Jewel

“Shit,” I muttered, waking to my alarm blaring. Rolling over, I fumbled for my cell. Swiping off the clock function, I frowned into the grainy gray twilight. I couldn’t believe it was sundown already.

Get a move on, Jewel, my precious gem. Nothing’s worse than time that’s wasted.

Gran’s age-warbled voice was only in my mind nowadays, but hearing it echo in the lonely hallways of the past made tears prick my eyes.

“I miss you,” I whispered to the painting of her that hung on the wall opposite my bed. Eyes a golden shade nearly identical to mine, though infinitely wiser, seemed to gaze back sympathetically. If only I’d heeded her wisdom. “I’m sorry, Gran.”

Her serene expression radiated forgiveness because that was the way I wanted to read it. But there would never be any absolution. All that remained was the portrait. An amateur one. After all, it had been my hand that had painted it. The lessons to improve my craft that I’d hoped to take when I moved out to LA had never come to pass. More practical concerns like food and shelter had quickly taken precedence over art and dreams.

Reminded of those pressing needs, I tossed aside my threadbare covers, bolted upright in bed, and threw my legs over the side. I needed to get ready. No one was going to wave a magic wand and make money appear.

Swallowing hard, I grounded myself by gripping the edge of the bed—the cot that functioned as one—in my apartment that was barely larger than a broom closet. A translucent scarf thrown over a light bulb didn’t soften the harsh reality.

My current accommodations were a far cry from the comforts I’d once enjoyed inside my grandmother’s foursquare home. Cardboard boxes served as tables. Plastic cartons stacked as shelves. Foil over the lone window curtained the light during the day.

My already sagging spirits sank lower when I noted the other cot beside me was unoccupied. The rumpled sheets provided no clue as to where my roommate had gone. She was probably gallivanting around doing who-knew-what as usual. Camaro Montepulciano had a kind heart, taking me in when I had nowhere else to go. She’d shown me the ropes. But she rode on the winds of her everchanging moods.

I let out a disappointed sigh, but I didn’t fault her. Cam had her flights of indulgence; I had mine. Painting, mainly, though I only had the dregs of a few basic colors left to work with and no more canvases. No escaping through the strokes of an imagined reality today.

Feet to the floor, I firmed my frown into a determined line and got out of bed. I stood, my fingers curled inward into my palms. The embers of a once-bright hope flickered uncertainly inside my chest. Wishes couldn’t fan them to a healthy glow, not when blanketed by so many suffocating regrets.

I closed my eyes, allowing myself a moment in the meadow in my imagination. A crown of common daisies on my head and a handful of them in my tiny grip. My grandmother beside me, her strong fingers wrapped around my own.

Gran had been my firm foundation when the world around me was shaken. It had been eighteen months since she passed, but her loss hadn’t gotten any easier. For me, grief wasn’t just a burden, it was a razor-sharp knife that had carved out a permanent cavity inside me.

Opening my eyes, I blinked through the sting of tears and ineffectively rubbed my hand over my aching heart before I shuffled to the shower.

Predictably, the hot water ran out halfway through, and I had to rinse out my hair in a cold stream. Sliding the plastic curtain back, I stepped over the rim of the tub and placed my feet on the old towel that stood in for a bathmat. Ribbons of russet against my slim shoulders wept rivers that rushed downward over the slopes of my breasts. I grabbed a towel from the rack and draped it around my slender frame. It absorbed the excess moisture from my body, but it couldn’t wipe away the pain.

At the cracked pedestal sink, I picked up the comb from the glass shelf and began the time-consuming process of running it through the long strands to untangle my hair. My empty stomach grumbled. I ignored it and the reflection of myself in the rusted mirror. I preferred not to acknowledge the hard-learned lessons reflected in my eyes. Finished with my hair, I set aside the comb and returned to the adjoining room. Maybe I had a leftover packet of crackers in the bottom of my bag.

Crouching beside my cot, I removed the slouchy handbag I stored under it. I rummaged through the contents, looking for money and food, but discovered it was as empty as my stomach. Setting it to the side, I pulled out the box that contained my clothes. Not the ones I was most comfortable in. The other ones.

My work clothes.

I laid out the lace and the silk on the bed. Seductive undergarments on one side. All the pieces to the costume that made up my outward persona on the other. It helped to compartmentalize the two aspects of my life. What happened to her didn’t happen to me. It was a lie, but some of the time I believed it.

Lingerie and outfit on, nail polish and makeup applied. I tucked my own hair under a wig and arranged its platinum-blond pigtails around my face, avoiding looking at my heavily mascaraed eyes rimmed in kohl as I took a quick glance at my reflection.

The white oxford shirt had been too tame before I took a pair of shears to it, cutting off the sleeves and baring the midriff all the way to my bra. The red-and-black-sequined skirt I’d salvaged from the dumpster at Goodwill was so short it revealed the racy crimson-and-black garters that held up my fishnet stockings. Black sky-high stilettos completed the look.

The whole effect was my artistic bent put to practical use. When I was done, my persona was part naughty Catholic schoolgirl and part comic-book villainess.

