by Nikki Chase
Mark remains quiet as the gears in my brain goes into overdrive. Why is she being so casual about everything? And what could she mean by “flat rate”? Flat rate for what?
My breath catches in my throat as realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
“Dude? Max, right?” The woman remains on the bed as she picks up Mark’s jeans, which were lying on the carpeted bedroom floor. She pulls out his wallet from the back pocket and says, “I’ll just help myself, okay? See? I’m just taking whatever you owe me.” She takes out a few bills and holds them up for Mark to see, although he remains completely frozen in place, not daring to take his eyes off me.
My blood boils. He’s cheating on me with a prostitute? Really?
“Don’t tell me she’s a prostitute,” I say as I glower at Mark.
The woman gets up from the bed and quietly puts on her clothes, piece by piece, as if we weren’t also here in the same room.
After a long pause, in which the only sounds are the zipper of the woman’s mini skirt being pulled up and the muffled clicks of her heels on the carpet, Mark says, “Okay. I’m not going to tell you she’s a prostitute.”
The woman laughs. Looking right at me as she walks out of the bedroom, she says, “Honey, I wouldn’t have fucked this guy if he didn’t agree to pay for it.”
The woman’s ultra-high heels click noisily on the wooden floor as her footsteps get further and further away.
The front door opens, then closes again with a soft click.
It’s just the two of us now, marinating in the tense, awkward atmosphere, neither of us knowing what to say.
I look at the desk, where I left my laptop this morning. I could at least take that with me right now, even if I have to leave the rest of my stuff behind.
“I’m sorry, Piper. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You weren’t meant to find out,” Mark says, finally finding his tongue.
“And that makes it okay?” I march past him toward the desk and grab my laptop. I’m ready to leave now. I don’t care. There’s no explanation needed.
“Please, Piper. I know I fucked up, but I had a bad case of the blue balls. It’s been six months,” he says as he follows me out the room. “If you think about it, both of us are responsible for what just happened. We can move forward. We can move past this. I have faith in us.”
“I don’t.” I open the front door, step out into the hallway, and turn around. “Don’t even think about following me. Your face makes me sick.”
Mark flinches from my words. I take the opportunity to slam the door shut in his face.
Dickhead.
My feet move swiftly, fueled by anger. What a waste of my time and energy.
I thought I was going to finally lose my virginity to Mark, but now I’m glad we never did it. God knows how many times he has cheated on me and never gotten caught.
Chapter 2
Piper
Present Time
“I swear, her heels were higher than her skirt was long.” I pick up my bottle from the floor and take another gulp of the beer. “But enough about that. I’m so over Mark. Can we just talk about something else? This is our last night here. It’s the end of an era.”
“Yeah, who cares about Mark? This is our night. Fuck that guy,” Carly says passionately, adopting my anger as if it’s her own. She pauses to think. “Wait. No. Do the opposite of that. Don’t fuck that guy.”
We both laugh. Our apartment may be mostly empty now, but it still feels like home, now that we’re chatting and laughing like we usually do.
The living room looks smaller than it normally does, which is weird because there’s actually less stuff now.
Brown cardboard boxes of different sizes are scattered all over the green carpeted floor. Instead of buying moving boxes, we went with the free option. We went to the grocery store and begged a staff member for free, used boxes from the warehouse.
Other than the boxes, there’s not much left in the apartment.
A pizza box that contains our dinner. Three bottles of beer, one of which is already empty. Our bags. And us. Oh, and McClaw, my orange tabby, who’s chilling on my lap right now. He was a total nuisance while we were packing, jumping into boxes and tearing them apart with his sharp teeth and claws.
All the big pieces of furniture have been sold on Craigslist or moved to my new studio apartment.
I’m glad George, Carly’s boyfriend, has nicer furniture than we do. That’s why Carly’s leaving behind almost all the big items to me, although she was the one who originally bought most of them. So I got them for free.
God, I love free stuff.
Like this pizza. It tastes better because it’s free. Carly bought it for us both, knowing how broke I am. She’s an amazing friend.
I take another slice of the pizza, the one with a bunch of meat chunks and pepperoni on it. I’ve been subsisting mostly on ramen and day-old grocery-store bread. I probably don’t get enough protein.
“You know, I never liked Mark,” Carly says as she takes another sip of the beer.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my mouth full of cheesy, meaty goodness.
“Well, you seemed to like the guy. As far as I could tell, he treated you nice enough. I thought I was just jealous.” She grins. “I know it’s weird, but I used to have you all to myself.”
“Aww…” I lean over and pull Carly into a hug with my clean hand, holding the pizza with my other one. “It’s not weird. To be honest, I’m feeling kind of jealous too, now that George gets to be your new roommate.”
“I’m so going to miss you, Piper,” Carly says, pulling me closer with both hands, resting the beer bottle she’s holding on my back. The bottle is cold, the wetness seeping through the back of my shirt.
“Oh, you’ll be fine.” I break the hug. “You’ve stayed over at George’s a bunch of times, right? I’m sure you guys will do fine.”
