"Amelia, please sit down."
"But-"
"Sit!" I snapped, locked in a stare down with Mike.
Amelia slowly dropped. She turned slightly toward Mike, keeping her side covered. Mike stared at me; his mouth twisted in a small sneer.
"You want to know why Amelia is going to succeed in life?" I asked softly. He didn't react. "Because she is someone willing to do whatever it takes to win. Her kid has a roof over her head. She's got food in her belly. She's got clothes on her back. Why? Because Amelia is determined. Amelia shows love. Amelia cares. And Amelia doesn't fucking give up."
I walked towards him, placing hands on his desk, leaning in, getting in his face. "You know why she's here? She wants a future. A good future. A future that involves college and jobs and money and security. You know what I see when I look at Amelia? Drive. Determination. Guts. And a fuckload of potential."
I leaned in marginally, lowering my voice. "What do you see when you look at yourself, Mike? Can you say the same? Do you see potential? At the moment I see a guy willing to let his momma do all the work. I see a guy throwing away his talent, his brains, for what? A quick buck on a street corner?"
"How did-?"
"I always know." I shook my head. "You talk about your daddy being a dick. Leaving you. Making your momma fight for every dollar. I see you doing nothing but being angry at the world, expecting it will hand you an easy road."
"You got one. Privileged bit-"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence." I snapped. "Yes, I have privilege. Yes, I'm white, rich and educated. Yes, all of that has opened doors for me. But I am here, every week, ready to use that to help you. I will fight for you, Mike. I'm your biggest supporter. But you don't give a shit. You come in here, barely acknowledging the work, barely caring. When are you going to realize you need to grow up?"
"I didn't ask for no baby-"
"But you have him. And you love that kid?"
He grunted, looking away.
"You want Jamie to be proud of you?"
"Yes." He bit out.
"You proud of you?"
He gritted his teeth. For a long moment I didn't think he was going to answer. Finally, he shook his head.
"Then do something about it. What do you want to be, Mike?"
"I don't know."
I stepped back, pointing to our board on the far side of the classroom. "Read it."
He sighed, shoving to his feet as the class watched. He shuffled over, taking position on the ‘x’ I'd marked in tape on the floor. He stood in place in front of the board where they'd written their goals at the start of the year.
"I want to be strong. I want to be successful. I want to be better for me and my kid."
"Good. Take a seat." I turned back, blinking when I found Josh standing right behind me. I took a step back. Josh's eyes remained on Mike.
I cleared my throat. "What- er… Next question?"
Hands shot up.
Josh answered every random thought the kids threw at him for the next forty minutes. He described his life, his path to success, agreeing to let the kids interview for internships and jobs on his next shoot in New York. We finished with a quick discussion about the pitfalls of Hollywood and Josh talking about the difficulties he'd faced. They quickly learnt that not all that glitters is gold.
"Alright," I called, wrapping up the session. "Your homework tonight is to work out what you need to succeed in life. I'm not talking money. I want you to think about what skills and supports you need to get to where you want to be. Five hundred words." They all groaned. "We'll talk about it next week."
The class shuffled out, a few stragglers stopping to talk to Josh on their way. I quickly packed up the desk, doing a walk around the classroom to ensure no one had left anything behind. Trent exited, closing the door behind him.
"Josh?"
"Yeah?" He started to turn towards me.
"Please look away."
"Wha-"
My violent retching interrupted his question. I clutched the waste bin, letting the trembling and anxiety overwhelm me for a brief few minutes.
"Jesucristo," Josh's hands came to rest on my shoulders, one sliding down to rub soothing circles between my shoulder blades. "Still?"
I waited, the nausea subsiding. When I finally felt strong enough, I replaced the empty waste bin, smoothing hands down my thighs. I took a deep breath before facing him.
"Yeah. It's normally not this bad but that confrontation was…" I trailed off.
"How often?"
"Maybe twice a month."
He cursed under his breath.