I tugged on a hoodie against the night chill and stuck out my tongue at myself before I left the bathroom. This chick doesn’t take anything seriously. She doesn’t put up with shit, and she does what needs to be done.

Shoulders back, spine straight, invisible armor against reality in place, I exited the apartment. Outside, the musty corridor was deserted, thankfully, except for a half-naked man lying on the hallway floor. I stepped over him, and he grunted.

“Sorry, Terrance.”

“It’s okay, Jules.” His wizened face riddled with pockmarks, he peered up at me through his good eye. “You going out?” The idea of that seemed to make him sad. He wasn’t alone in that sentiment.

“Yeah.” My gaze slid away. I had no food. The rent was overdue. I had no choice.

There’s always a choice. Gran’s voice echoed inside my head again. Only she was gone, her bright, shining ideals carried off with her, leaving me alone with no one but myself to rely on.

“Watch out for Wanda,” I told Terrance.

“She on the warpath?”

“If you mean is she on a mission to clear out the nonpaying residents who like to nap for free in the hall, then yeah, that’s what she’s on for sure.”

“Shit.” He sat up and reached for the oversized garbage bag that contained all his belongings. “Don’t have no place else to go,” he muttered.

And there but for the grace of God go you. Gran’s voice. And that small-town upbringing I had run away from.

I sighed. I couldn’t let him inside the apartment. But the shelter on Peach? I had a token for a bed. I’d gotten one just in case I got kicked out.

Bracelets jangling on my wrist, I dove my hand into the pocket of my skirt. “Here.” I offered the token to Terrance.

“You sure?” he asked even as he stretched out his thin arm to take it.

“I’m sure.”

I fought back the wave of trepidation and got my feet moving again. Traversing the remaining length of the narrow hallway, I pushed open the door to the stairwell. I glanced around inside it to make sure it was clear before I started down.

At the bottom, I pressed the bar to open the heavy steel door but jumped back when a diminutive black woman with an attitude as huge as the Hulk appeared inside the circle of light from the overhead motion sensor.

“Wanda,” I said.

Shit. Shit. Triple shit.

I wobbled on my stilettos. My retreat was cut off as the door to return inside the building snapped closed behind me.

“Thought I might find you here.” In a business suit, her glasses sliding to the tip of her nose, Wanda raked her gaze over me. “You going somewhere, Jewel?”

“Um, yes. I—”

“You conveniently forget that your rent is due?” She arched a brow.

“No, I’m just—”

“Sneaking around. Three days late.” She clucked her tongue. “You’ll pay the late penalty. I’m not floating you a zero-interest loan.”

“I know you won’t. I didn’t expect you to. It’s just that we’re a little short this month.”

“You two are always a little short. I should have kicked your sorry asses out the first time. Girls like you—”

“Not a single person is on a waiting list to move into your apartments,” I said, my spine stiffening. “Tiny rooms. A/C that’s always fritzing out. No blinds on the windows. Hot water that barely works.” I put a hand on my hip and lifted my chin. “And you don’t know me or the type of girl I am.”

Wanda scoffed. “Girl, I know everything I need to know about you. Cheap-ass hooker. Blaming everyone but yourself for the predicament you find yourself in.” She looked down her nose at me, and even though I stood a half foot taller than her in my stilettos, I was the one who felt small.

I didn’t like her. I didn’t like her at all. Even when the rent wasn’t due, I avoided her.

“I’ll have your money after tonight,” I said, though my stomach churned on nothing but my bravado.

“You will, or I’ll be evicting you first thing tomorrow morning.”

Once she hit me with that ultimatum, she spun around. Her heels clicked on the concrete as she marched the length of the alley. Probably off to her office to roll around on her stacks of cash and polish her broomstick.

Mean. Evil. Spiteful woman.

My eyes burned from within their kohl frame as I watched her go.

Don’t cry, I told myself, curling my hands into fists and focusing on the bite in my skin from my nails rather than on my fear that my roommate and I would likely be on the streets soon.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t give up before I even tried. It wasn’t just me. There was Camaro to consider.

Reopening my eyes, I forced my body into motion, navigating the trash strewn in the alley. Crushed aluminum cans. Broken liquor bottles. I stepped gingerly between them, feeling as used up and empty as the abandoned items around me.

At the sidewalk, I slowed my pace and ducked into the shadows beneath the awning of an adult-clothing shop. I glanced over my shoulder. No sign of Wanda or anyone else watching me.

I let out a sigh and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the plate glass.

My eyes were wide pools of gold beneath my dark auburn brows. If only they were an actual physical commodity I could pawn.

I slammed them closed. Fool’s gold. They gave away too much. It was unwise to appear vulnerable outside the apartment.

Opening my eyes again, I narrowed my gaze and gulped in a deep, determined breath. Then I reached for the hood on my jacket and pulled it over my wig.

Be brave, I told myself, remembering another of Gran’s sayings. Bravery isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the ability to keep going despite insurmountable obstacles.

Bravery was my choice. One foot in front of the other.

My night was only starting; I still had to get on the bus. It would take me two transfers to get to the better-paying side of town. Further, I had to hope that I looked more tempting than the girls who had already set up shop over there.

If I didn’t, I was fucked, and not in the way that would get me the money I needed to pay the rent.