by Beck Rowland
“Listen, if you ever really need a few bucks--” Davey began.
“Not a chance, Davey. Don’t even finish that sentence,” Zenaida said. “I feel bad enough that I’m not paying Lara any rent.”
“Alright, alright,” Davey said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. The car slowed as they approached his street. Davey stuck out a fist and Zenaida dutifully bumped it. “You got enough gas to make it home?”
Zenaida pulled onto the curb and rolled to a halt. She checked her gauge and let out a bitter laugh. The needle pointed to Empty. Her tank hadn’t lasted nearly as long as she’d expected.
“Not even close. The car is running on fumes,” Zenaida said. “Lucky for me, it’s all downhill from here. Gravity will work its magic and I’ll roll right back into the parking lot.”
“Will that really work?” Davey asked. He grabbed his backpack, now stuffed full of books, and climbed out of the car.
“I’ve done it before. Good luck studying for your IT certificate. That’s probably more likely to pay off than my moonshot website thing,” Zenaida chuckled.
“Hey, I thought your domain idea was legit! You really don’t think it’ll pan out?” he asked.
“Nah, probably not,” Zenaida admitted. “But hey, at least I’m only out a few bucks. It’s worth that just to fantasize for a while.”
Zenaida steered her empty Toyota almost all the way back to her parking space, but she had to get out and push the final few feet. By the time she shuffled up the apartment stairs, her clothes were soaked through with sweat. Zenaida sighed heavily. She had started the evening filled with excitement, but the overdraft fee, obnoxious bank teller, and empty gas tank had dragged her back down to reality.
She sniffed the air hopefully. Smelling fast food would mean her roommate Lara was home, and Lara usually grabbed something for Zenaida as well. Sure enough, the warm scent of french fries greeted her as she approached the apartment door. Her stomach growled in excitement, and Zenaida felt her mood brighten.
“Zenaida! I grabbed you a Baconator set but stole a few fries, sorry!” Lara said as Zenaida entered the apartment. Lara was a frizzy brunette, fond of chunky knit sweaters and thick rimmed glasses. Her large eyes, magnified by glasses, gave her a vaguely owlish look.
“Lara Franklin, you are my own personal Goddess of Mercy and Salvation,” Zenaida exclaimed. The Baconator set was her favorite, and it definitely beat the dry ramen pack she had planned to have for dinner. Zenaida gave Lara a quick hug, then sat down to join her at the table.
“How was work today?” Lara asked, sipping her drink.
“Absolutely the same as every other day of my life: one of our products breaks, the customer calls the support line, and I walk them through the troubleshooting script,” Zenaida said around a mouthful of food. “Same thing every call. Except, every once in a while the customer will curse me out, or come on to me... or both.”
“That’s why I’m an electrician. Cables, circuits and voltages don’t complain. The customer tells us what’s broken, I head out and fix it, then my company handles the invoicing later,” Lara said.
“You’re an electrician because you made the smart choice of getting a STEM degree,” Zenaida observed. “My choices weren’t so smart, hence a lifetime of servitude as a customer service phone monkey.”
“In your defense, I started off with that huge chunk of cash my grandpa left me,” Lara said. “That’s how I was able to get my little sole proprietorship started, then buy the tools I needed, put ads in the local papers, and become the paragon of small business ownership you see today.”
“All I ever got from my grandpa were socks. What is it with grandparents and socks?” Zenaida sighed. “I suppose that’s more than I’ll be able to leave my kids… If I can ever afford to have any.”
“What about that promotion you were hoping for? Anything in the tea leaves?” Lara asked. Lara’s tone was casual, but Zenaida tensed immediately. She knew the question didn’t originate with Lara, and knew the conversation didn’t lead anywhere good.
“Nothing yet. Right now I’m just hoping somebody quits. Then I have a good chance of at least getting moved to full-time hours. Full-time would mean full benefits and better pay,” Zenaida replied. Lara nodded and they ate in silence for several moments.
“I really appreciate you letting me stay here,” Zenaida finally said. “As soon as I can get more hours, or a promotion, or a better job, I will be out of your hair, promise.”
