by Karina Halle
I don’t appreciate how personal he’s getting. In some ways he’s right, though. In high school and even in college, I had money, I had style and I had followers. Seems like a different lifetime now. In some ways it is. My life is split into Before Ava and After Ava. That’s not to say I’m angry about it, but it’s just a fact of life when you have a child. Your life changes, for better or for worse, but it changes. Nothing looks the same anymore.
“I’ve hit a nerve,” he muses when I’ve said nothing. He can see it on my face, I’m sure. “Sorry.”
I shrug but busy my mouth with more wine.
“Well,” he says, resigned, and lightly slaps his leg, “back to the job search. Not going well?”
“Nope,” I say. “I had one interview for a clothing store but they never called me back. I guess there was just something about my face they didn’t like.”
“But it’s a beautiful face,” he says softly and I look to him, surprised. He smiles gently. “It’s true.”
I swallow and look away, not used to compliments. “Anyway,” I go on, clearing my throat. “I’m starting to lose my nerve a bit.”
“Are you just applying for certain positions, certain fields? You’re in fashion, right?” I nod. He goes on, “No one likes to lower their standards, believe me, but maybe you should start going for something that’s just a bit beneath you.”
“Beneath me?”
“Pride can be a dangerous thing,” he says. “I know this. I know this so well.”
There’s a graveness to his voice that makes me wonder what’s happened to him and his pride in the past.
“Well, like what? I’ve already started to look into waitressing.”
“Good,” he says. “Though that’s a tough job, too. There’s a reason there is such a high turnover rate in the industry. I have no doubt you can handle it – you’re a mum after all, you can handle anything, but its…”
“But the problem is that the lower I go, the more I won’t be hired for being overqualified.”
“Aye,” he agrees, scratching his chin. “I wish I had some contacts here, but I don’t.” He leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he turns his head to look at me. “What about you?”
I shake my head no.
“No, you do,” he says. “What about James? You know, the pierced fella that runs the Burgundy Lion. Do you think he’d hire you?”
“To be what, a bartender?”
He shrugs. “I know my brother used to work there. So did Stephanie, that’s how they met. What’s wrong with bartending? You’re fucking hot too, so you’ll make a lot of tips. If you show off your nice tits a bit, you could make even more.”
I ignore the “nice tits” comment (even though a terrible part of me is kind of flattered) but I still immediately want to dismiss the idea.
“I don’t think so.”
“Give me one reason why not.”
I chew on my lip. “I don’t know how.”
“They train you, you’d learn in a second.” He snaps his fingers.
“They might not hire me.”
“But they might. And they probably will. I can be very persuasive.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” I tell him quickly.
“No, you don’t. But you do need to know the difference between fighting someone’s battles and trying to help them. James will help you. All you have to do is ask.”
And that’s the problem. I don’t want to ask.
I can feel Bram’s eyes on me and I know he’s reading me. I know he’s figured out some way to get inside my head. “Everyone has to put their pride away sometimes,” he says quietly.
I exhale and close my eyes. He’s right. I don’t want to ask, because I don’t want to admit to someone I know that I need help. But I do need help. And a job at the Lion, as much as it’s something I never planned on, would make a world of difference in my life. It might just put me back on my feet.
“Okay,” I say and when I open my eyes, Bram has my cell phone and is holding it out for me.
“Call him,” he says.
And so I do. With Bram there, I ask James if I can have a job bartending at the Burgundy Lion. I only get so far starting to explain my situation and he tells me not to worry, he’s going to make it happen somehow.
Now I have a job. And as I sit back in my sagging couch, sipping expensive wine, I feel a world of weight lift off my shoulders.
I have a job.
And maybe, just maybe, I have a pretty good neighbor too
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nicola
Three weeks.
I’ve been working at The Burgundy Lion for three weeks now and I’m finally, finally feeling my groove about things.
That said, in three weeks I’ve overcharged five people.
Undercharged twenty.
Overpoured 70% of the time.
Underpoured 25%.
Who knows what happened to that other 5%.
I’ve spilled three drinks.
Two on people.
One on myself.
I’ve fallen down once.
Not sure how.
I’ve been hit on countless times.
I’ve made $800 in tips.
I come home to the apartment absolutely exhausted and pay Lisa – who is more than happy to be back and watching over Ava when she can – or let my mom stay the night because I don’t want her driving back home at that hour. The nights are late now and my feet have blisters but I’m finally making money to start balancing things out. I’m finally feeling a little bit in control. My only complaint is I work three shifts a week but James says he’s working on getting me more. I’m just grateful he gave me a chance at all.
And I have Bram to thank for that. Bram the man. Bram the man next door, who still has loud sex with random chicks and still manages to piss me off from time to time with teasing or overtly sexual comments. But when he doesn’t do it – on those days I don’t run into him in the halls or he doesn’t go and knock on my door – I really hate to admit this, but I kind of miss him. I mean it. The banter and interaction. And yeah, maybe I miss the eye candy too.
But I’m not too happy about that because I have no intention of letting that man get close. As a neighbor he’s great, as anything more than that…he’s bad, bad news and bad for me.
