by Emily Bourne
“But what about your staff?” Jazz asks. “You pay them. How do you pay them without an income?”
“Most people here are volunteers. They have other jobs where they get paid.”
“They work a second job where they don’t get paid?”
“That’s what volunteering is.”
“Ok. Sorry, I’ve never seen how anything like this works. I’ve only seen things from a retail perspective.”
“You work in retail?”
“A family business,” Jazz blurts to skirt the issue.
“Ah, stuff with families can be tough, huh?”
“I guess.”
Adrian stops at a T in the hall. “So, you know this side. This is our female and families’ end, and on the right are the male bedrooms and bathrooms. We keep them separate because we have women who come from abuse and aren’t comfortable around men.” He meets Jazz’s eyes. “But you have nothing to worry about. Everyone is looking for the same thing here. Comfort, respect, and safety.”
“I look worried?”
“You have the same look everyone has when they get here. Plus, you mentioned a male name when you woke up this morning.”
Jazz sniggers. “Please, Ethan isn’t a threat to me.”
Adrian nods with apprehension seeping across his face.
He doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m a battered woman.
As Adrian checks the bathroom supplies, Jazz takes in the women and young children mingling in the hall. Her stomach jitters as she swallows uncomfortably. She can’t put her finger on it. There’s something consistent about all the people here. Dirty. They are all dishevelled. Dirt seems impossible to remove from their faces, hands, and clothes.
Jazz presses her fingers firmly into her stomach. She has never interacted with a busker or beggar on the streets, and now she’s surrounded by them. Where did I wake up?
“Where is this place?” she asks Adrian.
Adrian turns to her, stacking towels. “You mean the address?”
Jazz takes a step back, hugging her mid-section. “Am I still in Maiden City?”
Adrian meets her eyes. “Yes, you’re in Maiden City. We are on Jordan Street, below the Nightclub District.”
Jazz’s eyebrows lift. “How far below?”
“The Limits start behind us. It was the best location we could get.”
Jazz sighs and gazes at the size-too-big flip flops on her feet. “I didn’t get too far from the bar then.”
“You remember where you were last night?”
She nods.
“Anything you wanna talk about?” he asks.
She keeps eyes on her bare toes. “No, thank you.”
“Our location may not be the best, but most people who need our help come from The Limits. So, our location is a godsend for them. The closer to the city limits, the harder life can get.”
“I heard they’re trying to shut down that part of the city.”
Adrian’s jaw clenches. “Probably so the rich can flatten the homes and build factories, or something.”
Jazz senses some hostility and decides not to continue on the topic. Sovereign Hill, where she is from, is on the opposite side of the city and is viewed as the top end of town.
Adrian shows Jazz through the male quarters, and even though he said it was safe, she averts her eyes. Why am I still in this place? She makes her mind actively work on her presentation for the board. The need to be CEO of Ultimate ME never greater.
No one in this forgotten place comes to her with problems to solve. For once she can concentrate on her work without someone else interfering. She can focus her mind on climbing the corporate ladder and finally claiming her father’s approval.
“And down here is the common room,” Adrian says, gesturing to a sizeable room with couches and a pool table. “It’s mostly where the kids hangout, but it’s nice for anyone to come and chill. We have random movies and board games if you wanna spend some time in here.”
Jazz jolts out of her thoughts. The room is dismal, even with curtains drawn. The couches faded and torn. Sad books lay on the coffee table, and clutter piles in every corner. People live this way? Something pricks behind Jazz’s eyes. Her mind goes to her expansive bedroom and to the entertainment theatre on the lower level of the Abadi Mansion. How can I have so much, and others share so little? This is the best they have?
She sniffs hard, and asks, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Adrian tilts his head to view her. “What’s that?”
“Around here?” Jazz gestures to the room and the hall. “Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe I can start with cleaning?”
Adrian’s smile lights up the dim room. “Sure, that’d be great.”