“You know I love having you here,” Lara laughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s just that, you know, my mom pays the rent for this apartment, and...”
“And Karen hates me,” Zenaida finished. Lara didn’t need to say it.
“She doesn’t hate you, per se...” Lara protested. She paused to find the right phrasing. “Mom just doesn’t believe in hand-outs. She wants you to, I don’t know, pull yourself up by your bootstraps... or something. She has this idea that poverty is a choice, so when she sees you crashing on my couch, she interprets it as just being lazy.”
Zenaida felt a defensive anger rising and forced it down. Moving in with Lara hadn’t been a decision she had taken lightly. It had taken a lot of fighting with her pride, and she had accepted only after several miserable nights spent sleeping in her car. Zenaida took a deep breath and forced herself to respond calmly.
“I’m doing everything I can. I don’t want to put you in a bad position with your Mom, though. If I’m ever too much trouble, just say the word,” Zenaida said. “Maybe Mr. Wilkerson will let me back onto my old lease.”
Lara shook her head sharply, her frizzy mane flying about.
“Over my dead body. You were barely able to afford that place— how many times did you end up paying rent with your credit card?— and more importantly, your old neighborhood is a dangerous shit hole. If you moved back down there, next time it could be something much worse than a mugging,” Lara said.
“I’m still kickboxing,” Zenaida pointed out. “I can take care of myself.”
Zenaida hadn’t told Lara, but the mugging in question had actually been the third attempt. The first two times, Zenaida had put years of kickboxing to good use and fought the crooks off. She was fairly certain one of them had left with a broken nose. It was only the third mugging, when she was cornered by someone with a pistol, that Zenaida had finally lost both her wallet and all illusions of safety in her neighborhood.
“You’re not going back to that place. Period, end of story,” Lara stated flatly. “But I know you don’t want to live on my couch forever, right? So we’ve got to come up with something.”
Zenaida nodded. It had been nearly six months and Lara had been extraordinarily gracious. Her friend was right though: Zenaida was tired of not having her own place, tired of being a burden, and tired of worrying how much motherly nagging Lara was enduring on her behalf.
“I’m working on something...” Zenaida began. She polished off her food and washed it down with a mouthful of Sprite.
“Something like a new job? Or...” Lara trailed off. Zenaida knew the or translated to or another one of your crazy get-rich-quick schemes. She weighed how to respond.
In the small world of Zenaida’s close friends, Lara was the cool, analytical ying to Davey’s boundlessly enthusiastic yang. Lara listened to Zenaida’s ideas with an open mind, then gently pointed out their weak points and flaws. Sometimes this critique made Zenaida’s ideas stronger. Other times, one quick conversation with Lara was enough to make Zenaida realize that an idea was never going to work.
Deep down, Zenaida already knew the web domain idea was unlikely to make her rich, but she wasn’t quite ready to fully abandon the fantasy. She knew that if she told Lara her plan, her friend’s analysis would inevitably burst the dream bubble. Zenaida opted for evasion.
“Something like a new job, kinda-sorta. It’s too early to say,” Zenaida answered vaguely.
“Well keep me
posted,” Lara said with a kind smile. Zenaida nodded, then let out an abrupt yawn. She glanced at her phone and blinked in disbelief.
“I don’t know what surprises me more... that I have ten missed calls, or that it’s already time for bed,” she said.
“You’re usually such a night owl, what happened? You don’t want to watch a movie or something? It’s so early to sleep” Lara said. Zenaida shook her head.
“I’m out of gas so I need to wake up early for the bus tomorrow,” Zenaida said. She glanced at her phone again. “Great... the calls are all from a blocked number. If I’m lucky, it’s just telemarketers who will give up after a few more calls.”
“And if you’re unlucky?” Lara asked.
“If I’m unlucky, it means the debt collection agency somehow found my new number,” Zenaida groaned.
“Still chasing down your student loan debt?” Lara asked.
“Maybe that, or maybe more identity theft from Peeper’s data leak. Either way, all I can do is keep dodging their calls until they realize I have no money to pay them with. Thanks for the food Lara,” she said.
