“I've worked my way up from nothing to a state of extreme poverty.” -Groucho Marx
You can tell a lot about a person by the type of shoes they wear. Professional people with money pouring out their yin-yangs wear nice, polished leather and high heels. Hippies and travelers wear sandals. Immigrants and old people wear sandals with socks. Nurses and Home Health Aids wear those comfortable white orthopaedic sneakers. Poor people like me wear payless sneakers with duct tape to keep the soles from peeling off more than it already has. You’ve heard of ten ways you know you’re a redneck? This is ten ways you know you’re headed back to the welfare office.
And it’s sad as fuck.
Ever since my Mom moved to an Assisted Living place in Florida, it’s been me, Saskia and her boyfriend, Pablo all living together. We’re always working, and somehow never have enough money leftover for food after the rent and utilities are paid. Which brings us to- how you know you’re poor #10: You create a dish called “wishmeat patties” Egg, breadcrumbs and spices. Mm-mm, just bite into it, close your eyes and pretend it’s chicken. We have the bare minimum, I mean, we don’t even have cable, just a dial-up modem and a t.v. with basic channels in the kitchen. Our cat subsists off of the cheapest dry food we can find, and shredded up newspaper for litter, which is the grossest, most unsanitary thing ever. Our rent isn’t that much, so where does all the money go? Saskia and Pablo’s cigarettes, all night binge-drinking along with Darts and Karaoke, their weed at least twice a week and clothing “for work” that Saskia absolutely needs, because the three closets worth she already has aren’t good enough. So between all their frivolous spending, they’re living like divas and I’m the one at home, sober, worrying about how the three of us are going to eat. I’ve tried to tell them not to be so stupid with our money, seeing as how our cupboards are bare, but it does no good. That, and their constant fighting doesn’t exactly make for the best living environment.
So a week ago, I started my own checking account with the meager amounts of green I can put on the side. As of now, I only have $18.64 in it, but it’ll come in handy one day when we completely run out of food and I’m the only one able to eat. How you know you’re poor #9: When you don’t even have twenty bucks to take out of the bank in an emergency. Not yet, but this Wednesday when I get paid, I will. And will I be nice enough to share? Hell fucking no. Serves them right.
So I start lying to them through my teeth. I get my cheque cashed, put sixty bucks straight into my account and only bring home a bit over one-eighty. They question me and I tell them I went home sick one day last week. They’re such drug addicts, they don’t remember, nor can they calculate math, so they accept my weak excuse. So just like that, the rest of the cheque is gone towards rent, and I have to wait another two weeks for another pay day. I need to get the hell out of here. I thought that with the three of us pitching in for rent, we’d live more comfortably, but I can, and have done way better than this on my own. I wasn’t planning to stay here long anyway, it was just a temporary solution for when I left Patch, who still calls my sister once in a while to ask if she’s seen me. I find it pretty funny.
I begin getting newspapers and looking over the classifieds at work, even calling up places using the phone in between rolls of film and retarded customers. My managers are always hiding in the back, they don’t care. My coworker, Sandy comes into the lab from the registers. She’s technically a photo tech like me, but they made her main ringer so our other coworker could do planograms. Sandy is gorgeous, a model type, with long, curly sandalwood hair, a babydoll, poutish face and washed out, periwinkle eyes. I’ve carried a torch for her for a while now, but she has a boyfriend, who’s rich. Figures. She looks over my shoulder and points at a studio in Greenpoint for over a thousand. “Are you serious?” I turn to her, my brows raised. “You obviously haven’t taken a gander at where I work.” I motion to this crappy drug store chain that comes in so low on sales, they have Loss Prevention in here every week like clockwork, trying to figure out why we suck so much.
“Well, then you need to get a better job, or another job. How do you ever expect to keep a woman if you can’t even buy her gifts, or bring her back to a decent apartment?”
“Well, maybe I should find myself a decent woman who doesn’t just love me for what I can buy her.” I retort, grinning.
“Huh.” She smirks, yanking on my ponytail playfully. “Just like a man to say that, but it doesn’t work that way. If you get a good woman, you should always shower her with gifts, because she deserves it. If not, some other guy will come along and do it, and she’ll realize what a broke ass bum she’s been shacking up with. So good luck with that.” She gets up and walks away, those sensual hips wagging at me. That ass is packed so tight into her designer jeans that watching her move is hypnotic. I stare at her lustfully and she doesn’t even turn around. I process what she said in my mind over and over. No man has ever showered me with gifts, but maybe because it’s only a rule for women, or, maybe I’m just not a good boyfriend and don’t deserve it.
This thought plagues me for the rest of the night. I open the door to my dark apartment and I’m greeted by Ivan standing there staring up at me with his giant yellow eyes. “Meer,” He says, licking his chops. I glance over at his empty bowl, and wonder where Sas and Pablo are. “Meer.” He follows me as I look around the cupboards for more of his dry food.
