ext morning I bounce out of bed with a spring in my step and a song in my heart. I know that it won’t last forever, but I’m going to ride it for as long as I can. The fact is, my problems with Jagger haven’t been fixed. He’s in Seattle and I’m here in New York, lonely and longing for his touch. No matter how hot his phone calls are, it’s no replacement for having the strength of his big arms around me.
But, stepping into the shower, I tell myself that we’ll work it out in time. For now I’m still too enamored with his story and the way we play to harbor any hard feelings.
For now I’m on top of the world.
I wash, dry, and dress. My morning routine is always the same. I pull my hair back into a sleek, professional bun and make sure it’s pinned in place, then I put on modest makeup. Working at a diner isn’t everyone’s idea of success, but as long as it’s keeping food in my fridge and a roof over my head, it’s better than nothing.
Like my little studio apartment, the job is just temporary. I’m going to be moving on to bigger and better things. I just need to find out what those things are. The halting string of pickup PA and secretarial jobs I had in Manhattan sputtered and finally fizzled out just around the time that Jagger started making noises that we should move in together.
And I wanted to. But I didn’t want it to be only out of need. Not just because I was desperate for somewhere to live. I wanted it to be when the time was right. When it was what we did for the sole reason that we both wanted it.
I take the train in to work. It’s crammed and smelly. I keep to myself, reflecting, until the doors open at my stop and I disembark. The diner isn’t all that long of a walk from the station, and I make it in plenty of time before my shift starts. Usually I spend that time freshening up, catching up on what’s 86ed, and preparing for what’s usually a long, difficult shift. But today when I let myself into the back room, I am met with confusion.
“Alexa?” Brigit, a fellow waitress, asks me uneasily. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s Monday mid morning,” I tell her, puzzled. “I’m here for my shift, like always. Did you forget what day of the week it is?”
Brigit’s pretty lips are twisted downward like she has something to say, but she doesn’t know how to say it. Finally, she spits it out. “You’re not on the schedule today.”
I blink and thin my lips. The schedule is always the same. It’s not like I’ve been working at the diner for all that long, but I know some things for certain already. One of those things is that I always work Mondays, coming in to cover for the lunch rush into dinner. “I’m not?”
“Go see for yourself,” Brigit says softly. She ducks her gaze like she’s ashamed, then darts out of the kitchen to go tend to her tables. She’s still on the clock, after all.
Dread building in my chest, I go to look at the schedule. My Monday shift has been cut, and so has my Thursday and Friday shifts. I gawk, certain I can’t be reading the schedule right, so I read through it again. It’s the same. My name is only left on Tuesday and Sunday.
Not only did they take away my Monday shift, but they took away my two most profitable days for tips. Those are the tips I depend on to make sure I have enough to square away rent.
I look over my shoulder, desperate for Brigit, but Brigit is gone. There has to be some mistake. When I was hired on a few months ago, I was told that I’d be working full time.
This is a far cry from full time.
Carl, my manager, finds me in my stupor. I turn to him, unsure of what to say, waving vaguely toward the schedule. When I find the words to speak, they’re disjointed. “W-What happened to my shifts?”
“I’m sorry, Alexa.” He doesn’t sound sorry. Doesn’t he know what a change like this is going to do to me? “The owner told us to make cuts in the schedule. Everyone’s lost hours. I hate to do it, but my hands are tied.”
I’m pretty sure that Carl didn’t lose any hours. When it comes time to cut the fat, it’s always the hardest working, least paid people that get sent home first. And that means me.
“So I’m not working today?” It’s still not sinking in.
“No. But you’re on for tomorrow and Wednesday.” He smiles like it makes up for everything. I want to curl up into a ball and cry. “So I’ll see you then.”
“Right,” I say, holding myself up straight. I take a few steps away from him, skin crawling. My whole world is caving in on itself. I go from disbelief to panic, and in my panic, all kinds of scenarios run through my mind. Homelessness. Hunger. Transience.
I need to get my finances in order, and I need to do it like yesterday.
I need to call my stepfather.
During our phone call his need for a ‘few thousand dollars’ from my personal line of credit got pumped up into all of the credit I have. That’s ten thousand dollars and it’s money I desperately need now.
I step out of the restaurant and walk down the street in a daze. As I do, I’m already calling my stepfather’s number. The call rings and rings, and just before I’m sure it’s about to go to voicemail, he picks up.
“Hello sweetie,” he says, saccharine sweet. “How nice of you to call.”
“How nice of you to answer,” I reply. I know that I’m lucky he answered the call at all. “Something happened and I need you to repay the money you borrowed from me.”
He laughs. It’s an airy, carefree sort of sound that tells me what’s coming without my needing to hear the words. “Oh, Alexa, the money’s all tied up. But I’ve invested it all well, you’ll see. You’re going to be really glad. When you have an opportunity like the one I came across, you don’t wait around. But what is it that happened? Maybe there’s some way I can help you out.”
I don’t want to tell him what’s wrong because it feels way too much like failure. I can just imagine the sneer on his face and how Helen will look when she finds out. But what other option do I have? “They cut my hours at work. I won’t be able to make the rent anymore.”
