Shacking Up

by Helena Hunting

  “Hello, may I please speak with Ruby Scott?”

  It’s an unfamiliar male voice. Oh God. I hope it’s not a collection agency. I’ve been really good about paying down my loans and credit card. “That’s me.”

  “This is Jack Russell. You auditioned for me yesterday.”

  My heart jumps up in my throat. I cross my fingers. “Yes. Yes I did.”

  “We were all very impressed with your audition.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “Unfortunately, the role you’ve auditioned for has been filled,” he says.

  Of course it has. Because I have terrible luck. Because I suck. Because I can’t do this on my own. Because I’m destined to be a corporate drone, dealing in penis-hardening stimulants for the rest of my life. Or a prison bitch for murdering my whore-mother when I’m forced to work with her, because that’s the direction my life is going in.

  I tune back in just in time to hear, “—today to audition for another role.”

  “I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?”

  “It’s a slightly more challenging role, but your paperwork indicates you have vocal background. If you’re interested, we’d like you to come back and audition this afternoon.”

  “I can do that. Definitely. I’m interested. What time would you like me to be there?”

  “Can you make two o’clock? We have an opening at that time.”

  “I’ll be there. Is it at the same theater?”

  “Actually, no, it’s down the street. Not too far away.” I scribbled down the address and realize he’s talking about the New World Stages on West Fiftieth. This is a big deal. Not Broadway big, but Off-Broadway significant. It’s a huge step in the right direction. Getting this role, or any role in this production would be amazing for my career.

  I call Amie so I have someone to be excited with, but it goes to voice mail. A pang of sadness hits me when I see Bancroft’s number not far down the list of recent calls. If this had been a few days ago, he would’ve been the first person I called. Possibly ahead of Amie. That tells me, in a way I didn’t expect, just how attached to him I’ve become. I shake off the sadness and rush back to Amie’s to prepare for my audition.

  This time I’m put together and organized. I show up half an hour early, expecting it will give me some time to review the script—I didn’t even think to ask what the play or the part was, I was so excited.

  Ten minutes after I arrive they call me in, so I barely have enough time to look over the script or learn the song I’m supposed to sing. I don’t even have a chance to get nervous.

  And maybe that’s exactly why I nail it. It’s going to be such a cool production and the acoustics in this theater are outrageous. Once again I’m riding a high as I head back out into the warmth and the sunshine. As I’m passing the little theater where I auditioned yesterday, I notice a flyer in warning-sign-yellow. It’s impossible to miss. And it says FOR RENT.

  I have no idea how long it’s been there, but with my current string of luck, I call the number.

  I get voice mail, so I leave a message and take a picture of the address. I don’t think it’s terribly far from here. It would be amazing if I managed to find a place within walking distance, or a short subway ride, of my best friend. For as long as she’s still living in her apartment, anyway.

  I need to be at the club around six and it’s already approaching four, so I get my gear together and grab something to eat. I need to work a trip to the market into my day. Amie’s lettuce selection isn’t all that inspiring, or filling.

  I’m considering leaving for the club early so I don’t have to sit around and think about how a few days ago I could’ve shared my excitement with Bancroft, and now I can’t. I can’t exactly share it with the girls at the club either.

  If I get this role, I’ll have to quit or at least cut back my shifts. Quitting is more likely. And that makes me sad, because as scandalous as my job is, it’s been a freeing experience. More than that, it’s actually fun—aside from the horrible blisters and the calf cramps. Those I won’t miss.

  But this role would come with a very decent paycheck. One I can live off of. And the production is anticipated to be long running. This is what I’ve worked so hard for. It’s exactly what I want. I try not to get my hopes up, but it’s hard.

  Just as I’m shoving my feet into my shoes the phone rings. I recognize it as the number from the rental advertisement. I fully expect the person to sound like Darth Vader, or that the ad is old and the apartment is rented, but I’m shocked to discover it’s not. It’s a sublet, and it’s only available for two months.