“Shit. None left. Sorry, buddy.”
“Meer.” I pet him and his ass rises. I can feel his spine; in fact, I can see it jutting out through his coarse grey fur. I’ve lost a lot of weight living here too, which isn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened to me, seeing as how I’d been sporting a tire around my mid-section for quite a while. Though for Ivan, that worries me. I don’t like to see cats get this skinny. I put some water in his bowl, which has also dried up, and he immediately goes for a drink. I look in the fridge for anything I can give him. No bread, no milk, no meat, but we have two eggs left, so I scramble them up and he and I sit on my bed and share the feast for dinner. That’s how you know you’re poor #8.
It isn’t until I go put the dishes in the sink that I realize there’s a message on the answering machine. It’s my Mom, calling to see how her babies are doing. It makes me feel awful; I haven’t called her in such a long time. She must think we forgot about her. I resolve to call her tomorrow, because it’s too late to call her now. I’m so exhausted that I go to bed soon after, with my furry friend curled up at my feet. I dream of being in a room full of money and having no hands to grab it with. I wake when the phone rings. The house is still dark, and I’m not sure if they got home yet.
“Hello?” I yawn, stretching my arm over my head.
“Doug? It’s Saskia, are you awake?”
“Um, I am now. We ran out of catfood.”
“Yeah, whatever. Listen, I just kinda got fired from my job.”
“Augh, that sucks!” I glance at the clock and see that it’s almost midnight. She usually gets off work at nine. “Wait, where are you?”
“The bar with Pablo. I’m just so depressed and he’s too busy with his stupid Dart friends to pay attention to me.”
“So you woke me up because you’re depressed? Don’t you think I deserve to be told right away instead of almost midnight?” No, apparently, I’m a bad brother too, and I don’t.
“Oh, I got fired around five. You were still at work.”
“So call me at work! This is my problem too!”
“Don’t yell at me!” She cries. “I’m too depressed, I can’t handle this!”
“I’m not yelling at you, I’m just wondering why, if you no longer have a job, you and Pablo are going out and spending money we don’t have on booze!”
“You don’t understand! Forget it, go back to sleep!” She hangs up on me. I slam the phone down and get the urge to punch something. Instead, I boot up the computer and look through online classifieds. I get a few numbers, shut down and spent the next several hours packing. Ivan watches me with mild interest, drifting in and out of sleep. I wonder if he will be okay living with them alone, or if I might be able to take him with me.
“Meer.” He says suddenly, as though he could read my thoughts.
___
The next week is absolutely harrowing. I beg my boss for extra hours because I’ll need money if I’m going to move. Twice, I’ve worked open to close with only a half hour break in between. I’m going to see rooms almost every day, most of them are completely unlivable. One of them is a freezing cold garage, another is a room in an attic with no toilet, another, a room above some travel agency where the central heating system had been torn out and you can look down into the rooms below. None of them allow pets, nor would I subject that poor cat to such wretched living conditions. Every morning, I get up and resolve to call my Mom from work, and every day I forget. I always come home bone-weary tired, and every day, I’m asked what I’m making for dinner, when Saskia is home all day. Pablo claims he has no money because he’s supporting Saskia now. So I end up having to buy more food for Ivan, along with paying for our grocery bill, which means I have to take some money out from my account.
I’m never getting out of this fucking place.
On top of everything, our landlord is nuts. He thinks Ivan is bringing roaches, and harasses us every day about when we’re getting rid of him. I can’t help but think that if I were better looking, or was a woman that looked like Sandy or even Saskia, I wouldn’t have to live this way. I’d have men falling all over themselves to help support me. But no, I have to be the strong one, the independent one, never taking help from anyone, even if it means ending up on the streets.
How you know you’re poor #7: Lunch consists of a roll with butter and a bag of plain potato chips. Total cost- ninety cents. I like to put the chips on the roll, and it’s actually pretty good. I keep a little plastic cup in my lab so I can just go to the bathroom and fill it up at the sink if I get thirsty.
“Hey, killer.” Sandy comes sauntering into the back room while I’m on my break. She’s supposed to be manning the front, but there’s nobody in the store right now.
“Hey.” I muffle with my mouth full, not looking at her.
“Lunch of champions, huh?” She chuckles at what I’m eating. If I didn’t like her so much, I’d tell her to go fuck herself.
“Yeah.” I frown bitterly. “We can’t all be uneducated millionaires like your boyfriend.” I even do that little ‘oh no, you dih-int’ flamboyant head bobble. Usually, I pride myself on how straight-acting and masculine I am. Today, I don’t give a flying fuck.
“Is that jealousy I detect?” She giggles, walking in back of me, putting both hands on my tense shoulders.