“I know, but it won’t be the same without you.” She sighs.
“I’m the one who’s going to miss you more. I’ll be living on my own.”
“That’s not true. You have McClaw with you.” Carly reaches out one drunk, heavy hand and pets the cat, making him swish his tail from side to side with displeasure.
“Yeah, he’s not a very good conversationalist, though.” I move Carly’s hand away before McClaw shows her how he got his name in the first place. “Plus, he made it really hard for me to find a new place. If it wasn’t for him, I would’ve been able to find new roommates and just move into a room. Instead, I have to get a tiny, unfurnished studio.”
“Eh, you may be better off living on your own anyway. At least McClaw will be the only asshole you’ll live with.”
“Yeah.” I pause. “Can you imagine if I ended up moving in with Mark I I’d planned and then found out he’d been cheating on me?”
“When things are bad, it’s good to remind yourself that it could be worse.” Carly lifts her beer bottle up for a toast.
“Word.” I pick up my bottle and clink it against hers. “I had no idea how hard it is to find an apartment, though. I was completely unprepared.”
“Really? It was pretty easy for me to get this one.”
“Yeah, it was easy for you because you have money.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, money is great. You should get yourself some of that good stuff.”
I laugh wryly and scratch the soft fur between McClaw’s ears.
It’s only Carly’s name on the lease for this two-bedroom apartment. She fell in love with the place and rented it on her own. In the first week of the semester, she put up flyers all over the campus, looking for a roommate. I was the lucky person who happened to click with her and became the chosen one.
Unlike me, Carly gets money transferred into her account from her parents every month. She doesn’t have the same money problems that I do, although we’re both college students.
To be honest, maybe those landlords have a good reason to not let me move into their properties. The studio I�
��m going to move into is the cheapest one I could find. Yet I’m not sure I’ll be able to pay the rent on time every month. I guess we’ll see.
Carly offers to help, of course. But I can’t keep relying on her forever.
My dad is broke, too, so I can’t ask him for any money. And he lives too far from San Francisco, where my college is, for me to move back in with him.
My whole life, the man has spent all his money at the liquor store. He did stop for a while, when we had to scrounge up every penny for Mom’s hospital bills. But now that she’s gone, his alcohol habit has only gotten worse.
“Did you manage to find any work?” Carly asks.
“Yeah. I got a retail job at the mall, but they’re not giving me many shifts. I may have to get another job, on top of that one.”
Carly goes quiet before finally saying, “You know you can always come to me for help, right?”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Carly,” I say, smiling.
I don’t like asking for help from other people; I think that’s a show of weakness. But Carly is my roommate, and she knows I haven’t always managed to pay my rent on time. She has been generous with me and never even said anything about my late payments. A real landlord wouldn’t be as nice.
While she's trading up to a more luxurious apartment, I’m definitely trading down.
Maybe it's my own fault.
Sure, luck has something to do with it, too. I grew up wearing hand-me-downs from my older cousins, while Carly used to get thousands of dollars at the beginning of every school year to update her entire wardrobe.
But I have a part to play in this, too. While Carly’s getting a sensible finance degree, I’m working toward a music degree.
Through her dad’s connections, she gets an awesome paid internship position at some investment bank. On the other hand, I go through audition after audition to play “for exposure”—which is just a nicer way to say I’m basically free labor.
I do get some paid gigs. Still, I bet the bartenders at the joints where my jazz band plays make way more in tips alone than we do in total.
I also offer guitar and piano lessons, and I make decent money from them.
When I don’t have anything better to do with my time, sometimes I take my guitar downtown, put my open guitar case on the sidewalk, and just start playing, hoping to collect a few bills, along with the mountain of coins I usually get. This doesn’t earn me much, but it’s a good way to spend a nice, sunny day.
Maybe it’s this mentality that’s screwing me over. Maybe I should be more mercenary about making a living, instead of holding on to an unrealistic dream. I mean, how many musicians actually make it?
I don’t know. I’m only twenty-one, so I guess at least I have time to figure things out.
That’s a long-term problem, though, and I don’t have the luxury to think about that.
Right now, I should be focusing on bringing in money immediately so I don’t end up on the streets—or worse, back in my family home with Dad.
Okay, maybe he’s not quite that bad, but that’s not an option either.
I take another sip of my beer. Carly’s already passed out on the carpet, resting her head on her own arm. Ah, to be loaded and worry-free…
I pet McClaw, running my fingers from his forehead to his tail. He starts to purr, his orange belly rising up and down with his deep, contented breathing.
I may be broke, but at least I have good company. Things could be worse.
Chapter 3
Raphael
Things have been getting worse and worse today.
First, I realize my watch, which was a gift from my parents, is broken. So now I have to go to the store from where they originally bought it.
Then, on the way there, I hear my phone ringing. Of course I haven’t connected the phone to the car audio system, so I can’t pick it up while driving.
