CHAPTER 1
LILY
No, no, no.
This can’t be happening. It can’t. Why didn’t I see this coming? Or have a backup plan? I always need a backup plan.
“Sorry, Lily. You were the last one hired, so you’re the first to go. I can’t afford to keep you on. Business has tanked the past few months,” my boss says.
My shoulders drop as a heaviness settles in the pit of my stomach. I’ve been free for exactly five months, three weeks, and two days. And in that time, I’ve accomplished…not much of anything. I haven’t splurged on nail polish. Or hair dye. Or any of the other things I promised myself I would when I got away.
Between food, bus fare, some thrift store clothes, basic necessities, prescription costs, and giving my friend Hannah a little bit of money each month for providing me a place to stay, I’ve only saved seven hundred dollars. Hannah told me I didn’t need to pay rent, but I insisted. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t be free. She and her husband need the money. Seattle isn’t a cheap place to live, and they’re trying to save as much as they can before they start a family.
“Can I go down to part-time? I’ll work any shift. You know I’m a hard worker,” I plead.
Al, my boss, and owner of Al’s Diner, wipes one of his meaty hands over his face. The man is exactly what you’d picture when you think of an owner of a greasy diner. But he’s kind—really kind. He gave me a job, even though I had no employment history, and he’s always paid me on time. This man saved me in a way—just like Hannah. He’d give a person the shirt off his back if they needed it. I have a feeling he probably should have let me go a month ago, but he’s been holding on for as long as he could.
“I’m really sorry, Lily. I’ll give you a glowing reference. Whatever you need to get a new job. You’ve been a gem, and believe me, I’d rather get rid of Sarah than you, but I can’t afford a lawsuit.”
Yeah, because Sarah is lazy and can only handle three tables at a time so she can continue her non-stop texting.
Blowing out a deep breath, I lower my hands and nod. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Al. I’m going to go see if there’s a newspaper floating around out there so I can start looking.”
The older man shoots me a look. It’s the one he gives me whenever I say something ridiculous. I do it a lot. Which is why I know that expression. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve lived your life in a commune and then finally joined the real world. I have no idea how anything works.
“Jobs aren’t posted in the printed paper anymore, hon. Why don’t you use my computer?” He jabs at the keyboard for a few seconds before rising from the office chair, which looks like it was pulled from a dumpster about thirty years ago because it was already thirty years old. “This is a good website. Lots of listings.”
I scrunch my face and eye the laptop for several seconds until he nudges me toward his seat. As soon as I sit, he waddles off toward the kitchen, and I’m left alone to figure out how to use this weird device. I’ve watched Al work on it before, so it can’t be that hard. I think.
The first several minutes I spend floundering, trying to figure out the mouse thing and where to click, but it doesn’t take long before I get the hang of it. Sort of. Surely, there’s a job out there that I can do. Other diners need waitresses. Even though I’m not good at a lot of things, serving food and drinks is something I excel at. Anything that includes cooking, cleaning, or serving, really.
One by one, I scan the listings.
Garbage truck driver. Nope.
Information Technology Specialist. Whatever that is. Nope.
Human Resources Manager. Nope.
Deep Sea Diver. Umm, that sounds interesting, but no.
Cocktail Waitress. Huh. That looks interesting.
I click the link and scan the description.
Become a cocktail waitress at one of Seattle’s most elite adult clubs. Discretion is a must. No experience required. Join a friendly and professional team of staff. Background check required. On top of hourly pay, employees earn tips and full medical benefits immediately after hire. Apply in person at Edge.
Hmm. That sounds interesting and fun. I’m not sure what they mean by discretion, but I can follow the rules. Especially for what they listed as the hourly rate. I don’t even make half that here at the diner. Plus tips? And medical? Count me in. Maybe being let go isn’t the worst thing to happen.
After rifling through the messy stack of papers on Al’s desk, I find something I can use to write the address down. I can definitely handle working in a nightclub. It sounds promising, and even a bit exciting.
My heart races when I tuck the information into my beat-up purse. Now, I just need to go find Al to take him up on that glowing reference.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my tummy doing somersault after somersault. Am I dressed okay? I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear to apply for a job at a nightclub. When I got hired at the diner, I happened to be passing by and noticed the ‘help wanted’ sign. I walked right in, and Al handed me an apron that very same day. It had been pure luck. I’d been free and looking for work for over a week and was down to my last few dollars.
I’ll always be grateful to Al. Even if he did just fire me yesterday. He promised if things pick back up, he’ll call me before hiring anyone new. I’m not feeling very hopeful about that, though. The only reason he needed another waitress at the time was because the restaurant had been featured in the newspaper as the place to find the best biscuits and gravy in Seattle. It caused a slew of new customers, but the hype quickly died down when people realized there was nothing else worth eating on the menu. And not that I’d ever tell Al, but the biscuits and gravy were rather lackluster as well. Really, what can you expect from pre-made gravy in a giant can?
I smooth my hands down the front of my turtleneck, straightening the fold. It’s plain and black. Just like my slacks and ballet flats. All of which I bought secondhand. One day, I’ll actually buy something colorful. And maybe it will be something other than a long-sleeved shirt and pants. Old habits die hard, I guess.