"It's not that bad," I shrugged. "And I'm now at the point where I can delay the anxiety until I'm safe."
He ran a hand over his face, his fingers rasping against the scruff of his beard. "You need to see someone."
"I do." I lifted my bag, looping the strap over my shoulder. "She's proud of the progress I've made."
"I wish…" He faltered.
My mouth twisted into a bittersweet smile. "I know."
Post-college, very aware of my single status, I'd dived headfirst into the dating world. The first man I'd dated remained my only real relationship. He-who-shall-not-be-named circulated our little social sphere. I'd let him talk me into a date, then a relationship, and then, hovering on the cusp of agreeing to an engagement, I'd suffered a breakdown. I'd realized he'd molded me into someone I didn't recognize. Everything about me had changed to suit him. I'd dropped my work at the center, I'd cancelled charity events to help him.
My fear of confrontation and rejection - overriding and unabating - had allowed him to walk all over me. He'd used manipulation and subtle insults to sculpt me into a different person. A people-pleaser, I'd done anything I could to keep the man I thought I loved happy. Every argument had been met with verbal cutdown, every protest or difference of opinion had been mocked. Subtly. Quietly. He'd broken me until I hadn't recognized who I was any more.
Sam had helped get me out of the situation, set me up in my own apartment, and supported me while I got back on my feet. Josh, always joined at the hip with Sam, had witnessed my worst.
Bess and Peter had been there for me, but it was really Sam that had helped me out.
"That chapter is closed. I'm handling conflict better. Doesn't mean I'll ever enjoy it though." I offered him a genuine smile. Slowly his eyes swept my face. Finally, satisfied by whatever he saw there, he returned my smile.
"What now?"
I pulled my phone out, glancing at my reminders. "I have a few free hours. You?"
"I'm meant to be writing a script." He placed a hand on my back, guiding me out the door. The warmth of his hand settled in, sending pleasant shivers up my spine. "Let's get a coffee."
"You just want a snack," I laughed.
"Guilty." We paused in the reception area. "So, coffee?"
I hesitated. Josh and I didn't do this. There'd always been another person beside us – Sam, Peter, our parents. We didn't have a standalone relationship – we were like planets, circling each other as we revolved around our one fixed point.
"Sure, let's do it."
Chapter Four
Josh
Molly led me to a coffee shop down the street from the center. My fingers itched to find a camera as we walked past hipsters, homeless and hapless mothers all being dodged by professionals in suits, bejeweled men, and primping women in clucking clusters.
I'd been away from home for too long. I'd forgotten how in New York, wealth and poverty collided under a banner of simmering ethno-tensions and racial disparity.
"Is here okay?" Molly asked, tucking a thick chunk of her deep chestnut hair behind her ear. She'd cut it a few years back; it now brushed just below her shoulders. I'd become abnormally obsessed with watching the strands tease her shoulders. Especially in summer. I liked to imagine brushing it back, replacing the gentle caress against her skin with my lips.
"Josh?"
I gave myself a mental shake, looking u
p at the glass fronted store. Painted letters swirled across the glass while inside I could see wood, low lighting and aged metal. I glanced at Molly, raising an eyebrow in question.
She smirked, lifting one shoulder in reply. "They're pretty good."
We entered, the strong bitter smell of the roasted beans mixed with vanilla and chocolate. Sounds of grinding and the soft murmur of voices drifted over the acoustic music which played in the background.
Molly made for a small booth tucked in the back. I followed, fighting to keep my eyes off her legs. There were two freckles on the back of her left leg, just under the bend of her knee. I wanted to press my lips to them as I stripped her underwear from her body.
Pull it together, man.
We ordered coffees, awkwardly watching each other from across the booth. I knew this was unchartered territory. But like my pirate ancestors, I was ready to stake my claim and pillage the booty - I mean bounty.
The waitress dropped two mugs of coffee and a brownie on the table before whisking off to serve her next table.