When I reach the mall, I check my phone, only to see that I have a missed call from my property manager. The one I’ve been trying to reach for two weeks.
Honestly, I’m ready to fucking fire her. What kind of a professional gets a call, every single day, for two weeks from a client and never calls back? Now she finally calls, and she doesn’t even leave a message.
I take a deep, frustrated breath as I open the car door and tap the call-back button. Holding the phone up to my ear, I hear the dial tone, then the familiar voicemail message.
“Hi, this is Teresa from Diamond Property Management. I can’t pick up right now, but leave your name and number, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
Bullshit, I curse quietly. I’ve heard that same message fifty times over the past two weeks.
I end the call, then redial. Dial tone, then…
“Hello,” Teresa says at the other end of the call.
“Teresa. I’ve been trying to call you for two weeks now.”
“Hi Raphael, I’m so sorry. My husband is ill. I’m actually waiting for him right now at the hospital while he’s in surgery.”
I was ready to tear her apart, but I can’t kick someone when she’s down.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “Do you know what’s happening with the rent? I haven’t been getting the deposits in my account.”
“Yeah, I spoke with the tenant. She says she’s going to pay both the rent for April and May on May first.”
I take a deep calming breath. This is not acceptable, but I feel too bad for Teresa to get angry.
“So she’s going to miss this month’s payment altogether?” I ask, pushing my frustration down.
“Yes, unfortunately. She said she’ll get paid on the last day of April and she’ll deposit the money the very next day.”
“Look, I know you’re going through some difficult times, but you should’ve at least let me know so I could start the eviction process.”
“I’m sorry, Raphael. I don’t know what to tell you. I know I’ve been unavailable. Honestly, though, the tenant is doing her best. She’s determined to make that payment.”
“I’m sure she is,” I say, itching to say it sarcastically, but I don’t hate her enough to give her grief. “Listen, Teresa, I’ll go there and talk to her myself. You just worry about your husband. If you hear anything from the tenant, please tell her to call me directly.”
“Okay, I will. Thank you, Raphael.”
“No problem.” I hang up.
I should fire her. I feel bad for Teresa, but she’s not doing her job. I also feel bad for the tenant, but I’m not a charity. Having people feel bad for you shouldn’t be an income-producing life skill.
I walk into the jewelry store. There’s no way to miss it because of the bright white lighting. There are glass display cases along the walls, and another group of display cases arranged into a rectangular counter at the center of the store.
I approach the counter. Immediately, a middle-aged woman gives me a smile and comes over. She’s wearing an all-black outfit, like all the other sales associates do.
“Mr. Holt, it’s been a while since I last saw you,” she says.
I don’t remember her name, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a good chance she has never told me her name anyway.
I used to come here a lot on my mom’s shopping trips, so that’s probably why she remembers me. My mom has always been a big spender, and this is one of her favorite stores.
“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” I say, returning her smile.
Busy being in prison, I think to myself. Oh, and helping people escape modern slavery. There’s that, too.
“I see. How can I help you today?”
“My watch is broken and I’m wondering if you could fix it.”
“Let me take it to the back so our horologist can have a look at it.”
“Sorry, your what?”
“Horologist. The person who fixes watches.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Can’t fault someone who works at a store like this to use pretentious words, I guess.
I fish the watch out of my jeans pocket and put it on the counter. After giving me another smile, the lady disappears into the back of the store.
“Rafe?” A familiar voice calls my name.
I glance back over my shoulder and see a woman who looks impossibly good for a sixty-year-old. As usual, her appearance is impeccable, with her big hair and her perfect make-up. She's just wearing a basic black dress and minimal jewelry, but anyone can tell her stuff is expensive.
“How often do you actually come here, Mom?” I ask.
“Oh, Rafe.” She ignores my question as she throws her arms around me and pulls me into a hug. Her floral perfume fills my nostrils, the familiar scent bringing back happy memories. I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Mom, I see you all the time. There’s no need to get dramatic here.”
She lets go of me and steps back. She studies me from head to toe, then scrunches her nose at my jeans and black shirt. “You’d look better in some decent clothes,” she says. She snaps her fingers. “Oh, I know. There’s this store, where your dad gets his suits from. Let’s get something for you after this.”
“I love you, Mom, but I’d rather stab myself than go shopping with you. Besides, I have enough suits that I wear to work. I don’t need to wear them all the time.”
She laughs, showing off the perfect rows of pearly teeth in her mouth. “What are you doing here? I thought you hate the mall.”
“I do. I just need to get something fixed, the watch that you and Dad gave me.” I pause, wondering for a moment if I should ask the question. “Hey, uh, has Dad said anything to you about letting me handle the meeting next week?”
“Oh, you know I don’t meddle in how your father runs his business, dear. You should just ask him when you see him at the office,” she says. “But maybe Diana can help you. She’s here, and Aunt May, too. They should be coming in here any… Oh, there they are!” Mom’s eyes focus on a spot behind me as she lifts her hands up to wave. “May, Diana, look who I bumped into!”