Wronged
ADRIAN looks at her sideways. Who is this mysterious girl? At first, he thought Jazz had run from abuse, but she struts around the shelter with an independent confidence. Jazz doesn’t seem to need help or is unwilling to take it. Did she come from harm, or not?
It touched Adrian when Jazz offered to help. The chore list is forever mounting. He never expected her to be so much work. He wipes his brow, stemming frustration as the glint in her eyes tells of more burning questions.
“Are you sure you want me to start with the floors?” she asks, her raven hair cascading down her left shoulder, as her chin tilts upward.
Adrian folds his arm across his middle. “What now?”
“Well,” Jazz drags the word. “Wouldn’t it be better to clean the tables and chairs first? That way any debris that falls to the floor wouldn’t ruin the effort put into cleaning the floors.”
Seriously, who is she? She talks so differently to everyone else here. He assigned her the floors because it was the longest chore he could think of. “Sure, Jazz, do the chairs and tables first, and then the floors.”
Jazz grins and spins toward the cleaning closet.
Adrian sighs and shakes his head, walking towards the boys’ bedrooms. Every task he gives Jazz, she questions. First, she questions why it’s done, then she wants to change the process. “To be more productive,” she would say.
Adrian stretches his arms high, tilting his head side-to-side. Just let her go, Adrian. It’s gotta be helping her cope.
Arguing echoes through the hall from a bedroom. Adrian rushes to the room. “You boys ok?”
DJ pushes past Adrian in the doorway and storms into the hall.
“Hey,” Adrian calls after DJ. He looks inside the bedroom to Max and Ferg sitting on a lower bunk. “Guys, what’s going on?”
The boys point to the hall. “He started it.”
Adrian peers over his shoulder, but DJ is gone. He clenches his jaw and circles back to the common room.
“Can’t you see there’s a pile of dirt and rubbish there,” Jazz scolds, hands on her hips, glaring at DJ. “Why did you walk through it?”
Adrian sees the messed-up pile on the floor with a shoe imprint. He blows out a breath and raises a palm toward Jazz.
He moves to the couch by DJ. “Deej. What happened?”
“He’s a rotten boy who can’t––”
“Jazz,” Adrian cuts her off, nostrils flaring as he shoots her a look.
Jazz’s face grows a shade lighter. She takes a step back and wipes the TV cabinet.
Adrian takes another inhale, internally counting to three like Eddy taught him. “DJ. You were getting along so well with Max and Ferg.”
DJ hugs himself tight, frowning. “No I never.”
Adrian tries to ignore Jazz’s groan. “Can you guys work this out, or do I have to reassign rooms?”
DJ snatches the TV remote from the coffee table and clicks the TV on.
Adrian huffs and sits back on the couch, turning his attention to the TV. “You used to talk to me.”
Jazz cleans the same part of the TV cabinet multiple times, lips purse like she’s begging to say something.
DJ flicks through the stations until he finally chucks the remote on the table
and groans. “They were just leaving me out.”
“Leaving you out?”
“They’re just jerks,” DJ hisses, getting up and leaving the room.
“DJ,” Adrian calls as he leans forward for the remote. He points the remote at the TV but doesn’t click the power button when he notices Jazz is fixated on the screen.
“Experts tip Ethan Roth as the front runner to take control of Ultimate ME Fitness Group. Shareholders are waiting with bated breath on this one,” a news reporter on screen says. “And in other finance news...”
Adrian lowers the remote, taken by the concern covering her face. “You ok?”
Jazz jumps as if she forgot he was there. She moves to a bookshelf and hurriedly wipes down the shelf. “Yep, I’m fine.”
Adrian turns the TV off and moves from the couch. “You’re doing good in here. Just lay off the kid.”
“You ever heard of that company?” Jazz asks the book spines.
“What company?”
“The one the reporter mentioned.”
“Oh. No. Why?”
She grumbles and shakes it off. “Nothing.”
Adrian nods, clenching his jaw, and backs to the doorway. “I’ll be back to check on you soon.”
Jazz bats a hand in a pathetic wave, and Adrian tries not to decode the subtext.
