Ivy
“For the last time, Ms. Simmons,” a steady, slightly impatient voice said from the other side of the phone line. “As much as I would like to help you, there is nothing we can do. Legally, anyway.”
At least the man on the other side of the phone had the decency to sound sorry. His voice reminded me of a generic cartoon villain; I could just image him twisting his evil, Snidely Whiplash mustache and thinking about all of the illegal ways I could get my life back. Ways that I couldn’t stomach. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Fletcher. I won’t bother you again.”
Settling the payphone back in its cradle, I glanced up at the faded billboard on Fifth Avenue and Bogardy Street. “Sigmund F. Fletcher, Attorney at Law. If I can’t help you, no one can!”
True enough. He was the last person in the world to call. And that was my last quarter. Looks like the only person that will be looking out for me will be me. Again. As sad as I was about this whole situation with Janice, I couldn’t stomach the thought of hiring some goon to take out her kneecaps. If only I had been smarter. If only I had asked someone’s advice who was smarter than me. If only, if only, if only.
So that was that. My business that I had worked for years to build, every penny I’d saved since I was a kid, and my source of income, gone. Just gone, like that. A feeling like a big, gaping hole spread through my chest. There was nothing left to do.
Sighing, I pulled my gray hoodie over my hair and stepped out of the phone booth into the rain. The city here was dingy and brown, filled with the mud that flowed down from the nicer parts of town. Funny to imagine that just a few months ago, I was looking for a new apartment up that way. I wanted something overlooking the city. From high enough up, even this dirt stain of a broken, pockmarked road looked kind of pretty. From up there, the city looked like an organized grid of picture-perfect little shops. It hid all of the glaring imperfections and shivering bodies sleeping on the street.
At least I’m not homeless yet. I shivered at the thought, staring up into the drizzle to try and glimpse the sky. But it was covered with a thick blanket of cold, gray clouds.
“Clouds are God’s way of telling us he’s too tired for more prayers.” I could remember my father saying it, as he looked up into the rain. “He uses the clouds to muffle some of the noise from down here. Sometimes God needs a break, too, you know.”
I sighed, my breath puffing in the cold air. Big problem with that, old man. God is dead if he ever was around. And even if he was around, he wouldn’t have time for people like me. I was almost instantly soaked, so I didn’t bother rushing back to the hole I called home. It wouldn’t matter how fast I ran, I would be soaked without an umbrella. Even though the payphone was across the street, I was dripping onto the mangy, outdoor carpet by the time I made my way up the three levels of leaky, creaking stairs to my motel room. I counted the uneven steps as I ascended to my floor, hoping to drown out the sound of my own thoughts.
Step nineteen, step twenty. Start over. I was going to have to start all over. From nothing, like I did when I was thirteen. Step twenty seven. Twenty eight. I had not a dime to my name, nothing saved but a couple of sets of clothes and some pots and pans.
Crying, screaming, or throwing a tantrum wouldn’t save me from my fate, so I sulked instead, feeling the bile of disappointment and overwhelming shame pour over me. How could I have been so stupid?
Pushing those thoughts aside, I pushed passed the dripping, spoiled bags of trash in the hallway to get to my room on the end of the row. It was thankfully quiet on the end unit, mostly. No one dared come down to my end of the hallway. It was my neighbor; he was the scariest thing I’d ever seen before. I was really, really hoping that I wouldn’t run into him. I wasn’t sure my nerves could take it after the day I had.
As I rounded the corner on the rickety balcony that connected my apartment to the street, I groaned out loud. Josh, the scary neighbor’s little nine-year-old brat, was sitting outside of the rented room, his torn and dirty little shoes banging together. He looked up as I walked towards him, then he got to his feet.
“Hey, next-door neighbor lady. Can I hang out with you?” he asked, his chocolate eyes too big and pleading in his adorable little face.
I took a deep breath to calm my desire to lash out at him. Screaming at a little kid might help me to feel like I’d gotten some power back in my worthless life, but I would feel like crap about it later. So instead, I smiled with exaggerated sadness at him. “Sorry, Kiddo. I can’t. I have to be at work in a few minutes. What’s your name again?”
“Josh,” the kid answered, his eyes locked with mine. Although he was wiggling around again, his feet tapping annoyingly on the disgusting carpet, he was looking at me with a hint of squint to his little brown eyes. He was an adorable kid under all of the abuse and dirt. I had a feeling he fell somewhere on the spectrum or had ADHD or something the way he danced around. It made him crazy, whatever it was, but he seemed like a regular, kid. Well, as regular as a neglected kid with a behavioral disease could be, I supposed.
And I knew a lot about regular neglected kids with behavioral problems. Going through the foster system did that to you.
I smiled down at him, trying to keep my face calm. He didn’t need to know about my inner drama. “Alright then, Josh. Shouldn’t you be in school?”