“I’m not jealous of him. Why, are you jealous of this sandwich?”
“What? Why would I be jealous of a fifty cent sandwich?”
“Well, it’s probably the only thing in the room that’s been eaten recently.”
“Asshole!” She slaps me upside the back of my head and I bust out laughing. She angrily walks out because she knows I’m right. I laugh to myself a while longer and go back to eating. She doesn’t talk to me, or even so much as look in my direction for the rest of her shift. Good; fuck her gold-digging ass. I don’t need her constantly reminding me what a lowlife I am. The good news is that my cheque amounted to over three hundred bucks. Woohoo! When I get back on the clock, I remember that I wanted to call my Mom, but I can’t because there’s so much work to do. Before long, like always, I forget.
When I get home, the house is dark again. It’s almost midnight, and they’re out spending all the money as usual. I refill Ivan’s bowl, scrounge around for a Ramen noodle package and put it up. The two of them come walking in, already arguing about something. I turn away and roll my eyes. “Meer.” Ivan leaps down off his counter top perch to green them. They ignore him and keep arguing, even when he rubs up against their legs. I tune them out and keep cooking.
Pablo storms off into the bedroom and Sas sits down at the kitchen table. “Fuck you then, asshole.” She hisses. “Hey, bro. What are you making?”
“Ramens.” My voice is an irritated grumble. (That would be #6, wouldn’t it?)
“Can I have some?”
“If you can find another one, sure. I’ll leave you the pot when mine’s done.”
“No, I meant some of yours. Please?”
“I’m starving, haven’t eaten since two.”
“Well, I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Get a job and you’ll have money to buy food.” You’re such a moocher, it makes me sick.
“I’m trying!” She whines. Bull fucking shit.
“Stay out less, get up earlier. No one’s giving you a job if you waltz in at three in the afternoon looking for an application.” I still have yet to look at her. I don’t want her to see just how angry I am with her. She might start an argument with me too, and I’m not in the mood.
“Please, can I have some of your noodles?”
“No, Sas. There’s other things you can make in this house. This is my dinner.”
“Awww, but I’m so tired, I don’t wanna make anything.”
I pour my dinner into a bowl, grab a fork and the packet, walking out of the room, never once looking in her direction. “Not my problem.”
“Fine, I’ll just starve then! Selfish bastard!” She calls after me. I slam my bedroom door like Pablo had done moments earlier. “I HATE MEN!” She screams loud enough for the whole building to hear.
“Yeah, well, I hate lazy, gold-digging little sluts!” I yell back. I hear Pablo burst out laughing in the next room.
The next morning, I get up for work. Pablo’s already gone, and Sas is lying in bed crying. I’m less irritable now, so I pop my head into the doorway. “What’s the matter?”
“What do you care?” She sniffles, turning away.
I shrug. “Okay, fine.” And go to walk away.
“Nono, I’m sorry, come back.” I turn back to her with an annoyed look, and her face contorts in misery. “I’m sorry. Come in.” I continue to stand there, and for the first time, she sees the full extent of my ire displayed across my face. She cries harder. I stand there and act like I don’t care, but as mad as I am, she’s still my baby sister, and there’s still that instinct that tells me to go over and comfort her. “Please, Doug.” She meeps. “I have something to tell you.”
“Uh oh.” I sigh, walking in and taking a seat next to her on the bed. “What is it?”
She swallows hard. “You know what Pablo and I have been arguing about?”
“Not really. It’s not my business.”
“Well, it kinda is. We weren’t going to tell you, but it is sorta your business since I’m going through with it.”
I squint at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m....sorta...pregnant.”
My eyes dart open. “What? Holy shit, are you sure?”
She points to her dresser. “The pregnancy test is in the drawer, go see for yourself.” And I do. Sure enough, two distinct blue lines are visible. Saskia went and got herself knocked up.
“Son of a bitch. And you guys weren’t even gonna tell me? That’s really fucked up.”
“Well, I was eventually going to tell you. Pablo wants me to get it aborted, but I don’t believe in that. Like, if people want to do that, it’s fine, but I can’t do it to myself.”
“So you’re keeping it?”
“Uh huh.” She nods. “And I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.”
“Just.....I guess, research, you know? Look up baby websites and read about what to expect. Don’t go all day without eating anymore.”
“I know, it’s just, I don’t have any money.”
“Well, stop fucking around. Get up early and go around to stores in the area. Anything’s good right now, since you won’t be there too long.”
“I will. Thanks, Douggo. I love you.” She leans over and hugs me, and my anger melts away like the last bit of Winter frost in the warmth of Spring.
“Does this mean you’re moving?” I sigh, hugging her back.
“We have to,” She pulls me at arm’s length. “The landlord will have a litter of cows when he finds out I’m having a baby.”