  That’s not necessarily a bad thing. I can handle something short term. It will buy me time to find something permanent. I set up an appointment to see the place tomorrow. For all I know it’s located in the basement of a dungeon somewhere.

  The next day I take the short subway ride to check out the apartment. It’s a beautiful, tiny four-hundred-square-foot apartment, built for function. A sliding panel bisects the room, giving the illusion of a separate space for the bedroom, which boasts a murphy bed.

  The entire apartment would fit into my bedroom at Bancroft’s. Which is not my bedroom anymore. It never really was. Like this place will be, it was temporary. A stopover until I managed to pull my life back together.

  “I know it’s small,” Belinda says apologetically, as if it’s her fault the apartment doesn’t have more square footage.

  “That’s okay. It’s just me anyway. What would the rent be for this?” I’m afraid of the number she’s going to throw out. I have serious doubts about being able to afford this place.

  “I’m asking for eighteen hundred a month, with a five-hundred-dollar deposit that you’ll get back as long as everything is in the same condition when I return.”

  I stare at her, certain she can’t be serious. I’ve seen what these studio apartments go for. Living around here would not be possible for me with my current income, so this is a steal.

  It’s really a no-brainer. I can stay here for the next two months, get myself sorted out, and then find something more permanent.

  Chapter 21: Worst

  BANCROFT

  This is turning out to be the worst trip ever. Even the time I ate bad tacos and was sick the entire nine-hour plane ride home doesn’t compare.

  First, our flight has connections and they lose my luggage. As if that isn’t bad enough, Griffin, who doesn’t manage planes well, can’t seem to find his damn passport once we land, so it takes us forever to get the fuck out of the airport. Then once we get to the hotel, I realize I forget my goddamn phone and my iPad on the plane.

  It’s an epic clusterfuck. To add to the barrage of shit, when I finally manage to get a new phone on the second day of the trip I discover I haven’t backed up my iCloud, so any of the contacts I’ve added in the past three months cease to exist. Which includes Ruby. Who I haven’t been able to get in touch with. I’ve left private messages for her on Facebook and Instagram but I’ve heard nothing in response. It’s making me seriously fucking anxious.

  I leave a message for Armstrong, but he’s terrible about returning phone calls at the best of times. I don’t have much of a chance to worry about that, though, because we have bigger problems—not the least of which is replacing Griffin’s passport so we’re not stuck here in London for the next week.

  The permit issue ends up being a lot bigger than my father let on. Or maybe it’s bigger than he realized. We’d been one bad conversation away from a lawsuit. Lex was not in a good headspace for most of the trip. He generally makes sound business decisions, but this time he’s really messed up. I’ve spent more time on the phone with my father over the past twenty-four hours than I have in the past fifteen years.

  The only positive to come out of the trip is that we dodged a lawsuit and my father’s accolades that we’ve managed to solve the problem.

  When I walk into my condo the following Saturday afternoon, I’m exhausted and stresse
d. I haven’t heard from Ruby at all, which really isn’t like her. I expected messages from her but there’s been nothing, and Armstrong never managed to get me her number. I drop my suitcases at the door and call out for her, aware that she’s likely already left for work.

  I pause at Ruby’s open door. She usually keeps it closed, so I’m surprised to see it wide open, with the light on. Something looks different. It’s tidier than usual, maybe. She’s not here, obviously, so I continue on to my bedroom, but there’s this feeling in my stomach that’s been present for the past few days that seems to be getting worse instead of better. It should be the opposite now that I’m home.

  My bed is exactly the way I left it, unmade with my clothes still littering it. That’s odd. I would’ve thought Ruby would still sleep in here even without me considering it’s where she’d slept the entire time I was gone before. Something isn’t right.