Jazz is still antsy at dinner, so Adrian politely suggests she helps with meal service. Something about her upright and tense posture tells him this girl needs to be doing something every waking moment.
His eyes fixate on her as she hands out plates. Something is so off about her. Her mannerisms are formal. She eyes everyone with distrust. Either she talks down to people, or she impresses them with the high-class service of a fancy restaurant.
Adrian rubs the stubble sprouting along his jawline and squeezes his eyes closed. I can’t watch anymore.
He opens his eyes and huffs. He slides across to Jazz and pushes gently on the plate in her hand. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Jazz returns the plate to the stack and nods.
Adrian beckons her to a corner and folds his arms. “You don’t have to try so hard; you know.”
Her chin drops and her eyes dart side-to-side. “What are you talking about?”
“Helping out,” Adrian says, gesturing to the buffet. “You don’t have to act a certain way. Just relax. No one expects anything grand. Be natural.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “Natural?”
“Yeah.” Adrian smiles. “You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not. Everyone is free to be themselves here.”
Just when Adrian thinks she might loosen up, a scowl crosses Jazz’s face. “You think I’m being fake?”
Adrian raises his hand defensively. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. You just have a fish-outta-water vibe. Where did you live before coming here?”
Jazz’s shoulders droop and she takes a step away from him. Her eyes shine like a tear might drop. “Can you excuse me? I need to go to the bathroom.” Her frown is iron-clad as she moves to the doorway.
“Yeah, sure, no worries,” Adrian says, feeling two-feet tall. He rubs his head. Geez, who wronged this girl?
Forbidden
“Jazz, are you able to help in the kitchen?” Adrian asks as Jazz returns to the dining room.
“In the kitchen?” Jazz didn’t mean for the hesitation to slip out in her voice. She locks eyes with Adrian and shivers run down her arms. Her gaze plummets to the floor, her jaw flexes, and she internally scolds herself.
“Yeah, I need to make a phone call,” Adrian says, approaching her. “It’s just washing a few dishes. Eddy is inside to show you the ropes.”
Jazz nods, her cheeks burning. Abadi, pull yourself together. “Not a problem.”
Adrian smiles, and lines crinkle by his brightening brown eyes. “Thanks, I appreciate it so much.”
Adrian moves out of the dining room, and Jazz studies the strange feeling rushing through her body. A crush? Jazz groans and shakes her shoulders. She’s never let herself feel something so stupid before. Romance is a deadly distraction. It takes so many business women’s eyes off the prize when they let it consume them. Jazz needs to compete like a man. Silly little crushes are a weakness and need to be killed and buried as soon as they bloom.
Why was she feeling this way towards him, anyway? He accused me of being fake. The only proper way to interact with people is with decorum and professionalism. Sure, I’m not being forthcoming with my identity, but neither are others around here. Or is it only ok when they do it?
Was it the fact she thought about him in that forbidden way that made her so upset? She bites into her bottom lip, taking a moment to feel the warmth under her skin. It was his darn smile. It’s magnetising. It’s hard to stay mad at him.
Jazz snaps out of her thoughts and rushes towards the kitchen. She pushes the door open and a tall, slim man with side-swept dark blonde hair, slender green eyes and high cheekbones greets her.
He smiles, drying a plate. “Hey there. You’re Jazz?”
She steps into the kitchen, panning across the greasy stove top, stainless steel troughs and three jam-packed rubbish bins. “Yes, that’s me. Eddy?”
He places the plate on a stack and wipes his hand against the dish towel. He extends his hand towards her. “That’s me. Good to meet you.”
Jazz looks between the almost-rag-towel and his hand. She sucks in a breath and shakes his hand. “You too.”
Eddy whips the towel over his shoulder and gestures around the room. “Welcome to the kitchen. It’s not in the greatest shape right now. The dishwasher broke down a few weeks ago, so we need to wash everything by hand. Yes, it is as fun as it sounds.”