I cupped the mug, letting the heat warm the skin of my palms.
Molly sipped her coffee, making a low sound of pleasure. I tried not to notice.
"What do you normally teach in that class?" I finally asked, picking up my fork to cut the brownie in half.
"Business. I teach them how to assess business decisions, build marketing plans, design project timelines and product launches, recruit. You know, practical things they'll need if they secure a job."
I lifted a fork full of brownie to my mouth, pausing to ask, "are they all employed?"
She shrugged. "Some of them. They're-"
"Jesucristo," I interrupted her, groaning with pleasure. The brownie was rich, moist and deliciously chocolate-y. I swallowed, immediately moving in for another mouthful. "This is the best brownie I've ever tasted."
Molly laughed, deep and throaty. When she laughed the world shone brighter.
Maybe I should write a rom-com? I wondered how Sam would react to that.
"I told you this place was good."
"You said good. Not nirvana."
She grinned, lifting her own fork. I watched it come down on her half, scooping up the little piece of heaven.
"Don't look so distressed," she chuckled. "We can order another one."
I made a mental note of the address. These guys were about to get a resident writer.
"Anyway, back to your students."
She swallowed, letting out a small sigh. "It's hard to explain."
"Try."
I watched her search for the words.
"They're a mix. Some are employed, some unemployed. Some are caring for kids or siblings or parents. Some work under the table. Mike is a sometimes drug dealer, Amelia strips at her uncle's club. They're just kids doing what they can to try and get out of the shitty situation life dealt them."
I tapped the side of my mug, considering her. "You know my Ma wasn't so different to those kids."
She grinned. "Who do you think signed me up for the classes?"
My mother's family were from the Dominican Republic. Poor, out of work, with little options; my grandfather had packed up his family, borrowed and sold everything he had and made the trek to the good old US of A. They'd lived in a one-bedroom basement apartment in the Bronx for their first two years.
While money ran deep on my father's side, my mother's family had worked hard to build their wealth. It was only after my mother had started modelling – sending her earnings back to her parents – that they'd really taken off. My grandparents, always savvy business people, had funneled her earnings into manufacturing organic goods. When the demand had started growing in the early 70's, they'd been ready to deliver. My uncles ran the company, my grandparents now "retired". Ma had met my father at some fancy shindig, married him and then came Pete and I.
From birth, she'd instilled the value of hard work into us. Ma may be rich now, but she'd never forgotten her roots.
"What are your plans this weekend?" Molly asked, licking the tines of her fork.
It took more effort than it should to pull my gaze away from her pretty little tongue and answer that question. "Pete said we'd do something. I've got a skype catch-up with Sam, and a script to start. Ma wants me to attend confession. I assume it's because she's worried for my eternal soul and not because she wants me to donate to their new school."
Molly giggled. "You're not getting out of that."
"Never. I respect the back of my head too much." I couldn't count the number of times her palm met my head growing up.
Molly snorted. "You deserved them."
I grinned. "Every single one. Especially the one after finding Felicity in my room during junior year."
Molly's nose wrinkled. "Was that when you were getting the blow job or going down on her?"
"A true gentleman never kisses and tells." I pretended to zip my lip.
"You know, for the number of times you got caught, I would assume you'd have learnt to lock your door." She quirked an eyebrow. "Unless you enjoy exhibitionism?"
"Wow. You've caught me."
We both laughed. The waitress reappeared.
"Anything else?" She asked, lifting our empty brownie plate.
I glanced at my watch, looking back over at Molly. "Another brownie?"
She nodded.
A warm, gooey brownie arrived on the table as we discussed my work.
"Sam's got it under control in Alaska. But I need to do something different with our next project. As much as I love the heavy drama, I'm feeling…" I didn't know how to describe it.
Molly propped her chin in her hand, tilting her head as she watched me. "Not to go all Marie Kondo on you, but what's sparking joy?"
I absently rolled my empty mug between my palms as I considered her question.
