by Tara Brown
I let the idea roll around in my head all afternoon, but by the time I was leaving the spa, passing the huge Post-it note wall where Marcia was putting up some stupid quote she had definitely just googled, I had already stumbled upon a major flaw of this app. There was no way to test people with phones and know if they were lying.
It was wishful thinking, and getting a second job was my best, surest option for putting money in my parents’ pockets.
Just then, my phone dinged with a message from Hennie, asking if I wanted to have drinks. She was getting off work, as I should have been instead of being here in Pamperland.
“Wanna go for a drink?” I asked Marcia as she stuck the pink Post-it note to the sea of them.
“No. I have to meet Monty in, like, two hours. So I have to get ready. Who’re you meeting?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“Hennie.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Your nerdy commoner friend. Cool.” Her dislike of my being with other friends was amusing, if a little harsh. “Say hi for me,” she offered weakly. “And text me later with snaps from Martin. I wanna see his adorable face.”
“He’ll love that.” I laughed and kissed her cheek before pushing off and walking down the street, waving backward. “Have fun, and say hi to Monty for me.”
“No, he likes you better than me,” she shouted back.
“Everyone does.” I laughed at my own joke, realizing I was feeling much better. The spa had rejuvenated me. I looked a little fresh-faced to be going out for drinks, but I didn’t care. It was Hennie. She didn’t have social expectations of me, and we wouldn’t be going anywhere where people cared what we looked like. And I really could use a drink and the company of Hennie to de-stress, even though I’d just come from de-stressing.
When I got to the small pub she’d asked me to meet her at, the one a couple of blocks from our office, I smiled wide seeing her. We hadn’t hung out all year, even though we’d promised we would. We said it every summer, and at the end of every spring, when we got back together at work, we realized we hadn’t seen each other in all that time between.
She was a Harvard student and didn’t like any of my friends. I didn’t blame her. Had I been trying to befriend them now, at twenty-one, I wouldn’t have liked many of them either. But I met them at thirteen; it was much easier for them to weasel their way into my heart. And her experiences in her own private school had been horridly lonely.
“Here.” She slid my gin and tonic at me with an extra lime wedge. She and Marcia were the only people in the world who knew my drink. Besides Girt and maybe Moser, Marcia’s household staff. Actually that wasn’t true. I would bet my money that West knew it. He knew everything.
“How ya feeling?” she asked.
“Great, better. The spa was exactly what I needed. I can’t believe I ended up there on my first day back.” I shook my head, laughing and sitting across from her. “I’ll have to remember that trick to get out of the next sales meeting. How was the rest of the day?”
“Weird. Mr. La Croix had the bathroom reno’d the second after you left.” She chuckled absently.
“Oh my God.” My stomach tightened. “That’s why he sent me away. He didn’t want me to see them cleaning up my mess.” My cheeks flushed.
“I guess so. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t blame you for the bathroom, though. I blame him and the team. They should never have done that to you. It was sick and mean.”
I lifted my drink and closed my eyes, trying not to relive it. “Anyway, besides worrying about how to market the bug campaign, I also need to come up with some night-job ideas. Just in case I don’t get to stay on at La Croix for the school year. I was thinking, who works nights and makes a lot of money, besides hookers?” I lifted an eyebrow. “Unless you think I’d make a good hooker.”
“No.” She sipped her vodka and sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice. “No. Being a hooker is a terrible job prospect. Late nights are one thing, but getting murdered in an alley is another. Skin suit—just keep chanting skin suit.”
“I could find an escort service and sign up. Get protection,” I joked, sort of. “And if guys are dumb enough to pay someone for sex, I say women should be happy to take that money for doing none of the work. Being a girl is easy. Starfish out, let them get busy, collect money, have a shower.”
“What’s starfish out?” She lifted an eyebrow, confirming my suspicions that she was much more innocent than me—something I sort of admired her for. She didn’t have a jerk like France Miglio in her closet.
“You lie there, arms out and legs spread, on your back.”
“Oh. Gross. Right. That makes sense.” She toyed with the straw in her drink. “Except not all johns look like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman, so your night might end with heroin to try to forget the things you saw. There’s a reason those girls are all drug addicts. You might be simplifying it a bit.” She shuddered. “What about bartending? My cousin does it and he makes, like, five hundred a night in tips.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, three nights a week are nuts. He’s off at four in the morning, though. That would make Friday mornings impossible. But at least you could only work Thursday, Friday, and Saturday and make two thousand between tips and wages.”
“I don’t know how to bartend, though. How fast could I learn this?” I glanced to where the bartender was mixing drinks and laughing with the customer he was talking to.
“He picked it up over the course of a summer. Said it was rough at first, but he figured it out. Now he’s got bars asking him to work there all the time. He makes more money than my dad ever did.” Her dad had been a dentist who owned his own practice, so that was saying something. To families like ours, a dentist was a respectable job and put Hennie’s in the upper middle class. Compared to Marcia’s friends, though, dentistry might as well have been shoe shining.