He waits for Jazz to laugh. She stares at him with bewildered eyes, wondering what exactly she has to do.
“Hector got through all the pots and pans. We just have the plates and cups left. You want to wash or dry?”
Jazz peers into the sudsy trough. By the white bubbles are patches of murky water and floating food scraps. She nods at the stack of plates. “Dry. If you don’t mind?”
Eddy hands her the towel, smiling. “Totally fine with me.”
“Thanks,” Jazz says, pinching the edge of the damp towel.
Eddy slides his hands into the water, nodding towards the corner. There are other towels in the crate down there, if that one is too wet.”
Jazz moves to the crate. “Thank you.”
“So, how are you doing?” Eddy asks, eyes focused on the plate he’s scrubbing.
“Fine,” Jazz replies slowly, shoulders closing in.
Eddy hands her the plate while grabbing for the next. “I’m the counsellor here, so if there’s anything you need to discuss, we can have a sit down and––”
“––Uh, no, I’m fine,” she cuts him off.
“It’s just if you need to unburden.”
“I don’t believe in therapy.”
“Everyone who comes here is running from something.” He looks over his shoulder at her. “Do you know what it is you’re running from?”
Her lip upturns as her head jerks back. “I’m not running from anything.” Eddy’s eyebrows lift and she composes her posture. “I’m waiting.”
Eddy turns back to the sink. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, of course. So, counsellor and kitchen-hand?”
“We all help in any area that needs pitching in. Hector and Maria had to leave early tonight. I don’t mind staying back late.”
“Well, that’s quite nice.”
“Just keep what I said in mind,” he says, scrubbing against the water. “My door is always open if it gets too much.”
“There’s nothing to uncover. I’m not like everyone else here.”
Eddy looks over his shoulder again, and there’s something in his eyes that makes her audibly gulp. She shakes her shoulders and flashes a Collage-worthy smile.
A limp smile curves his lips, and he returns his attention to the sink.
JAZZ lifts herself out of bed after another night on the bottom bunk’s much-too-soft and lumpy mattress. She stretches her back and neck and decides it’s time to return to the real world.
She combs her hair with her fingers, avoiding the brush Tessa kindly offered. She’ll go to the gym in the second-hand jeans and tee, knowing she has a change of clothes and clean shower waiting for her there.
She makes her way to the dining room, hoping to find fruit to take with her to the gym.
“Morning, Jazz,” Adrian says, waving from a table with a woman and her child sitting beside him.
Jazz nods, her smile curving before she can hide it. “Good morning.”
Adrian turns back to the woman, lowering his voice as he talks to her.
Jazz moves to the food and keeps her gaze low on the pair. The woman’s olive face is shadowed by the hood of her sweatshirt. Dark bags hang under her eyes and her black as night hair falls beside her face, escaping her hood. As Jazz takes in the woman’s features, her chest constricts, and she draws in shallow breaths. Despite the hardships worn on the woman’s face, she looked so much like Jazz. With a different set of circumstances, it could be Jazz sitting there, broken and scared.
Jazz looks to the toddler on the woman’s lap. Tired red lines mark his shiny round eyes against his dark skin. Jazz sucks back a breath as her eyes sting and water. She squeezes her eyes shut and opens them to clear vision.
“Morning,” Tessa says, moving away with her breakfast plate.
“Good morning,” Jazz says. “Hey, how did your job interview go?”
Tessa shrugs, faking a smile. “It was good. It was short. Is that a good or bad sign?”
Bad. “Maybe they didn’t need that much time because they knew you’d be a great fit.”
Tessa’s posture lifts, and her smile grows. “Thanks, Jazz.”
“No problem,” Jazz whispers as Tessa moves to a table. She scratches her head, wondering if she should be more honest with Tessa, or would it damage her more?
How is she damaged in the first place?
She looks across the tables in the dining room and the scattering of people. How did any of them get here? She focuses on Adrian and the woman and child next to him. Her gut quivers as she snatches a banana and apple and moves over to their table.
