The note that had accompanied the package lying on the bottom step was written in Angela’s typical, bubbly handwriting. It hadn’t changed since middle school when she had spent more time perfecting how she was going to sign her married name than concentrating on her schoolwork. Now that they were both in their mid-twenties, Angela’s writing was still as unmistakably girly and bouncy as her personality. Taped to the side of a wrinkled plastic shopping bag, the note was more of a command than anything else. Don’t dress like a grandma. Wear this or I’ll kick your ass.
Exhausted from another long day in front of a grill, but too curious to wait, Jess ripped open the bag before she even started up the stairs to the apartment. Standing in the short hallway just off the café, her clothes blotched with gravy and grease, she picked through the contents of the bag with unmistakable distaste. There was a short black thing that might have been a top or a skirt, along with a pair of ridiculous patent black stilettos, and a t-shirt that had been artfully torn in all the right places. A perfect outfit should she be looking to swing around on a pole somewhere.
“Never,” she said into the silence as she shook her head, but then she smiled. She had to pick at least one piece to wear tonight or Angela really would make her life hell. It was sweet of her, too. Dropping off a party care package was going above and beyond for most friendships, particularly for one that had been on hold for as long as theirs had been. Knowing she’d have to parade around in one of the skimpy pieces didn’t do much for Jess’s nerves, however, and she mounted the stairs with a dull heavy feeling deep in her stomach.
Her mother was still downstairs, finishing out the shift while cleaning the place. It was their arrangement: Jess would open and Kat would close. It was just as well. Her mother had always been protective, but never more so than since that night. Now that she had overheard her conversation with Val, Jess was certain her mother would fly into a panic if she knew what her plans were for this evening. Those two didn’t want her involved in the lifestyle and here she was, about to put on a colossal pair of hooker shoes and throw herself right into the middle of it again. It wouldn’t be pretty.
Jess turned the key in the lock and opened the door to the apartment. The lights were all out, the windows open, and the window fan working hard to pull the trapped heat out, though the apartment was still stifling. It was almost enough to make her want to retreat to the air-conditioned comfort of the café.
Jess wiped at her face and eased the door closed behind her. Why can’t we get an air conditioner? Just a little one, she asked herself again as she moved through the apartment to her room. If she were lucky, she would be showered, presentable, and out of the apartment before her mom finished downstairs.
***
Jess took one last look at herself before leaving. Out of all the embarrassing articles of clothing she had been commanded to wear, she decided on the tiny black skirt. It was far tighter than anything she was used to, and without her constant adjustment, it seemed to want to ride up her ass. In order to balance the appalling shortness of it, she had chosen one of the many oversized black tops she wore on a regular basis. It had a Sabrina neckline and brought out the Audrey Hepburn in her. In fact, with her large dark eyes, long neck and delicate features, she might be mistaken for her in dim light, especially with the way she had pulled her hair into a swingy ponytail, so long it brushed between her shoulder blades as she moved.
No heels, though. She opted instead for a pair of simple black flats. Angela might appreciate the pointed toes and tall heel, and while they were stylish and oh-so perfect for a swift kick in the balls if the evening’s events necessitated that kind of activity, they would be impossible on the uneven ground at the bonfire. A trip to the emergency room with a broken ankle would put a real damper on her evening, so the flats were it.
Jess sighed. She pulled the skirt down one last time and made her way out to the living room where she scrawled a note, telling Kat she had gone out and would be back in a couple of hours, before moving on toward the door. All she had to do was grab her mother’s car keys and she would be on her way.
“Shit,” Jess hissed. The keys weren’t in the bowl beside the door where they were kept, and that meant one thing: they were somewhere on her mother. She fumed a moment, trying to decide what to do, when she spotted her mother’s big leather bag sitting in a chair. Trying to hurry, she went through the contents, digging like a dog looking for a buried bone. She found cigarette packs, lighter, lipstick, an entire bottle of hairspray, receipts, and empty gum wrappers. She held up a box of condoms, staring at them briefly in disbelief, before dropping them back into the purse and digging through the rest of the minutiae, but she found no keys. This was going to make things difficult. She closed the purse and stood, looking around the apartment, trying to spot the wad of puff toys and keys that comprised Kat’s key ring.
She was beginning to sweat again, but not entirely from the heat of the apartment. She had the perfect excuse to not go now, should she want to back out. She could spend another evening in the safety of her bedroom, reading or watching Netflix, and remembering.
“Fuck it,” she mumbled as she clenched her fists determinately. Not another night plagued by ghosts. Angela was right. She had to climb her way out of the tower, if just for one night. She was still debating with herself when she heard the sound of a familiar car from the open window. She’d recognize that engine anywhere, the wheezy rattle of a dying Toyota. It was her step-dad, come to pay a very well timed visit. As the car stopped with the squeal of worn out brakes, Jess made her decision. She rushed from the apartment and pounded down the steps.