"There is one project that I've been thinking about lately."
"Mm?" She leaned forward; eyes big. "Tell me."
I placed the mug on the table, leaning across, lowering my voice. "Have you heard of Joy Harris?"
She blinked, her mouth falling open. "The Unicorn?"
I grinned, slapping a hand on the table and pointing at her. "Exactly!"
Molly leaned in further, an excited flush pinking her cheeks. "I love Urma. Every comic is hilarious!"
The Unicorn was a webcomic by Australian writer and illustrator, Joy Harris. Joy's comic focused on Urma. Urma was a scruffy looking Unicorn living amongst her perfect peers. Sarcastic, ironic and often controversial, part of The Unicorn's success was arguably thanks to its dark humor.
"I have an idea. I want to take the comics and turn them into a series."
"A series?"
"Yeah. We could do a movie, but what I want is an adult cartoon series, think BoJack Horseman. And I want Joy Harris to co-write."
Molly reached across, squeezing my hands. "Do it! You have to do this!"
I grinned. "I've already put feelers out." My smile dropped. "Unfortunately, Joy is illusive."
"She won't return your calls?"
I shook my head. "She's a ghost. I've had to jump through fifteen thousand hoops just to get a PO Box address."
"What are you doing in the meantime?"
I shrugged, "trying to come up with our next project."
She dropped my hands. I resisted the urge to snatch her back.
"And you're struggling?"
"My muse wants to write a rom-com."
She chuckled. "I can't see Sam going for that."
My lips twisted up. "Not unless I throw in some deep and meaningful character progression where two worlds collide with an overarching feminist narrative of strength and fundamental change from the patriarchy."
"So, essentially Legally Blonde?"
I burst out laughing. "Sure. Let's do the Legally Latino version."
"Just saying," she smirked. "Would watch."
So would I. My brain started churning.
She glanced at her watch. "I'm sorry to cut th
is short, but I have to go." She gave me a rueful smile. "I have a soiree."
I stood, waiting for her to slip past me. I threw some cash on the table, adding a seventy-five percent tip. Seriously, the brownie was that good.
"Which charity?"
She sighed. "No charity tonight. This is pure schmoozing enforced family time."
I hid a smile. "Which business?"
"Archer. He's branched into apps. I have no idea what it is but he's launching something new tonight. Seems pretty excited about it."
We stood on the sidewalk, both hesitating.
Molly tipped her head to one-side. "You know, we should do this again."
I smirked. "I could go another brownie."
Her weak punch landed on my arm. "You doofus." She lifted her hand, flagging a taxi. "You have my number. Call me."
"Sure." I watched her scramble into the taxi, shoot me a grin and a wave, then they were off.
I rubbed a hand over my chest, wondering at the ache.
"You gonna stand there or chase her?" Yelled a homeless guy.
I raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Friend, that's this is the wrong part of the movie. We've just had our meet-cute."
The old guy huffed. "In my day we chased them broads down, didn't stare at their backs like a shmuck."
I pulled out my wallet, handing him a fifty. "Thanks for the advice."
His eyes lit up, fingers snatching at the cash and shoving it down his jacket. "You need more? You know where to find me."
I gave him a salute, shoving hands in pockets and heading down the street. Nowhere to be, nothing to do. I wandered for a while, getting lost in the feel of the city.
My phone buzzed.
"Ma, were your ears burning?" I asked, taking the call.
" ¿Cuándo arderían mis oídos, oh hijo mío?"
"Nevermind. What can I do for you?"
"Your padre has had a work issue arise leaving me without a date. Are you free tonight?"
"For what?"
"Hendrix Archer is launching his new tech-venture."
I felt a weird sense of glee. "Sure, what time?"
"Pick me up at seven. The festivities start at seven-thirty."
"Got it."
"And querido?"
Just Joshing: A BBW Romantic Comedy (Short and Sweet Series Book 1) Page 5
