Penny

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WHEN I SAID GOODBYE to Malcolm last night, I was spent from three orgasms he talked me through and the hours of effortless conversation.  It’s been the same every time, night after night for the last week.

Waking gradually, my eyes still bleary from lack of sleep, I reach out in the dark of the bedroom for my phone, a smile already creasing my lips.  I’m expecting the usual, sweet, good-morning text message from Malcolm.  It’s been the same each time I wake up for the last five days.

A little ball of panic hits me when I see the time shining out from the screen.  I must have forgotten to set my alarm and I’m already running behind if I’m going to get to work on time.  I push away the covers in a panic and swing myself over in the bed.

As my vision clears, I realize there’s no text message either.  Disappointment sinks into my gut as I wonder what’s happened. So quickly I’ve come to count on the little routine we’ve established.  It feels as though we’ve been together far longer, as though we’re far more involved than a couple of face to face meetings in the Christmas Village and a week of phone calls and texts should account for.

But, deep in my bones, I feel this is something else.  Something I’ve only read about.  This odd connection that feels older than the time we’ve had together.  As though we’ve known each other for lifetimes, and yet have only just rediscovered one another after being lost.

As I rush out to the bathroom, phone still in hand in case he’s running late as well, there is a knock on my door.

My heart speeds up and my body tenses, a little grin playing over my lips. 

Could Malcolm have come back early to surprise me?  Could that be why he didn’t bother with a text?

It’s entirely possible, and the tightness in my gut spins into concern over how I must look, disheveled and sleep-deprived.  I threw on an old T-shirt for bed, my panties sit in a wad on the floor beside the nightstand, wasted and discarded after Malcolm’s filthy talk had them soaked through.  They were useless long before he finished guiding my hands with his voice.

Deep breath and I figure: why not let him see the real me?  My hair is in eight sorts of a mess, I’m a no make-up sort of girl, so that doesn’t change much from day to night.

My fingers shake as I grip the doorknob, my other hand reaching up to unlock the deadbolt as I pull open the apartment door.  Legions of butterflies take flight in my stomach.

For a moment, confused silence has me standing agape, forgetting for a moment that I’m wearing nothing but a short, thin T-shirt.

“Penny Evergreen?”  The man looks annoyed, not turned on, and I suppose I should be grateful for that.  He’s wearing a beige work shirt with the name of the apartment building embroidered in green above his left chest pocket.

“Yes?”  I cross one arm over my braless breasts as my other hand drops to tug at the hem of the T-shirt, trying to cover a few more inches of my naked thighs.

“We need to see you in the office.”  He drags his tongue across his teeth with a sucking sound.  “As soon as you can get dressed.”  He raises his eyebrows and runs his hand under his nose with a loud sniff.

“Is something wrong?”

He shrugs.  “I just work here.  Super said you need to come to the office.  That’s the message I’m delivering and that’s all I know.  Sorry.”  His bored expression belies the apology, and the low hum of irritation tells me no further information will be dispensed.

A HALF HOUR LATER, I’m pulling my coat over my elf costume.

By the time I get down to the office, I’ll only have a half hour to get to Knight & Knight, and it’s a forty-five-minute subway ride so I’m already behind the eight ball.

I pull up my phone again, still fighting the anxiety over the fact that there’s no message from Malcolm.  Then I happen to look at the top bar of my phone and see the two little words there...No Service.

That just adds to my confusion.  As I walk down the hall to the management office at the apartment where I’m staying, I’m wondering what the heck is going on. 

It’s Christmas Eve as well, and there are going to be a lot of eager visitors, all with children who need to talk to Santa at the last minute, so I’m more than anxious to get there.

As I walk into the office, I’m met by a stern woman with a thin upper lip and a severely tight ponytail, her arms crossed over a blue blazer.

“What’s going on?”

Her expression stays indifferent as she speaks.

“As of this morning, Mrs. Janet Evergreen is having the locks changed on the apartment.  I’m afraid you will not be allowed back onto the premises.”

My heart pounds.  “What?”

“You will not be allowed back onto the premises,” she says, as if my expression of confusion stemmed from my inability to hear what she’d said.  “It’s a temporary accommodation.  Paid per diem.  As of today, Mrs. Evergreen has cancelled the contract.  She’s specifically asked that the locks be changed.  Any of your belongings remaining in the apartment will be boxed and you may retrieve them from the storage area located in the basement for a period of ten days. After that, they will be discarded.”

