The Position

by Izzy Mason

  “Why don’t you just leave me alone?” I shout. The shame and anger are suffocating me. The air inside the car feels thin and toxic. I’m suddenly desperate to be alone again. “I just want you to leave me alone!”

  I wait for him to say something, but Lazarus is quiet for a long time. Finally, I turn around to look at him. He’s staring at me. Our eyes lock and I feel a bolt of electricity blaze through me. The fire is rising again so I force my eyes away. His power unsettles me. I just want to be free of him.

  “I need to know that you’re okay,” he says, his voice low. “I can’t stand knowing that you…” He casts his eyes around the inside of my jalopy again. “That this is what you come home to. That this is your home. I can’t…”

  He rubs his face with his hands, as if grappling with something incomprehensible. Of course he can’t imagine it. Jude Lazarus has never had to imagine poverty. I push the sleeping bag away and turn to face him, my hands clenched in angry fists.

  “You know what, Jude? If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s how to be okay. I don’t need anyone looking out for me. This isn’t a new situation for me. It’s just my life, okay? You gave me a job and then you fired me. Save your pity. I’ll be fine. Just leave me alone.”

  The anger floods my brain until I can’t think straight. I just want this day to be over. I want to move on. I want him to go.

  “Jesus, Mickey…”

  “Get out of my car and go!” I bring my open hand down hard on the dash.

  Lazarus bites his lip and stares straight ahead in a daze. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look helpless. He shakes his head and opens the door. Then he looks over at me one last time.

  “Mickey, I…”

  “Go!” I scream like a maniac. This time he does. He climbs out of the car and closes the door. I watch him cross the street to where his car is parked, shoulders hunched and defeated. I wrap the sleeping bag around me. Good, I tell myself. I’m glad he’s gone. I hope I never see him again for as long as I live. The glare of his headlights across the street cuts through the darkness and his car pulls away. I watch in the rear view as the red taillights grow smaller and smaller.

  And then all that’s left is the empty blackness.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’m sorry you got fired,” Liz says, leaning sympathetically over the table. Still, she doesn’t look surprised. “If there’s anything I can do to help. If you need to borrow money…”

  “I’m okay,” I say quickly before she can follow that line any further. I’ve agreed to let her take me to lunch, but I’m not going to start shaking down my friends for cash. I never have before and I have no plans to start now. After all, I’m just where I started a couple months ago.

  Liz called in the morning asking if I could meet her for lunch. Of course, I had nothing else to do with my day, so we agreed to have sandwiches at little hole-in-the-wall near her work. I was surprised to see her looking so thin, her eyes lifeless. Her blond hair is pulled into a slightly greasy ponytail and her work clothes are unusually plain. She’s taking the breakup hard, I think.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks, rigorously stirring her ice tea as if it were cake batter. “Are you looking for work?”

  I shrug. “I have one lead. We’ll see.”

  “Admin stuff?”

  “Design work, actually.”

  Liz raises her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  I shake my head and bite into my BLT. “It’s stupid. Probably will never happen. Besides, I’m too superstitious to talk about it.” I give her a smile. “How’s your work?”

  Liz sighs and leans back against her chair. “Fine,” she says, her eyes blankly gazing out the window to the street. Then she looks at me. “I miss him.”

  I reach across the table and put a hand on her arm. She tenses, as if my touch was a terrible sensation, then pulls her arm out of my reach. Confused, I lean back and study her carefully. I realize for the first time that, in spite of her kind words and generous offers, Liz’s expression is dark and unfamiliar.

  “What’s wrong, Liz?”

  But she just shakes her head and waves it away. “Nothing.”

  She’s just depressed, I think. Everyone deals with it differently. I’m no stranger to withdrawing from the world when things get bad. Still, she’s the one who called to invite me out.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  Liz gives me a pointed look. “Are you saying you don’t know? Didn’t you talk to Travis?”

  “Only long enough for him to tell me you broke up. He didn’t say why.”