“That’s terrible.” I wish he would be less patronizing about it. I keep walking down the street, hoping that if I keep moving, his words might not stick to me. “I’ll tell you what. The first repayment I make is going to come in time to pay your rent, and it’s going to be much more than the amount we agreed upon. How does that sound?”
It sounds a lot like empty promises. I know my stepfather, and I know that it’s never going to happen in a million years. I duck down a side street and lean against the wall. I’m all on my own.
“Thanks,” I say it and my voice is as hollow as I feel. I know it’s just talk. It doesn’t mean a thing and it’s never, ever going to happen. Like I’m in a part in a school play I say what I know that I have to, “Make sure to keep in touch, okay? This is important to me.”
“Of course. I’ll talk to you soon, Alexa.”
The call ends, leaving me feeling worse than I started.
There’s only one cure in reach for how I’m feeling now. I dial another number and hold the phone to my ear, frowning while I wait for the call to connect.
Rare Roasts is my second home. The rows of cute tables are a familiar comfort, and the smiling faces of the baristas never fail to brighten my day. One of the baristas I recognize is working behind the coffee bar, and she smiles and waves when I come in even though she’s busy. When she serves me, she makes a smiley face on top of my latte.
At least there’s still a little bit of good in the world.
As I settle at a table in the back corner, Sonya waltzes in. She winks at me as she makes her way to the coffee bar and waits her turn, joining me once she’s got her coffee. Tall, black, and unsweetened. She’s told me before that it’s the sign of a true journalist. I still stand by the fact that she’s crazy.
“Thanks for coming to see me on such short notice,” I say when she sits.
“Girl, do you really think I’d give up a chance to have coffee? I’m no hero.” She grins at me from over her cup and sips. She’s got to have a mouth made of steel to drink something that hot. “So, what’s up? Aren’t you usually at work?”
“Usually I am,” I admit. I feel embarrassed even telling my best friend about what happened. “They cut my hours.”
“They did not!” She sits bolt upright on her chair, suddenly on the offensive on my behalf. “Just out of the blue? Why would they do something like that?”
“My manager said the owner wanted him to cut back on hours and that everyone’s getting cut.”
Sonya shakes her head and sets her coffee down. “Alexa, I’m so sorry. How bad is it? Are we talking an extra hour or two for lunch cut, or like… you need a second job, cut?”
“Like I need a second job, cut,” I mumble. “I had a hard enough time finding that job, though. I’d rather give it up and find something full time than bust my ass working two low paying gigs, you know?”
“Oh, I know.” Sonya drums her fingers on her cup. “What are you doing about rent?”
“I don’t know.” I take a deep breath. That’s a hurdle I still haven’t managed to clear. I don’t trust my stepfather to have the money back to me in time. The only one I can depend on is myself, and I’m starting to have my doubts that I’ll be able to find a way to make the money before my rent day. The landlord isn’t a sentimental man. I’m on a month to month lease as it is, and I know that I’m going to get evicted if I can’t fork up the money.
“You know.” Sonya gives me one of her famous looks, and I know trouble is coming. “Didn’t you tell me that your strapping pilot invited you to go live with him? ‘Leaned on you’ I think was the phrase that you used. Although the ‘leaning’ didn’t sound like it was too unpleasant.”
The mischievous smile rises in Sonya’s eyes over her dark coffee. “Maybe this is the kick in the pants from fate that you need. I honestly don’t understand why you didn’t jump on that chance already. He’s a hot guy, you guys are explosive in the bedroom, and he’s got the money to spoil you rotten. Why not let him take care of you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know anything about him.”
“Of course you do,” Sonya argues.
I glare at her. “Alright, so I know a few things. I know he grew up in Brooklyn. I know he’s a pilot. I know his name is Jagger Long. What else do I know?”
Sonya rolls her eyes upward, exasperated. “You also know he tells you stories that keep you awake at night, eager for more. You know that your fancy private pilot is packing oversized carry-on luggage for first-class travel.” She winks lasciviously. “But most importantly, you know that he’s crazy for you.”
“I don’t know if he’s crazy for me, or if I just make him crazy.” I trace my fingers across my cup. The latte is still too hot to drink.
“He wants you to move in,” Sonya reminds me. “I think that’s a pretty surefire indication that he’s crazy for you.”
No matter how tempting moving in with Jagger sounds, I know I can’t entertain it. Not now. There are too many problems. Too many things we need to get straight before I’d be ready for that. I’ve been burned in relationships before and I don’t want this one to go the way of… well, some others.
“It’s a Midtown penthouse, Sonya,” I tell her. “I’d be a kept woman. Besides, even if I did move in, what would it change? I’d still be on my own most of the time. He’d fly in for long enough to fuck me, then jet right back out again.”
Sonya shakes her head, looking like I’m the most oblivious person in the world. “Sure, okay, but uh, I’m not really seeing the problem yet?”
I roll my eyes. It’s just like her.
But she’s planted the seed in my mind and I can’t shake it out. Would it be sothat bad to take Jagger up on his offer?