“That’s fine, I’ve been looking at rooms for rent for a while now.” I grin at her. “So it turns out we’ve both been keeping secrets.”
“You were going to leave me?” Those amber eyes widen sadly at me.
“With the way you and Pablo fight? Hell yeah.”
___
I approach the photo lab where Sandy is ringing up customers. She doesn’t look at me, probably still pissed off from yesterday. “Hey.” I mumble at her, but she doesn’t respond. She just keeps ringing, her neatly-groomed eyebrows knitted in anger. “Yeah, so... I’m a jerk.” I stare at the black rubber floor, both hands in my pants pockets.
“Yup.” I hear her say over the beeping of the register as she slides random UPCs through the laser.
“So um....my sister’s having a baby.” Even as I say the words, I can hardly believe it. Saskia, the most infantile, irresponsible, forgetful dope on the planet is multiplying. This is going to be a friggin’ catastrophe.
She turns her head at me. The customer seems annoyed that she stopped ringing. “Really?”
I smile a bit at her. “Yeah. She’s keeping it.”
“Oh, wow.” She turns back to her task with a smile. “You’re going to be an Uncle. That’s cool.”
“She’ll probably come visit me at work once the baby is born, so you’ll get to meet it.”
She hands the customer her change, closes the register and turns towards me, a new element of warmth in her light blue eyes. “Do you know what it is yet?”
“I just found out she was pregnant. You know, that bitch wasn’t even going to tell me?”
She laughs. “I’m sure you would’ve noticed something was amiss when she began hurling her brains out in the morning.”
I smirk. “You’d think, right? But I’m pretty oblivious.”
“I know.” She glares at me as though she wasn’t kidding. Is she trying to tell me something? She smiles again, walks up to me and takes me by the arm. “I want to have kids someday. I love them, they’re so beautiful! What are you hoping it will be?”
“I don’t really care, as long as it’s healthy, you know? But if I had to choose, a boy. So he doesn’t grow up a spoiled brat like her.”
She grins wryly at me. “Just because a girl wants to be taken care of doesn’t mean she’s spoiled.”
“Yes it does. Remember, equal rights and all that? You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Sandy. You want to have the same rights as men, but still expect us to shower you with gifts, open doors and pull out chairs for you? Why can’t you do that for us once in a while? I’ve been out with men, and let me tell you, I’ve never been showered with gifts.”
She looks surprised. “You’re gay?”
“Bi.” I smile. “But I’m weaning off the stick for a while, if you know what I mean. Looking for something different.” I give her a look like I want to kiss her, which I do. She stares back at me the same way, and for a moment, I think we just might.
“Sandy!” Ross, the manager calls to her, pointing rudely. “Go on break!”
“You’re cute,” She whispers sensually, gazing deep into my eyes. “But you can’t afford me.” She states, breaking our contact. She turns her chin up proudly and walks off. She might as well have just kicked me in the stomach. After she leaves, I have to sit down to keep from throwing up.
Thankfully, one of my regular customers comes in with sixteen rolls of film to keep me busy. I tell her to come back in two hours. She glares at me in disbelief. I assure her they’ll all be ready. Two hours later, she comes back, and they are. I may be a broke ass loser, but I work hard. When I first got to this lab, it was doing fifty rolls in a good week. Now, we’re doing over two hundred. I built this lab up from nothing, and that’s why I’m the Lab Manager, and technically, I’m Sandy’s boss. For a little while, I let it go to my head to soothe my bruised ego. Later on, she asks me a dumb question about emulsion strips and I give her a boss-like answer. She offers me a confused expression and I call over some customers from the front, ignoring her. When her shift ends, she punches out and leaves without saying goodbye. I already have a gold-digging ball and chain, I don’t need another one.
___
Months pass, dragging on like years. I put away portions of each cheque into my account, saving up for my new apartment. Saskia finally gets a job at a competing drug store, and each month she gets bigger, and fights with Pablo more and more because she had to quit smoking for the baby, and now she’s irritable all the time. Though we’re not living poorly anymore. They’re staying home, sober and straight, and suddenly, there’s money for food. I can afford to go to the Spanish restaurant and get Pernil with rice and beans for lunch. Sandy notices, and has been hanging around me more, bitching about her boyfriend to me. I see this for what it is. I remain friendly with her, and the attention is nice, but it will never be between us. I know the moment I have to go back to my ninety cent sandwich, she’ll dump me like a bad habit. What a shame.
“So what are you going to get me for Christmas?” She asks one day as we’re decorating the lab. It’s just about the end of her shift, and I haven’t taken my break yet.
“Um, how about some mistletoe?” I retort, wagging my eyebrows suggestively.
“That’s a good start.” She grins wide. “And once I kiss you, what else will you give me?”
“A big, long, thick Kielbasa.” I chuckle, grabbing the crotch of my jeans. “Right in the parking lot, up against Ross’ station wagon.”