  That sinking feeling hits me again and gets worse as I turn and head back down the hall to her room. I flip the light back on and go to the closet, throwing the door open. The boxes. That’s what’s missing. They’re gone. Maybe she moved them to the other spare room. But even as I think it, I know I’m wrong. I rush to her bathroom and throw open the cabinet doors. They’re bare apart from towels. Everything is gone.

  She’s gone.

  What the fuck happened while I was away?

  I need to find her. I need to talk to her. I need her back in my space.

  But I can’t do that without her number, which I still don’t have. I have Amalie’s somewhere, it’s just a matter of finding it. I can always cave and call Armstrong again, even though he’s been less than helpful.

  I cross over to the table where I keep mail, phone numbers, and miscellaneous papers I have yet to sort. I expect it to be more of a mess, because that’s where Ruby tosses all my mail, but it’s surprisingly still organized. My answering machine registers a message, so I hit the play button while I leaf through the papers, searching for a number I’m not sure I’ll find. Losing my phone has been a serious pain in the ass.

  I shudder at the sound of Brittany’s nasally, high-pitched voice and stop leafing through papers.

  “Hi, Banny, it’s Brittany! I just heard from Mimi and I couldn’t get through on your cell so I thought I’d try this number instead. I’m so sorry you had to go away on business this week. Such a disappointment when you just got back. I really hope you’ll be back in time for dinner this weekend. But don’t worry if you’re not. We can always reschedule our date. Mimi said you’re just as excited as I am about being able to spend time together again. I can’t wait to pick up where we left off last time. Call me when you can!”

  It’s the “our date” part that I get stuck on. I haven’t spoken to Brittany since I took her to the engagement party. Not once. The fact that she’s treating a dinner party—one I’d completely forgotten about, and at which my entire family will be present—as a date is fairly concerning. The picking up where we left off part is another concern. Fuck dinner. I’m not going.

  I hope Ruby didn’t hear this message. The machine is so old it doesn’t register the date or time messages are left.

  I continue the hunt for Amalie’s phone number, but after another fifteen minutes of searching, I abandon the mission and call Armstrong. I get an answer, finally, but it’s Amalie, not Armstrong.

  “Bane.” She says my name as if it’s profanity. Or like I really am the epitome of my name.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you.” It doesn’t sound like it, despite the early hour.

  “You didn’t. Armstrong’s still sleeping, though.”

  “I’m calling to speak with you, actually.”

  “Is that so.” Amalie is generally a pleasant, sweet woman. Today she’s the opposite: cold and snippy.

  “I’m looking for Ruby.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  Something is really off here. “You can’t help me or you won’t?” At her silence I sigh. “Do you know where she is?”

  “I’m not answering that.”

  “I got in this afternoon and her room is empty, all of her things are gone.”

  “What a surprise.”

  What the fuck did I do to deserve this treatment? “Is she okay? Is she safe? Can you tell me that?”

  “She’s as okay as she can be.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She’s safe.”

  Well, that puts my mind at ease a little. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where I might find her?”

  “Probably asleep. In her bed. Or someone else’s if she’s taken my advice.”

  “What? I—” Dead air follows before I can get another word out.

  What the hell is going on? What could’ve happened in the days between Ruby ending up in my bed and now that she’s up and vanished?

  Based on the time of day, she’s likely already at the club. Which is exactly where I’m going. I don’t bother to change out of my wrinkled suit. I drive my truck instead of Ubering, so I don’t have to deal with waiting. A woman I recognize as one of the ladies who was in my living room, scuffing up my hardwood with her heels, greets me at the door of the club.

  She props a fist on her hip. “If you’re looking for Ruby, she’s not here.”

  She always works on Saturday night, and she’s usually here by now. “Is she coming in later?”

  She gives me a funny look. “She doesn’t work here anymore. I need to get ready. We have a new girl and she’s just as clueless as Ruby Tuesday was when I trained her.”

  She closes the door in my face.