The next ten minutes go by like a blur, and I find myself on the subway, unsure what else to do but go to work. My mind goes back over what just happened, the woman handing me an email from my mother.  She’d asked her to print it and give it to me, not to read it for me, as if she wanted me to feel the bile in every cold letter. 

It seems my luck has worn out. Mother phoned Victor, the trainer I was supposed to be working with to check on my progress. My deception unraveled from there and now, she not only has me locked out of the apartment, but she’s cut off my phone too, as well as my Visa.

The last words of her message were, You want to make your own decisions, that’s fine, then you can make your own way as well.

I’m in a half dream as the day goes by.  Malcolm has no way to reach me.  I have nowhere to go.  As the last of the visitors to the Village line up and make their way to the cashier, I’m numb.

It’s Christmas Eve and I have literally nowhere to go.  I’m homeless.  I guess I might have enough money for a hotel room, but I don’t like the thought of the kind of neighborhood I can afford.  And that’s even if I can find somewhere that isn’t fully booked at this short notice.

I’m the last elf here when a family comes up to the ticket counter.  There are four adults and probably nine or ten children, ranging in age from toddler to pre-teen, all with wide eyes and wonder.

I stand back in my place and wait to be called forward to usher the last of this season’s visitors through the Village.  It’s nearly 6 p.m., and even though they closed the line at five as scheduled, it’s taken this long to get to the last group that snuck in before they made the cut off.

As I inch forward, a new eagerness and joy envelops me as I look into the eyes of the children. They look at the magic of this place with the true wonder it inspires, the kind of wonder I feel deep inside myself.

As I get closer, the adults with them turn from the ticket counter to the children.  They speak in hushed tones, but I see the countenance on the youngsters’ faces change.  Tears spring from the youngest as the older children turn away in frustration.

The adults round up the group and they’re already retreating down the red carpet toward the entry door when I scurry up to the cashier to see what’s happening, why they’re leaving.

With a huff, she turns to me and rolls her eyes.  “You can go.  They don’t have enough money.”  Her voice is loud enough for the group to hear and my dander rises.

“Sssshhh.  Geez, that’s so rude of you.”  I dart my eyes from the entitled young woman to the group and without another thought, run around the counter and tap the tallest of the two men on the shoulder.

“Sir?”  He turns at my voice, his eyes simmering somewhere between anger and embarrassment.  “Come back, please, bring the children.  Your admission is taken care of.  Please, follow me.”  I tip my head, smiling, and with a wave of my hand they follow. 

As I pass the cashier, I lean in, reaching under my belt, and pull out a wad of cash.  “This should cover it.”  I hand her all the cash I have in the world, abandoning any hope of a warm place to sleep tonight, before turning around and with all the joy of the season in my heart, I take the group through the entryway and into the magic of Christmas.

Two hours later, I’m getting dirty looks from the few staff members that are left with me to close the Village for the last night this year. Cleaning crews are scheduled for next week, but after we leave, the area will be closed up until they arrive to do their work.  I usher the group to the door and unlock it to let them out.

Darryl, the tallest gentleman, turns to me as the rest of the group thanks me and moves through the exit.

“Thank you,” he says.  We’ve gotten to know each other a little as I escorted his group through the Village.  He’s a foster father.  He and his wife take care of nine children, with the help of her brother who also lives with them.

“You’re welcome.”  I smile and nod my head, glad for the company of someone good and decent.  “It was my pleasure.”

His warm, brown eyes stay on me for a long moment before he reaches into his pocket.  He pulls out a pen and a slip of paper, scribbles something down and hands the scrap to me.

“We don’t have much. But, we do have a wonderful family. This is our address.  I don’t know how to repay you, but if you’d like, you are welcome to come to dinner tomorrow.  It would be our pleasure.”

I nod and thank him.  My eyes prick as he smiles then follows the gaggle of excited children down the red carpet and out into the night.  Joy fills my heart as I watch them go, but once they’re out of sight I breathe a deep sigh.

The realization is just beginning to sink in.  At this moment, I’m homeless on Christmas.