  “Of course he didn’t,” she mutters bitterly.

  I cock my head and furrow my brow, befuddled by her behavior. “What’s going on? Why does it feel like you’re mad at me? I’m not involved in this.”

  “Oh, aren’t you?”

  I’m starting to get annoyed with all of her answers being questions. The waitress sidles up with the pitcher of ice tea and fills both our glasses, and I bite my lip to stop myself from blurting out what I want to say. When she’s gone, I lean over the table.

  “What the fuck, Liz?” I whisper loudly. “Stop playing this stupid game and just fucking tell me already!”

  “He’s in love with you, okay?” She practically spits it out, and then she buries her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Mickey. It’s not your fault. I know it’s not.”

  I sit frozen in my seat, stunned. “That’s insane.”

  Liz shakes her head. She lifts her now tear-streaked face and grabs for her napkin. “He’s been in love with you for ages. That’s what he told me.”

  I’m dumbfounded. There’s no way this is true. Nothing has ever happened to suggest that Travis had feelings for me. In fact, a few years ago, I had a mad crush on Travis that gradually softened into friendship. But he was always way too interested in fucking anything in a tight pair of pants to give me the time of day. At least not in that way.

  “I’m sorry,” I say slowly, my mouth suddenly dries. “I just don’t believe that. He’s too much of a player to hide something like that from me.”

  Liz shrugs, wiping at her eyes with the napkin and blowing her nose. “Whether you believe it or not, it’s true. And when he told me, he hadn’t even seen the new you.”

  My head is reeling and I have no more words to say. My best friend in the world, the only soul besides old Captain that I’ve leaned on and trusted in my entire screwed up life has been in love with me. Geeky, homely, awkward me. It’s too much to take in. I stare at my half-eaten sandwich, not wanting it anymore. There’s a tight knot in my stomach that won’t let anything else through.

  Liz tries to smile. “I’m really sorry about that, Mickey. I couldn’t imagine you didn’t know. I was hurt and angry. But it’s obvious you had no idea.” She pulls out another napkin and gives her nose a dainty blow. There’s a strange expression on her face, like someone bracing for bad news. She fixes her eyes on the table. “Do you love him, too?”

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Of course I love Travis. He’s like family to me. But am I in love with him? Are any of those old flames still smoldering somewhere inside? I’m not sure, but I don’t think they are.

  “I’m not in love with Travis, Liz.”

  She lets out a gushing half-laugh, half-sob and nods quickly. “I didn’t think so. I really didn’t.” The answer seems to make her a little hopeful. She gives me a weak smile, her eyes still shining with tears. “I hope we can still be friends with each other, Mickey.”

  I reach across the table again and touch her arm. This time she doesn’t recoil. “That has never changed.” I look at my phone to check the time. It’s an hour from my appointment with Nathan Klein. “I’ve got to go. Call me soon, okay?”

  Liz nods and wipes at her eyes. “Okay.”

  When I leave the café, my head is spinning and I feel strangely drugged. Life has never been easy for me, but at least it’s been predictable. Now it’s like the whole wor
ld has been shaken like a snow globe and nothing makes sense anymore. All I want is a little stability, a baseline of normal where I can just chill out for a while. I unlock my bike and head in the direction of downtown.

  And this time I’m going to watch out for doors.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nathan Klein’s building looks nothing like Lazarus & Smith’s gleaming tower. His is in a funkier part of town, with elegant, red brick buildings and old growth trees. Mixed in with the smaller design and architecture firms are fancy cafes, tapas restaurants, and a movie theater that shows foreign films.

  When I step through the doors, a friendly woman immediately turns to greet me. She has very short black hair, a nose ring, and a completely tattooed right arm. She’s wearing a casual-but-funky tank top, crazy pants full of zippers, and chunky-heeled platform boots. She gets to her feet and walks toward me with her tattooed arm extended.

  “Hey!” she calls, as if I were across the room. “Michaela, right?”