Zenaida helped her friend clear the table. Then she brushed her teeth, threw on an old sleep shirt, and curled up on the couch.
II.
Golden Ticket
That weekend, the Karen situation reached critical mass.
Zenaida had been stretched across Lara’s couch, deep asleep with one leg dangling awkwardly off the arm of the chair. Her hair was splayed across a cushion. She had been dreaming about something pleasant, but a loud, persistent sound had gradually tugged her to awareness.
Zenaida groaned and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep. All week she had been waking up early to catch the bus to work. Her body was overdue for a serious snooze. The sound repeated, louder this time.
“Ah-HUM!”
Zenaida opened one eye cautiously, heart sinking in her chest. This was not a good way to start a weekend. Standing in front of her, a dour expression on her face, was Karen Franklin.
Karen shared her daughter’s frizzy hair and glasses, but that was where the resemblance ended. Whereas Lara was always quick to smile, Karen seemed to exhibit a perpetual scowl. She wore her usual obnoxiously bright pastel colored slacks-- Pistachio green today-- and a luxury purse that Zenaida suspected was a knock-off.
“Enjoying the free rent, I see,” Karen sniffed. “Courtesy of Bank of Karen. So sorry not to have bought you breakfast in bed.”
“Good morning Miss Franklin,” Zenaida croaked. She needed two glasses of water: one for her parched throat, and another to splash on her face. It was too early to deal with Karen.
“No breakfast in bed today, I’m afraid,” Karen repeated, arms crossed.
“If you’re wondering about when I’ll be getting a new job, it won’t be much longer,” Zenaida said. “I’ve got a few things lined up that look really promising.”
Zenaida spotted Lara in the back of her apartment, pretending to clean. Her friend seemed to be trying her best to fade into the background. Zenaida could immediately tell from Lara’s expression that she had misspoke.
“My daughter already told me your job search has gone absolutely nowhere, so spare me your lies,” Karen shot back. “I must say, it doesn’t look like you’re putting in an abundance of effort.”
“I’m doing the best I can, but--”
“It doesn’t look like you’re doing the best of anything. Just slouching around on the couch all day, mooching off my daughter, enjoying the free ride in my apartment,” Karen said.
Zenaida sat up and pushed the hair out of her eyes. She glanced at a nearby clock. It was only a quarter to seven. It was absolutely too early for Karen... but of course, it was Karen’s apartment, and she was her best friend’s mother to boot. Zenaida fought back a wave of anger.
“I’m trying, Karen. If I can’t find a better job, somebody will eventually quit from my company. People leave all the time. Once that happens, I’ll get moved to full-time hours, which means full benefits and better pay. Then I will be out of your hair for good,” Zenaida said flatly.
“You know, if I were hurting for money so bad, I wouldn’t have a fancy iPhone. I wouldn’t have a car parked out front,” Karen said. “I would use a pay phone and take the bus, then save up that money to get my life together.”
Zenaida fought the urge to roll her eyes. “The bus only runs three times per day and doesn’t stop at the only grocery store I can afford to shop at. And this isn’t an iPhone, it’s a $120 knockoff that I need in case work calls to offer me extra shifts. I’m doing the best I can to dig myself out of this hole… it’s just really hard.”
“Your generation always has some excuse,” Karen said, shaking her head. “First you ran out of money for college, but that wasn’t your fault. Then you had to move in with my daughter, but that wasn’t your fault--”
“Mom, I insisted she moved in. It wasn’t safe in her old--” Lara began timidly.
“You pipe down,” Karen snapped, then turned back to Zenaida. “Now you can’t get a new job, and I’m sure that’s not your fault either. But I am not the pushover my daughter is, and I’m not the soft case your parents apparently were. You have until the end of the month to get it together. Get a real job, earn a proper paycheck, and get your own damn apartment.”
“Karen. The end of the month is nine days away. How am I supposed to find--” Zenaida said.