“Ha! What kind of girl do you take me for?” Easy for anyone with money, that’s what.
“Oh relax, I’m only kidding.”
“No you’re not.” She laughs, winking at me.
I feign surprise. “I thought I couldn’t afford you?” I know there’s an element of hurt in my voice that can’t be masked by humor, but I don’t really care.
She widens her eyes at me a moment and then laughs. “God, you remembered that, huh?” She watches me another second but I don’t laugh, I just turn back to what I’m doing. “Doug, I was still mad at you for what you’d said to me the day before, that’s all. I didn’t mean it.” I feel her eyes on me, but I don’t respond. She’s so full of shit, it’s ridiculous. I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation. “Aww, c’mon.” She gets up and saunters towards me, kneeling down to put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be so sensitive.”
I turn to her, angry, tired, injured and fed up. “You meant it, and you know you did. If you date men, not for who they are, but what they can buy you, you’ll never be happy. Now, I’m going on break.” I stand up and storm off towards the office to punch out, not even looking back. I take a forty minute lunch, knowing I could get in trouble; but thankfully, when I return, she’s already gone. I don’t understand how someone so amoral and superficial can light a fire in my loins like she can with one damn glance of those gorgeous blue eyes. I haven’t thought much about men since I fell for her and it’s beginning to worry me.
That night, I come home, open the door and do my usual routine of washing my hands, putting my coat up and making my way towards my room. At some point, Ivan usually comes to greet me, like he does every night, but tonight, he doesn’t.
“Hey.” I peek into Saskia’s room. “Where’s the cat?”
She’s sitting on her futon with her big belly exposed, rubbing some sort of cream on it. She looks at me and sighs. “I’m sorry, Douggo. We had to give him away.”
Something deep in my gut lurches. “What? The cat....what-why?? WHY, Sas??” I throw my arms up. “You did this without consulting me?? He was my cat too!!”
“He was Pablo’s cat, he technically belonged to his ex-wife.”
“Why would you just give him away??”
“His poop was no good for me. He’s stinky and noisy and he’s a jealous bastard; I was afraid to have him around the baby. Besides, the landlord has been driving us nuts about getting rid of him for months now.”
“Saskia!! He’s an adult, un-fixed male, he’ll never be adopted, they’re going to put him to sleep! Tell me where you brought him!” I’m freaking out. It may already be too late.
“I don’t remember.” She lies, blatantly, squinting her amber eyes at me in defiance.
“Fine!” I snarl. “I’ll find him myself, even if I have to call every shelter in the city! If he’s dead, it’s on YOUR conscience!” I storm into my room and slam the door. I pace around for a little while in pure, seething anger, wanting nothing more than to kick her down the stairs and give her a late-term abortion. My cat! My Ivan- my therapist, my friend. Gone, possibly dead. I can’t deal with this. After throwing around what little of my stuff isn’t already packed in a destructive rage, I decide I need to get my shit together and start making phone calls. Not just to shelters, but to see rooms again. I have a good amount saved up. Just a couple more paycheques and I can leave. Not fucking soon enough. That’s how you know you’re poor, #5.
The next morning, I’m awoken early by disruptive banging from the other side of my bedroom door. I sit up, yawn, stretch and rub my eyes, listening to what sounds like something heavy and bulky being hauled into the house. I eventually get up to see what’s going on. I crack the door open to see Pablo and some Asian guy I don’t know dragging pieces of a queen-sized bed into their room.
“What the hell??” Is all I can say. They respond only to take in the rest of the pieces and begin to set up the bed. I throw some jeans on and scurry into their doorway to watch them. “Pablo? Where did this come from?”
He turns to grin at me, screwdriver in hand. “Well, Doug, you see...when a mommy bed and a daddy bed love each other very much...”
“You’re an asshole.” I smirk. “I mean where did you guys come up with the money for this...and why?”
“We saved up some money to move, but your sister is really big now and isn’t comfortable on the futon anymore, she can’t sleep at all. So we got this.”
“Gah!” I slap my forehead. “She’ll only be pregnant for like, two more months! You should be saving up for the baby, not a new bed. You people have your priorities all messed up.” He looks back at me and shrugs. “Oh, dude. Where did you take Ivan?”
He gets this uncomfortable expression on his face, then turns back to help the delivery man assemble the bed. “She made me promise not to tell you.”
“I’m not going to go get him.” I lie. “C’mon, I just want to know, for my own peace of mind.” He sighs another minute, not looking at me. “Pablo, please.”
“Alright, look. You can’t tell your sister I told you, it’ll start a fight.”
“I promise.”
He turns to look at me. “I gave him to one of my friends at work. He knows somebody with a Russian Blue female and wants to breed them. He’s not in a shelter, so don’t worry.”