  I smile and nod. She shakes my hand with a grin. “I’m Devon. I work with Nate. He told me about your work. Stoked to meet you!”

  I’m completely thrown. It could not be more different from showing up at Lazarus & Smith for my interview. In fact, if I’d shown up at this place soaked with rain and beat to shit, they probably would’ve loved it. Feeling amazingly at ease, I glance around at the super fun décor. Brightly colored chairs and Miró-inspired fixtures hanging from the ceiling. I hand Devon my portfolio. She takes it and waves me through.

  “Come on back. Let’s have a drink.”

  I follow her past several room dividers hanging from ceiling chains to where Nate is sitting on the floor thumbing through catalogues of high-end light fixtures. When he sees me he smiles broadly and reaches up a hand to shake.

  “Good to see you again, my friend!” he exclaims. “Do you drink wine?”

  I gape at him for a second before catching myself. “Uh, sure.”

  “Red or white?” Devon asks, heading for a vintage bar set up against the brick wall. She pulls three wine glasses from an elevated shelf.

  “White, please,” I manage, forcing my confident voice through, even though I’m starting to feel so excited about the prospect of working here that I’m absolutely sure I’m going to blow it.

  Devon opens a bottle of white and pours us each a glass. After handing them around she joins Nate on the floor and waves me down. “Have a seat. Let’s check out your bitchin’ work.” She throws open my portfolio and immediately gasps at the first sketch. “Fuck, that’s gorgeous, girl!”

  I can’t stop grinning. I sit down on the floor and sip my wine as they turn the pages, effusive with their compliments. I’m struck with an overwhelming feeling of safety. Of belonging. The wine tingles in my head and makes my body feel warm and relaxed.

  “Who was it that fired you yesterday?” asks Nate, his eyes still glued on my work.

  “Jude Lazarus.”

  Both their heads snap up simultaneously.

  “What?” gasps Nate.

  “No shit?” exclaims Devon.

  She and Nate exchange a look.

  “Well la-tee-fucking-da!” she laughs.

  “He had her working as an assistant,” mutters Nate. “Probably never even asked for her portfolio.” He looks up at me. “Did he see your work?”

  “No,” I shake my head. “But I wasn’t applying for a design job. I didn’t think anyone would hire me for that. I mean I just graduated from college.”

  “Are you nuts?” Devon’s eyes go wide. “Everyone loves discovering a hot new talent! But Jude Lazarus…” She throws up her arms dramatically. “There’s no room in that spotlight! No way!”

  She gets to her feet, goes to the bar, and grabs the bottle. “Okay, let’s get our asses in some real chairs and talk shop.”

  We settle into some funky chairs that look like the palms of upturned hands, and I can’t tell whether they’re supposed to be serious or ironic. I perch awkwardly on one and cross my legs, as Devon refills my glass. Then she settles comfortably into one of the hand chairs and pulls her knees to her chest. She looks me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time.

  “You have a great look, Michaela. I can already see you at some of our fabulous cocktail parties. Last year we had a pop art theme party and people came dressed as Andy Warhol or wearing make up that made them look like pointillist paintings. It was awesome.”

  “God, that sounds amazing,” I gush with genuine appreciation. “This place is amazing. I really feel good here.”

  “Yes. It’s a good fit,” says Nate matter-of-factly. “We’ve been struggling to find someone that matches our style. Our energy. And then you fall on your ass right in front of me.”

  I blush, but force a smile. “Yeah. Good thing it wasn’t totally mortifying or anything.” I give Devon a sheepish look. “I was having a bad night.”

  “Well, when one door closes…” Nate makes a sweeping gesture toward their own glass-fronted door. He raises his glass and we all follow suit. After taking a long drink, Nate turns to me with a serious business face.

  “We’ve been hired to design a new nightclub. It’s the vanity project of a Hollywood celebrity, actually. He loves the mountains and Colorado, and wants to plant a little flag here, I guess. You know how these people can be. They always want something special. Something unique. And your stuff is unique.”