  What the fuck is going on? Did she get fired? I’m sure Amalie will have the answer to that. If she wasn’t going to be at dinner I would bail simply to avoid Brittany. Now I don’t seem to have a choice but to go so I can find out what has happened to change things so drastically in the time I’ve been gone.

  As it is, I arrive nearly half an hour late. My mother is irate. I can tell by the tic in her left eye.

  “Bancroft. You’re late,” she hisses as I bend down to receive a kiss on the cheek.

  “Sorry, Mimi, traffic.”

  “Everyone else managed to avoid traffic.”

  “I must’ve come a different way.”

  I’m in too bad a mood to be able to placate my mother, and of course I’m assaulted by Brittany the moment I enter the sitting room. She’s standing conveniently close to the foyer, so as soon as I cross the threshold she rushes over and throws her arms around my neck.

  “Banny!” Her shrill voice makes a shiver run down my spine. She kisses my cheek, then backs up, giggling as she wipes away the lipstick residue. “I’m so glad you could make it. Mimi said your plane landed just a few hours ago. You’re such a trooper.”

  “I got here as quickly as I could,” I lie. I take her by the shoulders and step away in an attempt to make it appear as though I’m appreciating her dress. “You look lovely, as always.” This is untrue. Much like the other time I was forced into entertaining her, she was dressed like she was ready for a night at the club. And this time her parents are here to witness it.

  I feel a prickle at the back of my neck and look up to find Amalie glaring at me from over the rim of her martini glass.

  When I’m finally able to make it over to her side of the room, she gives me a tight smile.

  “I need to talk to you,” I say quietly.

  “You have nothing to say that I want to hear,” she replies through a plastered on smile and gritted teeth.

  My mother calls us to the table. Of course Brittany manages to snag the seat beside me. Lexington takes the seat next to her. It’s unfortunate my mother didn’t try to set Brittany up with him. I have a feeling he might actually enjoy dealing with her. Or at least what she promises to provide later in the night.

  I have to move Brittany’s hand off my thigh four times during dinner. She thinks she’s being cute. I think she’s being annoying. Now, if it was Ruby trying to feel me up under the tab
le, it would be a different story.

  At one point she excuses herself to the bathroom. She gives me a less-than-covert wink as she leaves the table. I assume it’s an invitation of some kind. I ignore it. At some point she must realize I’m not coming after her because she returns to the table, pouting.

  Amalie is stiff during the entire meal and I keep catching her glaring at me. She pushes her food around her plate, hardly touching a thing. At the end of the meal she excuses herself. I give her two minutes’ lead time before I do the same.

  I wait outside the powder room, which would be creepy if the situation was different. She has information I need right now. I also want to set her straight about Brittany, because it’s clear she thinks I’m in on this date business.

  As soon as the bathroom door opens I step forward, making an escape impossible. “I need to talk to you.”

  She snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “I will kick you in the family jewels if you do not get out of my way.”

  “You know, I might even let you do that if you tell me what the hell is going on.”

  She stops trying to get around me. Her brow furrows and she gives me a strange look. “You would let me kick you in the balls?”

  “If it means that you’ll tell me why Ruby hasn’t contacted me in a week and why she’s not working at that club anymore, I might.” I glance down at her feet. “But not while you’re wearing those shoes. They’re dangerous.” She’s wearing the same kind of shoes Ruby was wearing when she performed that song on stage. In fact, they look like they might just be the same ones.

  I drag my eyes back up to her face. Man, her pissed-off face scares me, maybe because she’s usually such a soft, warm person. She’s never been sassy with me like Ruby always is. Jesus, I miss her.

  Amalie steps in close, eyes alight with a fire I’ve never seen before. “Ruby told me all about the message you left her and the one Brittany left for you. What kind of person are you, trying to pay her off. It’s disgusting.”

  “Pay her off? For what?”

  “For the sex.” She says it like I’m the stupidest person on the face of the earth. Because clearly I am.