“I don’t know, and I’m sure I don’t care,” Karen declared. She turned to Lara. “Your father and I want you home for Grammy’s birthday this weekend. Get ready quick. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
Lara nodded dully, her eyes shining with tears. Zenaida could tell her friend wanted to stand up to her Mom, but knew she couldn’t. The battle for control had been decided long ago, with Lara long since having surrendered to her mother’s will. Karen stormed towards the door, then shot Zenaida a final look of disdain.
“End of the month, I mean it. Either up on your feet, or out on your ass.”
Then she slammed the door and was gone at last. Zenaida let out a long, shaky breath. The apartment seemed unnaturally silent in the absence of Karen’s booming voice.
“Zeny, I am so sorry--” Lara said, wiping her eyes.
“Why does that horrible woman-- sorry, why does your mother-- hate me so very, very much?” Zenaida asked. She was angry at being so rudely confronted, and anxious at the prospect of imminent homelessness, but there was another feeling as well. Zenaida felt a stunned sense of awe. She had never experienced such loathing directed towards her. She could scarcely fathom what she had done to deserve it.
“It’s not personal,” Lara sighed. “Mom’s had a hard life, you know. Her family was very poor, and they went through a lot of hard times. Until just a few years ago, she never had a penny to her name.”
“Shouldn’t that make her a little sympathetic?” Zenaida asked. She stood from the couch and stretched, wincing as her back cracked.
“In Mom’s mind, she made it from rags to riches through hard work and perseverance,” Lara shrugged. “Never mind that Mom made her money through a series of lawsuits so frivolous that none of the lawyers in town will take her calls. Mom’s world is black and white. You’re either a hard worker, like she sees herself, or you’re a worthless freeloader.”
“Which is how she views me,” Zenaida said. She let out another heavy sigh, then looked at her friend. “Lara, you... you know I’m not just mooching from you, right? You know I’ll repay every favor you’ve ever done for me someday, right? I swear… Down to the very last penny.”
“I know that, Zeny,” Lara smiled. “But that’s not what’s important right now. We’ve got to find a way for you to scrounge up some extra cash, quick. I saw your last pay stub and you’re easily a few hundred bucks short of affording your own place. Any ideas?”
“My parents are off this afternoon,” Zenaida said, running a hand over her face. “It’s only a fo
rty minute walk. I’ll go see them, jump on their laptop and apply for some new jobs.”
Lara nodded, then gave her friend a sympathetic smile.
“I know I’m terrible at standing up to her, but if there’s anything I can do to help...” she said.
“Thanks Lara, but you’ve already done too much. You go ahead and get ready for your Grandma’s birthday. I’ll tell my folks you said hi,” Zenaida said.
The sun beat down on Zenaida as she walked along the road. She squinted against the afternoon glare, shielding her eyes with a hand held to her brow. Her feet were kicking up clouds of dust, and along with the exhaust of passing traffic, it was irritating her throat. Zenaida wished she had brought a bottle of water.
Finding a better paying job in nine days was unlikely, Zenaida knew. She had still been several credits shy of her diploma before running out of college money, and her work experience hadn’t exactly made her competitive in the market. She had a few months fast food experience, a short stint as a housekeeper, and her current gig as customer service phone support. None of them provided much in the way of high-demand skills. Without a new job, affording a new apartment would be utterly impossible.
Zenaida mentally reviewed her social roster. The tiny trailer her parents shared certainly had no room for an additional houseguest. Davey still lived at home, caring for his elderly parents. No free space there. Zenaida had a few exes that might let her crash on their couch, but most of them were in new relationships and she didn’t want to risk the drama. Zenaida resigned herself to the very likely possibility that she would be sleeping in her car again soon.
A car honked at Zenaida and she gave it the finger without bothering to look back. A dumbass teenager, probably. Zenaida walked faster, eyes focused on the asphalt stretching ahead before her.
The car honked again. Zenaida patted her cell phone in her pocket, reassuring herself of its presence. If the driver was a serious creep, she could record video and hopefully scare him away. If that didn’t work, she could call the police. Zenaida hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She didn’t have the time or energy to deal with the hassle.
