I put the romance novel down and pulled out "Helter Skelter," the absolutely terrifying story of the Manson family's raid and murders in LA that I'd checked out of the library. It was gruesome and reminded me of my time with that asshole Tweety Bird so I put it away before reading very many pages.

The following morning, I finished my workout in my makeshift gym in the third bedroom of my condo and was preparing to get a shower before going grocery shopping when my doorbell rang. For probably the hundredth time, I muttered, "I really wish our building had a doorman."

Since we didn't have such a doorman and since the unannounced visitor I observed through my peephole was unknown to me, I hit the little intercom speaker I'd installed at Les' suggestion a few years earlier.

"Yes, may I help you?"

"Miss Boyer, I'm Matt Wirth, M.C. Wirth's son. May I speak with you?"

I took a closer look. Maybe he was one of the men at the will-reading disaster on Tuesday. Maybe not. Either way, I didn't care.

"Sorry, I'm not interested. Please go away."

I glanced to make sure both deadbolts were set before heading back to get my shower but the doorbell rang again. Back to the intercom I went. "Mr. Wirth, take a hint. I'm not interested. Go!"

"Please. Dad wanted you to have this. And Mom wanted to apologize. She said that Dad must have told you the last story because absolutely no one else knew it. Well, until now anyway,"he added with a laugh through the intercom.

I accidentally giggled but got control of myself before hitting the button again. "Okay, Mr. Wirth, I'm letting you in, but I have a gun and my ex-boyfriend is a police officer who taught me to use it really well."

Or at least fairly well, but Mr. Wirth didn't need to know that.

"I'd prefer that you don't have to use it so I promise to be on my best behavior."

When I opened the door, I saw that Matson Craighead Wirth, III, was about 5'-8 or 9, a few inches taller than his father, with an athletic build and still sporting a full head of sandy-blond hair. The youngest of Mr. M.C. Wirth's three children and the only boy, he was about 35 to maybe 40 years old and was actually quite good looking, with bright blue eyes. When he saw my look, he smiled and said, "Thank you for seeing me."

I liked his smile. "Come in Mr. Wirth, and have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Call me Matt, please, and no thank you. I don't want to dominate your day so I won't stay long."

"In that case, I'm Anna Beth. How did you find me? The attorney?"

"Yes, Mr. Hasterly's office had your address but not your phone number so I couldn't call ahead to make an appointment. I was going to leave a little package in your drop-box if you weren't home."

"So I didn't have to open the door after all."

"No, not really, but I'm glad you did."

"Oh?"