Chapter Three

 

I stood at the foot of my bed and stared down at the mess I had created. When I got home from my shift at The Red Rose I counted out my tips. I had just cleared two hundred dollars. It was less than half of what I was used to making on a weekend shift. Realizing I wasn’t going to be able to afford my half of the rent for the apartment I shared with my friend Brooke had elicited panic. So I went into my closet and pulled out nearly everything I owned and started sorting through it all.

There was a soft knock on my door and I called for Brooke to come in. I heard the door open as I pulled a rubbermaid container full of boots towards me. I heard Brooke take a deep breath and mutter under her breath.

“I don’t need your criticism,” I snapped, “I know it’s chaos. I know it’s bad. I’m selling it. This stupid job is going to be the death of me.”

Brooke was looking for a place to sit. When she came to the conclusion that there was no bare surface she sat on the floor and crossed her legs. “Alice, it’s four in the morning. Is it entirely necessary that you do this now?”

I rolled my eyes at her. “There will never be perfect timing to part with my beautiful clothes. And my shoes. And my purses.” I groaned and threw my head back. “Why must they all be so pretty!”

Brooke chuckled behind me. “They’re just things. Trust me. You won’t feel any less worthy if you don’t have them.”

“I know,” I said, “but my butt won’t look as good as it does when I’m wearing these.” I held up my best pair of jeans and pointed at the pockets.

“Then keep those. You can’t get rid of all your clothes. You can’t go to work naked. I mean, you’d probably rake in some crazy cash, but then you’d be fired and arrested and wearing an orange jumpsuit, and we both know that orange does horrible things to your complexion.”

“Wow. You sure know how to boost a girl’s spirits.” My voice was as monotone as I could possibly make it.

Brooke rubbed her hands together. “So, you want help?”

Brooke was my roommate and my closest friend. Her uncanny ability to see when I was about to unravel had saved my sanity numerous times, and this was most definitely one of those times. The stress of trying to decide what to keep and what to toss was eating away at me, and I hadn’t even started yet. All I had managed to do was make a mess and stare at it for almost forty five minutes. I looked over my shoulder at her as I lifted up a pair of beautiful knee high black stiletto boots. “Yes please.”

She offered me a gentle smile and nodded. “Okay. We need three piles. One is a definitely selling pile. One is a definitely keeping pile.”

“And the third?”

“The third is the ‘not quite willing to part with it just yet’ pile. That’s where those boots should go. They’re sexy as hell. But. If you don’t wear them in the next two weeks, you have to sell them. Fair?”

“Fair.” I handed her the boots and she tucked them neatly against my wall by my door. Then she nodded for me to keep going. I was so grateful for her. She guided me through the process effortlessly. She knew exactly which items I couldn’t part with on an emotional level- like my one pair of Jimmy Choo’s and my first designer bag that I had ever purchased for myself. She also knew which items were frivolous purchases and gave me tough love when I fought her on them. Like my Louis Vuitton bag that had been sitting in my closet for three years.

At the end of the process I had six garbage bags full of stuff to bring to a consignment store. We had calculated out that it would earn me a pretty penny, and greatly reduce the level of anxiety that was consuming me about earning significantly less money.

“How’s the new dentist office?” I asked as we sat ourselves down in the living room with bowls of pralines and cream ice cream.

She shrugged one shoulder and licked her spoon. “Not too bad. A bit of an older crowd but the other hygienists all seem really nice. We are going for drinks next Tuesday night after work. Want to join?”

“No, that’s okay. You should have some one on one time with them.” I pushed the back of my spoon into the ice cream and mixed it all around to create a soup-like texture. “I’m sorry you had to start all over. New jobs suck. Meeting new coworkers sucks. It all sucks. I’m really, really sorry.”

Brooke put down her bowl and tapped me on the knee. “None of this was your fault, Alice. Seriously. The guy was a nut case. What was I supposed to do? Let you move out to Chicago all by yourself? What kind of friend would that make me? Besides,” she picked her bowl back up and shimmied back into her corner of the couch, “how could I pass up the chance to help you get rid of all your shit? I’ve been wanting to go through your closet for years. My OCD is so happy right now.”

I laughed and let myself be reassured by her words. She was right; of course, none of it was directly my fault. But I knew she missed New York. I definitely did. I thought about it every day. I missed our loft apartment and my old job. I knew Brooke missed her old dentist office as well. But she never spoke a word of it. When I told her I had to leave the city to get away from my ex, she hadn’t thought twice about coming with me. We broke our lease agreement and paid the penalty with many apologies to our landlord and had arrived in Chicago less than a week later.

But some of it was my fault. I had gotten involved with the wrong guy. I had done it several times with different men, over and over, before falling for someone who could have been the end of me. I met him at The Wallflower, where I had met most of my many suitors. He had dazzled me with his white smile and square jaw and big brown eyes. He showered me with compliments and came to sit at my bar every night for two weeks before I agreed to go out with him.

We had only been dating for a couple months when everything unravelled. He had an angry streak that frightened me. He never hit me, but I didn’t trust him enough not to. He tried to force me to quit my job because he didn’t like other men looking at me. He tried to make me wear clothes that covered me up when I refused to quit.

He terrified me. And when I left him, he stalked me. I tried to play it cool and keep my chin up, but his surprise appearances left me unsettled and anxious, and eventually Brooke talked me into getting a restraining order. He couldn’t come within a hundred feet of me. That eased my mind until he started going to the bar across the street from The Wallflower and watching me through the window. He sat at the same table every night and I could see him sipping on his gin and tonic, leaning back in his chair with one arm resting casually on the table. And he would just watch.

So I left the city.

I packed up my boots and my bags and everything that I could fit in my Audi, and my best friend hooked her arm in mine and we drove to Chicago.

We made sacrifices. Our incomes were cut in half. We didn’t have a dishwasher, balcony, loft, or pool in our building. We couldn’t afford to eat out at swanky restaurants on a weekly basis. I was losing half my wardrobe. Brooke had to facetime her sister back in New York because she couldn’t hop on the bus and meet her at a coffee shop anymore. I traded my Audi for an older silver Civic that didn’t have air conditioning.

But I felt safe. And I was willing to give up anything to feel safe.