“Yeah, or I could be a night janitor,” I said, changing the subject when I remembered a friend had said cleaning offices at night was good money. Plus I didn’t want to talk about Hennie’s dad. I knew she wouldn’t want to. His tragic death was still a tense subject. I always waited for her to bring it up.
“But they work until four in the morning and not just weekends. I think you might need a different idea.” Her eyes darted around the pub.
“Maybe. Anyway, enough about me. What’s new with you?”
“Not much.” She shrugged. “Working, school, same old story. My mom wants me to get my little sister a job at La Croix. Like that will be easy. She’s addicted to her phone and hates everyone except her friends. She has no idea what a work life is.” She pointed at me. “She reminds me of Marcia. Just not filthy rich.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t find a girl like Marcia in a job that lasts. I love her, but no work ethic. None. I told her about the cricket thing, and she offered to pay someone to do my job for me so I didn’t have to suffer.” I laughed, but Hennie got a weird look in her eyes.
“Why don’t you just ask her for the money?”
“Not a chance,” I said, then finished my drink. “I would never ask my friends for money. Ever.”
“Well, maybe the whole ‘finishing fourth year slowly’ thing will work out.”
“Maybe.” I ordered a second round for us both and contemplated all my options.
Unfortunately they weren’t amazing. At all.
Chapter Eleven
SELF-RESPECT
Jordan
“Wanna watch a movie?” I asked as I held the remote to the theater system and glanced over at Amy playing on her phone. I’d invited her over late at night, like I wanted something else from her, but I wasn’t my brother. “The booty call,” plan A, was a bust. She didn’t act like she thought this was a booty call. Almost as if she didn’t understand why I would text so late. And even worse, for a girl who was allegedly interested in me, she didn’t talk much. Or try to engage in any way.
I had a terrible feeling it was one of two t
hings. Either I was her first “boyfriend” and she had no idea how to be around a guy, which would make my dad’s plan extra gross, or she was being forced to date me and pretend she was interested, which made no sense. Her parents had loads of money; they didn’t need my family. Unless connections were her dad’s goal, weaseling into one of the old families, in which case my dad’s was exactly that. His family invented blue blood.
“Movie?” I asked again when she didn’t lift her face from her phone.
“Sure, whatever you want to watch,” she muttered, and then made that weird selfie face she always did and took another photo, ensuring I was in the background.
“Whatever I want?” I lamented, and turned on Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes.
The lights dimmed, and the room took over, becoming the amazing theater Stephen and I’d had custom made for us.
Massive reclining captain’s chairs with footrests and cup holders, like at the movies, but with better sound and a screen that was to die for.
The movie came on, making Amy jump as she gave a deep sigh from having to lift her gaze from her phone. “I have to go to the bathroom. Don’t bother pausing.” She waved me off and left the room, leaving me in peace.
It was beautiful.
The opening scene was amazing.
I dug my hand into the warm buttered popcorn Lucia had told me to make myself, as she refused to do anything for me until I was single again and had regained her respect. She had worded it more directly than that. The words little bitch had been used as a descriptor.
But regardless of how I felt, the reality was that I couldn’t be the one to break up with Amy without a plan. I didn’t want to be the shame of my family, but I also didn’t want this.
Hence the reason I had started to implement Grandpa’s scheme. I wasn’t going to call or text Amy during normal business hours, and if she tried to get in touch with me, I would be indifferent and let her make the plans. Like tonight. I ignored her texts all day and then messaged back late at night and asked if she wanted to hang. I’d expected her to say no and be annoyed.
But the girl came over and then acted like she didn’t want to be here.
I chewed the popcorn aggressively, worried I was never getting rid of her, not without my dad hating me. Was being disowned the worst option?
The antithesis of mutual attraction came back a few minutes later, smiling like she was going to tell me something funny, but she didn’t. Whatever she was laughing about was private.
She slumped back in the chair, making noises and clearing her throat.
I paused the movie, giving her a look, the one I gave my brother frequently.
“Sorry.” She curled into herself and prepared for the movie to start again.
Sorry? Dear God. Why didn’t this girl ever get angry? Why didn’t she have emotions? Was she a robot?
I contemplated asking her for a blow job to prove why I’d really asked her over, but I worried she might say yes, and I’d have to close my eyes and pretend she was someone else. And I didn’t really want to be touched by her. That would make it actual prostitution and the end of my morals.
“I’m gonna go,” she said after a minute. “I just realized it’s almost midnight.” She got up and walked to the door.
“Bye.” I waved dismissively and started the movie back up before she was out of the room.
When the movie ended, I got up, sighing and defeated.
I was going to have to up my jerk game after this. Grandpa was right, and I had to start doing more than just ignoring her and calling only when it could be interpreted as a booty call. I had to be disinterested to the point that she felt ignored or realized we weren’t meant to be. I couldn’t be too mean or ghost her, otherwise her dad would get angry that I’d disrespected her. It was a delicate balance that needed to be held.
But if I didn’t end this nicely, I was going to be disowned by my father.