Tonight I have my mother over to watch over Ava. Sandra, the girl that normally works Friday nights at the bar, called in to work saying she had a thing and wouldn’t be able to make it into work until eleven. Even though the shift was just from 8pm to 11pm, James asked if I’d like to come in and he’d pay me for four hours. Naturally I jumped at the chance – I was taking anything he was slinging my way.
“You’ve really made this home,” my mom comments, sitting down on the couch. Just as she does so, I hear a rip. Yet another hole appears in the threadbare cushions. We both look at the tear and at each other and share a small laugh. It’s taken a long time for either of us to laugh at our circumstances.
My mother really had the perfect life when I was young. She had my dad, who, yes, did seem flighty at times, who didn’t always apply himself, who wasn’t a go-getter after the finer things in life. But he had a good heart and a good soul.
I would have thought a forgiving soul too, but I’m not sure how much of that is true. My mother always wanted more and one day she fell in love with the world’s most boring lawyer to the rich and famous. They had an affair, one that lasted years. You’d think I would have known what was going on, but I was a teenager at the time, hated everyone and was completely oblivious to anything around me that didn’t involve me.
Eventually my mother confessed. She and my dad divorced and he took that opportunity to up and leave to find his path in life. It led him straight to India to do charity work. I used to feel slighted that he left so easily – and sometimes I still do. That little sting of rejection, why daddy left, why he didn’t think I was worth sticking around for.
> But at the same time I get it. He assumed I didn’t need him; that I would better off with my mother and Richard, in a big fancy house in one of San Francisco’s richest neighborhoods. He probably assumed I didn’t need him because I never told him, never acted like it.
It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Some days I think one phone call to my dad to tell him I need him would have brought him back. But I never tried. I didn’t have the guts.
I wonder if the same thing could have happened with Phil. Maybe I had done something wrong, maybe I just spent too much time focused – obsessed – with Ava, that I hadn’t noticed I pushed him away. Maybe Phil needed to hear I needed him too.
I swallow back the bitter memories and they move down into my chest where I hope they stay, that blank, dark space behind my heart. I think I see my mom doing the same. When she married Richard, perhaps because of how they got together, he made her sign an indemnity clause. When she eventually cheated on him – let’s face it, what they had wasn’t love – she lost it all. Now she has nothing. No education, no love. She lives in a tiny house in the middle of nowhere, cleaning other people’s homes to make a living. We both used to have so much, and now we have so little. I know people must think this is her karma, that it’s deserved after all she did.
But what did I do to deserve the struggle?
“You better not be late,” my mother warns. It makes me realize I must have been standing there blanked out like a glum zombie.
“I’m going,” I tell her, walking into the bedroom to grab my purse. Ava’s already asleep so I quickly get out the door so I can make my bus on time.
I have the worst and best timing when it comes to bumping into people in the halls.
Bram and his new girlfriend are just stepping out of his place.
“Hi,” I say to him, immediately feeling awkward as I stand in the doorway.
“Hi,” Bram says, smiling brightly, not seeming awkward at all. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look awkward.
Silence and a polite smile from the tall brunette on his arm. She’s dressed to the nines, very classy in a long black dress and gold jewelry and Bram’s wearing a sharp black suit and tie. His hair is pushed off his face and he’s looking exceedingly dapper, like he did at his brother’s wedding. He could be the next James Bond. Even his accent is the same as Connery’s, maybe with a bit more emphasis on the rolling “Rs.”
“Is this Bram?” my mother suddenly asks and I nearly jump. I look behind me and see her poking her head through the door. And I was so close to closing it.
“She’s heard of me?” Bram asks gleefully.
“Who hasn’t?” I say dryly as he leans over to get a better look at my mother.
“You must be Nicola’s mother,” he says, grinning those dimples at her and offering my mother his hand. “I can see where she gets her beauty from. A rose from a rose.”
Oh, brother. While my mom seems to melt in front of him, telling him her name is Doreen and that he’s far too kind, I exchange a glance with the silent brunette. She looks like she wants to roll her eyes too. Makes me wonder how their date is going to go.
“Well, I’m going to get going,” I say, knowing if I miss my bus I’m screwed.
“Off to work?” Bram asks. “I can give you a ride.”
“Isn’t he darling?” my mother says.
“That’s okay,” I tell him quickly. “The bus is easy.”
“You’d rather take the bus than come with me?”
I eye the girl again, rather apologetically this time. “You seem to be on a date.”
“We’re just going to the opera.” Oh, just the opera. “Justine doesn’t mind, do you Justine?”
Justine gives a half-hearted shrug with one shoulder, wearing a world of indifference on her elegant features.
“See, she doesn’t mind,” Bram says. “Come on.”
I really should have protested further but to be honest, I was glad to not take the bus for a change. My stupid car was now at the back of the building – Bram had it towed there from the Tenderloin – waiting for money so I could get it the part it needs. Battling crazies on the bus had become a part of my nightly routine, but it would be nice to just relax for once.