Oh...whew. “So she couldn’t just tell me that? Why would you guys have me thinking he was going to get put to sleep in a shelter? That’s fucked up. You’re both mean-spirited bastards and I’m moving out.” I storm back into my room, slamming the door.
Today at work, I sit and think about what Pablo said and wonder if he was telling me the truth. I don’t trust either of them right now. Why wouldn’t they just tell me they gave him away to breed? It doesn’t make sense. To be sure, I make several phone calls to several different shelters, but nobody has record of anyone turning in an adult male Russian Blue. I could just be calling the wrong ones, but there are a whole hell of a lot of them to cover. This could take all day, and I have lots of film to process. I’ll get back to this during lunch. So of course, by the time I actually get a break, I completely forget and end up eating inside the pizzeria. I’m enjoying my Sicilians and who comes walking through the door to spoil my appetite, but Sandy.
“Hey, killer.” She frowns, walking up to my booth, brows knitted, eyes wide like a scolded child.
“I thought you were off today.” I glare angrily at my food.
She sits across from me at my booth, fidgeting with her hands nervously. “I came looking for you. They said you were on break so I had to go looking for you in every store on the way down here.” She chuckles, not looking me in the eye.
“Why go through the trouble for a broke ass dweeb like me?”
“I...might’ve said some mean things to you.” She sighs, wrenching her hands. She looks so beautiful right now, so sorrowful, I want to grab her by her hair and bend her over this table.
“Uh-huh.” Don’t get an erection, don’t get an erection, don’t get an erection, don’t– DAMMIT!
“You know, some things you didn’t deserve. You’re my best friend in that place, Doug. We have so much fun, playing around, joking, laughing, you’re a blast to work with. Except when we fight.”
“Uh-huh.” Gods, I hope she doesn’t look under the table. I must be flushing beet red right now, so it’s a good thing she can’t look at me.
“And I don’t like it when we fight, especially if you’re upset over something insensitive that I said. You know, I keep thinking that guys can take anything, but you aren’t the typical guy.” Augh, just say you’re sorry already and leave so I can start thinking about Rosie O’Donnell in a tankini or something, maybe get this hardon to whimper and run into my body like an abused puppy. “Maybe I bring up your financial situation too much, maybe I’m just a bitch. I’m sorry. I want to make it up to you.”
Roinks?? Is she gonna let me fuck her against Ross’ station wagon after all? “Make it up to me?”
“Yeah, I want to cook for you.” She finally looks me in the eye with a smile. But there’s something behind the smile; a mischievousness that makes me ill at ease.
“Cook for me? Like, food? Dinner? As friends, or...”
“As...whatever you want. You like chicken parm?”
“Love it. Whatever I want? What will your boyfriend say?”
She shrugs, that smile back in full force. “He’ll be there.”
“Ahh, no thanks.” I start to get up.
“Wait!” She stands up as well, holding her hands out to stop me. “Hear me out. Please?” I remember I’m still sporting an erection and sit down quickly. She sits down too, remaining oblivious. “Thank you. Listen...Doug. My boyfriend is...well, I told him what you told me, about liking guys. And he’s curious, he wants you to--”
“What?? Sandy, what the fuck??”
“He’s willing to pay you, okay?”
“Do I look like a whore to you?? Mother fucker, Sandy, I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” I cradle my head in my hands.
“Look, I’m sorry, this is important to him. I showed him those pictures we took for the photo catalog, and he thinks you’re cute. He really likes your long hair, and he’s willing to pay you a thousand bucks, for one night.”
“A thousand-” Hey, wait a minute. A thousand bucks? What am I, stupid? I could move tomorrow!! I could eat well for months! “Why me? Rich guy like that could get anybody, somebody better looking than me.”
“He’s...you’re very good looking. I guess he’s worried about his family finding out, he wants you to keep your mouth shut. This is really important to him, he needs to know how he feels about guys.”
“And where does this leave you? Will you be joining in?”
“I...no. He wants me to leave after dinner, it’ll just be the two of you.” She gets a subtle look on her face like the thought of us together doesn’t turn her on at all. Probably better too, I don’t do well with an attending audience.
“I mean where does this leave you and him....if he likes me?”
“Same as we were before. He just wants to experiment.”
“I don’t think so, Sandy.” I shake my head at her.
“He’s very handsome.” She whips out a photo of him and slides it over to me. I brave a glance at it. Tall, thin, attractive Italian guy in his mid to late twenties, clean-shaven, cropped short black hair, thin eyebrows and sharp, intelligent green eyes. Equally as sharp grey business suit. The kind of guy you’d expect to see inside a courtroom, never sharing the same bed as me.
“He’s cute.” Is all I state, sliding it back, giving her a neutral stare.
“So you’ll do it? It’s a thousand bucks, Douggie.”
