Page 4 of Icing the Enemy

“You’re not getting a tip, young lady. You do what the customer wants. Not what you want.”

She pulls out her credit card, gets confused on whether to tap, insert, or slide and finally inserts the card and pays thirty-five dollars for the perm and style.

Before I clock out of the salon, I settle up with the owner. Saturday is the busiest day for hairdressers, yet I’m walking out with one hundred twenty-five dollars. Not enough to cover my rent.

I stop at the grocery store and apply for two jobs, one for third shift stocking shelves and one for first shift floral department. They’ll probably want a degree in horticulture to make flower arrangements, so I’m not counting on that one. And they’ll possibly want spatial analytics for stocking positions.

When I arrive back at my apartment, there’s a note on my door that says I have a package at the office. Debbie, the office manager, hands it to me as soon as I enter. “It’s from a fancy law firm. You think some old lady is suing you over coloring her hair blue?”

“Funny.” I guess it’s possible, but it can’t be Mrs. Pinkston. She hasn’t had time to get home and use her landline to call an attorney. “Thanks, Debbie.”

“No problem, honey. Anything I can do?”

“Lower my rent.”

“Wish I could. I just work here.” She chuckles.

So many of us struggle to pay rising rent costs. After my mom died, the landlord let me stay in our apartment for two months while I handled the funeral and the legal stuff. I was eighteen. Hard to believe it’s been three years. I had to move into an even cheaper apartment in a less than desirable area, miles from the city.

I slip my backpack from my aching shoulders and toss the yellow manila folder on the kitchen table. Nothing from a lawyer is ever good news, so I put off opening until I’ve let my dog out of her kennel and take Dixie for an outside walk. Then I change into my pajamas that have her adorable face scattered on the fabric.

Dixie looks up at me with her big, brown eyes, wanting to be fed. Kibble with leftover chicken, which is her favorite, so I fill her bowls with food and water, then I grab an apple and slump into the chair.

I use my finger to tear the envelope. Apprehensive, I take a deep breath and pull out the papers, unsure of what I will read.

Hammerstein & Gould

Attorneys at Law

Dear Ms. Oakley James,

We hope this letter finds you well. Upon your twenty-first birthday, your father, who has asked to remain anonymous, has left you a sizable trust fund. As you are turning twenty-one on Friday, it is our duty to inform you of this trust and to schedule a meeting for that day at our office. Please be advised that to access this inheritance, it is necessary for you to attend this meeting. I look forward to meeting you and discussing the details of your inheritance. We have included a prepaid credit card for incidentals as you travel and have made a reservation at the Grand Fornay next to our law office.

We look forward to discussing the details of your trust.

Sincerely,

Joshua Gould

Reading the letter over and over again, tingles of excitement travel through my body. I do a happy dance in the kitchen. I’ll be able to pay my rent, but the happy thoughts quickly turn to anger.

My father has known about me all along. Why did my mom keep him a secret from me?

Dixieand I head to Atlanta in my rusted-out Toyota Corolla. The poor girl has anxiety. The farthest she’s been in a car is to the dog park about five miles away. Otherwise, we usually play fetch in the park just down the road.

When we arrive, the hotel charges me an extra one hundred dollars pet fee.

“I don’t have that kind of money unless we can take it out in trade. I’m a hairstylist.”

The front desk employee lifts her brow, and her eyes rake over my appearance. Yeah, she probably doesn’t want me anywhere near her hair. Instead of taking a shower in my apartment and using water I have to pay for, I thought I would just shower at the hotel for two days and save some money.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll charge it to the card on file. Here’s your key card and please have your pet use the designated areas and pick up after him.”

“Her. Dixie’s a female dog,” I say to clarify.

The employee dressed in a suit with a vest rolls her eyes and says, “I can help the next person. Welcome to Grand Fornay.” I notice there’s a completely different tone to her voice when checking in the tall, handsome man next to me.

He oozes money, and she flirts. As I’m grabbing my bag and dog, he says, “Yes, the Nashville Notes.”

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