I wasn’t sure I wanted that, not yet. It was a big decision to never see one’s parents again, and I knew my dad wasn’t bluffing.
Sauntering up the stairs to my wing of the house, I caught my mom on the landing. She had the same expression on her face I imagined was on mine.
“Hi, sweetie. You going to bed?”
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“Did you have a nice visit with Amy?” She perked her eyes up, maybe searching a little harder than normal for the real answer.
“No. We watched a movie. She wasn’t into it.” I acted indifferent, or was indifferent.
I didn’t know how much heart Mom had left in her. Most of the time I wanted to pull her into my arms and ask if this life was what she really wanted. To be married to a narcissist who used her as the butt of jokes. Surely there was more out there for her than this.
Instead of stepping out of my shell and risking emotional vulnerability, I did my same song and dance.
“Night, Mom.” I kissed her cheek and hurried up the stairs.
Since it was only midnight, I could still get in a couple of chapters of Swan Song, the novel I was addicted to.
Chapter Twelve
THE DINNER DATE
Lacey
My head ached a little bit from all the gin and sliders I’d managed to get into me before going home to pass out. I should have eaten more instead of drinking my calories.
Mr. La Croix entered my little back office with a big smile and a latte. He was bringing me coffee now? Something was up. He was normally the cool dad and the friendly, hip boss, but this was a whole other ball of wax. I almost didn’t trust it.
“I got you a cinnamon dolce.” He sat at the spare chair that was really only there for Hennie. “And I wanted to say again how sorry I am for yesterday. I can’t believe I did that to you. I feel terrible. Marcia read me the riot act last night when she got home. And I want to make sure—we’re on good terms?”
“We’re fine.” I laughed nervously, hoping Marcia hadn’t told her dad about my brother. I didn’t need him treating me like I was delicate or special. I needed every penny I could get, but I wanted to earn them in my own right. “Thank you for the coffee. I can’t believe you know what I drink.”
“Hennie.” He laughed. “She also looked a little under the weather, so I got her one too. You girls have some fun last night?” He sighed happily, likely reminiscing on his own bachelor days. “I remember being twenty-one; what a great time. Getting drunk on Mondays to forget my horrible day at work and all that craziness.”
“Liar,” I scoffed, sipping my lifesaving beverage and treating him like we were at home and not at work at all. “You were working your ass off at twenty-one and probably never got drunk all year long. You made your first seven-figure paycheck at twenty-two.”
“You know me too well.” He laughed harder, standing up. “It’s why you’re my favorite daughter.”
“You’re not allowed to have favorites,” I teased.
“I know, but I can’t help it. And since you’re my favorite, I came in to remind you to drop the odd hint to your sister about setting goals and achieving them. Marcia is driving me up the wall.” And there it was, the real reason for the visit.
“I’ll try again when I see her tomorrow.” We had another spa date; this one was set for after work, unless I managed to empty my lunch in public before then.
“Okay. And if you want off the crickets, say the word, and we find someone else,” he said as he walked to the door.
“Not a chance.”
“That’s my girl.” He beamed and walked off, backward waving at Hennie as she came staggering into my office, eyes red and London fog in hand.
“My head hurts.”
“Mine too.” I slid a bottle of Advil at her.
“Do you remember everything we did last night? It was a Monday. What were we thinking?”
“I don’t even know. We started talking about janitors, and I was sad—” I recalled talking about starfish hookers and my new life goal to become a night worker in any lascivious capacity
, but the rest was hazy.
“Oh my God, remember that crazy idea you had? Lie detector phone app to see if your guy is cheating.” She snorted and slumped into her chair. We were officially the worst summer help ever. Day two and we were already hungover and slacking off.
“I wish we could figure out a way to test Theo and see if he’s cheating on Jo. She’s really conflicted about it. If I weren’t afraid of getting caught, I would do it myself.”
“Does he know you?” Hennie asked.
“Yes and no. With the right makeup on me, he could walk past me on the street and never take notice, except to check me out. He was a couple of years ahead of us at school. And being the poor girl whose grandma was paying for her to go to private school, I wasn’t exactly on most people’s radars. I’m sure he knows who I am as background noise, sort of like the rest of the guys see me.” Not being a rich girl with an important family made me forgettable to guys who were trying to impress their fathers by bringing home girls who counted—girls like Jo and Marcia. They would want to bang me at a party, but that was about it.
“Then why don’t you just hit on him and see if he takes the bait and give her the skinny? You could record it.” She said it like it was an obvious solution, not understanding my place in their world. I couldn’t just hit on one of their dudes to test him. They’d crucify me. I would end up being seen as a poor girl trying to ladder climb.
One day I would be someone who matters in their world by my own merit, and I would need those connections. Being friends with these people meant something to me, even if it didn’t always mean the same thing to them.
“Okay, well, if you think of anything, let me know. I’m gonna go and pretend I’m working while I try to sleep sitting up with sunglasses on.” Hennie shuddered as she stood.
“I’m going to pretend I’m working while I fill out my student-loan application and hope I get the amount I need.”