“Augh!!” I rake my hair back, my erection now gone. “I can’t believe you’re putting me in this position. This is morally reprehensible! I won’t be able to live with myself after this!”
“It’s not such a bad thing. You’d be doing a guy a favor, you know? And getting a little something out of it. I know you’ve been looking to move for a while, this could help with your expenses. Or maybe you can put some towards your sister’s baby.”
Ahh, shit, that’s right. Sas is having a brat, isn’t she? A son, to be exact. And knowing how frivolous she is with money, she’ll never have anything saved up for the poor kid. By the time he’s ready to go into college, he won’t have a penny to work with, unless he’s on a scholarship. (And knowing the shallow end of the gene pool he’s coming from, I highly doubt it.) Once again, it’ll be up to me to save this family from certain doom. “Fine.” I sigh, putting my face down into my cold pizza. “I’ll do it.”
How you know you’re poor #4. Somebody kill me.
___
The next day is my day off, so I try to sleep in, only to be woken up by Sas and Pablo screaming at each other at nine in the morning. I get so angry that I get dressed, grab my walkman and coat, and storm out. I go get a few newspapers and go through the classifieds at the park. I’m supposed to be at Sandy’s dinner by six, so I have plenty of time to see rooms before then. I follow an ad to a little Real Estate place on Church Avenue, on the 3rd floor of what looks to be some sort of maze of other office buildings. I go into a small, crumbling office, fill out a short slip, shake hands with a tall, handsome, professional looking dark-skinned man who takes me into a little windowless room with a fan, sits me down and asks me what I’m looking for. I tell him any room under five hundred, and he suggests a half dozen places I could see today. Just like that, without even giving him my social security number. For rooms, they don’t need to do background checks, which is always nice. I have no credit as of yet, which puts me at a distinct disadvantage to rent apartments, or even studios.
The first place he sends me is a dark, shady pad on top of a West-Indian Bakery. You walk up several narrow wooden stairways with tight curves and virtually no wiggle room, and despite the lousy lighting, you can still make out cockroaches scuttling across the walls. I’d made up my mind about this dump even before I reached the top of the stairs, which wasn’t too much more impressive. It’s just a series of rooms and a bathroom. No kitchen, no carpeting, no furniture, not even doors separating them, just sliding wooden panels. You look out the gated up windows and see only a giant neon sign. Are you fucking serious? I’m not THAT desperate to get out of my house. Thanks, but no thanks.
The second place is an apartment, I’d be renting what looks to be a storage room they converted into a bedroom. It’s so small, I would have to get a lofted bed just to be able to fit a few plastic dressers underneath. Hell no. The third place is a large house that this Chinese guy converted into many little rooms. The first thing I notice when he walks me past the staircase is the motion-sensor video camera recording anyone who comes in. I find that odd, but I don’t say anything. He takes me on the two-cent tour. We’d all share a bathroom. There’s a kitchen too, but the stove doesn’t work, and the fridge is pretty nasty. The room he shows me is all the way at the back of the house on the first floor. It’s filthy as hell, but big, roomy, and nice. Lots of light, lots of privacy. “So how much?” I ask the Asian guy who up-keeps the house, still admiring the waxed wooden floors.
“Four-Forty.” He states in a thick accent. “Five hundred if you want visitor.”
“Wait, what?” My head snaps to glare at him.
“Four-forty, no allow visitor. Five hundred, have all company you want.” Oh, chicken. That’s so grimy, it hurts my soul. But I like the neighborhood; right next to the train, shops, food, busses, everything. I like the seclusion and location of my room; first floor, it’s right next to the bathroom, don’t even have to go up or down any stairs in the morning, or ever, that’s always nice. Right next to the backyard too, so who’s to say I can’t smuggle people in through my window?
“Four-forty it is then.” Grimy bastard. I’m gonna need to watch him. But right now, I need to watch the clock, because I need to hit the road if I want to make dinner. I’ll have just enough time to go home, shower, primp up and make it there by six. I’m able to pay my new Super the security now, but I tell him the first month’s rent won’t come for at least a day or two. He takes a pencil and scribbles out the word, “riseet”, plus the basic figures in broken English on a piece of paper, then tears it out of his marble notebook for me to keep. Ugh, how ghetto, and how you know you're poor #3. For now, I accept it, shake his hand, thank him and bounce.
I get on the train and there's a great sense of relief that overtakes me. I feel like I’m free of that hole, free of Saskia and Pablo, free of the fighting, and the stress. Now, if I starve, it’ll be my own damn fault, and that feels amazing. I get home, do the three S’s, change into something presentable, splash on some cologne, feeling pretty good about finally getting the hell out of this dump. I leave the house and see my landlord sitting outside with his oxygen tank on and a cigarette in his mouth. He grins at me, showing off the four teeth he has left. I laugh to myself and keep walking. This intense feeling of liberation lasts until I get about two stops away from Sandy’s house. Then I remember what I’m there for and completely freak out. Is it too late to change my mind?? I already took the apartment, I can’t back out now! Gawd, I’m such an idiot-- why did I say yes???