  I blush again, this time in a good way. “Thank you.”

  He looks at Devon as if signaling her. She smiles at me. “We’d like to see what you can do with it.”

  I gape at her, my jaw opens, and I nearly slip out of my chair. Then I look at Nate. Are they messing with me? Is it possible this is really happening? That something amazing is finally happening to me? “You want me to design a celebrity nightclub? But you’ve only just met me.”

  Nate shrugs. “Your sketches tell me all I need to know. And we have the time. If you botch it, we’ll survive.” He arches his eyebrows. “But if you’re the next design genius we think you could be, the world will be kissing our asses. What do you say? Will you be our own little wunderkind?”

  I don’t even pause for effect. My hand shoots out toward him and I get to my feet. “Absolutely! I’m your girl! You won’t be sorry!” My whole body feels warm and strangely strong. Muscular. I flash to the childhood fantasy of my future self; the cosmopolitan woman living a glamorous life in the city. Is it possible it could actually be coming true?

  For the rest of the afternoon, Nate and Devon show me pictures and videos of the projects they’ve done in the U.S., Madrid, and Mexico City. They’re not as high profile and world famous as Lazarus, but they are cool and fun, and clearly loaded. Their world isn’t that of museums, estates, and office towers. They design funky, modern hotel interiors, private pool areas, and nightlife establishments.

  Finally, Nate gathers our glasses and brings them to the small sink area in the back while Devon has me fill out several forms to establish my official employment. When it asks for my address, I write down Travis’s, as usual, but this time I feel a little weird about it. Nate appears just as I’m finishing up. He fishes around his inside pocket and pulls out a folded slip of paper.

  “Consider it a retainer on the project,” he announces, handing it to me with a warm smile. “And I look forward to many more.”

  It’s a check. I open it and look at the number. Immediately, I let out an audible gasp. It’s more than my own father used to make in six years combined. I’ve never had more than a few hundred dollars in my account at any given time. How is it possible that this money is for me? The moment is so unreal that, for a few seconds, I actual question whether or not I’m dreaming. But the paper in my hands is real. It’s happening. My dream is coming true.

  I hug Devon and Nate goodbye, and then step out into the fading afternoon light in a daze. My bike is chained up outside, but I’m not ready to go quite yet. Instead, I head across the street to a red brick café where beautiful young
people sit reading books or working on their computers. I order an espresso and settle down at a window table with an outlet just below so I can plug in my nearly dead laptop.

  For a long, lingering moment I watch the people pass by outside, purposeful and professional people, and for the first time in my life, I think I might actually belong with them. Belong here in this neighborhood. In this café.

  Then I turn on my computer and find the site I’m looking for. Listings for apartments in the Denver area.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “It’s perfect.”

  Travis stands at the bay windows looking down at the activity on the street below. It’s only two blocks from my new office and the neighborhood, I’ve discovered, is even cooler than I realized. There are art galleries, kava bars, bookstores, and movie cafes—like a Bohemian dream.

  “I don’t know, Travis,” I mumble, walking around the beautifully spacious living room, with great natural light and refinished hardwood floors. “It’s expensive. I’m thinking I should stick with that garden level place…”

  “Garden level,” interrupts Travis, “is just real estate code for depressing, basement apartment. And that neighborhood is horrible. Not to mention the disgusting carpet.” He turns around and watches me opening closets and inspecting their ample interior. “Mickey, you have to let yourself have something nice. You can afford it. And you deserve it.”

  I sigh. The place is a dream come true. I can’t imagine it being all mine. With everything happening so fast, I don’t know how to get my mind around it. “There’s no guarantee this job is going to work out, you know. Then I’ll be stuck with the rent.”

  Travis approaches me and puts an arm around my shoulders. “This check will keep you solvent for the rest of the year, even without work. And if something happens and you don’t keep the job, you now have proof that your work is awesome and you’ll be able to find another one. Come on. You’ve paid your dues. Let your first real apartment be a beauty.”