The kid wrinkled his adorable little nose at me. “Fuck school; everyone sucks there.”
Sighing, I rubbed my temples with my fingers. “Alright, Josh. I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but I’m going to help you get into your dad’s house, okay? Is he not home?”
Josh shook his head, making his slightly uneven bowl cut fly around his face like a wet dog trying to shake off the water.
I sighed. I was going to get in so much trouble for this… “Okay, well, I’m going to go get dressed for work, then I’ll be right back out with you.”
The kid nodded, then sat back down on the nasty carpet, banging his feet together again as I unlocked the door to my room and stepped in.
It wasn’t much; it fact, it was less than much. It was less than I’d ever had, even when I was being fostered by the worst of my so-called “parents.” It was a pile of rags on top of nasty carpet. Dead bugs infested the corners no matter how hard I worked to keep the place clean. One of the window panes was broken, replaced with a piece of wood. I’d had to take a Sharpie to the wood when I’d first moved in to cover the doodles of genitalia scribbled there by the last tenant, so it was now a rich, solid black.
I quickly changed into my uniform, put on some makeup, and put my wet hair up into some semblance of a bun. Then I got out the waterproof “shawl” I’d made out of a plastic garbage bag to keep my hair and makeup in place when it was raining and I had to walk to work. Which was often.
Once I was ready, I took a deep breath, then headed out into the hallway again. Josh scrambled to his feet, a big grin on his face. He looked pleasantly surprised. “That didn’t take as long as I thought it would. I thought girls were supposed to take forever.”
I grinned at him, my stupid soft spot for kids in vulnerable situations lighting up in my chest. “I hurried the schedule along for you, Josh.” The kid grinned bigger in response, so I held out my hand, trying not to wince as his dirty, sticky fingers took a hold of mine. “Now, let’s ask the office to make you an extra key so you don’t have to sit outside your dad’s place anymore, okay?”
“Thanks for being nice to me, lady,” Josh said finally, his voice small and hopeless sounding. My heart cracked a little down the middle at that little voice. At how broken he sounded. “No one’s ever nice to me because my dad is scary.”
Really tugging on the heartstrings, aren’t you, kid? I kind of wondered if he was playing me, but I couldn’t see what angle he was working. Sighing, I dragged the little kid down the three, rickety flights of stairs, around the piles of trash and someone who was passed out in front of one of the hallways. The rain spit over the edge of the balcony that only half-covered the outdoor stairs, staining the dirty carpets black.
“Lady?” Josh asked. We’d managed to traverse most of the disreputable joint in silence.
“Yes, Josh?” I asked quietly, my thoughts still tangled up in the rain. If it got any harder, I’d have to take the bus. And that was fifty cents I wasn’t sure I could part with.
“What’s your name?” Josh asked.
I smiled down at him and he smiled tentatively back, displaying a gap-toothed grin in his cute little, freckled face. It was a shame his father wasn’t so adorable. A shiver ran down my back at the thought of Josh’s dad. He was not the sort to mess with. It explained why the office had given me a discount on the room next to his. Apparently, tenants there didn’t last long. It’s no wonder, as shady and dangerous as my neighbor is. But there’s nowhere else for me to go.
I snapped back to our current conversation, putting back the smile that had slid off of my face as my thoughts turned bleak. “My name is Ivy Simmons.”
“That’s a pretty name,” the kid answered after a moment’s consideration. “Prettier than Josh.”
“You have a fine name, kiddo.” We reached the office and I knocked twice, hoping Mr. Marcus would be in his office instead of out searching for a hooker or an eight-ball out in the dingy city streets.
Lucky for both of us, Mr. Marcus was in. He was a fat, round thing with a little hair where it ought to be and a lot of hair where it shouldn’t be. But, heedless of his girth or his profusion of body hair, Mr. Marcus wore short shorts, flip flops with striped socks, and a heavily sweat-stained wife beater. Even in this cold weather, his slimy, unwashed attire didn’t change. I wondered if he’d ever owned any real clothing in his life.
We got a second copy of the key from Mr. Marcus for the three crumpled dollars that Josh had in his pocket. His eyes were wide at his new acquisition; he fingered the key lovingly between his two grubby hands, the grimy copper key only adding to the dirt on his skin. “Thank you for the help, Ivy,” the boy whispered.
I pulled a bag of chips I’d swiped off of the counter at my apartment out of my purse and handed it to him. “Here. It’s not much, but you should eat something.”
Josh’s chocolate brown eyes got huge at the offer, his smile spreading even wider. Grabbing the chips violently from my hands, he tore up the stairs at a reckless speed, heedless of anything around him. “Lock the door behind you, Josh. And you’re welcome!” I called after him. My eyes followed him up the steps, key in one hand, chips in the other, until he disappeared around the corner.
Wondering how much trouble I would be in with his father later, I spun on my heel and headed to work, my head bowed low to keep the rain out of my face.