Yet, I do anything but relax in the back of Bram’s Mercedes. Bram keeps talking to me about this and that, completely ignoring his date who seems to be bored by the whole thing anyway. After a while I stop feeling bad that I have so much of his attention and start to enjoy it. He can be damned charming and funny when he wants to be.
After he dropped me off, I was immediately swept into the chaos that is working at The Burgundy Lion. James is a pretty good boss, although he’s a moody little bitch sometimes. I remember what an obstacle he was with Steph and Linden when they got together and I’m glad Linden finally pushed James’s opinion to the side because he strikes me as the type to get upset about everything. Thankfully he hasn’t thrown a hissy fit with me yet but that’s because I do my job and even when I make an epic mistake (um, like forgetting to charge a group for their massive bill), he’s had the grace to look the other way. I think he knows I’m much harder on myself than he will ever be. I also think he’s a bit scared of me. I don’t know why. Perhaps he thinks single moms are crazy. In some ways, we kind of are.
By the time my short shift is over, I get to the apartment, by way of the bus this time, no Bram to whisk me away in his car. I’m absolutely exhausted and it’s getting close to midnight. I feel terrible that my mom has to drive back to her place so late but as soon as I step inside the door, she’s all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to go.
“Everything was okay?” I ask her.
She nods. “She didn’t wake up, keeps on snoozing away.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?”
“On that couch, are you kidding me? Last time I woke up with a back I thought I’d get when I’m 80,” she says with a grin. “Seriously, Nicola, darling, first chance you get, get a new one. You know this couch is too big for most living rooms anyway. What about two loveseats? I bet IKEA has them at the right price.”
Two loveseats would make the living room area look much bigger but there are so many other things to spend money on – important things – that a new couch or two seems frivolous. Besides, how the hell would I get my things from IKEA anyway, haul all the boxes on the bus?
“By the way,” my mom adds as she heads to the door. From the saucy look in her eyes, I have a feeling I know what the subject will be. “I spoke to Bram again.”
“Again?”
She lowers her voice. “He came home about an hour ago. He was alone if that makes any difference to you.”
“It doesn’t,” I quickly interject.
“Nonetheless,” she goes on, “he knocked on the door, just wanting to see if I was okay and if I needed anything. Actually I needed a cup of tea and your kettle isn’t working so he came over and lent me his.” I look over my shoulder in the kitchen and see a fancy stainless steel one on the counter. “He said you could keep it. I told him you would really appreciate it.”
“Mom,” I say, nearly whining, “I don’t want anything else of his. He’s done enough and I’m tired of feeling like a charity case.”
Her smile fades. A heavy pause settles between us. “I know darling. It never gets easier, does it?”
I sigh, my heart feeling fragile, like tempered glass. “No. It doesn’t.”
Then, to my surprise, she quickly pulls me into a hug and holds me tight. She hasn’t done this for ages. She’s a lot like me, or maybe I’m a lot like her – we forget to be affectionate every once in a while.
“You’re a good mother,” she whispers into my ear. “I’m proud of you, just like this, just the way things are now. But they will get better. For both of us. I promise.”
I close my eyes, letting that glass shatter. Just a little. Then my mother lets go and the air in the apartment is cold. She gives me a loving look and she’s out the door.
Slipping off my shoes, I head over to the poor, ragged couch and flop down on it.
The rip gets larger.
The apartment is almost silent except for the faint beat of music coming from Bram’s place. I make a mental note to talk to him about soundproofing. Since he owns the building, he could make it happen.
There’s something assuring about the fact that he’s up even though the music sounds like it’s getting louder and louder. It’s nothing too drum heavy, it sounds more like Massive Attack or Portishead, with slow, lazy beats.
I wonder what he’s doing. My mom had said he came home alone. Did that mean he didn’t get laid with Justine? That it was just an opera fling? Knowing Bram though, I wouldn’t be surprised if they screwed each other in a private box seat or something.
Stop thinking about him, I admonish myself, he’s nothing more than Mr. Rogers to you. So I get up to check on Ava instead. I sit on the side of her bed and watch her breathe in and out for a few moments, her own breathing steadying mine.
Meanwhile the thumping bass continues. I go into the kitchen and eye the kettle. I meant it when I said I didn’t want his charity. I pick it up, wrapping the cord around it, and go out into the hallway. I wait at his door for a second. I can hear the music more clearly here, the beginning of Portishead’s “Strangers,” which makes me flashback to high school and my British trip hop phase. I used to have a lot of sex to this kind of music. I kind of want to tell Bram that, just to get rid of my prude persona.
I knock on his door and wait. No response. I knock a bit louder. The music must be blocking me out. The right thing to do is to go back in my apartment and give him back the kettle tomorrow. After all, it’s not an emergency. I can gain back my pride another day.
But I don’t do that. Instead I try the door handle.
It’s not locked. It turns with easy and against my better judgement, I push open the door slowly. The music is loud now, a light is on in the kitchen but everything else is dark.
“Hello?” I call out, stepping inside. I push the door closed to keep the music out from the hall. I tiptoe forward now and place the kettle on the kitchen counter.