Before I know it, I’m on her block, the little notepaper in my hand with her house number written on it. I stand outside her gate for a good five solid minutes in the freezing cold before I get up the gumption to ring her bell. To my surprise, her boyfriend answers the door. He’s tall, clean-cut, alarmingly handsome and dressed like a Wall Street tycoon. An image of Christian comes to mind, unbidden. He offers me this big, perfectly white smile and drinks me in with those bright emerald eyes.
“Hi, you must be Doug.”
“I....yeah.” I knit my brows and look down shyly. He’s wearing shiny dress shoes. There's still duct tape holding my shoes together and I'm suddenly very embarrassed. I know that was how you know you're poor #10, but I'm wearing them here for this. That deserves to be #2.
I hear him chuckle. “Nice to meet you. I’m Vino, please come in.”
“Thanks.” I mutter, pushing my glasses up my nose with a finger. He steps aside and I scurry past him like a nervous rat. Once inside, I can see the place is brightly lit and the dining room table is set for two with taper candles and the most elaborate rose-pattern chinaware I’ve ever seen. Sandy emerges from the kitchen wearing a strapless top, a short leather skirt, fishnet stockings and knee-high hooker boots. Her long, wavy blond hair is out and her face is painted, making her look like a real model. She’s gorgeous, and if I wasn’t so nervous, I’d be pitching a tent in my dress pants right now.
“Hey, you!” She sees me, and immediately comes over to give me a hug. I give her an awkward, weak one in return. “You’re just in time, I was just going to light the candles, bring out the soup and go.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Her boyfriend pats her on the shoulder and goes into the kitchen.
“How did I know you weren’t going to stay?” I roll my eyes at her.
“This isn’t...” She sighs, looking down. “I don’t want to be here. A few friends and I are going to Webster Hall. You two enjoy yourselves.” She gives me a forced smile and offers to take my coat. Of course she doesn’t want to be here, some lowlife she works with is about to sleep with the man she loves.
“I’m sorry, Sandy.” I whisper to her. “I don’t want this either.”
“It’s okay, it’s for a good cause. It’ll make my baby happy.” It appears as though she’s trying to convince herself more than me. I don’t know what to say, so I just stand there like a doofus holding my coat. We stand there like that, holding the same coat, looking at our own feet in silence.
“Hey, Doug?” I hear him shout from the kitchen. It makes us both leap to attention. “Do you like minestrone soup? Sandy makes it pretty well. If not, we can just have some cheese and Port Wine.” She tears my coat out of my hands and goes to hang it up.
“Uhh...no, it’s cool. Soup is fine, thanks.”
“I’m gonna go.” She comes back with her coat and purse on, and wraps her arms around me. “Take care, try to have a good time.”
I close my eyes and breathe in her sweet scent. “I don’t want him,” I hear myself say. “I want you.”
“Haugh!” She laughs, shoving me away to wipe one of her eyes. “You’re going to make me fuck up my makeup.” She turns and walks out the door. I’m not entirely sure what that means and it actually wounds me. Now, I feel like a lamb left alone in a lion’s den, and I’m frightened. I don’t know him, I don’t like him, I don’t want him to touch me and I want to go home. I’ll even take fighting with Saskia over this.
“Hey.” I hear him right in back of me. How did he manage to get that close without me noticing? I spin around with a gasp and he backs up a bit, throwing his hands up at me. “Whoa, it’s okay. I’m not going to bite you.” He takes a good look at me as I huff for breath. “Doug, it’s okay. Please, calm down. I’m really a nice guy.”
“I’m not a whore.” I blurt out; eyes wide, hands shaking.
He sighs. “I know. Hey. We...we don’t have to do this. I could just reimburse you for the train fare and you can go home.” His arms drop limply to his sides in disappointment.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I just don’t know.” I rub my face, trying to will myself into control.
“Well, how about we just have dinner? Sandy went through a lot of trouble to make this stuff and it would be rude of us to not eat it.”
I take a moment to compose myself. “You’re right, I'm sorry.”
“Alright?” He smiles again. I nod without looking at him and he leads me to a chair, and even pulls it out for me. I'm a bit shocked, no one’s ever done that for me before. I sit down awkwardly and smirk at him in thanks. “Att’a boy.” He remarks once I'm seated, taking both our soup bowls and walking them into the kitchen to fill them up. I take a moment to breathe and calm myself down. I need the money. The baby will need the money. I need to get the hell out of that house, and this is only a one-time thing.
I can always scrub the shame off myself later.
No comments:
Post a Comment